Page 51 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg
In the dim light of the nest, every sound—the soft shuffle of feet, the whisper of fabric, and the distant hum of anxious conversation—reminds me that tonight, nothing is as it seems.
I watchas what feels like hours pass before Mina finally steps back from the easel in our living room. Her paint stained fingers lingering on the intricate details of the image she’s been working on. The dim lamplight casts long, wavering shadows across the room, mingling with the pungent aroma of turpentine and oil paint. She tilts her head slowly, her eyes locked on the stark portrait of Thauglor’s side. The soft, rhythmic murmur of her concentration fills the quiet space with a hypnotic cadence.
“Hmm…” she breathes. The sound is barely more than a soft hum. It’s as if she is deciphering secrets hidden within the canvas.
Before she can add more, I step up silently behind her. Feeling the gentle rustle of her clothing against my arms, I pull her close until her back nestles against the steady warmth of my chest. “What’s puzzling you?” I ask in a low, steady tone, my voice barely disturbing the still air.
Her eyes remain fixed on the canvas, dark and searching. “I’m guessing Thauglor digs down to where I am,” she replies, her tone threaded with a quiet challenge as she narrows her eyes to scrutinize the image. In that moment, a subtle inner fire ignites in her gaze. I can almost feel the electric tension as her fingers twitch with restless energy.
Without missing a beat, Ziggy moves swiftly—the soft scuff of his shoes on the creaking wooden floor punctuating his actions—as he sets up another canvas. Together, we help Mina settle back onto the worn stool she’d been occupying. The room is alive with the gentle rustle of movement, underscored by the distant clink of glass from the kitchen, merging into the constant, underlying hum of our home.
Now, her pencil dances across the surface of the new canvas, each delicate scratch whispering a burst of creativity. She sketches what appears to be a gaping maw on the side. The jagged teeth of a dragon rendered with chilling precision, glistening as though still slick with saliva, each stroke vivid against the pale, almost ghostly background. A spray of green, thick and viscous in texture, bursts from the maw on the canvas.
The next strokes bring forth the image of a basilisk, its contorted form twisting as it lunges at the dragon. Its flesh depicted in agonizing drips, as if melting away under unseen pressure. On the far side, Mina’s delicate rendering of her own dragon reveals a solitary wing flared out protectively, like a living shield deflecting the corrosive spray.
I can almost feel the heat in the way Abraxis asks, “Why endanger your wing?” The question hangs in the charged air like a whispered challenge.
We watch, entranced, as she adds the final delicate details to the canvas. When she finally sets down her pencil—with a soft, final click against the wooden easel—she tilts her head once more.
“Where am I?” Balor asks, his tone a curious blend of intrigue and caution as he studies the melting form of the basilisk, his eyes narrowing in thoughtful appraisal.
“Under my wing on the other side,” Mina replies softly, her voice carrying a distant, echoing quality that seems to reverberate off the living room walls. “My scales are impervious to acid damage. And the leather of my wings—laced with tiny scales—shares that resistance.” Slowly, she turns to face Balor, and I catch a flicker of understanding in his eyes as the lamplight softens his features.
“So I save you and then you save me? Sounds good,” Balor jokes, his voice light and teasing as the tension momentarily dissolves.
“Yeah, and Thauglor saves both of us,” she adds. Her hand slips down to the leather of the egg carrier nestled beneath her breasts. “Lysander and the elders are pissed that I hid the fact that Klauth hatched. I made them look like fools, handing them his empty egg as if it had simply gone dormant.” Her gaze drops to the floor, and her voice softens, laden with regret.
Before I can respond, Klauth interjects with a smooth, authoritative tone as he retrieves a crisp, folded letter from the inner pocket of his impeccably tailored jacket. “The grand council has recalled the elders and is putting them on trial for crimes against dragon kind. The King is having both them and the headmaster investigated.” His words cut through the murmurs in the room, and his smirk—sharp and precise—serves as a cold reminder of the power he wields.Behind that smirk, I know he is not only the King but also the master puppeteer of our household.
