The Glass Queen (The Forest of Good and Evil #2) - Gena Showalter Page 0,80

destroyed the books I had managed to gather, that they didn’t understand “this is a matter of life and death, and Momma really must study.” They’d also ruined the feather-dress I’d been sewing, broken my bed, and put holes in my walls. All forgivable. I loved these dragons with every fiber of my being.

I plopped onto the edge of the wobbly bed with cracked posters, parchment, and quill in hand. This momma had bills to pay. I had to replace the furniture and have the walls patched before someone noticed the damage. I’d already ordered a spell. For the bargain price of a dagger, sword, ax, and a full set of armor, Ophelia had agreed to re-create the spell she’d cast around Saxon’s tent, ensuring no one heard the destruction taking place on a minute-by-minute basis.

Bang, bang, bang. Growl. Bang. The dragons zoomed past me, mid wrestling match. They slammed into furniture for a thousandth time, wood cracking, and I cringed. More damage, more coin needed to repair. All right. I might be giving up my design work until the dragons went to bed.

As the dragons took flight again, one chasing the other, I set the paper and quill aside, and called, “Be careful, babies. We don’t want another injured wing, do we?”

They crash-landed onto the bed and bounced off the mattress. I giggled. I couldn’t help myself, my heart swelling with love at their antics. Only six days had passed since their hatching, but they’d already doubled in size. They were now the same length and weight as midsize dogs with swordlike teeth.

Both dragons possessed scales that were exact replicas of their shells. At first, I’d thought them completely red, but every day, green specks had become more noticeable. Tiny spikes protruded in two descending rows along each creature’s spine. Both their “hands” and “feet” were tipped with razor-sharp claws, and their wings remained membranous, with bone hooks growing from every joint.

One baby had a tail with spikes at the end—I’d named her Pagan. The other baby’s tail resembled a trident, branching into three barbed prongs. I’d named her Pyre. I assumed the dragons were female, anyway. How was one supposed to tell? I adored them both, whatever they were.

To my amazement, the dragons adored me right back. They cuddled me when we slept, whined when I snuck off to the bathroom, and rushed to my side to protect me whenever someone knocked on the door.

How had Leonora ever used her dragons for evil? They were the sweetest creatures ever born, and I would die to protect mine. The connection I felt...the bond...it couldn’t be because of the phantom. She might come from dragon fire, but my scream had birthed these creatures. They were my family.

And I desperately needed to find my family somewhere else to live. The little darlings would only continue to grow. They were hungry all the time, willing to eat everything in sight. Wood? Why not? Linen? Nom-nom. Glass? Tasty! They preferred mice, though. Especially when I used Leonora’s fire magic to char the remains. I winced.

Yes, I’d practiced summoning the phantom’s flames, and I could do it with more ease now. Not always, but often.

One day soon, the pair would be able to torch their own food. At the moment, they could only cough up a couple sparks.

I scowled as a familiar pain exploded in my temples. As often as it had occurred, I no longer grimaced, my temper greater than my discomfort. Leonora had just crashed through our barrier, invading my mind. Soon, the barrier would refortify on its own, building on the magical remnants of the warlock’s spell. But I knew. Soon, no more remnants would remain, just as Milo had warned me at the funeral.

—The dragons are mine. They tolerate you only because they sense my presence.—

I would give anything to silence this phantom forever. “You’re lying, trying to make me as miserable as possible, because I have what you want. Why haven’t you realized yet that I also have what you lack? A moral compass!”

—I lack nothing.—

“What about a body of your own?” I taunted. I’d developed a bit of a mean streak.

She spat a litany of curses at me. —I control the body more than you realize, human. My hold tightens.—

That, I couldn’t refute. For the first three nights after the eggs had cracked, I’d gone to bed wearing a clean nightgown and awoken wearing a dirty one. Each time, I’d had a vague memory of using a secret