Chapter Sixteen. When You Need Your Rival to Help Crack an Egg
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WHEN YOU NEED YOUR RIVAL TO HELP CRACK AN EGG
FARREN
I declared my crafting ability with confidence, and if this was a piece of metal I was simply twisting under my power, I’d own that confidence. But a living creature’s fate is at stake. Crafting is all about maintaining the correct pressure. Right now, the pressure weighs me down.
“So, you could do this,” James says, a thick layer of astonishment blanketing his voice.
“Yes, in theory, I can do this.”
He catches my hesitancy. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m, umm, trying not to panic over the fact if I mess this up, I’m killing the last line of an endangered species.”
James sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Yeah,” is all he adds.
I glance at him. “That’s very helpful.”
“Sorry, but you’re right. Though you’ve probably done this before. This time it’s just crafting gold instead of some other metal.”
I falter. “I haven’t actually.”
“What?”
“I’ve performed various surgeries. But clients have their own people for the hatching process.
” The Murphys for instance, wouldn’t let us near an egg or hatchling unless the baby wasn’t breathing, and even then, doubtful.
Besides, the most important egg-crafting involves silver or bronze eggs, and us Walshes pretend we are copper-crafters.
“Okay. Well, I have. Hort had a similar problem, his egg tooth wasn’t sharp enough. And I was there, helped craft his egg open.”
“You did?” For once, I don’t mind showing my vulnerability. After tonight, James Murphy knows more about me than anyone. He can also know I’m an anxious mess. Later, I’ll swear him to secrecy. For now, all my worry centers on this egg, this baby. “So, I just … crack it open?”
“Yes. Carefully.”
“Oh, good. Glad you specified. I was about to smash with all my might.” Power surges eagerly and my joke feels more real than I can begin to explain.
He shifts so his hands hover over mine.
There’s a question on his lips I don’t wait for him to ask. “You can touch me.”
The warmth of his palms meets my knuckles. “Balance the pressure. Move in a circular motion if that helps.” He guides my hands like we are trying to warm up the egg. “It’s a thinner layer than you think. You won’t need much.”
More Feylings twinkle to life above us, casting the cave in even more light.
The storm is still a rage of darkness outside, but in this moment I’m so happy I could cry.
It feels like a sign, like these smaller dragons are offering their support.
I press my hands against the shell of gold. And I craft.
The rush of power pulses at my fingertips, like I’m letting loose electricity.
I restrain that current of force, my fingers tensing against the golden-scaled egg.
I can feel how easy it would be to break.
Terror grips me at the thought. My whole life I’ve desired to be more powerful, hard like our metaled world.
Now, all I have is weight suffocating me, clambering for release.
But I know if I drop an ounce of that heft, the weight will be too much.
James clutches the back of my hands like he can physically hold me back. But he can’t. “Lightly. Like how you petted Hendrix when he was in pain.”
His words seem to answer my unspoken plea. I fasten myself to the mental image and his calm, soothing voice as James repeats, “lightly,” like a lullaby. The egg and I quake together. Then with only the pads of each fingertip, I caress like I’m merely petting the egg.
The gold cracks with a snap of sound. My stomach lurches, fearing the worst. When I craft the broken piece away, though, a silver snout nuzzles the hole. A little shuddering breath of life greets us. Nity bends overhead and pushes her nose against her baby’s. Tears brim on my eyes.
I did it.
Now cracked, the task becomes an easy one. Piece by piece I break the egg until James and I stare at the head and shoulders of a silver-coated dragon.
The top of the shell gone, the hatchling scrambles for freedom. When they pull themself out of the egg, they wriggle onto James’s lap before crawling up to his chest.
James gasps, holding the baby dragon like one would cradle a shy toddler. The scene melts me, because it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life.
James’s gaze hooks into mine and at that moment I can read his mind. Are you seeing this too? Capture it in your memory so we have further proof it existed. Slowly, he pets the silver dragon down their spine. The scales shift into black and the baby coos. At the coo, I lose it.
