Page 11 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg
As I settle onto Balor’s bed, the sheets cool against my tired body, my senses remain on high alert. I can still smell the leftover food in the apartment, hear the soft drip of a leaky faucet in the sink, and feel the press of my dragoness just beneath my skin. Even so, exhaustion wins out. I close my eyes, praying for sleep to overtake me and for a safer tomorrow to arrive.
CHAPTER 6
Klauth
I dig deepinto the mountain where Mina showed me her desired nesting spot. My talons scrape over jagged stone, sending vibrations up my forearms. Each strike echoes in the cavern, sharp and resonant, while the scent of hot mineral dust fills my nostrils. The space is dark except for the orange glow of distant magma flows snaking beneath the rock. Strategically, it’s perfect—extremely defensible and with a magma core to keep the eggs warm when Mina can’t be with them.
I widen the entry chamber, the rough rasp of stone-on-stone scraping at my ears, and dig down, unearthing a wide vein of limestone we’ll use for our egg chamber. The damp, chalky smell of limestone mixes with the pungent, almost metallic tang of molten rock, making the air thick enough to taste. I carve the chamber roughly; I’m strong, but I lack the refined touch of Mina’s smaller dragoness form—or her other drake—could add later. Magma lines two walls in the chamber, churning and hissing with heat powerful enough to heat my scales. This chamber will be warm enough for our eggs to thrive.
Backing out of the chamber, I create dragon glass for the outer walls of what will soon be our home. The molten glass sizzles as I shape it, steam rising with a hiss when it touches cooler rock. Its surface glints in the faint pre-dawn light, reflecting sparks of fiery orange from within. There are only a few hours until daybreak, and I need to return before the final gauntlet. My skin prickles with the chill that creeps in as night wanes, but I work quickly, determined to complete three out of four glass walls.
I’m nearly done when I sense movement behind me. The displacer beast, Ziggy, arrives. His faintly musky scent hits me first, followed by the soft padding of his footsteps on the rocky ground.
“Wow, this looks like Mina’s painting,” he says, studying the still-hot glass walls. Warm wind from the magma flow ruffles his hair, and I see the reflection of glowing cracks dancing across his features.
Shifting back to my human form, I walk over to him. The cooling rock presses uncomfortably against my bare feet, reminding me how far underground we are. “Painting?” I echo. Ziggy holds up his phone—strange technology I haven’t fully grasped yet—and I peer at the glowing image. My gaze drifts between the digital painting and the shining glass structure I’ve built.
“Are there more?” I ask, curiosity prickling at the back of my mind.
“She has a room of paintings at Shadowcarve. We have time; I can take you there now,” Ziggy says, stretching out his hand. A faint, electrifying sense of displacement stirs in the surrounding air.
I clamp my mouth shut on any protest and nod. “Let’s go.”
The instant our hands connect, I feel weightless. My stomach flips as if I’m falling from a great height. Then the sensation slams to a stop, and my feet find solid ground beneath them. The sudden shift makes my head spin. I blink away the vertigo, trying to steady my breathing. The air in this new room is warmer, comforting—wrapped in asubtle, familiar scent that reminds me of Mina. It sets my instincts at ease.
“Over here…” Ziggy calls out, leading me into the next room. The space is dimly lit, the walls lined with dozens of canvases. My footsteps sound hollow against the polished floor, and the faint smell of turpentine mingles with the lingering hint of paint. It’s a shrine of images—my entire life, it seems, strewn across these walls.
I feel the shift in air as Ziggy leaves, then reappears a moment later, but my focus stays on a painting of me—half human, half dragon. The brushstrokes are bold, capturing the primal ferocity in my eyes, the tension in my posture. My mate is truly a veil walker, and her very existence is in danger. “When did she paint this?” I murmur, brushing my fingertips across the canvas, marveling at the fine ridges of dried paint.
“A few weeks before you hatched to save me.” Mina’s voice is soft, hesitant. The faint tap of her boots on the floor announces her approach. She loops her arm with mine and rests her head against the curve of my shoulder. Her body’s warmth cutting through the chill of the converted living space. “The visions started shortly after you began talking to me. I don’t know if it’s part of the mate bond or a gift because of you being a great wyrm.” She shrugs, her eyes drawn to the painting again.
