Page 53 of Queen of the Cursed Egg
“She sees them as hatchlings compared to her. Weak, defenseless, and needing protection,” Abraxis says, and I turn to stare at him, the sudden movement making the surrounding air heat noticeably.
“When did she say that?” Thauglor and I stare at each other for a moment, the silent communication of millennia passing between us, then look at Abraxis, waiting for his answer.
“This morning when we were talking before she went to school. She feels like they are more defenseless than her progeny,” he shrugs his shoulders, watching Mina walk the females through basic maneuvers. Her hands are gentle but firm as she adjusts their stances. The bamboo swords make soft swishing sounds as they cut through the air.
“Well, that explains why she’s so focused on working with them.” I glance from Abraxis then over at our mate, the realization dawning on me like the slow rise of the sun. With gentle hands and a soft voice, she corrects the females, her tone pitched to encourage rather than demean, so unlike her own brutal training. She’s acting as if she is their mother, guiding them with the care she never received. I didn’t see it before, but the longer I watch her, it becomes clear, as obvious as the changing seasons to my ancient perception. She is guiding the females how she had wished she was guided, exactly the same way she guides her own progeny, with patience, kindness, and an understanding that strength doesn’t have to come through suffering. In this moment, witnessing her break the cycle of brutality, I feel a surge of pride that nearly overwhelms me, as warm and unexpected as a summer storm after an age of winter.
CHAPTER 36
Mina
Thauglor and Klauthhave organized a hunt on the campus grounds, hiding tiny boxes with prizes for students to discover. The only requirement is wearing a costume to participate. The entire campus buzzes with energy as students in vibrant costumes move between buildings. Their laughter echoes across the grounds, conversations blending into a symphony of excitement that fills the warm air.
As a fourth-year student, I’ve decided not to take part in the hunt. Most prizes can only be used this year or next, making them pointless for someone like me who’s almost finished. I’ve still dressed up, though. Oversized pale pink butterfly wings hang from my shoulders, their delicate framework catching the light with every movement. A circlet of fresh flowers rests on my head, releasing a subtle fragrance that follows me wherever I go. My gossamer gown shimmers iridescent pink and opal in the sunlight, making me look like something from another realm—a fairy rather than what I truly am. Today, I just want to feel pretty instead of feared for my true nature.
The excited shouts of students echo around me as they dash across the campus searching for the hidden boxes. I spot several of them tucked away in obvious places,but make no move to collect them. My fingers twist nervously in the soft fabric of my gown as several young male dragons approach me, offering flowers with hopeful eyes. Though they appear completely human to others, my senses detect their true nature. The rich scent of their dragon essence—smoke and earth—reaches me before they do. I decline each courtship attempt politely; the words becoming routine on my tongue.
A war looms on the horizon. I can feel it in my bones—a deep ache that warns of the brutality to come. The metallic taste of fear fills my mouth whenever I think about it. Despite my initial reluctance, I’ve begun teaching the ways of the Shadowblades to everyone at Shadowcarve. The techniques feel strange coming from my lips instead of remaining secret. My nest and Blackhaven have been sheltering the older dragons—potential targets for the mages. The frustration burns in my chest as we fail repeatedly to determine how these mages track the dragons’ ages. Every theory leads to another dead end, leaving us vulnerable.
I hop onto a low stone wall, the rough surface cool against my skin even through the layers of my gown. From this vantage point, I watch the student body enjoy their day of games, their faces bright with joy that seems so foreign to me now. My fingers trace absent patterns on the stone.
“You seem lost in thought?” Balor’s voice slides into my consciousness as he settles beside me, his body radiating heat that contrasts with the cool stone.
“Still pondering how the mages track the dragons,” I admit, biting my bottom lip as I turn to stare deep into Balor’s eyes. The scent of him—spiced and dangerous—fills my lungs. Slowly, his eyes bleed red, the pupils narrowing into the vertical slits of his basilisk. The transformation sends a familiar shiver down my spine.