I scoot until I’m right next to James. The hatchling twirls large yellow crocodile eyes on to me and as I reach forward to stroke their scales, the newborn nestles back into James’s neck like I’m some kind of tormenting villain.
“Are you kidding me?” I whisper. “You do nothing and get all the love?”
“I’ve told you before. I’m likeable.”
I scoff my frustration, since in this moment it’s hard to look at James and not see that likeability. But I’m simply relieved the hatchling is safe. The power still tingles on my fingertips, and I tuck them away. That could have gone differently.
A retching sound interrupts my thoughts.
The baby silver Rimback spits up all over James’s shirt and my envy turns to joy.
I cup my mouth, trying not to laugh as James stills, pulls back, and inspects the damage.
And there is damage. Saliva and bits of gold run down his chest. Nity leans over and grabs the silver one by the neck like she’s apologizing for her baby being such a nuisance and she’ll take it from here.
I laugh at the absurdity of it all, at the relief of getting to this moment, all three babies alive. “Do you consider being thrown up on as a sign you’re liked? Because I might have some bad news for you.”
James gives me a squinty look of dismay before he discards his wet shirt in one quick over-the-head motion.
I stop laughing. My first instinct is to ask what he’s doing, but I wouldn’t want to wear fresh dragon puke. And yet, I’m frozen.
I saw his bare chest when saving his life. I know he’s fit. Even with clothes and chest guards, his broad shoulders are more than apparent. There is something much more intimate to witness him taking his shirt off himself though. Plus, being right next to said chest, alone in the dark.
The air between us seems pulled taut. For the millionth time I wonder why whenever my gaze snags in James’s, I feel caught. Words fail me. Then he trembles from the cold.
I tug at my own wet clothes, James’s cream sweater and riding pants, cozy in the loft, but currently sticking to me in a heavy icy hug.
Now—not adrenaline-soaked, heart-beating-out-of-my-chest terrified—I too am freezing.
The rain continues to pour, sprouting a waterfall along the entrance so thick it blocks any view to the black-stoned beach and ocean beyond.
“When the rain stops, you should go. Get some sleep. Get into dry clothes.” I specify dry clothes, but really, I mean any clothes.
“What about you?”
Across the cave, Nity’s babies chomp on gold.
The firstborn, brazen and confident in blue scales.
The alloy baby is still a fusion of silver and gold, too nervous to drop the metal protection.
Even without the storm impeding climbing that cliff for towels or fresh clothes, I’m not missing a second of this.
One, because it’s the moment I’ve been awaiting for months, and two, they might need me again.
“I’m not leaving.” But as I shiver, I know something must be done. Even with excitement, my willpower can’t outlast hypothermia.
“If we stay down here, we’ll need to get warm,” James says softly.
If he mentions body heat or the idea of cuddling for warmth something inside of me will combust. Embarrassment. That’s it. Embarrassment heats my cheeks.
“Wait, there’re blankets,” I say, too loud, bounding to my feet too fast. Like the hay, my parents and I have brought an abundance of different comforts into the cave to try to keep the eggs warm. Nity kept throwing the blankets in a corner, very much like a grumpy mother dismissing our rags.
I hand a red bundle of wool to James and he takes it with a thank-you. When I clamp the thick covering over me in a protective and concealing shell, the shivering wanes.
We sit beside each other, two lumps watching Nity with her newborns.
James shifts, tucking the blanket closer. “I could never have imagined this. A Rimback. A golden Rimback.”
I glance sideways at him, fully absorbed in the hatchlings eating and scampering about. The eldest golden dragon tackles the young silver and they playfully tumble into a heap. For once, he catches me staring instead of the other way around. “I won’t tell a soul,” he promises.
I start. That’s exactly what I was about to demand. “Good, because no one can find out.”
“I know.” He says it simply, like him stumbling into this cave didn’t change everything, connect us beyond rivals, interns, or friends. For as long as Nity remains here, I will have to trust him.