“I’d say the King is making a wise move investigating the corruption in our midst,” I remark, accepting the letter with steady hands as I scan the list of crimes printed in stark, unyielding type. The words leap off the page—chief among them the charge of forcing females through both gauntlets. It’s a practice that blatantly contradicts the original tenets of our guidelines.
“There are fewer and fewer females being born each year across the board,” I note, my voice low and measured as I hand the crinkling letter back.
“Just this past year, most of the deaths were female,” Abraxis states, his tone thick with disgust that seems to reverberate in the heavy air.
Klauth’s eyes shift slowly from Abraxis to Mina, his gaze hard and calculating as he recalls, “On the original draft for the house guidelines, females were exempt from the gauntlets—except for Shadowcarve.” The room seems to quiet further, as if the very air is holding its breath at his words.
“Yeah, we see how well that worked out,” Mina practically snarls, her tone biting. “I’m not like the others—I was trained for it.” She exhales, a heavy sound laden with conflicting emotions, and her gaze drops once more. “I don’t want to be a weapon.” Her eyes follow the shifting interplay of shadows and light on her hands, now transformed into talons that gleam with razor-sharp precision. “But I am a weapon of my father’s creation.” The glint of her talons is both beautiful and terrifying in its unwavering clarity.
With fluid ease, I shift into my gargoyle form, my body contorting in a way that feels both natural and alien, and scoop Mina into my arms. I wrap my expansive wings around us in a protective embrace. Their soft, rhythmic rustling acting like a comforting lullaby thatsoothes her instantly. Whether under my care or Abraxis’s, she finds solace in the gentle embrace of our wings.
“Shhh. You can be whatever it is you desire to be. We’ll make it happen, Mina. You want to be a general—I’m sure the King would have some say in that,” I murmur, a gentle laugh escaping my lips as I watch her reaction. “I’m sure there’s a way you can sweet-talk him into it.” My words carry a promise of certainty amid the dark uncertainty that surrounds us.
Mina giggles from within the cocoon of my wings—a delicate, almost musical sound that momentarily softens the room’s tension. She peeks out to glance at Klauth, whose eyebrow arches in silent amusement, before ducking back down; her laughter echoes softly. “Oh, I know the exact thing to do … I’d rather be a tactician than a general. Most generals are assholes.”
Abraxis nearly chokes on his drink at her remark—the clink of glass punctuating the moment as he coughs. “She nailed that one on the head,” Callan declares, his booming voice underscored by a hearty slap on Abraxis’s back, the sound resonating in the charged air.
Mina pops her head out from beneath my wings once more, her eyes twinkling with playful mischief. “You know, you were in asshole mode until Klauth hatched,” she teases, wiggling a finger at him with a lighthearted precision. “Don’t pretend you weren’t. We know the truth.” Her voice blends humor with challenge, the words hanging in the space between us.
“Fine, I was an asshole—anything else?” Abraxis smirks, his eyes dancing with mischief as he meets her gaze, the banter a welcome distraction from the heavier matters at hand.
“Demanding, angry, controlling, anxious, and…” Mina begins, then suddenly freezes, her breath catching as a slow, knowing smirk curves her lips. “Lysander is on his way to the nest,” she announces, the words dropping like a whispered prophecy into the heavy air.
In a heartbeat, she slips out from under my protective wings and seizes Abraxis and Ziggy with confident precision. “We’ll be back,” she declares, her voice firm and decisive, and in an instant, they vanish to attend to their tasks back in Malivore. They leave behind only the echo of their departure mingled with the lingering aroma of turpentine.
I exchange a glance with Klauth and Balor, the tension in the room growing ever more palpable as shadows lengthen. “What do you think that’s all about?” I ask, my voice laced with a quiet curiosity that resonates in the stillness.
“Probably he’s trying to figure out why Mina hid I hatched. With her being queen, she doesn’t have to answer him. Hell, she could kill him the second he steps into her nest—as only a dragon would,” Klauth remarks, his voice a blend of playful mischief and grim determination as he pours himself two fingers’ worth of whiskey. The amber liquid catches the light—a silent testament to the gravity of our circumstances.
