The egg.
It has hatched for Skylar.
Astrid stumbles forward, compelled by this Heir of Fire. Heat rushes through her as her eyes lock with Skylar’s, something fierce and animalistic stirring within Astrid in response to the other woman’s flaming gaze.
There’s a yank, like a butcher’s hook in her sternum, drawing her forward. She stops. Comes back to herself, finally processing what has happened. The egg hatched for Skylar. Skylar, who she will duel in a matter of weeks. She has adragon. And though the creature is small, it’s the power it represents that concerns Astrid, especially when she and Bastet still don’t have their Gifts. She squeezes her familiar tighter.
“This—cannot be.” The king’s voice is rasping. “The Fire Dynasty, reborn. Five hundred years, and the egg has hatched for you.” His focus falls on Skylar. “You are the heir that was promised. Do you know what this means?” He looks to his mate, back to Skylar, and there’s a gleam in his eyes, covetous and hungry. It’s jarring to see him like this when Astrid has only ever known the cruel, cold man, all ice opposed to Skylar’s fire. “The Chosen Heir. My blood.My daughter.”
Every head rotates to the king: he has never openly acknowledged her as his daughter, yet now that she’s bonded to a Fire Elemental, she’s worthy of him, apparently. But it’s the queen who draws Astrid’s attention, the displeasure at what the king says evident in the set of her mouth.
“Axel, give the girl something to cover herself,” the queen tells him, voice as Astrid has never heard it before: sharp and commanding. Axel does as he’s ordered, taking his own shirt off. He approaches Skylar warily, that slightly inhuman look still on her face. She’s said nothing. Simply observed them all, as a Goddess would observe mortals. Astrid retreats a step.
“Skylar,” he says, holding out his shirt. “Are you… alright?”
The dragon snaps at him, little sparks flying from its snout, and Axel flinches back.
“Steady now,” Axel says placatingly. “I just want to give her this to wear.”
The dragon growls and Skylar blinks. The humanity returns to her eyes, the amber of them settling once more. Finally she seems aware of her surroundings. That she has no clothes on. She snatches the shirt from Axel with a hiss, as if it’s his fault she’s naked.
“Give me a moment,” she says gently, lowering the dragon to the floor, before slipping the shirt over her head. The dragon paces in front of her, flaring its spindly wings, snarling and snapping at everyone in the temple. It looks at Astrid and Bastet. And stops. Sits back on its haunches and cocks its head. The dragon regards Bastet, then chirrups. Bastet hisses in response, the hairs on his back rising and his tail puffing up. Skylar chuckles and lifts the dragon, wonder on her face.
“You like the kitty cat?” she asks the dragon.
“Skylar? Are you alright?” Axel asks again.
A mighty roar bellows from the grounds, thunder cracks in answer, and Skylar slowly turns and smiles at Axel. Zryan’s head whips to the doorway, then back to his sister, shock written on his face plain as parchment. He doesn’t move to join the rest of the Vatrans as they surround her and the dragon. What must be going through his mind? A sister he never knew about who’s the rightful heir to the throne, and now the promised one whom their revered egg hatched for. Not him, not his brother, but the bastard-born girl. He must feel Astrid watching him because he turns to her, quirks his lips, though the small smile doesn’t mask the tightness in his face.
He tips his head in question, checking on her, and Astrid nods numbly as a warm current of feeling for this man flows through her.Then he tucks his hands in his pockets and quietly leaves the temple, the Dreki come to gawk at the dragon silently parting for him.
She’s tempted to follow. To ask him how he’s feeling about all of this, because for some maddening reason, she cares. But the sensible part of her wins out. This isn’t about Zryan—this is about Skylar and her. She’s not sure exactly what the egg hatching means, but she knows it’s important, knows it changes things somehow.
So she lets him go and turns back to face her opponent and the fabled dragon that was promised.
The Chosen Heir destined to unite the lands through fire.
32Skylar
Skylar hesitates outside the archway to the dining hall. She’s managed to avoid this for the past few days, saying the dragon was too little, that she needed feeding throughout the night. But there’s no getting around it now—she’s been summoned by the king to join them for breakfast; and, much as she’d like to flat-out ignore that, if she’s got any hope of being allowed a bit more freedom for the final weeks before the duel, she’s got to at least pretend to play nice. And she needs the freedom—because despite everything that’s happened, she hasn’t forgotten that Cam is still out there, depending on her.
Simone, on guard duty, walks half a pace behind her. At least it’s Simone. Skylar doesn’t like the way some of the other guards eye the little dragon, currently perched on Skylar’s shoulder, slender tail wrapped around her neck.
Chicken?It’s one of the first words she learned.
For breakfast? I don’t know.
I like the chicken.
I’m sure they’ll bring some for you if you want some. She’s sure they’d bring anything for her. The last fire dragon. Even the fact that she has hatched for Skylar hasn’t stopped the reverence.
Smell?The little dragon sniffs the air, lets out a hopeful growl.
Bacon, maybe?
She cocks her head at Skylar.
It’s from a pig, Skylar explains.
