Chapter 29 Mina
Mina
It’s a sad day when I realize I’ve been trained harder than half of the males I come across.
The weight of this knowledge settles in my chest like a cold stone.
Shaking my head, I perch on the arm of the couch, the leather cool and smooth beneath my fingertips as I wait for everyone else to get home.
The quiet of the house is broken only by the soft, rhythmic breathing of my babies, all curled up together in front of the fireplace, taking their naps.
Their tiny forms rise and fall with each breath, scales and fur catching the amber firelight in a mesmerizing dance of shadows.
The sound of multiple footsteps approaching breaks the tranquility, heavy and light patterns mingling in a familiar cadence that makes my heart quicken slightly.
Ziggy and his pride arrive home with my other mates in tow, their scents—a complex mixture of pine, earth, and their unique personal notes—filling the room as they enter.
I motion for us to move into Klauth’s private office, my fingers tracing a path through the air that feels weighted with significance.
“Evan, mind watching over the little ones for a little bit?” My voice sounds tight even to my own ears, strained with the tension I’m trying to contain.
His eyes dart from the sleeping hatchlings, their scales and fur gleaming softly in the firelight, then back to me.
The concern in his gaze is palpable, a physical thing that stretches between us.
“Sure. Want me to knock if they wake up?” He tilts his head, looking back at them again, his posture betraying his uncertainty.
“No, just shift and play with them. They like when Ziggy picks them up with his tentacles and waves them around. Lily will want to ride on your back.” He nods, listening, then shifts to stand watch over my progeny.
The air shimmers slightly with his transformation, the sound of bone and muscle restructuring a soft, wet symphony that raises the fine hairs on my arms despite my familiarity with it.
I usher my mates into the office, the cool air inside carrying the scent of old books, leather, and Klauth’s distinctive aroma—ancient stone and smoke.
The door closes behind us with a solid click that resonates in the sudden silence.
Before I begin, I sit my diadem on my head, the metal cool against my skin, its weight a reminder of my duty.
This gesture signals to them it’s serious Mina versus mate speaking now.
The metal catches the light from the desk lamp, casting small, dancing reflections on the walls.
“Oh shit,” Callan says as he leans back against the bookshelf, the wood creaking slightly under his weight. The smell of old paper and leather-bound volumes intensifies with his movement, releasing pockets of dusty knowledge into the air.
“How stringent is the training for male dragons?” My eyes lock on Abraxis, the intensity of my gaze making him shift uncomfortably. I can almost hear his pulse quicken, see the subtle dilation of his pupils as he recognizes the seriousness of my question.
“They receive standard training,” he pauses as if that answers my question, his voice echoing slightly in the enclosed space. The tension in the room thickens, almost palpable on my skin.
“Training like I had, like you had, or less than either of us?” I fix him with that dead stare that Balor taught me to do, the one that seems to unnerve the dragons in the nest. I keep my face perfectly still, not even blinking, feeling the muscles around my eyes grow tight with the effort.
“Um...” He breaks eye contact and shifts his weight, the floorboards creaking beneath him. A droplet of sweat forms at his temple, catching the light before sliding down the curve of his cheek. “Less than both of us.”
“Considering you probably received less than me,” I pause, then look over at Thauglor, his ancient eyes reflecting centuries of knowledge and power.
“I want to put you and Balor in charge of training our troops here. They need to be trained more than Abraxis, but maybe not to the point I was.” I stare down at the blotter on Klauth’s desk, tracing a finger over its smooth surface, the leather cool beneath my touch.
“What did you see, mate?” Klauth asks me, and I look up at him. His massive frame dominates the space, radiating heat that warms my skin even from across the room.
“It’s not what I’ve seen. It’s what I’ve not seen.
” Slowly, I walk around the side of the desk to sit on it facing my mate, the wood solid and reassuring beneath me.
“I cut through those three brass dragons like they were fledglings. I’m half their size.
” Arching a brow, I look at each of my mates taking in their expressions—concern, curiosity, dawning understanding.
“In theory, they should have been able to overpower me just based on the size difference.”
“Based on that theory, out of three, at least one of them should have won,” Ziggy says as he looks at the dragons in the room, his voice carrying a thoughtful note that resonates against the wood-paneled walls.
“Exactly.” Drawing in a deep breath, the scent of my mates—a complex tapestry of individual notes that has become the smell of home to me—filling my lungs.
I look at Abraxis. “Shadowcarve is where the strongest of us are. Yet I can defeat every male in there. Something is happening with the training.” I stare at my mate, and it seems to sink in, the realization darkening his expression like a passing cloud.
Abraxis tilts his head several times, the joints in his neck popping softly, then starts pacing the office.
His footfalls create a rhythmic pattern on the hardwood floor, a physical manifestation of his troubled thoughts.
“What if, because there are no fully mature drakes—like two hundred years old plus—dragon kind is being weakened over time?” He looks over at Klauth, his movements stilling for a moment.
“Didn’t you tell me that the hatchling I father at this age will never be as powerful as the ones I will father later in life? ”
“That is correct,” Klauth says and pauses, his breath catching audibly.
“Wait, they are killing most of the males off before they hit two hundred. No one is hitting full adulthood. Thus, weaker dragons are being born.” His eyes move to me, and we stare at each other, the connection between us almost tangible, a current of understanding that raises goosebumps on my arms. “How old was your father?”
“When I was fathered? Just over two hundred. He hid his age from the council.” I turn slowly to look over at Thauglor, feeling the muscles in my neck tense with the gravity of what we’re discovering.
