Page 17 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg
“He was just overtired and way too excited about all the new people,” I say, my voice soft, almost lost beneath the distant murmurs of onlookers shuffling nearby. The comforting weight and warmth of the baby in my arms tugs at some primal part of me.
“Do you want to carry him out since you are one of his guardians?” Cora asks, sliding in beside me. She rests her head lightly on my shoulder, gazing at her son with such tenderness it makes my chest ache.
“Of course. It would be my honor.” I lean down and press a gentle kiss to the crown of Cora’s head. A faint trace of floral soap and worry-tinged sweat fills my nostrils as I breathe her in. My attention flickers to her mate, whose eyes linger on me. “You’ve been behaving, I assume?” A low, warning growl rumbles in my throat as I stare at Warwick.
“Um, yes…” Warwick ducks his head quickly, avoiding my gaze.
“Let’s get going.” Cerce’s smile lights up her face as she steps out from behind the curtain, guiding us onto the stage. Vox follows her, his firm hand at her elbow. I walk behind them, acutely aware of the hush that falls over the crowd as they catch sight of the hatchling sleeping against me. Warwick’s brother matches my pace, his curious eyes roving over the bite marks and scaling on my shoulders. My skin prickles under his scrutiny; it feels like I’m being dissected under a microscope.
I want to strike him with lightning, I think, my jaw tensing. The overhead lights cast heavy shadows on the stage floor, adding to the tension coiling in my stomach.
‘Mate? Why are you uneasy?’Klauth’s voice slips into my mind just as we reach our designated positions at the front.
‘Warwick’s brother has a staring problem. It makes my scales crawl.’I can almost feel Klauth’s protective instincts stir.‘Make Abraxis move closer. Maybe the male will get the hint. If not, you can give it to him personally.’My gaze leaves the sleeping hatchling and shifts to meet Klauth’s, then slides over to Abraxis. I see the moment he receives Klauth’s message; his posture changes, and he prowls closer.
The ceremony begins, and an elder’s voice drones on about the significance of a first son: ancient rites, lineage, and tradition swirl in the stale air. My attention drifts until I feel Cora motion to take back her hatchling. The minute she lifts him from my arms, he rouses with a jolt—chirping and flailing in panic. The flutter of his small wings against her chest sets my nerves on edge.
“The little one needs to take its human form,” the elder announces, the timbre of his voice echoing through the hall. One by one, the grandparents try to coax the shift, but the hatchling thrashes in protest, high-pitched squeals echoing off the stage floor.
Cora passes the hatchling to Warwick; he too fails, frustration etched in the tight lines of his jaw. The little one remains stubborn, its black scales quivering with either fear or discomfort.
‘It will shift for you, mate. You are the dominant dragoness in the room.’Klauth’s certainty resonates through our bond.
I swallow, drawing in a deep breath of the incense-scented air. My heart pounds with anticipation as I step forward. “May I?” I ask, extending my arms. Cerce hands me the hatchling, who immediately stills against my palms. The gathered witnesses look on in silence, tension practically crackling like static.
I shift my eyes to the tiny dragon in my hands. There’s a spreading warmth coursing through me, guided by my dragoness’s instincts. Gently, I roll the hatchling onto its back and stare down at it,lowering my voice to a low, resonant tone. “Shift, little one. You are safe. I will burn the world to ash to protect you.”
There’s a palpable energy in the air, a subtle vibration that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Then, in the blink of an eye, the hatchling dissolves into a chunky baby boy. The smell of newborn skin—sweet and slightly milky—washes over me as I hold him.
His hair is black as midnight, and the eyes peering up at me have the same golden hue as Abraxis and Cora. “Welcome to the world, little one,” I whisper, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead and placing him gently back into his mother’s arms. Cora’s tears glisten in the stage lights, relief radiating from every shaky breath she takes.
The elder resumes talking, droning on about ancient bloodlines and the power in their lineage. His words seem distant as I look over at the audience to spot Klauth. He’s holding the silk purse that contains Thauglor—an ancestor set to hatch soon, though no one else here is aware.
I shift my gaze to my nephew as the elder dabs anointing oil on his tiny forehead. Cora beams down at her son, and I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. Twice now, I’ve done what the others couldn’t—first saving Cora and her egg, and now guiding her son’s shift. The tension in the hall lifts, replaced by an undercurrent of awe.
Today, I decide, is a good day indeed.
CHAPTER 10
Callan
Beingone of the non-dragons in the nest is tough. Even before I step off the dais, I can feel the tension rolling through the cavernous hall. Torchlight flickers across the stone walls, throwing twisted shadows that seem to gape and stretch like hungry mouths. The air is thick with the scent of heated scales and old incense—acrid and smoky, clinging to the back of my throat.
From what Klauth told us, when Mina got the hatchling to shift, she was acknowledged as the strongest dragoness in the den. A hush settles over the crowd the moment she turns her back. My heartbeat throbs in my ears as I watch everyone lean in, their whispers darting beneath the torchlight like darting serpents.
The amount of scales across her shoulders is unheard of in the current day—glinting under the smoky torchlight, a mesmerizing patch of iridescence. More and more heads swivel in her direction. The whispers spread, a low ripple of speculation and awe. I glance at Klauth; the pride in his expression all but radiates off of him like heat from a forge.
“Mina is going to be pissed,” I whisper to Klauth, forcing the words out past the dryness in my mouth. My palms feel clammy, and I rub them against my thighs. “She doesn’t like being spoken about.”
“She is being recognized as the strongest dragoness in the room. How is this not a good thing?” Klauth tilts his head, confusion etched across his features. The ambient hum of the crowd crescendos behind us, and I catch the faint smell of spiced wine on someone’s breath nearby.
“They are looking at her as breeding stock,” I explain. My voice comes out more bitter than I intend. “Abraxis is a feared general, Mina a powerful dragoness in her own right.” The weight of these facts sits like a stone in my gut, and I notice how the color drains from Klauth’s face.
Abraxis returns, his formidable silhouette cutting through the torch lit haze. There’s a tension in the set of his shoulders, and when he looks at the crowd, his eyes blaze with unadulterated rage. I swear I can feel the heat of his fury radiating across the distance. He hears the whispers too, and he roars at the gathering, the sound vibrating through my ribcage. Some onlookers flinch, and a wave of murmurs follows.
“My mate is not breeding stock,” he bellows, voice echoing off the high-arched ceiling. I see the color drain from Mina’s face, but there’s a spark of defiance in her eyes as well.
Vox wisely ushers Mina off the stage and out of sight. Her retreating form, with those shimmering scales glinting under the torchlight, burns into my vision. I grab Klauth’s hand and drag him along, weaving through the press of bodies. The rest of the nest follows close behind, leaving Abraxis to deal with the masses. The crowd parts for us, some stepping back warily, as though afraid to brush against the tension clinging to us.
