Page 57 of Queen of the Cursed Egg
I pull out my phone, the screen illuminating my face with its harsh blue light. My fingers tap quickly across the glass surface as I set Callan on a mission to read through the texts we have. Something in there has to tell how the eggs are bound. I give him the short version of what I’m looking for. He was curious himself, so he quickly agrees and says he’s going to enlist Leander’s help with the research.
“Lee and Cal are researching the answer for us,” I say, looking up from my phone, the device warm in my palm from use.
“So what’s the plan?” Vox asks, his voice echoing slightly off the stone walls.
I draw in a deep breath, filling my lungs with the cool, slightly damp air of the war room. “You and Abraxis will shift here, and we will paint your faces to look like wyrm dragons. Thauglor and I will ride on you to the field to the north. When we land, I will hide under Abraxis’s wing, and Thauglor will be under yours. When the mages arrive, you two will shift back, and Thauglor and I will shift and torch them.”
A smile spreads across my face as I look between my two mates and my father-in-law. The expression on Vox’s face tells me I must look feral at the moment—all teeth and predatory intent. My pulse quickens at the thought of finally facing our enemies, adrenaline beginning to course through my veins.
Before Vox can respond, one of his guards enters, the heavy door groaning on its ancient hinges. The scent of nervous sweat precedes him, sharp and acrid.
“Sire, there’s movement to the north, about an hour out on foot. Humans,” he reports, his voice tight with tension.
A chill runs down my spine at his words, spreading outward until my fingertips tingle with icy dread despite the warmth of Abraxis at my side.
“They must have portaled close, then are moving on foot,” Thauglor says, beginning to pace. His footsteps fall heavy on the stone floor, each one sending vibrations through the room that I can feel in the soles of my feet.
“Portaled? What’s that?” I ask, tilting my head to look at my mate, puzzlement furrowing my brow.
“Mages rip the fabric of reality, similar to how Ziggy moves, but theyuse stolen power to do it,” Thauglor explains, his ancient voice tight with concern.
My eyes widen as understanding crashes over me, leaving me breathless. “Oh crap,” I whisper, the words barely audible even to my own ears. My mind races to process this new information. If they can move similarly to Ziggy, we are in deep trouble. The taste of fear is bitter on my tongue, but I swallow it down, replacing it with determination. We’ve come too far to back down now.
My fingers find Abraxis’s, intertwining and squeezing tight. His skin is warm against mine, anchoring me to the present as my mind calculates and recalculates our odds. They may have methods of movement we didn’t expect, but we have something they don’t—each other. And I won’t let them take that from us, not now, not ever.
Later that night...
Abraxis and Vox move about the field as planned, their massive forms silhouetted against the star-scattered sky. The night air is crisp and biting against my skin where I hide beneath Abraxis’s wing, pressed close to the warmth radiating from his body. We had painted their faces white like Thauglor’s to fool the mages from a distance. The pungent scent of the white paint—mineral and sharp—still stings my nostrils hours after application. They will sense two wyrm dragons, me and Thauglor, while seeing what appear to be white-faced black dragons. If their magic is attuned to a wyrm dragon and it hits something that isn’t... in theory, it shouldn’t work.
Abraxis stops moving so abruptly that I nearly lose my balance against his side. I feel his muscles tense beneath my hands, the scaleshardening as he prepares for danger. His heartbeat quickens, the rhythm pulsing against my palms as I press them flat against his scales, the texture rough and warm beneath my touch. I try to see through his eyes, but I can’t. What I can do is force a vision—the strain of it sends a sharp pain lancing behind my eyes, but the information is worth the discomfort.
The mages are close. There are only four of them, foolishly thinking that’s enough to take down ancient dragons. My heartbeat speeds up to match Abraxis’s thundering pulse. I’m thankful I wore my shadowblade leathers—the material fits like a second skin, supple yet protective, and silent with every movement. The familiar weight of my knives against my thighs is reassuring. Carefully, I extend my talons, the transformation sending a ripple of sensation along my fingers as flesh hardens into deadly points. I climb up and between Abraxis’s wing and his body, the membrane warm and slightly damp against my cheek as I slip through the narrow space until I can climb onto his back.
I stay flat against his body, the heat of him seeping through my leathers and warming my stomach and chest as I scan the darkness. Every shadow, every movement of branches in the gentle breeze catches my attention. My eyes strain to penetrate the gloom, nostrils flaring as I try to catch any foreign scent carried on the night air.‘They’re here. I’m on Abraxis’s back laying flat,’I say to Thauglor through our mental connection, the familiar brush of his consciousness against mine bringing a momentary comfort.‘According to my vision, there’s only four of them.’
Several twigs snap off to our right, the sound brittle and sharp in the silent night. My muscles tense, ready to spring into action. Abraxis and Vox turn their massive heads to look in that direction, scales scraping softly against each other with the movement. A tingle of warning races up my spine—it’s a distraction. I watch behind us, and there they are. Three of the mages are walking up behind us,their forms darker shadows against the night, moving with unnatural silence save for their heartbeats, which pound in my ears like war drums.
I sink my talons into Abraxis’s hide to get him to turn his head; the points breaking through the tough scales with a sensation like punching through leather. He roars in pain; the sound vibrating through his body and into mine, rattling my teeth and bones. He turns his head to glare at me, eyes flashing with anger in the darkness, but then he sees them. For a creature of his immense size, he’s surprisingly agile, spinning his whole body to face the three mages with a grace that belies his mass. His movement creates a rush of displaced air that whips my hair around my face, the strands stinging my cheeks.
Several volleys of magic come flying at him—blue-white streaks that sizzle through the air, carrying the scent of ozone and burning metal. One impacts his neck with a dull thud. He wobbles beneath me, his muscles trembling with the effort to remain standing, but he doesn’t fall. The taste of fear—metallic and sharp—floods my mouth as I cling tighter to his scales.
“That should have taken him down!” a mage yells, his voice high with panic. They hit Vox with the same magic, the impact visible as a ripple of force across his massive frame. Vox wobbles, having been hit with more magic than Abraxis, his legs bracing wider to maintain balance. The ground beneath us vibrates with the force of his shifted weight.
‘What was that?’Thauglor’s voice in my mind is tense, concerned.
‘Mages using magic that appears not to be working because they’re not wyrm dragons,’I answer him as I watch Abraxis draw in a deep breath, his chest expanding beneath me. The surrounding air grows noticeably cooler as he pulls in oxygen to fuel his attack. I brace myself, gripping tighter with my talons as he breathes acid on thethree mages, the caustic substance hissing as it streaks through the night, carrying the bitter smell of corrosion and death.
The mages raise their hands in unison, and the acid strikes an invisible barrier with a sound like rain hitting hot metal. Steam rises from the point of impact, carrying an acrid stench that burns my nostrils and makes my eyes water. I slide down Abraxis’s side to get to the ground, the scales rough against my leathers as I descend, leaving tiny scratches on the exposed skin of my hands and face.
My feet hit the earth with a soft thud, knees bending to absorb the impact. I crouch down behind Abraxis’s front leg, using his massive form as a shield. The ground is cold and damp beneath me, soaking through my leathers where they touch the soil. I press my palms flat against the earth, feeling the subtle vibrations of the battle, the heartbeats of everyone present, the ancient pulse of the land itself. Drawing in a deep breath that fills my lungs with the scent of soil and night-blooming flowers, I channel my lightning through the ground and toward the mages.
The power surges through me, starting as a warm tingle in my core that quickly builds to an almost unbearable heat. It races down my arms and through my palms into the earth, the sensation like liquid fire flowing through my veins. The lightning arches up from the ground around the mages’ feet and bounces around inside the dome they created, illuminating their shocked faces in stark, intermittent flashes of brilliant blue-white. Their screams pierce the night as the lightning finds its mark, the sound mingling with the crackling of energy.
It’s so much harder to channel in my human form than as a dragon. The strain is immense, sweat beading on my forehead and running down my temples despite the cool night air. My muscles tremble with exhaustion, and eventually, the edges of my vision darken, shadows encroaching from all sides like hungry predators. My heartbeat sounds suddenly loud in my ears, slowing as my strength ebbs.
The world goes dark, consciousness slipping away like water through cupped hands. As I fall, the last sensation I register is the rough texture of Abraxis’s scales against my cheek, and his scent—smoke and pine and home—filling my lungs. I just hope we won. The thought follows me into oblivion, a last prayer to a goddess who may or may not be listening.
CHAPTER 39
