Page 116 of Playing with Fire

“You’ll regret that, Samuel.”

“No, I won’t.” