Chapter 38 Mina
Mina
I stare at the three-dimensional map that dominates Vox’s war room, my fingertips hovering just above the miniature mountains and valleys.
The cool air in the stone chamber raises goosebumps on my arms as I trace the outline of territories—Thauglor’s territories, I mentally correct myself.
The scent of aged parchment and metal hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the clay used to craft the topographical features before me.
I want to position us close enough for reinforcements, yet far enough away that the three young families here remain safe.
My stomach twists with anxiety as I consider sending them to Klauth in my nest instead.
I pause, my breath catching as the realization hits me again.
All of this—from the rolling hills to the jagged mountain ranges—belongs to me and my mates.
We control two-thirds of the continent, the weight of that responsibility pressing down on my shoulders like a physical burden.
My eyes burn from concentration as I identify a space north of the nest and to the east, far enough that the mages won’t pass near here.
The rough texture of the map under my fingertips grounds me as I analyze potential approach routes.
If they’re smart, they’ll come from the north by water, using the cover of darkness and the reflective surface to mask their movements.
Slowly, I walk over to Vox’s desk, my footsteps echoing off the stone walls.
The wooden surface is cool beneath my palm as I take a sheet of paper, the crisp sound of it sliding across the desk strangely loud in the quiet room.
I draw the continent as a whole. The scratching of pen against paper joining the distant sounds of dragons moving about the nest. The intel from Ziggy’s people has been invaluable; without it, we’d be planning blind.
We know they have a small conclave to the northwest on the far side of the continent.
The thought of them hiding there, plotting against us, makes my jaw clench tight enough to ache.
Closing my eyes, I try to push for a vision of what their home looks like.
The effort makes my head throb, a dull pressure building behind my eyes.
Suddenly, I feel Thauglor behind me, his unique scent—ancient stone and mountain air—washing over me as he pulls me flush to his chest and wraps his wings around me.
The membranes create a warm cocoon, shutting out the world.
The deep lub-dub of his heart beats steadily against my back, each pulse resonating through my body.
I relax in his arms, the tension in my muscles slowly melting away as his warmth seeps into me.
My consciousness slides sideways, and information flows like a lazy river into my mind.
The mages’ numbers have decreased over the years—a direct result of killing off the unicorns.
They were apparently the balance to the mages.
Now that their equal is gone, the mages are fading too.
Their power is waning, and they’re struggling to steal power from dragons.
The knowledge settles in my mind with crystal clarity.
But who is our balance? The question forms and is answered in the same heartbeat.
New information surges forward. The basilisks are our balance—the dark to our light, the chaos to our control. It makes perfect sense, like two sides of an ancient coin.
My perspective shifts again. The mages are huddled around what looks like a small body of water in the middle of an ancient library.
The scent of mildew and dust fills my nostrils, though I know it’s just a phantom sensation.
One by one, they cut their hands, the sharp metallic tang of blood reaching me even through the vision as they bleed into the water.
Thauglor’s dragon appears first, his magnificent form reflected in the crimson-tinged pool.
“There’s a second. Why can’t I see it?” a mage says, his voice thin and reedy as he chants louder, trying to get the second wyrm to come into view. A flash of silver horns is all they see, and my heart races at the near-miss. They almost saw me.
“The iron dragons are extinct. We saw to that,” one mage says, his voice filled with smug satisfaction that makes my blood boil.
“Yet still one lives,” says another, uncertainty coloring his tone.
“Prepare for the trip. The dragon is old, probably slow and blind,” an older mage says with dismissive confidence.
A smirk tugs at my lips. They have no idea that Thauglor is fit and powerful, deadly in his ancient might.
The vision ends, and I open my eyes, blinking against the sudden return to reality.
The inside of Thauglor’s wings comes back into focus.
My heart still pounds from what I’ve seen, the rhythm gradually slowing as I gather my thoughts.
I know I’ve shared the vision with my mates—our connection making it impossible to keep such things to myself.
