Page 27 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg
The elder priestess circles Mina like an art collector examining a masterpiece, her gaze lingering on each patch of scales. I hear the faint rustle of her robes against the polished floor, and the air feels heavy with impending judgment. The cut of Mina’s dress also exposes the mate bites each of us has left on her, the small crescent scars shining faintly under the shifting light.
A hush falls over us as we wait for the priestess to speak again. My pulse thrums, and the cool air of the temple seems to press in on all sides. Though I can barely breathe, I force myself to remain still, my gaze locked on Mina. Every sense is heightened—every sound, every flicker of light—and all I can think is that the next few moments may define our fates forever.
The polished marble floors reflect dancing torchlight, casting flickering shapes across the ancient stone walls. I catch a faint hum of distant chanting—priestesses praying, perhaps—though the hush in this chamber is almost tangible, as if the space itself is waiting for a verdict.
“Who is the dominant drake?” the elder priestess asks, her voice echoing in the stillness. The timbre of her words resonates against my chest, sending a slight quiver through me.
“Klauth,” Mina says without hesitation.
“Klauth is imprisoned, never to take to the skies again,” the priestess asserts confidently, her tone reverberating in the silence.
“Yet I stand before you,” Klauth says calmly as he moves beside Mina and raises her left hand. The soft rasp of their clothes brushing together makes my pulse spike. “My mate wears the signet ring of my family as proof of who I am.”
The priestess takes Mina’s hand. I hear the faint clink of her ornate bracelets as she lifts Mina’s fingers toward her gaze. She snaps her own fingers, and the sudden sound makes me jolt. A scribe steps out of a dark corridor—his footsteps tapping lightly on the stone floor—carrying an immense tome bound in cracked leather. The pages rustle as the priestess flips through them, the dry whisper blending with the quiet flicker of torches.
She brings Mina’s hand closer to the book. “The ring is the signet ring of King Klauth Ragnar, the high king of the Marzana Empire.” I watch torchlight dance across the polished gold of the ring. The priestess and her companion lower themselves to one knee, the metallic echo of jewelry touching stone sending a sudden chill through me.
My heart pounds in my chest at the implications. Klauth has exposed himself so the nest can be verified—taking a significant risk by doing this now. The tension in the air is thick enough that I can almost taste it, a metallic tang against the back of my tongue. The priestesses all bow to Klauth and now Mina as well.
“Please rise. Let us finish what we have come here to do.” Klauth extends his hand to the elder priestess. The material of his dress jacket rustles softly when she accepts, and he helps her to stand.
“My future queen, what is the name of the drake that sired you?” the elder priestess asks, turning to Mina. I sense Mina’s hesitation before I see it. There’s a subtle stiffening in her posture, and I notice the small scales shifting at the back of her neck, a sign of her discomfort.
“Abaddon Bladesong of the Risedale nest,” Mina says, her voice clipped and tense.
“And the female that bore your egg?” The elder priestess tilts her head, and the scribe’s quill scratches faintly against parchment as he readies to transcribe her response.
“Layla Laraunt of what was the Tyr nest. She was the last female born of the iron dragons there,” Mina answers quietly, her weight shifting nervously. A waft of the musty air moves past us, carrying the subdued scent of old ink and parchment.
“Yes, it was sad what happened to that nest,” the priestess says under her breath, as if recalling a distant tragedy. She steps away from Mina and moves to Abraxis. Her robes sweep the floor with a soft, dragging sound that sets my teeth on edge. “Who is the drake that sired you?”
“Vox Havock of the Blackhaven nest. The female that bore me is Cerce Aslaug of the Freyja nest. She is a bronze dragon–red dragon mix,” Abraxis replies, bowing slightly. The torchlight catches the proud tilt of his jaw, illuminating the faint gleam of his obsidian wings and horns.
I notice the priestess doesn’t question Klauth’s lineage—no one dares to doubt the legitimacy of a legendary line so long thought dead. A hushed reverence hangs in the air at the mere mention of his ancestry.
“Very good. I will take the female with me. My priestesses will take each male and separate you from each other. They will gather all the needed information, and then you wait for Mina to summon you to prove the bond.” The elder priestess gestures for Mina to step forward, but Mina remains rooted in place, her gaze locked on Klauth. I can almost feel her trepidation rolling off her like a wave of heat.
“Go with her, my treasure. You will be safe.” The minute he speaks, she nods, a subtle relaxation in her stance, and then moves to follow the priestess. Her footsteps are soft but resonate in the hush as she departs, the tension in the room easing just a fraction.
Klauth steps closer to us, his voice a low rumble. “They were testingif her claim of me being the dominant drake was true. Thankfully, she waited for me to tell her it was safe to follow them.”
A wave of apprehension twists my stomach. I know everything from here on will be a test of our nest’s strength. The priestesses approach, dividing us with purposeful steps. Each of us looks at Klauth, waiting for his nod of approval. When it’s my turn, I bow to him—heart still pounding from the surging adrenaline—then follow the priestess down a dimly lit corridor leading to places unknown. The scents of damp stone and ancient parchment accompany me, along with the echo of my own uneasy footsteps.
CHAPTER 15
Mina
I trailbehind the priestess and the scribe down the corridor, the echo of our footsteps hushed by thick sandstone walls. The air is cool and dry, carrying with it the faint scent of old parchment and dusty stone. My nostrils flare slightly, inhaling that soothing sandstone smell—it’s comforting in a strange way, yet it does little to quell the tight knot of worry in my stomach. Maybe verifying the bond wasn’t such a good idea after all.
We enter another room lit by the flickering glow of enchanted sconces, their light dancing across worn, ancient murals. The scribe’s robes rustle softly as he steps forward. I’m uncomfortably aware of how every noise—every breath—seems amplified in this silent, hallowed space.
“The first thing we are going to do is record all the mate bites and locations,” the priestess says, her voice low and resonant as she motions for me to sit on a simple wooden stool. The seat is cold against my thighs, and I suppress a small shiver.
“Gryphons don’t bite, they use their talons,” I say softly, watching the scribe circle around me. I can feel the subtle brush of his robes ashe inspects each mark, and the scratch of his quill against parchment sets my nerves on edge. My skin prickles where his gaze lingers.
“Which drake made this bite?” he asks, using the feather end of his quill to gently tap the front of my throat. The soft bristles tickle, but the spot still throbs faintly, reminding me of Abraxis’s sharp teeth and his possessive nature.
“Abraxis,” I answer, tilting my head up to give him a better view. My hair shifts over my shoulders, releasing a whiff of lavender oil from earlier bathing rituals.