“Forever, Murphy. We are talking about keeping this secret forever.”
“I can do forever.” His voice deep and self-assured.
Why my mind deviates into thinking those four words would be nice wedding vows is beyond me. But I shove that intrusive thought away and try to calm down, to be like James, who remains certain and steadfast that the idea of forever, of never messing up, is not only reasonable, it’s easy.
James turns fully toward me like he knows I can’t do calm or easy. “What will make you trust me?”
“Tell me a secret.” The request tumbles from me so fast it’s like the thought has been yanked from my subconscious.
He stares and it’s that piercing, searching expression. “Tell you a secret? So, you can hold it over me to keep me in line? That isn’t quite creating the best foundation for trust.”
“Yet, you see the imbalance here? With one word to your parents you could destroy everything in this cave, including me.”
“And I’m telling you I won’t allow that.”
“But why…?” I can’t find my words. “Why would you have more loyalty to me, us, than—”
“Because I’m not like my father and I’d do anything to never be.”
Silence builds around us at his admission. James runs a hand over his formerly broken arm. “A few weeks before that race, my father demanded I begin my training to descale.”
I inhale so sharply a burst of cold air engulfs my lungs.
James continues examining his hands. “I’d evade him.
He’d yell. The process continued. Then a few days before that race he had Hort tied up, told me I must learn if I wanted to be in this business.
I readied myself for a fight. I just didn’t realize how angry he had gotten.
I never before stood up to him. Never. He crafted metal around my arm to force me in place, to make me pull—” He stops as if it’s too much.
“When I resisted, my arm broke…” James lightly points to his wrist, radius, and ulna.
“In three places,” I finish with a whisper, sick to my stomach. I scour my memories before that race. To me, James was just more stoic, more infuriating that morning. My father, however, understood when James had clenched his fist.
“When a few cups of silver wouldn’t mend the bones fast enough, my parents commanded me to crash Hort.
Bail into the water and claim that’s where the injury came from.
But I wouldn’t do that. I couldn’t leave Hort to possibly crumble against a rock formation and end up like Hendrix.
” He finally looks at me. “Hort’s wing did spasm that day.
Instead of steadying him out, I let us fall.
I thought it would be okay.” James drops his head into his hands.
“I didn’t account for how hard it is to craft a sinking dragon and swim at the same time. With a broken arm.”
In some horrid way, that strange day makes sense now. An experienced rider like James crashing with no real explanation. But the explanation. This secret. Hatred rushes through me. How dare they. How dare his parents demand he conceal their own awfulness by putting him in further danger.
Shame gnaws at me, remembering how when James first got here, I joked I was only trying to save Hort.
Before I think it through, I reach over and hug James Murphy.
He stills, reacting much like my other hugs—confused.
Only this time, it’s entirely my choice.
No dragons hovering with hurt or hunger.
Just me comforting a … friend? It feels like we might be friends now, especially when he straightens and hugs me back.
The heat of his body seeps into mine. Maybe that whole cuddling for warmth thing wasn’t as ridiculous as it seemed.
“I wouldn’t have let either of you drown,” I say, my voice muffled in the wool covering his shoulder, but I know he hears me. Because the smallest “I know” ruffles my hair.
His hands squeeze my shoulders as he holds me tighter. And it’s nice. Like the warmest hug I’ve ever received. Then I remember James Murphy is shirtless and all that warmth is from his bare chest.
I lean back, pull my blanket around me as I clear my throat. “Hort was still my first priority, of course,” I joke to get rid of this fidgety desire to pull him close again.
“Of course.” His dimples flash and I glance away.
“But I still owe you my life. You asked why I would be loyal to you over my own family?” He waits until I’m looking at him, his brown eyes glinting in the Feyling light.
“Farren, you saved me. I know exactly what’s at stake if my father were to find this cave.
I know that better than anyone. So, when I say forever, I mean forever. ”