Thauglor opens his wings, the soft leathery sound filling the chamber as the cocoon of warmth around me dissipates.
I look up into his sapphire eyes, so ancient and yet so alive with cunning intelligence, then over at Abraxis.
His expression is grim but determined as he nods.
Thauglor’s arms tighten around me, the solid strength of him reassuring.
‘My treasure, do you need me?’ Klauth’s voice whispers in my mind, warm and concerned. The familiar sensation of his presence soothes like a balm.
‘No, my beloved,’ I respond silently. ‘Protect my progeny and the other hatchlings of my flight. I am in Thauglor’s arms and safe. The mages will hunt us by nightfall. After this is over, we will plan to hunt them.’ The metallic taste of vengeance sits on my tongue, sharp and satisfying.
Sighing, I hug Thauglor, inhaling his scent one more time before stepping away.
My body feels suddenly cold without his warmth as I move to Abraxis, pressing myself against his side.
His arm comes around me automatically, strong and protective.
The rhythm of his breathing syncs with mine, a silent comfort.
“One thing always puzzled me,” Abraxis says, his deep voice vibrating through his chest against my cheek as he moves me to his side to face his dad and Thauglor.
“Is the binding spell on the cursed eggs linked to a mage or the shells? I mean, the original mages are long dead—they’re human, after all. ”
“That’s a good question,” Vox says, rubbing the back of his neck, the rustle of fabric audible in the quiet room. “I’m not sure.”
I pull out my phone, the screen illuminating my face with its harsh blue light.
My fingers tap quickly across the glass surface as I set Callan on a mission to read through the texts we have.
Something in there has to tell how the eggs are bound.
I give him the short version of what I’m looking for.
He was curious himself, so he quickly agrees and says he’s going to enlist Leander’s help with the research.
“Lee and Cal are researching the answer for us,” I say, looking up from my phone, the device warm in my palm from use.
“So what’s the plan?” Vox asks, his voice echoing slightly off the stone walls.
I draw in a deep breath, filling my lungs with the cool, slightly damp air of the war room.
“You and Abraxis will shift here, and we will paint your faces to look like wyrm dragons. Thauglor and I will ride on you to the field to the north. When we land, I will hide under Abraxis’s wing, and Thauglor will be under yours.
When the mages arrive, you two will shift back, and Thauglor and I will shift and torch them. ”
A smile spreads across my face as I look between my two mates and my father-in-law. The expression on Vox’s face tells me I must look feral at the moment—all teeth and predatory intent. My pulse quickens at the thought of finally facing our enemies, adrenaline beginning to course through my veins.
Before Vox can respond, one of his guards enters, the heavy door groaning on its ancient hinges. The scent of nervous sweat precedes him, sharp and acrid.
“Sire, there’s movement to the north, about an hour out on foot. Humans,” he reports, his voice tight with tension.
A chill runs down my spine at his words, spreading outward until my fingertips tingle with icy dread despite the warmth of Abraxis at my side.
“They must have portaled close, then are moving on foot,” Thauglor says, beginning to pace. His footsteps fall heavy on the stone floor, each one sending vibrations through the room that I can feel in the soles of my feet.
“Portaled? What’s that?” I ask, tilting my head to look at my mate, puzzlement furrowing my brow.
“Mages rip the fabric of reality, similar to how Ziggy moves, but they use stolen power to do it,” Thauglor explains, his ancient voice tight with concern.
My eyes widen as understanding crashes over me, leaving me breathless.
“Oh crap,” I whisper, the words barely audible even to my own ears.
My mind races to process this new information.
If they can move similarly to Ziggy, we are in deep trouble.
The taste of fear is bitter on my tongue, but I swallow it down, replacing it with determination. We’ve come too far to back down now.
My fingers find Abraxis’s, intertwining and squeezing tight.
His skin is warm against mine, anchoring me to the present as my mind calculates and recalculates our odds.
They may have methods of movement we didn’t expect, but we have something they don’t—each other.
And I won’t let them take that from us, not now, not ever.
Later that night...