Page 56 of Queen of the Cursed Egg
The idea of a day without my Mina is unthinkable, a void too terrible to contemplate. My heart pounds painfully at the mere thought.
“Her dragoness doesn’t always give her its form willingly. She still mourns her mate.” He looks toward the entrance where Mina disappeared, his eyes distant as if seeing into the past. “Drakes don’t mourn the loss of a mate without a bond. Females do. You and Cora were the only things that kept her from mourning herself to death. Now it’s the grand babies that keep her here.”
My father turns and walks away, his footsteps heavy on the stone floor. The sound echoes in the courtyard, a lonely rhythm that underscores the weight of his words. The entrance swallows him,leaving Thauglor and me alone in the courtyard. The mountain air feels suddenly colder against my skin.
“He’s right. Drakes don’t mourn without a bond,” Thauglor says softly, his ancient eyes surveying the courtyard as if assessing it for threats. The breeze carries his words to me, along with the faint scent of anticipation. “From what Klauth told me, Mina came close to mourning herself to death over you, even though she had other mates left.” He slaps me on the shoulder, the impact solid and grounding, before heading inside. The warmth of his hand lingers briefly on my skin before fading.
I stare after my ancestor as he enters the nest, the heavy door closing behind him with a dull thud that resonates in my chest. What I’ve learned today has shaken me to my core. Both of my parents had mates in other species, mates who were killed because of the old laws—laws enforced by dragons like me. The realization sits like ice in my veins.
My thoughts drift to my daughter, her innocent face appearing in my mind’s eye. We have to do better for her. The cool mountain air fills my lungs as I make a silent vow—I will not kill her mate, no matter what species they are. The taste of that promise is sweet on my tongue, a balm against the bitterness of my heritage.
Drawing in another deep breath that fills my chest and steadies my resolve, I return to the nest of my birth. My footsteps echo on the stone floor as I make my way to the war room. Bahamut knows what plan my mate and ancestor have hatched together. The scent of brimstone and ancient power grows stronger as I approach the chamber, along with Mina’s distinctive aroma—sharp now with purpose and determination. I can only hope we all come out of this in one piece, my hand unconsciously reaching for the hilt of my sword as I cross the threshold.
CHAPTER 38
Mina
I stareat the three-dimensional map that dominates Vox’s war room, my fingertips hovering just above the miniature mountains and valleys. The cool air in the stone chamber raises goosebumps on my arms as I trace the outline of territories—Thauglor’s territories, I mentally correct myself. The scent of aged parchment and metal hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the clay used to craft the topographical features before me.
I want to position us close enough for reinforcements, yet far enough away that the three young families here remain safe. My stomach twists with anxiety as I consider sending them to Klauth in my nest instead. I pause, my breath catching as the realization hits me again. All of this—from the rolling hills to the jagged mountain ranges—belongs to me and my mates. We control two-thirds of the continent, the weight of that responsibility pressing down on my shoulders like a physical burden.
My eyes burn from concentration as I identify a space north of the nest and to the east, far enough that the mages won’t pass near here.The rough texture of the map under my fingertips grounds me as I analyze potential approach routes. If they’re smart, they’ll come from the north by water, using the cover of darkness and the reflective surface to mask their movements.
Slowly, I walk over to Vox’s desk, my footsteps echoing off the stone walls. The wooden surface is cool beneath my palm as I take a sheet of paper, the crisp sound of it sliding across the desk strangely loud in the quiet room. I draw the continent as a whole. The scratching of pen against paper joining the distant sounds of dragons moving about the nest. The intel from Ziggy’s people has been invaluable; without it, we’d be planning blind. We know they have a small conclave to the northwest on the far side of the continent. The thought of them hiding there, plotting against us, makes my jaw clench tight enough to ache.
Closing my eyes, I try to push for a vision of what their home looks like. The effort makes my head throb, a dull pressure building behind my eyes. Suddenly, I feel Thauglor behind me, his unique scent—ancient stone and mountain air—washing over me as he pulls me flush to his chest and wraps his wings around me. The membranes create a warm cocoon, shutting out the world. The deep lub-dub of his heart beats steadily against my back, each pulse resonating through my body. I relax in his arms, the tension in my muscles slowly melting away as his warmth seeps into me.
My consciousness slides sideways, and information flows like a lazy river into my mind.The mages’ numbers have decreased over the years—a direct result of killing off the unicorns. They were apparently the balance to the mages. Now that their equal is gone, the mages are fading too. Their power is waning, and they’re struggling to steal power from dragons. The knowledge settles in my mind with crystal clarity.
But who is our balance? The question forms and is answered in the same heartbeat.
New information surges forward. The basilisks are our balance—the dark to our light, the chaos to our control. It makes perfect sense, like two sides of an ancient coin.
My perspective shifts again. The mages are huddled around what looks like a small body of water in the middle of an ancient library. The scent of mildew and dust fills my nostrils, though I know it’s just a phantom sensation. One by one, they cut their hands, the sharp metallic tang of blood reaching me even through the vision as they bleed into the water. Thauglor’s dragon appears first, his magnificent form reflected in the crimson-tinged pool.
“There’s a second. Why can’t I see it?” a mage says, his voice thin and reedy as he chants louder, trying to get the second wyrm to come into view. A flash of silver horns is all they see, and my heart races at the near-miss. They almost saw me.
“The iron dragons are extinct. We saw to that,” one mage says, his voice filled with smug satisfaction that makes my blood boil.
“Yet still one lives,” says another, uncertainty coloring his tone.
“Prepare for the trip. The dragon is old, probably slow and blind,” an older mage says with dismissive confidence.
A smirk tugs at my lips. They have no idea that Thauglor is fit and powerful, deadly in his ancient might.
The vision ends, and I open my eyes, blinking against the sudden return to reality. The inside of Thauglor’s wings comes back into focus. My heart still pounds from what I’ve seen, the rhythm gradually slowing as I gather my thoughts. I know I’ve shared the vision with my mates—our connection making it impossible to keep such things to myself.
Thauglor opens his wings, the soft leathery sound filling the chamber as the cocoon of warmth around me dissipates. I look up into his sapphire eyes, so ancient and yet so alive with cunningintelligence, then over at Abraxis. His expression is grim but determined as he nods. Thauglor’s arms tighten around me, the solid strength of him reassuring.
‘My treasure, do you need me?’Klauth’s voice whispers in my mind, warm and concerned. The familiar sensation of his presence soothes like a balm.
‘No, my beloved,’I respond silently. ‘Protect my progeny and the other hatchlings of my flight. I am in Thauglor’s arms and safe. The mages will hunt us by nightfall. After this is over, we will plan to hunt them.’The metallic taste of vengeance sits on my tongue, sharp and satisfying.
Sighing, I hug Thauglor, inhaling his scent one more time before stepping away. My body feels suddenly cold without his warmth as I move to Abraxis, pressing myself against his side. His arm comes around me automatically, strong and protective. The rhythm of his breathing syncs with mine, a silent comfort.
“One thing always puzzled me,” Abraxis says, his deep voice vibrating through his chest against my cheek as he moves me to his side to face his dad and Thauglor. “Is the binding spell on the cursed eggs linked to a mage or the shells? I mean, the original mages are long dead—they’re human, after all.”
“That’s a good question,” Vox says, rubbing the back of his neck, the rustle of fabric audible in the quiet room. “I’m not sure.”
