Chapter 127

Nearly a week had passed since I laid the eggs, and still I found myself staring at them as though they might disappear if I looked away for too long.

Seven.

Seven smooth, leathery shells rested within the enormous nest Soryn had built for them, nestled between layers of soft fur and carefully positioned warming stones that radiated gentle heat upward into the carefully constructed bed.

Every time it happened, my heart did something strange in my chest. It would stutter, then swell, then settle into a rhythm that felt like wonder and terror mixed together in equal measure. These were my babies. My children. The physical manifestation of a bond that had formed so gradually I had not noticed its depth until this moment, until I sat surrounded by the evidence of what Soryn and I had created together. It still felt unbelievable. Even now, with the proof before me, some part of my mind insisted this was a dream from which I would eventually wake.

I sat cross-legged near the center of the nest, one hand resting against the nearest egg while the morning sun slipped through the open window and warmed my shoulders. The heat of the stones beneath my palm mingled with the warmth of the shell itself, creating a sensation that felt almost like a heartbeat. There was life inside. Tiny, growing life that depended entirely on us, on the warmth we provided and the protection we offered. Sometimes I imagined I could feel them, could sense the presence of the tiny beings developing within their protective casings. Not movement exactly. They were far too early for that, barely more than a collection of cells dividing and growing according to patterns older than memory. It was more like a subtle hum beneath my palm, an awareness that there was something there. Something alive. Something connected to me through bonds I was only beginning to understand.

Maybe it was the bond between mates that allowed me to sense them. Maybe it was my magic responding to the new life I had helped create. Maybe I was simply an overly emotional mother staring at eggs until my imagination started inventing things that were not truly there. Whatever it was, whatever the explanation, I loved them already. I loved them with a fierceness that surprised me, that made me understand why Soryn had not left their side in days.

I stroked my thumb over one of the shells, feeling the texture of it, the slight give of the leathery surface beneath my touch. "You are going to be spoiled rotten, you know," I murmured to the egg, my voice soft enough that it would not carry beyond the nest. "Your father will insist on proper care, and your siblings will probably try to sit on you, and I will spend the next several months worrying about every single thing that could possibly go wrong."

A tired voice came from beside me, rough with exhaustion but still carrying that particular tone of absolute certainty that belonged only to him. "They will be properly cared for."

I looked over my shoulder.

Soryn was still there.

Of course he was.

My serpent had barely moved from the nest in days, had become so fixated on the eggs that I was beginning to wonder if he would ever return to normal functioning. His long green tail formed a loose protective circle around the eggs, the tip occasionally twitching whenever one of the cubs made too much noise outside the chamber. His hair had become slightly tangled from sleeping against the furs, and faint shadows had begun appearing beneath his eyes, purple smudges that spoke of too little sleep and too much vigilance. Not that he would admit he was exhausted. Soryn considered exhaustion a personal insult, a weakness to be overcome through sheer force of will rather than something to be addressed with rest and care.

I turned to face him fully, taking in the full extent of his dishevelment. "You look terrible," I told him plainly, because subtlety had never worked with Soryn and I saw no reason to start now.

His green eyes slowly shifted toward me, moving with the careful deliberation of someone who was running on the very last reserves of their energy. "I look the same," he countered, though the slight slur in his words betrayed him.

"You look like you have not slept in six days," I pressed, my voice soft with concern rather than accusation. "You look like you have been dragged through a forest backward. You look like a serpent who has forgotten that sleep is a biological necessity."

Soryn’s green eyes shifted toward me, and even in his exhaustion, they held nothing but warmth. A faint smile touched his lips, small and tired but genuine. "I have slept," he insisted, though the words came out rough and unconvincing.

"When?" I asked, moving closer to him, close enough to see the shadows beneath his eyes, the tension in his shoulders.

"Last night." He reached for my hand, his scaled fingers finding mine with the familiarity of years together. "I closed my eyes. I rested."

"You closed your eyes for twenty minutes while sitting upright against the wall," I corrected, squeezing his hand gently. "I watched you. You were snoring."

His smile widened slightly, becoming almost playful. "That is sleep."

"No," I said, letting my thumb brush across his knuckles. "That is blinking for a very long time while making unfortunate noises."

Soryn brought my hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against my fingers. His eyes never left mine, filled with affection that exhaustion could not dim. "You worry too much," he murmured. "I am well. I am exactly where I need to be."

He turned back toward the eggs, but his hand remained in mine, holding on as though I were the anchor that kept him steady. "They must remain warm," he said, his voice gentle, almost apologetic. "I know it seems like too much. I know you think I am foolish. But they need this, Krys. They need me to be here, to watch, to protect. I cannot explain it better than that. It is not a choice. It is what I am."

His words were soft, loving, filled with the vulnerability he showed only to me. There was no dismissal in his tone, no irritation at my concern. Only love, endless and patient, and the fierce devotion that made him who he was.

"They are warm," I assured him. "The stones are doing their job. The furs are insulating them. The room itself is warm. They are not going to freeze, Soryn."

