Warriors of Wind and Ash - Page 103

The stars race across the black night, condensing together to form a long, crooked line of glowing white. A seam in the sky itself, a scar, a glaring flaw…

The glow intensifies, and then the sky splits with a resounding crack—

Crack. Crack.

I blink, still caught in the clinging darkness of the dream. The sun is high already, morning light streaming into the cave.

The cave, my cave, our cave… we’re home. No longer trapped in that terrible palace. We defeated Rahzien, and he’s been confined. Serylla is free—Serylla—

I lift my head, staring around frantically, searching for her because she isn’t beside me, she’s…

She’s kneeling in the nest across from me, staring at the two eggs that lie between us. When she lifts her eyes to mine, my heart nearly stops. There’s so much joy shining in her gaze.

“I let you sleep,” she says softly, “but I’m glad you woke up just now. They’ve been moving around for a while, and look!” She points to the blue-marbled egg.

There’s a long crack in the shell, with two more cracks branching out from the central one.

I can barely draw my next breath. My heart is pounding.

This is what I was made for. What I’ve been working toward. The result of the desperate, primal frenzy Serylla and I experienced together in this cave. She made this possible—the beautiful, precious woman who gave herself to me.

I can’t speak any word but her name. “Serylla…”

“I know.” She smiles, her blue eyes sparkling with tears.

The cracks in the blue egg spread a little farther, as if the hatchling inside is cautiously probing the limits of the shell, uncertain about coming out.

Then the purple egg shatters so suddenly that Serylla leaps back with a squeal.

In the center of the broken pieces of shell sits a plump lavender blob. It wriggles, then uncurls, revealing two sets of small horns, a ridged spine, and a thick, stubby tail. The hatchling has the tiny jaw spikes all infant dragons possess. As they reach maturity, males grow extra spikes, sharper and more defined. This hatchling has the broad, soft nose and the ridged fold around the neck that mark her as a young female—the gender she chose while inside the egg.

My daughter opens enormous violet eyes and looks straight at me. She’s so tiny. So beautiful. So perfect.

“Fuck,” I breathe.

“Don’t curse in front of the babies,” Serylla exclaims with a breathless laugh.

The tiny dragon whirls around with an eager speed that reminds me so much of Vylar my heart nearly bursts. She bounds into Serylla’s lap and snuggles there, her damp little wings drooping and her gaze focused adoringly on Serylla’s face.

And Serylla bursts into tears. She gathers the little dragon up in her arms, sobbing while the hatchling licks her face.

“Fuck,” I say again, because I’m crying too, great steaming tears rolling off the end of my snout. “Sorry—I’ll stop saying fuck…”

Serylla laughs through her tears, still cuddling our daughter. “She’s so precious, Kyreagan! But her wings… are they alright?”

“They’ll dry and expand soon,” I assure her, lowering my nose to greet the hatchling.

“How does it work for dragons, with naming babies?” Serylla asks in a quavering voice. “Can we name them now? Or is there a ritual of some kind—”

Before I can reply, a big piece of shell pops up from the top of the blue egg. The piece of shell rises slowly, perched on tiny horns, until a pair of blue eyes peek over the jagged edge of the egg. The second hatchling surveys all of us warily before sinking back inside. The top piece of shell fits neatly back in place on the egg, and all is still.

I stare at the egg, then at Serylla. She covers her mouth with her hand, stifling a giggle. “I think we’ve been deemed insufficient as a family,” she says.

“So it would seem.” I peer at the blue egg and breathe on it lightly. It doesn’t move.

The tiny girl dragon hops off Serylla’s lap and stalks over to the blue egg. She chirps at it.

Nothing.