The two whelps pranced and squawked, each of them vying for his attention. Their tails were long, and with their wings unfolded, they would both be massive. Of that, he was certain.
Kjeld was about to measure the size of their wing claws when Caelian rushed through the door with Sylvan right behind her, carrying a stack of raw meat packaged in thick brown parchment.
“Wow,” he breathed, just as Caelian squealed, “Another one!”
Kjeld strode over to them and accepted the wrapped chunks of meat. “I’ll take these. Wouldn’t want anyone to accidentally lose a hand.”
Sylvan’s umber skin turned ashen, and Caelian took a hesitant step back.
“I’m only joking.” Kjeld flashed them both a mocking smile. “No one loses any extremities…unless I command it.”
Sylvan stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind them. His twists of white hair were pulled back into a ponytail, and though his eyes held a shadow of worry, his tone remained calm and confident. “You train the young ones, then?”
“Aye. Train them. Teach them.” Kjeld’s heart was suddenly heavy. “It would be different if their mother was here. I would wait until they were older before stepping in, because even though I had a legion of dragons under my command in Brackroth, we wanted the babes to stay with their mothers for as long as possible. Maintain some of those wild tendencies, those innate abilities that only come from being around other dragons.”
“I understand.” Sylvan’s brows clashed together. “So these young ones will not have the benefit of a mother to teach them the way of the world. That responsibility falls to you now.”
It wasn’t a question, more a statement of fact, proof Sylvan was in tune with the natural order of things.
“Correct.” Kjeld nodded once as the brothers circled around him. “But I’ve raised orphans in the past, and this shouldn’t be too different. The good thing is they’ve already imprinted on me, so they think I’m their parent.”
“Imprinted?” Caelian asked, dropping to her knees to brush a hand over the last remaining egg. “What’s an imprint?”
“It’s much like a connection.” Kjeld didn’t miss the way her lips parted the moment he spoke the word. Her sapphire eyes darkened in the glow of early sunlight pouring in through the window. “Some would say love at first sight, hence these two following me everywhere I go.”
To prove his point, he walked toward the opposite end of the room, and both dragons screeched and hopped, refusing to leave his side. He stopped, planting his hands on his hips. “But I think it’s deeper than that.”
“Indeed,” Sylvan agreed, blowing out a steady breath as he reached to pet one of the whelps. The one with the yellow eyes stretched his small neck, reaching for Sylvan’s outstretched hand. “Imprinting is a bond, similar to how Druids feel in regard to the world around us.”
Caelian ran her fingers over the ridges of the silver egg. “What do you think—oh!” She jerked her hand back and looked up at Kjeld, her eyes wide with wonder. “It moved.”
Kjeld nodded. “Just stay right where you are, she’ll poke her little head through soon enough.”
“Do I need to do anything? To help her, that is?” Caelian asked, twisting her hands in her lap while she gnawed her bottom lip.
“Not a thing. She’ll manage all on her own.” Kjeld unwrapped one of the packages of raw meat. “If you want to earn their trust, you can feed the whelps.”
Caelian cringed, her nose scrunching slightly, but she held out her hand.
“Okay.” The waver of uncertainty in her voice clashed against the sharp line of determination set across her brow. “And they won’t bite my hand off?”
Kjeld laughed, passing another slab of meat to Sylvan. “No. I promise.”
“If you’re sure…” Caelian held out her hand to the whelp with blue eyes, revealing the bloodied piece of meat. “Here you go, little one.”
She sucked in a breath as the dragon snatched it out of her open palm, chomping and gulping it down in three bites. He sniffed and snorted against her skin, searching for more. Sylvan, however, tossed his in the air, applauding when the other whelp caught it easily without hesitation.
“Well done.” He clapped soundly.
Suddenly, there was a faint squeaking sound, and a tiny head poked out of the silver shell. The final whelp, the female, with eyes the color of melted gold, focused on Caelian. She stretched her iridescent, silvery wings, the tiny claw poking through the outer layer of shell as she struggled to break free. Snapping once at the air, she crawled out of the remaining pieces, shaking them off her tail with annoyed sass. Then she plopped right down in Caelian’s lap.
“Oh!” She stroked two fingers along the top of the dragon’s head. “Hello there.”
Kjeld grinned down at them. “She thinks you’re her mother.”
“Well.” Caelian stood, cradling the baby dragon in her arms, and started to sway back and forth. Then she bent forward andwhispered, “I know nothing about mothering, but I promise to be better than mine was to me.”
It was a simple vow, but it caused something to wrench and tighten within Kjeld’s chest. He had two wonderful parents growing up, a devoted father and a loving mother. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for the Starstorm siblings, to have their father taken from them so early, to learn their mother was the one who ended his life. It must have been devastating. Not only that, but Trysta Starstorm had been notoriously unpleasant to her children as adults. He didn’t want to think about how awful she was to them when they were young and impressionable.
