AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Laying eggs is harmless for the females of my kind. The eggs slip out easily. But sometimes they never hatch.”
“Humans don’t have eggs. The babies are born from a sac inside the mother. It’s a slimy, bloody process.”
“It sounds disgusting.”
She laughs again and pats my nose. “It is, rather. Tell me, how large are a dragon’s eggs, typically?”
“It’s been a long time since I saw my brother’s and sister’s eggs, but I would say—perhaps about this size.” I draw an oval shape with my claw on the floor of the cave.
“Oh.” She sighs with relief. “That’s about the size of an infant’s head. And Thelise said these eggs should be even smaller. The hatchlings must be tiny when they’re born.”
“Miniscule. But they grow astonishingly fast. And they can speak Dragonish very soon after birth. They learn by hearing it through the egg, you see.”
“Clever little things,” murmurs Serylla. “I wonder what ours will look like, and what they’ll think of me if I—” She stops speaking and chews her lip.
“If you what?”
She looks up at me, her blue eyes clouded with guilt. “I was thinking it might be better for me to return to the mainland before they hatch. It would be cruel to let them see me and bond with me if I plan to leave.”
Liquid fire churns in my gut, a visceral reaction to the thought of her departure. I shouldn’t be surprised she would bring it up—after all, I offered to let her go. But over these past few days, I’ve allowed myself to indulge the foolish hope that she might stay, after all—that a princess might live willingly in a cave with a dragon who devours bloody carcasses and takes his shits off the edge of a cliff and vomits streams of fire when he’s angry or anxious…
Fuck, it sounds ridiculous when I think of it that way. I’ve been a fool.
My human form doesn’t have much more to offer her than my dragon self does. I’m gaining more control over the timing of each shift, but I have no other skills as a human. The only useful thing I can do in that form is fuck my captive properly.
It’s no surprise she would rather not stay.
She’s watching me, waiting for me to speak, so I say quietly, “Yes, that might be best. Hatchlings imprint on their parents at first sight. It will be easier if they never see you.”
Pain flickers across her face, but she crushes it down resolutely. Ever since the mating heat began, I’ve had a stronger sense of her emotions, a heightened awareness of where she is in the room, even when I’m sleeping. My father told me that after their first mating season, male dragons can sense the location and well-being of all the females in the clan, and they in turn can sense the males. It’s a vague awareness at first, one that becomes stronger with age. Since Serylla isn’t a dragon, I wasn’t sure if I would have such a feeling about her, and I’m pleased that I do. I don’t sense anything related to the other captives, though, so my connection to her must be a result of our frequent mating.
I want to ask her why she is so determined to leave. But I can guess the answer. Hearing it out aloud would only hurt more.
“What about the other women?” she asks. “Will they be free to leave as well?”
“Why not?” I stalk morosely over to the stream and drink deeply.
And we don’t discuss the topic again for three days.
We cook, we fuck, and we sleep. I teach Serylla some rudimentary Dragonish phrases and simple poetry, and she teaches me a game played with chips of rock on a grid that I carve into the cave floor at her direction. Her belly swells larger, and still the Mordvorren rages on. Sometimes I think it’s tapering off, and then another storm cell hits, piercing rock with its lightning, threatening to shake the island apart with the force of its thunder. It’s as if the entire ocean has been poured out upon us, and I worry that when we finally emerge, we’ll find the whole island underwater, with just a few rocky peaks jutting out of the sea.
As our food supply dwindles, I grow increasingly concerned for the fate of the island’s few remaining animals. The sheep and goats can climb, and the wild boars are resourceful, but I’m concerned that every last one will have perished by now. And what of the flocks and herds residing in the Middenwold Isles? Are they safe? If many of them have been lost to the storm, we may find ourselves in no better position than before the war. Which would mean I have done all of this for nothing.
The longer the storm continues, the lower my mood sinks. What if there’s no food left once we emerge from shelter? What if some of my dragons have harmed their women during the mating heat? I will have to destroy those males myself, according to the law I declared before the storm began. What if many women and dragons have been killed by flooding, lightning, or rockfalls? What if this season yields only a few hatchlings, and they all starve?
I should have spoken to Thelise before the storm hit and asked if her magic might be of any use against the Mordvorren. But I’m fairly sure there’s nothing she could have done. This storm is older and more powerful than any of us.
The meat is gone. The vegetables are nearly gone. All that remain are seeds, nuts, and a handful of bruised berries. If the Mordvorren does not move on soon, we will starve. I’ve already been eating much less than I would like, trying to ensure that Serylla has enough. She’s much hungrier than usual, which is to be expected. The little ones inside her are growing rapidly.
I’m lying across the mouth of the cave, frowning at the rain, wondering if it’s truly slackening or if it’s simply my imagination, when Serylla approaches me and touches the edge of my wing.
When I look around, she’s holding her swollen belly, her eyes wide with mingled terror and excitement.
“Ky, I think something is happening,” she whispers.
26
Kyreagan startles up, all traces of his dark mood gone. “What do you mean, something is happening?”