One painting shows me flying over Shadowcarve’s wall to save her. I can almost taste the adrenaline I felt that day—spiced fear and raw determination. The detail on her father’s face, twisted in terror, makes me chuckle. My dragon form in the painting snarls with palpable rage, and the reflection of her father’s green dragon in my eye in the next painting is phenomenal. “You are an incredible artist,” I say, pressing my lips to her temple. Just then, I notice she’s clad in her fighting leathers, the faint squeak of well-worn leather accompanying her every movement.
“Walk me to the gauntlet?” She draws a deep breath, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Of course. You realize once you have your first clutch, they can’t force the gauntlets on you anymore?” I press my lips to her temple again. Her skin smells faintly of smoky incense, the same kind used in Shadowcarve’s training halls.
“I know. Sadly, I live for moments like this—the thrill of the hunt and the chase. It makes me feel alive.” Her gaze meets mine, a spark of fierce determination. “I don’t want to run a flight. I think I’d rather fight beside my mate than rot in an egg chamber.”
Her words strike me, and I still, taking both her hands in mine. Her fingers feel cold against my warmer skin. “Why would you be trapped in an egg chamber? Historically, a dragoness with a nest or clutch is more dangerous than any drake.” My brows knit, a surge of protective anger stirring in my chest.
“It’s the way it’s done now.” She sighs, turning to face the looming structure of the gauntlet. The surrounding air crackles with tension, and I can make out the faint metallic tang of hidden traps waiting inside. “They open and close sections and levels; no two runs are ever the same. But it’s relatively similar year after year,” she says in a detached tone that makes my gut clench with worry.
“When did they start making females run the gauntlets? That was never my intention; it was to weed out weak males.” I drag a hand down my face, frustration pounding like a war drum in my head. The intention has clearly been twisted.
Mina bursts into laughter as she spots Balor on the platform. “I need to check in. I usually climb the wall over there and wait my turn if you want to meet me there.” Her voice echoes slightly in the chamber, vibrant with excitement despite the gloom. She gestures toward a section of the wall across from the main entrance of the gauntlet.
“I’ll meet you there.” I give her forehead a quick kiss before she strides off to check in. I scale the wall in a few swift movements, the rough stone scraping my palms. I settle at the top, the vantage point allowing me a clear view of the sprawling gauntlet, lit by smoldering torches and faint lantern light. Callan and Abraxis join me, leaning on the wall below.
“How is she? She usually gets amped up before the run,” Abraxis says, glancing up at me with a mix of curiosity and concern.
“She’s calm,” I answer, though I can sense the coiled tension in her that’s ready to explode. “She showed me her paintings, so I think she’s got her head in the right place.” Deep inside, I know it’s because I put her dragoness in its place last night, taming that feral edge just enough.
Mina doesn’t even bother coming to us; instead, she waves a golden ticket in the air and approaches the gauntlet head-on. Balor tries to talk her down—his voice carries a note of caution I can’t quite make out. Mina brushes him off, pulling her hood low and lifting her mask. Then she leaps into the gauntlet like a child diving into a pile of autumn leaves. My heart thunders in my chest, the sound roaring in my ears. Even from this distance, I can taste the tang of anticipation on my tongue, stoking the embers of a primal need to protect my mate … or join her in the fight.
I watch the younger males in the nest, their pupils wide as they track every flicker of light sparking to life along the gauntlet’s walls. The air here is thick with tension, laced with the stale smell of sweat and old timber. The wooden structure groans under the strain of footsteps racing within it. In the distance, I can make out the tang of something burning—likely a torch sputtering somewhere in this labyrinth of trials. Unlike the main gauntlet, they tell me multiple students are allowed to run at once, heightening the chaos.
Abraxis’s laugh cuts through the hushed dread. I see him leaning forward, eyes narrowed with amusement, and the faintest whiff ofacid trails off his breath—an echo of his own power. “That male is in Arista’s flight. If Mina finds out, she’s going to hunt him and kill him,” Abraxis says offhandedly. Then he stiffens, glancing up at me with sudden unease.