“That explains why I am stronger than the others.” Everything sits on my shoulders like a weight, pressing down on me until it’s hard to breathe.
My mind drifts to Lily, the image of her tiny form, so vulnerable despite her heritage, making my heart clench painfully.
I think about how much weaker than Klauth’s and Thauglor’s children she will be.
The thought is as bitter as bile on my tongue.
“Your bloodline and his advanced age made the difference,” Thauglor paces, his massive form moving with surprising grace, the floor vibrating slightly beneath his weight.
He then looks back at me, his ancient eyes piercing into mine.
“What happened to your father’s first female?
Seeing that most drakes are betrothed and married off before thirty. ”
I think back, sifting through memories like searching through murky water, until it eventually comes to me, the recollection sharp and painful.
“He said she had died because she became egg-bound. The story goes that when they were sure she was dead, they cut the egg from her, and it died weeks later.” I stare at Thauglor, the horror of the tale sitting cold in my stomach, then back over at Klauth, the pain of generations of such losses etched in the lines of their ancient faces. “What am I missing?”
“That was the triggering point that sent him down the spiral he went on. Stealing your mom from her male, then breeding her as soon as he could,” Klauth says as he stares at Thauglor, his voice low and heavy with the weight of dark revelation.
The silence that follows is thick enough to cut, broken only by the sound of our collective breathing and the distant crackle of the fireplace from the other room.
The next day I stare out over the lower courtyard in the crisp morning air, the scent of pine and earth rising from the valley below.
My fingers curl around the warm ceramic mug, steam from my coffee curling upward to caress my face as I watch Thauglor and Balor assess the unmated males in my flight.
Their commanding voices echo against the stone walls, barking orders that carry on the breeze.
There are fifteen unmated males who belong to my territory, plus others who have journeyed here to train.
Their leathers catch the golden morning light, a kaleidoscope of colors from midnight black to burnished copper.
I perch on the edge of the cliff, my legs dangling freely over the three hundred-foot drop, and take a slow sip of the bitter coffee that warms my insides against the morning chill.
The males who have traveled here hope to earn a place in the main compound.
Let’s face it—serving the king looks impressive when you’re searching for a mate.
Their determined expressions and the strain in their muscles as they train tell me how badly they want this opportunity.
“What are you watching?” Abraxis asks, his deep voice sending a pleasant shiver down my spine before he settles beside me.
The rock ledge crumbles slightly under his weight.
The familiar scent of sandalwood and leather envelops me as he leans over to press a kiss to my temple.
His lips are soft against my skin, making me smile despite myself.
“We have fifty males wanting to train. Out of those fifty, fifteen live here.” I tilt my head, watching Thauglor making them run laps around the courtyard. Dust rises beneath their pounding feet, and their labored breathing forms small clouds in the cool morning air.
“It’s a good start,” Abraxis says as he watches them, his amber eyes narrowing critically. “Four of them are from my old flight.” He motions to the males with the tall black wings that gleam like polished obsidian in the sunlight.
“I kind of figured—the wings are a dead giveaway.” I motion to two males off to the side, their silver horns catching the light.
“Two iron dragon males arrived this morning from the coast. They’re from my mom’s old flight.
” A laugh escapes my lips as I tilt my head, the breeze tousling my hair.
“Glide down there. I’m going to make an entrance. I want to test those males myself.”
Slowly, that twisted grin of his crosses his lips, making my heart beat faster. His wings unfurl with a leathery snap before he takes off toward the training field, his powerful downstrokes stirring the air around me.
No sooner does Abraxis land than I shift, bones cracking and skin stretching as I transform.
I roar down at the courtyard below; the sound reverberating through the mountains, making everyone stop and look up.
My scales tingle as I raise and lower my frill before launching off the rock face, the wind rushing past my face.
My wings flap slowly as I circle the field, feeling the updrafts cushion my massive body as I take in everyone gathered below.
Both Thauglor and Abraxis flare their wings, the sunlight glinting off their scales as they watch me fly.
Balor is shaking his head at me, trying not to laugh.
I am damn near wyrm status by size alone, and I can feel the power in every beat of my wings.
When I land, dust swirls around me in a choking cloud, small rocks skittering away from the impact.
I raise and lower my frill again; the membranes stretching taut as I look down at the males gathered as well as my mates.
Their scents mingle in my sensitive nostrils—sweat, leather, and the unique musk of dragon.
Thauglor gives me a nod as he walks closer, and I shift back, my skin tingling as it reforms into human shape.
Rolling my shoulders, I smile up at him, the taste of smoke still lingering on my tongue.
“I’ve come to test the irons,” I say, motioning to the males with the tall silver horns like mine that catch the morning light like polished metal.
“As this land’s queen and my mate, it is your right,” Thauglor says as he kisses my temple, his lips warm against my cooling skin.
I walk toward the temporary training circle and pass Balor; the dirt crunching beneath my boots.
“Going to take them to school?” He smirks as he draws his twin short swords from his back, the metal singing as it clears the leather, and offers them to me.
I shake my head, and within seconds, Ziggy manifests beside me, the air shimmering around his form.
He offers me my blades, the familiar weight and worn leather grips a comfort in my palms, before vanishing again as fast as he had arrived, leaving behind only the faint scent of his musk.
“Get in the ring, gentlemen. I don’t have all morning,” I command, my voice carrying across the suddenly silent yard.
With a sweep of my hand, I motion to the ring as I step in, the packed earth firm beneath my feet.
This is either going to be an epic success or failure.
Only time will tell as I feel the weight of dozens of eyes on me, watching, waiting to see what their queen can do.