The Cursed Egg

CHAPTER TWO

The news that Jerboa had taken advantage of Diorite spread through the palace like lightning, a deadly lightning that killed his reputation and the two kingdom's alliances in one blow.

She could still see his face, an expression of pure fury and yet pure terror, as he was dragged away by the guards to be sent back to his kingdom, an angry letter in his hands for his king. She could still remember the words he'd mouthed to her, his chest being squashed by the guards so he couldn't speak, "I'll kill you for this!"

But he hadn't—he couldn't, he was back on the other side of the ocean, head bowed in front of his king and shaking as he presented him the letter. He was surely terrified, or at least she hoped he was, and she prayed to the fire-mountains that he wouldn't get off with a warning.

But would they really have mercy on him, a diplomat who had not only ruined an alliance but also done two things deplorable in the eyes of society—fall for a different tribe and take said dragon by force?

Somehow, Diorite felt that his heart no longer beat.

She snorted then, realizing how ironic that simple statement was. That dragon's heart hadn't beat in ages, she was certain of that. He had no heart, he was a deplorable, terrible dragon that she'd been stupid enough to fall for. And for what? A taste of freedom?

Her eyes fell on the egg in front of her. She'd tasted freedom, now, and it was anything but sweet.

Her tail curled around her talons in a sudden feeling of disgust and self-hatred. She'd fallen for that idiot of a dragon, and for the life of her, she couldn't understand how. What had she seen in him? Was all that had lured her to him like a helpless goat that sense of adventure, of rebellion, of freedom?

Diorite shut her eyes tightly, trying desperately to banish the thought from her mind. She didn't love him, not anymore, and she was seated in a beautiful palace. Her eyes opened once more to take in the arched doorways, the red carpet woven in with gold, and the walls she'd ordered painted white but still interspersed with the pitifully small gemstones to stop the dismalness of the palace from getting to her.

It didn't help much, though, as the sun refused to come out of the clouds, as if reflecting her mood.

Still, she felt a sliver of satisfaction at the expression on Jerboa's face, of the image of him shaking and afraid. All it had taken was one meeting, one audience with the queen and Jerboa was gone—gone from Diorite's life and undoubtedly dead for being stupid enough to blow a very important alliance that had promised the sand-dwelling dragons a remarkable amount of gemstones and metals.

Of course, the true problem still remained—the blasted egg that now sat facing her, cradled in a nest of expensive gemstones. It somehow seemed to stare at her accusatorily—or perhaps it was just because she could see Jerboa in its coloring.

In fact, the small egg looked nothing like an Igneous Tribe egg. Instead of grey, or black, or some variation of those, it was a yellow, speckled with tiny bits of grey that reminded her of Jerboa's spots. But the dots weren't even just random—no, there was almost a swirl being formed, one that reminded her of the spots on Jerboa's wings. And even the shape of the blasted thing was wrong—too wide on the top, making it nearly impossible for the dragoness to tell which way was the top.

It was all wrong, so wrong. She never wanted this to happen, not with Jerboa. She wanted a normal mate, a normal, handsome Igneous Tribe dragon that would help her raise their normal, average children together. But now she was unclean, impure, all because she'd listened to Jerboa's sweet words.

"I hope he melts in molten fire," she muttered quietly, her tail thumping the ground harder than she intended. Her jewelry rattled slightly at the sudden movement, and she exhaled loudly, smoke billowing out of her nostrils as she stared dejectedly at the egg.

Not her egg, the egg. It was not hers, it would never be hers, she didn't want it. It wasn't supposed to be here, sitting here and mocking her with memories of Jerboa, as if reminding her that she'd consented. She hadn't been taken advantage of, no, she'd just listened to a male she never should have.

That didn't mean it wasn't her fault. A wave of self-hatred overwhelmed her again, along with a heavy dose of fury at that blasted diplomat.

The sun suddenly shone through the window behind her, dodging around her head and landing on the hybrid egg in front of her. Instantly, the entire room was glittering, shining as the gold and silver and countless gemstones captured the sunlight and spilled it out in different colors, bathing the egg in a rainbow of beauty. Even the carpet sparkled, red but speckled as it was with threads of gold that dragons had somehow managed to make into cloth. Diorite inhaled sharply. It was beautiful. What did it matter if the father was—?

Then the sun slipped back behind the clouds and the moment was gone.

The part of her that had awakened briefly was gone, the sympathy for the hatchling in the egg vanishing with a seemingly theatrical flourish. It didn't belong here, in this kingdom, and she didn't want to see it. She didn't care if it was her flesh in blood, or it she'd pushed the blasted thing from her stomach. It didn't belong in the palace of the Igneous Tribe, and it never would.

Because the egg looked just like Jerboa. It was Jerboa's, not hers. Or maybe it was no one's—yes, that was right, it was an egg that she'd been cursed to carry by some cruelty in the universe. It wasn't hers, or his-it wasn't a dragon at all.

It was just an it, a creature that never should have been.