“What have you parsed so far?” His voice carries that unique reverberation that typically opens the deepest recesses of my mind, making me want to spill every secret I’ve ever kept.
“Not much, to be honest.” I continue biting my bottom lip, maintaining eye contact with him. The connection between us is almost physical—a taut wire humming with power.
“It weirds me out you can do that.” Callan’s voice shatters our moment, and Balor and I break eye contact as he quickly slips on his sunglasses. The absence of Balor’s gaze leaves me feeling oddly cold.
“How did you not get turned to stone?” I turn to look at Callan, amazement coloring my voice. The breeze carries his scent—clean linen and something uniquely him—as he approaches.
“I saw the color of his eyes from the side and turned the empty socket toward you. He wasn’t focused on using his stone gaze either.” Callan moves to stand shoulder to shoulder with Balor, his blind side pressed against his best friend. His single eye studies me with unnerving intensity. “So what’s got you so distracted today?”
“She’s trying to figure out how the mages are tracking the dragons,” Balor explains, and suddenly everything clicks into place. The realization hits me like a physical blow, stealing my breath.
I stand abruptly, gathering the layers of my gown in my fists, the delicate material bunching between my fingers. I take off running, my heart hammering against my ribs.I need to find Thauglor and Klauth immediately.My sandals pound against the earth, kicking up small clouds of dust as I move as fast as my feet can carry me toward the Arcanum Campus. The wind tears at my hair, loosening flowers from my circlet. Behind me, I barely hear Callan and Balor as they try to keep pace.
Vaughn is just opening the door to the building as I approach. The scent of old books and ancient stone wafts through the opening.He throws the heavy door wide and presses himself against the wall to let me pass. I race for the stairs, the sound of my footsteps echoing in the stairwell as I take them two at a time, rushing to the third floor where Thauglor keeps his office. My lungs burn with exertion by the time I reach the top.
I almost slide past the office in my haste, my momentum carrying me forward on the polished floor. My talons extend reflexively—and catch the door frame, stopping me with a screech of nails on wood. The sudden appearance of my inhuman features sends a jolt of anxiety through me. Taking a deep breath that fills my nose with the scent of parchment and ink. I retract my talons, adjust my rumpled gown, and step into the office, attempting to appear calm despite my racing pulse.
Thauglor, Klauth, Anipe, and Samara are gathered around his massive oak desk, their conversation halting at my sudden appearance. The tension in the air is palpable, thick enough to taste.
“Is everything alright, Mina?” Klauth is the first to move, his eyes scanning me for injuries as he approaches. His familiar scent—brimstone—wraps around me like a comforting blanket.
“Yes?” My voice comes out hesitant, wavering with the effort of hiding my revelation. My fingers twist nervously in the fabric of my gown.
“That doesn’t sound very reassuring, mate,” Thauglor says as he stands and walks around his desk. The floorboards creak beneath his weight. He looks at the teachers gathered, his expression softening. “We can continue this later. Obviously, our young mate needs us.” He offers the women a gentle smile, and they nod before leaving, closing the heavy door behind them with a soft click.
“What sent you running? Who do I need to torch?” Klauth asks, his voice a low rumble as he turns my head from side to side, roughfingers gentle against my skin as he checks for injuries. His touch leaves trails of warmth wherever his skin meets mine.
Balor and Callan eventually catch up, dragging Abraxis with them. The three enter the office, bringing the scents of exertion and concern with them. I mentally run through the locations of my other mates: Leander is in class, Vaughn heading to his next lecture, and Ziggy at home with the hatchlings—I can feel him playing with them through our bond, his joy a bright spark in my mind. The mental inventory complete, I draw in a deep breath that fills my chest and step away from Klauth to stand alone. The absence of his touch leaves my skin cold.
“Why aren’t wyrm females hunted?” I ask, my eyes moving between my mates. The question hangs heavy in the air, the implications sending a chill down my spine.
“They’re perceived as the weaker species, and most have—well, had—a mage cage keeping them from shifting,” Abraxis answers, his brow furrowing as he considers the question.
