Page 72 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg
“Klauth, is she doing what I think she’s doing with him?” I ask, nodding toward the way she cradles Thauglor’s egg, my heart skipping a beat at the implications.
Klauth moves closer, his eyes fixed on her as if she were a work of art, his voice low and almost reverent. “I’ll be damned. She’s sharing her sight with him.”
“What else can our mate do because of being bonded with you?” I ask, my eyes darting between Mina and Klauth, my mind reeling with the possibilities.
He smiles, a dark, knowing curl of his lips. “I’m not sure. She’s the first of her kind, and as far as I know, I am the only great wyrm on either continent at the moment.” He rests a hand on Mina’s shoulder, then abruptly tilts his head upward, as if listening to a distant voice. “Thauglor is teaching her more about what black dragons are capable of.” He withdraws his hand and scans our group, his gaze sharp and commanding. “We need to find out what Vox uncovers from your tactician. In the meantime, all hands are on guard for Mina.”
Klauth turns to leave, shaking hands with Balor and Ziggy as if sealing our fates, the weight of the moment pressing down on us all. Their duty is clear: one might turn the world to stone, the other whisk her away in seconds. Either way, Mina will be safe, even as the shadows of impending danger loom ever closer.
CHAPTER 40
Mina
The crisp mountainair fills my lungs as I survey the outpost that Abraxis usually commands. War games will begin in just a few short weeks. I’ve been sent here to ensure everything is in order. The rough stone walls of the compound loom around me, their jagged edges softened by the pale morning light. Balor stands at my side, his presence a solid comfort, while Ziggy trails slightly behind us as we tour the facility.
I’ve met most of the troops stationed here on a consistent basis, their faces a mix of familiar and new. The scent of leather and steel mingles with the earthy aroma of the surrounding forest as we walk. Abraxis’s second-in-command, a grizzled dragonian with piercing amber eyes, is more than willing to listen to my instructions. He witnessed firsthand the destruction I caused when I finally unleashed my breath weapon, and a glimmer of respect shines in his gaze.
Many of Abraxis’s men inquire about the General’s well-being, their voices laced with genuine concern. I thank them, my words carefully chosen as I weave the story that he’s working closely with the king asthe new supreme general of the Aurelian army. They don’t need to know the extent of his injuries. It’s none of their business to know how vulnerable he truly is.
I pore over the list of troops assigned to the outpost, the parchment rough beneath my fingertips as I set up several formations for them. My notes detail the reasons for each formation, the ink smudging slightly as I press the pen to the page. I refuse to take any chances, meticulously reviewing the whys and when’s of each strategic move. The only factor I hadn’t accounted for is the massive earth dragon stationed here—the oldest drake, nearing wyrm status. His scales are a deep brown, like the bark of an ancient oak, and his eyes hold a wisdom that commands respect. He takes the time to explain his capabilities, and I listen intently, absorbing every detail.
With this new information, I amend the plans already in place, making him the focus of the compound’s defensive line. His scales may rival even my own in strength, so holding him back until the end is the wisest course of action.
“How are you holding up?” Balor asks, his voice low and gentle as he guides me back into the planning room. The diorama of the area sits on a large table, the landscape meticulously crafted to mimic the surrounding terrain.
Once we’re inside, Ziggy closes the door behind him, the latch clicking softly. “Currently, I’m fine,” I say, my gaze fixed on the diorama. I trace my fingers over the miniature buildings, feeling the smooth wood beneath my skin.
“But?” Ziggy prompts, his tone knowing. I freeze, my hand hovering over the tiny replica of the outpost.
“You’re taking after Leander, you know that?” I force a smile, but it feels brittle on my lips. I glance at Ziggy before placing colored pins on the field, marking troop positions and potential threats. “I don’t believe Abraxis will ever be able to fly and fight like he used to.” Myhand trembles as I set the next few pins, the metal cool against my skin.
“What makes you say that?” Balor’s question hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken concern.
I move to the whiteboard, the marker squeaking softly as I draw a basic wing structure. When I finish, I point to the main flight muscle stretching from the shoulder to the base of the wing. “This muscle...it’s missing a sizable chunk,” I say, my voice wavering. I clear my throat, trying to steady myself. “Without it, flight is nearly impossible. That’s not to say he can’t strengthen the accessory muscles to compensate, but...” My words trail off as I adjust the drawing to reflect the damage.
Balor and Ziggy step forward, their eyes examining the diagram with grim understanding. “I see what you mean,” Ziggy murmurs. “That’s a significant portion of muscle to lose.”
I turn to face him, meeting his vibrant green gaze head-on. “I need you to take Abraxis anywhere he needs to go. He cannot be seen as weak. They’ll kill him—especially if another drake tries to force its way into our nest.” My words are sharp, tinged with desperation.
Balor nods slowly, his expression somber. “Basilisks do the same—eliminate a weak male to claim the female,” he says, his eyes dark with understanding.
“Will Klauth or Thauglor protect him?” Ziggy asks, a flicker of hope in his voice.
I shake my head, my hair brushing against my cheeks. “Dragons believe only the strong survive. It’s against the dragon codex to interfere in a dominance challenge. I can’t intervene either. It would only make Abraxis appear weaker if his mate has to step in.” A heavy sigh escapes my lips, the weight of the situation pressing down on my chest.
But then, a thought strikes me, and I slowly turn to face Balor, one eyebrow arched. “You...you could fight in his place if a challenge arises. Basilisks are part of the dragon family. You can accept the challenge on his behalf.” A laugh bubbles up from my throat, a glimmer of hope sparking in my heart.
“That smile is concerning,” Balor says, a wary edge to his voice.
“Not everyone is immune to your stone gaze,” I remind him, a wry smile tugging at my lips.
“Where’s Thauglor?” Ziggy asks, curiosity coloring his tone.
“Klauth has him,” I reply, a hint of amusement in my voice. “Abraxis is at the hot springs, letting the water take some of the weight off his wing, while Leander tries to help him stretch the muscles.” I’ve made it clear to everyone in my flight that what happens within the nest stays strictly within the nest.
I return my attention to the diorama, my gaze roving over the intricate details. I’ve done all I can to prepare the outpost. The troops have their orders and contingency plans in case the situation changes on the fly, as it so often does. “Ziggy, take us home, please.”
In a heartbeat, we’re back in the Risedale nest, the familiar scents of home wrapping around me like a comforting embrace. But my mind is torn, pulled in countless directions. Do I go to Abraxis, offering what comfort I can? Do I seek out my other mates, trying to steal a few precious moments with them? And always, the looming shadow of the war games hangs over everything, a constant reminder of the challenges to come.
