Page 36 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg
A cold sensation creeps into my skull as my eyes shift into their basilisk form. My tone drops, taking on a resonant hum that vibrates in my chest. “Who hired you to shoot the female?”
His eyes go vacant in seconds. Blood trickles from his lower lip as he mumbles, “Demi hired me to kill the future queen.”
“Does anyone else know the future queen’s identity?” I press, tension coiling in my gut.
“No,” he whispers, breath hitching. “Word got out that the future royal family is training in the temple. A priestess named Elain leaked it.”
I glance at Ziggy, who disappears without a word—likely off to tell Hellen or settle the priestess matter himself. I don’t particularly care which; the priesthood handles their own, and I have no sympathy for those who betray us.
Turning back to the fire drake, my fangs extend, and I sink them into his shoulder. My necrotic venom floods his bloodstream, guaranteeing he’ll rot from the inside out. He thrashes and howls as his flesh sizzles beneath my teeth. My nostrils fill with the stench of decay, and I watch impassively; he nearly killed the one I love.
Moments later, Ziggy reappears in a rush of displaced air. He looks at the convulsing prisoner, then at me. “Ready?”
I nod, stepping away from the doomed fire drake. Ziggy folds time and space around us, the dungeon dissolving into a swirl of darkness.
When reality solidifies again, we’re standing in the restructured courtyard of the Risedale nest. The raw scent of fresh mortar and newly cut stone mingles with the crisp air. I spot Mina on the back of Callan’s gryphon, her eyes bright as she surveys the upgrades. Shecradles a baby in her arms, Thauglor’s carrier strapped securely to her back.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, keeping my voice gentle as the Callan pads closer.
“Better. Have you seen Cora’s baby up close?” Mina’s voice is soft, and she nuzzles the child, her dragoness purring deep in her chest.
“Not yet.” I step closer, the baby’s sweet, milky scent replacing the bitter tang of the dungeon in my nose. “He’s a sturdy little man. What’s his name?” I press my forehead gently to Mina’s arm, relieved to see her safe and whole.
“William.” Her eyes glimmer with tears she refuses to shed. “Cora named him after me.”
A gentle warmth spreads through my chest, chasing away lingering anger. “That’s a fine name for him. He’s named after his very strong aunt.” Mina leans in, her lips brushing mine in a tender kiss. The darkness from before fades a little more. I help her slip off of Callan’s back.
“It’s times like this I want my own,” she murmurs, gaze drifting down to the baby’s chubby cheeks. “A whole nest of babies, everywhere. But we’re not safe yet, and I still have to finish school.” She sighs, a slight tremor in her shoulders.
“As soon as it’s safe,” I promise, helping her dismount from Callan’s gryphon with care, “we’ll give you as many eggs as you want.” A wry chuckle escapes me. “Until then, practice makes perfect.”
A pretty blush warms her cheeks as she glances up at me. “I fully endorse that idea,” she whispers, slipping her arm around my waist as we head inside to the lower living quarters.
The Risedale nest looks nothing like it did during Mina’s first yearly as a dragoness. New corridors branch off from the main tunnel, linedwith softly glowing lanterns. Reinforced stone arches overhead, making the place feel vast and secure.
“How do you like the changes?” Klauth asks, stepping out of a room down the hall.
“It looks amazing. Are my gardens intact?” Mina’s teeth catch her bottom lip, worry etched in her brow.
Callan chuckles. “Come and see.”
We pass Cora, who takes her baby back from Mina, then continue on to a set of wrought-iron bars that seal off the gardens. A faint breeze carries the scent of growing herbs and damp earth. Klauth unlocks the gate, and we follow Mina inside.
“I expanded your poison herb garden,” I say, nodding toward a larger section where exotic plants sway in a breeze that filters through a natural vent above.
Mina’s expression lights up. “I see that. It looks terrific.” She slips past the gate, running her fingertips over the leaves.
Abraxis trails behind us. “To think she started tending this garden at about six or seven years old,” he comments quietly.
“It’s insane, the things her father put her through,” Callan mutters, his voice grave as we watch Mina tend a cluster of dark purple blossoms.
In the far corner, three metal rods stab up from the ground like silent sentinels. I raise an eyebrow. “Do I even want to know what those are for?”
“Abaddon, Lysander, and Arista,” Klauth says simply, his smile cold. “I promised Mina their heads would end up on pikes.”
Mina glances over. “If my visions are accurate, Dad dies as his dragon, so a pike won’t work.” She points to a natural skylightoverhead. “But dropping his cleaned skull through that hole? That might be satisfying.”
“I’ll make a bigger pike,” Klauth replies, eyeing the rods speculatively.
