Chapter 41 #2
With heavy footfalls, Lykor stalked into the nursery, the temperature dipping with every stride.
His glare swept through the heat, snagging on Serenna where she knelt, then skimmed past Cinderax without a flicker of acknowledgment.
But the sight of Fenn sprawled in the sand—flicking fireballs while Vasharax leapt after them with throaty chirps—pulled a curl of irritation across his lip.
Serenna ignored Lykor as his shadow fell over her, letting the remaining threads of lightning dissipate before rising to face him.
Armor creaked as Lykor folded his arms. “Jassyn’s been negotiating with prisoners for days, and you’re here playing lizard brood-mother?”
Serenna sniffed, brushing grit from her palms. “Forgive me,” she said, cooling her tone. “I didn’t realize my schedule required your approval. Shall I have Fenn send a dispatch the next time I set foot beyond the palace?”
“Jassyn asked for your presence,” Lykor clipped instead of answering, biting each word in half.
The retort Serenna had readied stalled on her tongue. “Why?”
“Because,” Lykor ground out, “he’s with Daeryn and the magus, sifting through the king’s forces we dragged from the Maw.
Some might be salvageable to our cause. If they’re worth the trouble.
” A pulse of frost crackled through the sand beneath his boots.
“Most are like you—elven-blooded—and Jassyn wants you there.”
“And you thought storming in here and barking orders was the best delivery method?”
“You’ve wasted enough time in this cavern,” Lykor growled.
“I’m not wasting anything.”
Serenna held his stare, refusing to let hers stray toward Fenn—who was still tumbling with Vasharax in the sand, making their presence look like idle play.
“I’m fulfilling Skylash’s bargain,” she continued, “by shaping these Unbound hatchlings into Stormstrikes.”
Lykor straightened, interest narrowing to a knife’s point. He tipped his head, eyes flaring as he studied the eggs.
Cinderax chuffed low and Lykor’s jaw flexed before he spoke again. The bite in his voice dropped to something almost luring and Serenna heard the calculation behind it. “How do you do that?”
She flexed her fingers, letting a spark skitter to life along her knuckles. “Cinderax said our druid power can steer them toward an element.”
She flicked the static at Lykor, violet strands crackling through the air. He bared his fangs, scales surging over his forearms before frost sheathed the plates. The lightning struck, hissing across the ice before scattering.
But he ignored the provocation and shouldered past her, planting himself over the clutch as though claiming the sand beneath his boots.
“I want half as Tidecrashers,” he said. No glance her way, just the flat, possessive weight of his attention on the eggs.
Serenna flung up her hands. First Skylash, now him. “Stars, is everyone lining up to make demands of me now?”
She shoved into the narrow space between him and the clutch, refusing to cede an inch. “No. I gave my word to Skylash. I won’t risk her fury by turning only a few.”
Lykor’s lip curled, cold peeling off him like exhaled frost. “And you’ve convinced yourself that she won’t turn you inside out the moment she gets what she wants?”
“I’m not stealing from a promise I already made,” Serenna snapped.
Lykor’s nostrils flared, his gaze flicking down briefly to Cinderax at their feet before pinning back on her.
“And what of balance? Kaedryn speaks of it like prophecy. If we have the power to mold these dragons, we should. Tidecrashers have a different advantage than Stormstrikes and Emberharts.” He stooped to her level, the sneer in his voice scraping the air between them.
“Surely I don’t need to spell out the strategy for you. ”
Serenna dragged in a slow breath as her beastblood writhed at the challenge. Curling her hands at her sides, she refused the far more satisfying path of letting them find his throat. She hated his bluntness and the undeniability of his logic. But that didn’t make the choice any less volatile.
Skylash’s spark thrummed beneath her ribs, wild and unpredictable as the tempest herself. To bend her vow now felt like casting fire into oil and pretending it wouldn’t erupt.
And yet…Lykor might be right. If she forced herself to look ahead with his ruthlessness instead of fear.
Still, Serenna lifted her chin. “Then ask. And we can discuss it. But don’t barge in here with your demands. The eggs are my responsibility. Not yours.”
“We must see past this coming war,” Cinderax rumbled at last. “To ensure what endures beyond it.”
Serenna nodded, the concession settling heavy across her shoulders.
Yielding even a few eggs to Lykor could shatter Skylash’s fragile goodwill before the true battle ever touched the horizon.
But in the end, Veyrix’s freedom might be a force strong enough to keep their alliance with her from crumbling.
“Four,” Serenna said. “You can claim four as Tidecrashers. The rest will be Stormstrikes.”
Let Skylash rage if she must—if she even knew how many eggs there were. Serenna would face her wrath when the time came.
Lykor’s shoulders twitched, but whatever argument burned behind his eyes cooled. “Four, then,” he muttered, lifting his palm. Water rose in a ripple above his fingers, glistening in the sunlight. “How do I do it?”
Serenna knelt beside the nearest egg and gestured for him to join her. Warmed sand cradled her knees, the spark in her chest stirring in an anticipatory pulse.
“You offer a path,” she said, coaxing lightning forward as her hand touched the shell. “And trust the dragon to choose how to rise.”