17. Mina
Mina
My leathers don’t fit right. They’re too loose, hanging off me like a secondhand costume rather than a well-worn suit of armor. Maybe I let my grief consume me, like Addy suggested. The thought stings as I adjust my jacket and climb the stairs, my boots making hollow thuds against the worn wood. The distant murmur of voices draws me in—heated, tense—each word sharpening as I get closer. Ziggy, Balor, and Callan are huddled in the office, in the middle of a fierce discussion.
“How in the world are you going to give the final with one student?” Balor’s voice is almost a constant hiss, his irritation palpable in the air.
“We can pick a second year for her to spar with.” Ziggy’s suggestion comes out as a reluctant murmur, like he’s walking on glass.
My fingers curl around the handle, and I push the door open, the creak loud in the sudden silence as all three males turn toward me. I pin each of them with a glare, one by one, letting the weight of my frustration bleed into the room .
“Should I just run the gauntlet again since my final seems to be such an issue?” I cross my arms under my chest and feel the leather bunch awkwardly. It’s a reminder of how much I’ve changed, of how fragile I must look in their eyes now. The memory of sleepless nights and unspoken grief ghosts over me.
All three males freeze, staring at me as if I’ve sprouted a second set of horns. Before anyone can speak, Abraxis steps up behind me. His presence is a dark, calming weight at my back, and when his arms wrap around me, I lean into him despite the tension. He pulls me against his broad chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding me.
“What does the final usually entail?” Abraxis’s voice is a low rumble, and he nuzzles the side of my head, mindful of my horns. The simple gesture, so mundane for us, seems to leave the others even more off-balance.
“Um, stealth, speed, agility, and combat skills,” Callan finally offers, his voice uncertain.
“Stealth, speed, and agility are in Ziggy’s wheelhouse,” I reply, arching a brow as I look at Callan. “Combat is in this one’s wheelhouse,” I add, jerking my thumb over my shoulder at Abraxis, “or yours, Callan.”
It shouldn’t be this complicated, yet here we are. The males exchange looks, and the uncertainty in their gazes makes something in my chest twist. They’re not making this difficult on purpose—they’re genuinely worried.
“You’re willing to work with me again?” Ziggy asks, rubbing the back of his neck in that nervous habit of his, the one he thinks hides his anxiety. It doesn’t .
I huff out a breath and step away from Abraxis’s comforting hold. “You all meant well,” I say softly, making eye contact with each of them. “The execution sucked horribly, but you meant well. Your hearts were in the right place.”
It’s difficult for me to acknowledge that. The hurt is still raw, the betrayal of being kept in the dark, of being treated like something fragile that needed to be handled with care. But they meant well.
“Just being a Bladesong has painted a giant target on me from the moment I drew my first breath. I keep forgetting how feared my dad is because he never brought his work home. I never saw just how dangerous he is.” I shake my head and laugh, the sound bitter. “Don’t get me wrong, he was a slave driver when it came to my training. Four a.m. every morning, running the gauntlet four times. Then each hour after that, we’d spend training with a different weapon, starting with bows and ending with siege weapons.”
The silence that follows is heavy and thick, like the air before a storm. The males are staring at me, shock painting their faces. “He did what?” Abraxis is the first to break the silence. His voice is strangled with disbelief.
Before I can respond, Callan stands, his expression hardening as something flickers in his gaze—understanding, maybe. “That explains a lot. What about the training with poisons?” His eye gleams with a dangerous light, and I catch the gold of his griffin rising in it.
“After we finished with the six to eight weapons he wanted to focus on for the day,” I say matter-of-factly, because that’s what it was—a day in my childhood. My every day, actually.
Balor steps forward then, his eyes searching my face, something like misery twisting his features. I don’t know what compels me, but I step closer and wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his chest.
“I missed you too, big guy.” His arms come around me, and he holds me tightly, his chin resting on top of my head like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.
“I hated hiding things from you. With everyone trying to kill you, I didn’t need to paint a bigger target on you,” he murmurs, voice rough as gravel.
I squeeze him back before stepping away, offering him a small smile. “Forgiven. You meant well.” I turn my gaze to Ziggy. “You too. You’re forgiven.” Ziggy visibly relaxes, his shoulders dropping as he finally smiles—really smiles.
“So, the final? What are you going to do, Callan?” I ask, my voice light, teasing even, but all eyes turn to him. And for the first time in this entire conversation, it feels like the tension is lifting. It feels like we’re finally moving forward.
