Page 14 of Trial of the Cursed Egg

Arista falters, and while she and her flight are distracted, Ziggy steps beside me. “Let’s get you out of here,” he murmurs.

I glance up at the man who saved me, offering a small smile. “Thank you for stepping in.” I don’t get the chance to ask his name before Ziggy pulls me away, the world shifting as we move.

The world tilts beneath me, a sickening lurch that makes my stomach drop. Everything blurs—shifting, spinning, folding in on itself—until I can’t tell which way is up. My head swims, and a feeling of weightlessness pulls at my limbs, threatening to tear me apart and scatter me into the nothingness around us. Ziggy’s arms lock around me, firm and unyielding, pressing me tightly to his chest. His heartbeat thuds wildly against my ear, the only constant in this chaos. We’re spinning—spinning so fast it feels like we might tear through the fabric of time and space itself.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to ignore the whirlwind sensation, the way the air screams past us, tugging at my hair, pulling at my clothes. It’s too fast—too much. The wind bites into my skin, icy and sharp, making it impossible to focus on anything but the dizzying speed. I try to breathe, but it feels like the air is being sucked out of my lungs with each second that passes. I cling to Ziggy, burying my face against his chest, desperate for some anchor, some hint that we’re still real in all of this.

And then—just as suddenly as it began—it stops.

Solid ground slams beneath my feet, and I stumble, legs weak and trembling, barely catching myself before I fall. My head spins from the sudden change, my heart still racing as though it hasn’t caught upwith the fact that we’ve stopped. The sensation of falling lingers, a phantom weight pulling at me as the world slowly settles back into place. I force my eyes open, my breath ragged, and blink against the brightness of wherever we’ve landed.

We re-emerge in Callan’s office, the familiar dark wood and dim lighting grounding me. Ziggy slams his hands down on the desk, his frustration palpable. “Lysander needs to do something about Arista and her flight.”

Callan’s gaze flicks to me, then back to Ziggy. “What happened now?” His eye, the one that remains, watches us intently.

“She keeps trying to start a fight with Mina over Abraxis,” Ziggy says, a strange tilt to his head as he speaks Abraxis’s name.

I roll my eyes, flopping into the leather chair across from Callan. “Maybe I should just have my dad come get me.”

“No!” both men shout at the same time, their voices ringing out in unison. They glance at each other, surprised they’d said it together.

“What triggered her to go after you because of Abraxis?” Callan leans back in his chair, pulling off his eyepatch. The scar that runs across his face, splitting the empty socket where his eye used to be, draws my attention. Whatever did that … was going for the kill.

“The day we arrived, she wouldn’t stop talking about him,” I start, sighing as I remember the scene. “When he stood on the balcony, his wings snapped open, and she declared him as hers. I finally had enough of her running her mouth and put my blade to her throat, checking for a drake’s bite. There wasn’t one.” I shrug as Ziggy hands me a bottle of water. “I called her out on her bullshit.”

Callan’s gaze hardens as he looks at Ziggy. “This changes things.”

“What changes?” I sit up straighter, feeling tension creep up my spine.

Before he can answer, the door flies open, and Abraxis strides in. He freezes when he sees me, his gaze locking on mine for a moment before flicking to Callan.

“I’m assigning a fourth-year to your protection detail. It will count toward their final grade,” Callan says, his voice sharp. “You need to go to Lysander about the harassment. We can’t have your betrothed or anyone else getting hurt because Arista has lost her mind.”

I glance at Abraxis, offering a small smile. “I don’t want your mate getting hurt because of me. I can call my dad?—”

“Not happening,” the three men say in unison again.

Sighing, I stand and sling my bag over my shoulder. “I guess I’ll head downstairs to get ready for agility class.” I say with a shrug. “Thank you, Ziggy, for getting me out of there so quickly.” With a small wave, I slip out of the room, hoping the next class will go smoother than this morning.

I descend the stairs, counting each step until I reach the hallway. Three quick turns and I’m standing in front of the room they gifted me, a space that still feels unfamiliar despite how many times I’ve been here. The air is cooler down here, and the shadows seem to stretch longer, as if they’re trying to keep me hidden.

Once inside, I slip out of my regular clothes and into my lighter leathers, tugging them on with practiced ease. They cling to me like a second skin, molded for speed and precision—perfect for what’sabout to come. My shoes, with their small spikes, click against the floor as I lace them up. They’re designed for climbing, gripping slick surfaces in ways that bare feet or regular boots can’t manage. Each piece of gear I put on feels like armor against what’s waiting outside, and yet there’s a heavy knot in my stomach that refuses to unravel.

My gloves are the last thing I grab, their rough palms made for scaling walls and ropes. I take a deep breath, feeling the tension rise in my chest. Maybe I should call my father. The thought hits hard, heavier than I want to admit. He’d come for me, no questions asked, and all this—this pressure, these eyes on me, waiting for me to fail—would vanish. But the urge fades as fast as it came. I can’t leave, not yet. Not while they all expect me to break.

With my blades sheathed and strapped to my body, I step out into the open, the cool breeze biting at my skin. The courtyard is starkly different now. What had been a relatively simple space yesterday is now an unforgiving maze. Ziggy stands at the center, his black leathers gleaming under the dull sunlight, weapons strapped to every visible inch of his body. He looks like a walking arsenal, prepared for anything, while I’m just trying to breathe steadily.

The other students gather, five of us now. Yesterday we were six, but Ronan... well, Abraxis’s talons had made sure we wouldn’t see him again. The memory sends a shiver down my spine, though I push it away before it takes root.

“Welcome to agility training,” Ziggy announces, his voice hard and clear, cutting through the crisp air. “I’m Zigmander Crosse, your trainer for this course.”

I barely hear him, my attention locked on the gauntlet stretching across the courtyard. It’s like a twisted, half-completed version of the obstacle course from assessment day, only worse—far worse. My eyesdart from one element to the next, mapping out potential routes, searching for weak points for any advantage.

Ziggy’s voice sharpens, bringing my focus back to him. “The goal here is to test how well you can problem solve in real time. Eighteen pieces of this course will move. They’ll shift, rotate, collapse—sometimes all at once. If you get stuck or killed...” He pauses, eyes gleaming with that cruel edge I’ve come to recognize. “Your run is over. Dead, or back to repeat the course next half of the year.”

He lets that sink in, his gaze sweeping over each of us like a predator sizing up its prey. My pulse quickens, a drumbeat in my ears. The silence that follows feels heavy, thick with the tension of unsaid fears and doubts.

“This class,” Ziggy adds with a slow, wicked grin, “is a requirement for graduation.”

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