Chapter Two

When the morning came, the hatching pyre had been raised for a royal egg. A thin golden frame stood, deceptively strong and meticulously carved with the symbols of each dragon species. It held a nest-shaped litter above a pyre packed with a certain ceremonial magic that always formed a deep-red flame with purple smoke.

The birth of a drake egg was a purely biological act. The species of a drake and the color of their blood was based on their parents, meaning that violence was suitable to solve most lineage disputes. To actually hatch a drake, however, required a delicate art–interweaving the embryo with their elemental magic.

Yuejun was only a few years older than Hel, but had spent nearly all of his life here after being scarred and rejected from the palace. The striker had once caught him deep in meditation before the dias, lines of sweat marking his brow. Hel had crouched beside him, frowning at the heavy-scaled egg, about the size of a cockatrice. It must’ve been a lightning egg–it sparked with inner electricity, humming with energy. “What are you channeling?” He asked, though he knew interrupting was forbidden.

Yet, the lung merely winced. “Love,” he answered. The word made something flicker inside Hel’s chest and he shoved it down. “You can’t believe that will actually work,” he growled. You could instill an egg with the power of volcanos, or typhoons, but an emotion? Yuejun shut his eyes harder, mending the fragile concentration. “It might,” he exhaled, flattening his palms against the ground. “A drake doesn’t need love,” Hel growled and stalked away, more furious than he was willing to admit.

“Bow!”

The word cracked down like lightning, shoving him into the present. Hel’s head hit the ground with a crack of the alabaster tile. Yuejun gasped beside him, unable to break his low bow. It was morning, and a cold mist had settled across the floor of the nursery amidst, lolling over a torn-open teddy bear. A spined drakeling grabbed it, screeched back over its shoulder, and skittered away underneath the pounding of armored legs. “Make way for Queen Mayrissa, ruler of the Undersyde!”

It was her knight Beltaine, green-skinned with tusks and a fearsome rack of antlers. She ruled the oceanlands, the largest of the three kingdoms in Dragantír. The Queen’s pointed boot-heels clicked on the tile floor as she passed, heavily laced and covered in spiderweb. Hel chanced a glance up–catching her place an ombre-teal egg onto the grate. Her skin was tinted blue, while her jet black hair, strung with small, sparkling diamonds, flowed like ocean waves.

“Queen Mayrissa, you hold us to the highest honor,” Yuejun breathed, falsifying a stiff calmness. “After hearing of your mate’s passing, we are left in shock and sorrow. We will prize your egg as if it was our own.” She appeared fully disinterested in the practiced speech–instead the reflection of her finned, gem-pierced ears on the large egg.

The silence that fell was an opportunity, one that lit a burning hope in Hel’s chest. “Your Highness,” Hel breathed, green eyes lowered. This may be my only chance, he thought. “The Flightnest has proved no station for a man of my skills–”
“It’s another beautiful little version of me, isn’t it?” Queen Mayrissa smiled at Yuejun. The guard in the doorway shot Hel with a dagger’s-glance of furious golden eyes that the striker didn’t meet. Instead, he sank clunkily to his furred knees, heart pattering with ruined desperation.

“Yes, my Queen,” Yuejun breathed reverently, “A most beautiful and fortunate egg, to have you as a mother.” She murmured quietly and fingered her peach-pearl necklace, as if lost in a daydream.

“Your Highness!” Hel shot out, “Let me join your court, I’ll prove myself worthy! I should be a spy–an assassin!” The lung’s sharp claws grasped his good leg, the first sign that Yuejun was shifting.

“I’ll kill in your name, if you command it!” Hel managed to squeak out, shocked by how powerful the grip was. “Stop this, now!” Yuejun’s voice hissed harshly in his ear. “You don’t understand what you’re doing!”

“You babbling fools,” The Queen of the Undersyde’s brows furrowed at them. “This is the last egg sired by Abyss–and my final heir.” While he had been alive, the near-black leviathan had stuck to the depths, his glowing eyes and harsh presence too feral for courtly life. His name instilled fear into troublesome drakelings.

“Then find a new mate!” Hel insisted, frantic. No drake would balk at a queen remarrying so quickly–it wasn’t as if Queen Mayrissa hadn’t taken numerous lovers already. “Or if they’re the last of him–let me protect your living heirs.” Yuejun’s claws sank deeper into his ankle, honey-blood dripping. “I’m a striker dragon, for the sake of–”

She turned to him suddenly, scarlet eyes sizing his frail musculature. “You–A striker?” She hissed, not recognizing the beast without its black scales. Hel tucked his twisted leg behind him, desperate that Queen Mayrissa hadn’t realized yet that he wasn’t physically suited for a fight–any fight.

Yuejun shifted into full dragonform, now a full-grown lung hanging his maw full of teeth over Hel’s shoulder. “That’s quite enough,” he intervened, “Queen Mayrissa, I’ll be taking back this lizardbrain–”
“What’s your name, boy?” She interrupted.

“Helfyre,” he answered.

The Queen of the Undersyde gave a low, satisfied rumble. “You’ll sleep on the floor,” she determined without hesitation. “Your work starts tomorrow.” That had been easy–far too easy. The sudden relief of freedom was shuttered out by a harsher chasm of doubt that tore through Hel’s stomach.

“What have you done?” Yuejun begged, eyes wide with alarm. Hel grinned through the unease, venomous fangs shining. “I’m joining a court, and I’m finally going to get to kill again,” he breathed. Until she finds out that you’re a cripple, a nagging doubt pulled.

Queen Mayrissa spoke with her orcish guard, masterminding some details of transport. “Mayrissa has challenged the High Queen for the throne,” Yuejun whispered, “Don’t you know what that means? She will get killed, and her staff will be tried for treason.”

“I didn’t–” Hel stuttered, biting his lip. Had he really been trapped in here for that long that he knew so little of the politics outside?

“That’s quite enough,” Queen Mayrissa snapped, hitting the previously-respectful lung with a harsh glare–she’d overheard them. “Helfyre, we’re leaving. I’d let you say your goodbyes, but quite frankly, I don’t have the patience for it.”

On the highlands outside of the Flightnest sat a glistening carriage, mother-of-pearl and bejewelled with iridescent shells. Beltaine had transformed into a shimmering jade wyvern, straddling himself into the carrying harness of braided fishnet. There was a reason behind the absurdity–dragon royals were far too large to shift for flights.

Hel gave Yuejun a helpless look as the Queen of the Undersyde shoved him inside, sealing his fate. And yet, the soft cushions were not a luxury–this would be a new prison, one of hiding his secret like his life depended on it.