Callan shakes his head, a low chuckle escaping his lips before it grows into full-bodied laughter. It’s unsettling, the sound echoing through the room with an edge that prickles my skin. His eye gleams as he peers at each of us and I have to fight the urge to take a step back. Something about this feels … off.
“My class must be a joke to you. Their specializations too, I imagine.” He scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. “Bloody hell, no wonder you gained entrance to Shadowcarve.”
Callan reaches for the top drawer of his desk, and I catch my breath as he pulls out a thin sheaf of papers. The scent of old parchment and ink drifts between us, almost drowned out by the sharp tang of his suppressed anger. He slaps the stack down in front of him, the sudden motion making me flinch. With a snap of his wrist, he flips the top paper over to reveal a marked exam. A heavy silence descends as he slides it across the polished wood.
“This is my part of the entrance exam,” he explains, his tone flat and void of any humor. “You received a perfect score and pointed out an error I overlooked in the construction of a poison—which, might I add, Balor confirmed you were right about.”
Abraxis leans forward, fingers grazing the edge of the exam before picking it up. His gaze darts over the content, his brows drawing together in concentration, before he lets out a slow breath and passes it to me. The weight of Callan’s eye on me is palpable as I take the paper. The neat lines of text blur momentarily under my stare before coming into focus.
“Dad prepared me to end up here. He went through Shadowcarve, and he wanted me to follow in his footsteps.” I shrug, tracing the path of ink with my finger as if it holds all the answers.
“Did he ever tell you why?” Leander’s voice is a soft rasp against the tension that thickens the air. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze never straying from me.
I shift, setting the papers back down on Callan’s desk, feeling the sudden weight of all their attention on me. “No. What do you know?” I turn my head to face Leander, searching his expression for any hint of what’s to come. His lips curl into a ghost of a smile—one that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Think about it. His firstborn daughter was raised to take over her mother’s flight when the time comes. His second daughter was made into a living siege weapon, complete with a dragon to match.” He tilts his head slightly, studying my reaction as Abraxis paces, his agitation palpable in the restless rhythm of his steps .
“Your sister is married to a gold dragon for political gain,” Leander continues, his voice gaining a sharper edge. “And you were betrothed to your nest’s greatest enemy.”
It feels like the floor shifts beneath my feet. The implications hit like a punch to the gut, and I gasp softly, my heart racing as I whirl to stare out the window. The cold glass offers no solace. I see my reflection staring back at me—wide-eyed, mouth parted in shock—as if even my own image doesn’t recognize what’s happening.
“I am the weapon for you to wield,” I whisper, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. I glance over my shoulder at Abraxis, who stops in his tracks, eyes darkening as he meets my gaze. “Most males force their mates to be whatever they need them to be. But you…” I swallow hard, forcing the next words out. “You want an equal. A partner. I’m not just a weapon.”
Abraxis’ jaw tightens, but he nods slightly, his silence speaking louder than any words could. My gaze shifts to the others, each face etched with a mix of wariness and something else—something raw and uncertain. There’s no relief in their stares, only the deepening realization of what we’re all slowly piecing together.
“What if there’s a war coming that we aren’t aware of?” Callan suggests, his voice dropping to a near whisper as he steps over to the large map on the wall, fingers trailing over the inked lines that define the continent’s borders. “The northern territories are rich in minerals and metals. It’s where I lost my eye during the last war.” His hand lifts, almost unconsciously, brushing over the eyepatch that hides the scar beneath. He cringes, eye flitting back to mine.
“Who lives in the northern territories?” I ask softly, a pit forming in my stomach. “Dad never taught me about anything north of the Velician mountains. ”
My question hangs in the air like a noose tightening around our necks, drawing each of them into a tense, unspoken agreement. One by one, their eyes flicker toward Balor, whose face drains of color. He swallows hard, glancing away before speaking, voice hushed.
“Elves,” he murmurs, voice strained as if it’s being pulled from him. “Manticore skin traders … deep gnomes and drow.”
A chill ripples down my spine. The northern territories—harsh, unforgiving, and crawling with creatures that make the shadows seem tame in comparison. If Callan’s right, if there’s something brewing beyond those snow-capped peaks … My heart pounds, and I try to breathe through the rising panic.
