Page 58 of Trial of the Cursed Egg

A low, bone-deep rumble erupts from Mina, vibrating through the walls and rattling the windows. “The red egg chose me…” Her dragoness flickers just beneath her skin, bone plates shifting visibly on her face, her stare deadly and unyielding. “If you wish to touch the shell to try to take it, by all means, try. It stays with me until it either hatches or goes dormant.” Sparks jump along her horns, crackling with the promise of a storm, while her eyes stay locked on the elders and Lysander. Iris, her familiar, lands on her shoulder, intensifying the lightning into sharp, sizzling arcs from scale tip to scale tip.

“When did the lightning start in her human form?” Lysander murmurs as the elders turn and file out of the apartment, eager to escape Mina’s wrath.

“The same day I got my dragon,” she replies, stepping boldly into Lysander’s space. Her chin lifts, a challenge in her eyes. “I can answer for myself.”

“Forgive me, Miss Bladesong.” He bows, low and formal.

“Havock…” Her voice is resolute, claiming my last name as her own. It’s a rare move for a female to take her mate’s surname, especially with her bloodline, but I know what this means. She’s making a statement, one that reflects how she feels about her father’s actions, a way of distancing herself.

“Ms. Havock … You and your mate are two of a kind. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” Lysander dips his head slightly and backs out, retreating with the elders. The door clicks shut, and the tension breaks as Mina releases a deep breath, sinking into the recliner. Her eyes find mine, a mix of relief and defiance simmering there, her dragoness settling just below the surface.

Hours later, we gather at Mina’s apartment on the Shadowcarve Campus. She’s already moving between the paintings on her wall, arranging them in what looks like a comic strip that reads left to right. Klauth’s egg sits snugly in the carrier strapped to her chest, his silent presence adding a strange energy to the room.

“It’s like a story…” My gaze follows the sequence as each scene unfolds.

Mina nods, a flicker of something solemn crossing her face. “I believe Klauth has been telling me a story. This is where it all began.” She gestures to the first image: a proud castle perched on a mountain, a fortress nearly impossible to reach without wings. The next painting shows amber and silver scales and part of an eye.

“This might be the female he was courting … or chose. But it’s all muddled.” She steps back, looking thoughtfully at the sequence, her eyes skimming over each image.

Then she points to the crumbling fortress, its towers engulfed in flames as it cascades down the mountainside. “This is where her nest was attacked.”

The image makes something in me tense. It reminds me of the stories I’ve read, those chilling accounts about cursed eggs and relentless blood feuds. Next, my eyes catch a depiction of chains and stone—a scene heavy with despair, though the exact connection eludes me.

“He was chained by mages in a modified cage, similar to my mother’s collar.” Mina’s voice drops to a whisper, her hand resting gently on the egg. A faint pulse seems to echo beneath her fingers, an eerie synchronicity to her touch.

Then, the last painting—darkness closing in, swallowing the light in a shrinking circle. My voice is barely a murmur. “The last thing he saw when he was placed in the egg.”

Mina looks at me, her face shadowed with the weight of these memories. “Yeah,” she whispers, running her fingers across the painted surface. “I can see the past and I can see the future. Klauth calls me a veil walker.”

I can’t help but step closer, a prickle of concern tightening in my chest. “He talks to you?”

“Rarely. It takes too much out of him. Remember, he hasn’t eaten in over a thousand years. Though most of that time, he’s been dormant.” She strokes his shell again and turns to the image of Klauth’s dragon face. “The three of us will burn my father’s kingdom to the ground.”

With that, she looks away, her expression shuttered as she reaches for Callan and leaves. We’re left in silence, staring at the remnants of Klauth’s story, haunted by the weight of what’s to come.

“Veil walkers are more dangerous than intrinsics and seers. With practice, they can force visions of whatever they want to know,” Balor murmurs, his gaze locked on the image of Klauth’s face. His voice is laced with unease, each word sinking into the room with undeniable weight. “If he’s right, and that’s what she is … warlords would raze the world to take her from you.”

“He’s right…” Leander’s pacing intensifies, each stride sharp and restless. “If you were waging a war and were stuck, torn on a decision, you could tell her what you were planning, and she’d see the outcome before it happens.”

The sheer magnitude of Leander’s words steals the air from my lungs. My pulse quickens as I swallow down a wave of unease. “She’s more of a weapon than her father ever suspected he created.”

“Here…” Ziggy steps forward, handing me a tome he’s snagged from Callan’s office, pages already flipped open to the entry on veil walkers. His fingers drum against the book’s edge. “When did she die?” he asks, and I search for the answer in the faded ink, my eyes glued to the ancient script.

“No idea.” The lines speak of veil walkers being born from a true death—a transformation only possible after returning from beyond. I rack my memories, coming up blank. No one’s ever told me she’d suffered anything that extreme.

“What if her father … hid it?” Ziggy’s voice cuts through, a bitter question spilling from his lips. “What if he accidentally killed her during training, brought her back without a single soul knowing?” It’s disturbingly on-brand for Abaddon.

“He either pushed her too hard … or hit her wrong, and she died.” The thought carves into me like a blade. My chest tightens, a dull ache blooming as the reality sinks in—my mate died once, and I never knew.

The words hit me like a punch. “Malfunctioning part of the gauntlet hit me square in the chest and killed me.” Mina’s gaze is distant, haunted, as she stands there in the dim hallway, shadows swallowing half her face. “Iris brought me back with no one other than Dad knowing I died.” She reaches up and kisses her familiar’s cheek as if grounding herself, fingers trembling. “I was dead for almost ten minutes before she got me back. Being flooded with that much of her magic changed me.” A hollow laugh slips from her lips, bitter, and brittle, as small arcs of lightning crackle between her fingers. “Lightning was Iris’s gift to me. I should have had acid spray or fire, like my parents.”

She says it with such calm, like she’s recounting a distant memory, but I feel the rawness of it gnawing at me. I close the distance between us in an instant, pulling her tightly against me, pressing my lips to her forehead. I almost lost her before she even had the chance to know who I was. The thought lodges deep inside me, twisting sharply, and I clutch her closer, afraid to let go.

Mina

Admittingwhat happened to me when I was younger has Abraxis keeping me in his sight constantly. He won’t leave me alone for too long, and with the guys showing me that entry in the ancient tome, things are making sense. I’m not losing my mind—this strange ability is one of my gifts.

Some gift. It’s like watching a nightmare reel in slow motion—these flashes, glimpses of things, seconds before they happen. I see a brick loosening, about to fall, and yank Abraxis back just in time. The brick shatters against the pavement, and his eyes go wide.

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