"The stones need to be changed."

"We changed them two hours ago."

"The fur beneath the third egg was slightly cooler this morning."

I stared at him, genuinely astonished by the specificity of his observation. "The third egg?"

He pointed with one scaled finger, indicating a specific egg in the circle. "That one. The one that’s wearing a delicate circlet of pale vine. It was cooler. I adjusted the stone beneath it."

Apparently I had married the most devoted father in all of Askalda, a male who would give everything of himself to keep our clutch safe. I watched him, my heart aching at the exhaustion in his eyes, at the way he held himself together through sheer will alone. I was about to tell him once again, in the gentlest way I could manage, that he needed rest, that the eggs would be safe even if he closed his eyes for a few hours, when footsteps approached from behind us.

Soryn’s shoulders immediately stiffened, his spine going rigid with tension that had become his default state over the past week. He had become fiercely protective of the nest, had transformed from the calm, collected serpent I knew into something vigilant and defensive, always watching, always ready. Anyone approaching caused the same reaction now, even when that someone happened to be one of his own bondbrothers, one of the males he had sworn to trust with his life and mine. I reached out and placed my hand on his back, feeling the tension coiled there, wishing I could ease it, knowing I would do the same if our positions were reversed.

Caelion appeared first, his movements deliberately casual, his expression carefully arranged into neutrality. Aureon came directly behind him, and the moment I saw their expressions, I knew they were planning something. Caelion looked far too calm, the kind of calm that preceded a storm or a battle or some scheme he had already set into motion. Aureon looked far too pleased with himself, his golden eyes bright with mischief and the particular satisfaction of someone who believed they were about to win an argument.

It was a dangerous combination, and I felt a flicker of sympathy for Soryn even as I recognized the necessity of what they were about to attempt.

Soryn noticed too. His tail curled more tightly around the eggs, a physical barrier between his clutch and the threat he perceived approaching. "No," he said, before either of them had spoken a word.

Aureon blinked, attempting to look innocent and failing spectacularly. "We have not said anything."

"No," Soryn repeated.

Caelion folded his arms across his chest, assuming the posture of authority he rarely used but wielded with devastating effectiveness when he chose to deploy it. "Soryn."

"No."

"You need to go rest."

"I am resting." Soryn gestured vaguely at his position, as though sitting in a nest qualified as rest regardless of the tension vibrating through every muscle in his body.

I looked around the nest, at the way his tail twitched, and his eyes tracked every movement in the room. "You are guarding," I corrected gently. "There is a difference between resting and guarding, and you have been doing the latter for six days straight."

"Guarding is restful," Soryn insisted, though the words sounded more like a mantra than a genuine belief.

Aureon snorted, the sound loud and deliberate in the quiet room. Soryn’s eyes narrowed at him, promising retribution for the noise, for the disruption, for the sheer audacity of finding humor in this situation.

Caelion stepped closer, his presence calm but unyielding. "You have been here nearly a week, Soryn. Your judgment is suffering. Your reflexes are slowing. You are becoming less effective as a guardian because you refuse to care for yourself."

Soryn’s tail curled tighter around the eggs, a silent refusal. "I am not exhausted."

"You fell asleep sitting upright this morning," Aureon said, crouching beside the nest. "Your head was nodding. You were swaying."

"I was thinking."

"With your eyes closed?"

Soryn had no answer for that.

Caelion pointed toward the doorway. "Go. Rest. That is not a suggestion."

Soryn looked at me, his green eyes seeking support, finding only love and worry. "I cannot," he whispered. "I cannot leave them."

I moved to his side, placing my hand on his cheek, feeling the warmth of him, the exhaustion he refused to acknowledge. "You can," I said softly. "I am here. I will watch them. I will protect them."

He turned into my touch, his eyes closing for a moment, leaning into me with the weight of his fatigue. "What if something changes?"

"I will call you."

"What if one becomes cold?"

"I will change the stone."

"What if one cracks?"

My stomach tightened at that, at the fear behind the words. Still, I smiled, making my voice steady and sure. "I will call you. I swear it, Soryn. Nothing will happen to them."

He looked at me for a long moment, searching my face, finding the truth of my promise. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Fine," he whispered. "But only because you ask. Only because it is you."

Aureon and Caelion moved instantly, each taking an arm, lifting him with coordinated efficiency. Soryn went with them, his body limp with acceptance, though his eyes remained fixed on the eggs until the doorway blocked his view.

"The stones need rotating every few hours," he called out, his voice already fading down the hall. "Do not let Jasper touch them. The fourth egg prefers warmth. Do not let Aureon sit on them."

"I know," I called back. "I have got them. Go rest."

Aureon’s voice echoed from outside, laughter in every word. "Come on, brother. Before you start naming them individually." Soon they were out of sight and I couldn’t hear anything anymore.

I looked at the eggs.

Seven eggs looked back at me.

Metaphorically.

"Well," I said to the empty room. "Looks like it is just us."

For now.