“So we’re pawns in a game we didn’t even know we were playing.” My voice shakes as I piece it together, staring at the map as if I can see the strings connecting it all. “What else aren’t they telling us?” I turn back to the others, the fire of determination sparking to life in my chest. “We need to find out what’s really happening. Because if there’s a war coming, I refuse to let us be blindsided.”
I turn, stepping into Abraxis’s space until I’m close enough to feel his warmth against my skin. My eyes lock onto his, searching the molten amber depths that always seem to churn with restrained intensity. His gaze holds mine, a silent question lingering there. “The solstice break between second and third quarter is coming,” I murmur, my voice wavering slightly. I press my lips together, staring up at my mate— my dragon. My heart pounds at the implications. Everyone expects us to complete the bond sooner rather than later.
“I’ll message my father,” I continue, swallowing against the dryness in my throat. “We’re going to spend the break at my parents’ nest.” Even saying the words feels like crossing an invisible line. I bite my bottom lip, knowing full well what that implies. Sharing a suite... a bed. Heat blooms across my cheeks at the thought.
Abraxis’s fingers graze my cheek, his touch featherlight. The world shrinks to just us—his palm cupping my face, his thumb brushing over my skin. “Are you sure you’re ready for what that will entail?” His voice is a low rumble, vibrating through me.
The concern in his gaze almost makes me falter. Almost. I roll my eyes, forcing a smirk to my lips despite the frantic hammering of my heart. “Are you?” I tilt my head up, meeting his eyes challengingly before glancing over at Callan, who has been watching us in silence. “So, what are we doing with me for the rest of the year, since obviously I’m ahead of the curve?”
Callan’s brow furrows, and he paces, his gaze flicking between Abraxis and me. “I’ll put you with the second years after the break. It’s mostly spy craft taught by Zigmander.” He reaches for a pen, scribbling furiously on his desk blotter as if he’s afraid he’ll forget this decision. The scratch of the pen on paper echoes in the silence, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Sounds good.” I turn back to Abraxis and take my backpack from him, the soft material slightly damp from where his hand rested. I unzip it and pull out the cursed egg card—the smooth surface deceptively benign despite the chaos it represents. “What do I do about this?” I wave the four-by-four cream and crimson card at them.
All motion ceases. It’s like the air is sucked out of the room, leaving a vacuum of fear and uncertainty. Callan’s face tightens, his fingers still wrapped around the pen, knuckles white. “We’ll include that in your training.” He nods sharply, but I catch the flicker of dread in his eyes.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I take a step forward, the pulse of adrenaline pushing me to move closer, to get answers. My fingers brush against his bare hand, and the sensation is instant—an electric hum that vibrates through me, mirroring the one I feel whenever I touch Abraxis. My breath catches. My instinct screams at me to yank my hand back, but I force myself to stay still.
Callan glances at my hand, then back at me. “Sometimes, when the dragons are freed, they…” He trails off, lips pressed into a tight line before he meets my gaze. “They try to kill the one who freed them.” His eye, usually so composed and analytical, now drift over my features with a strange, almost tender look, as if he’s memorizing them. As if he’s preparing to never see them again.
A shiver runs down my spine, but I lift my chin defiantly. “Good thing I’m not like most dragonesses then, now isn’t it?” My voice comes out stronger than I expect, the false bravado steadying me.
I shove the card back into my backpack with a little more force than necessary and zip it closed. They might be afraid, but I won’t let fear rule me. With a quick glance at the guys, I reach for my phone, typing out a message to my father.
Bringing Abraxis home with me for the break. Please prepare the tower suite.
The words are simple, but the meaning behind them is anything but. It’s a declaration. An acceptance. I’m bringing my mate to my family’s nest, and I know what that means. My father will expect us to share the suite—one bed, no excuses. He knows how vigorous newly mated pairs can be.
I sneak a glance at Abraxis from under my lashes, my pulse racing again, but this time for an entirely different reason. He’s standing there, still and composed, his gaze steady on me. My respect for him deepens. His drake must be driving him mad to claim me, yet he’s been nothing but patient, respectful of the space I needed to wrap my mind around … all of this.
Maybe he’s a better male than I’ve given him credit for. My chest tightens as I consider it, my fingers itching to reach out, to close the gap between us. But I don’t move. Not yet.
There’s still the cursed egg card to deal with, and whatever dark fate might lie in freeing the dragon trapped inside. “Alright,” I murmur, the resolve hardening in my gut. “Let’s figure out how to make sure that thing doesn’t end me.”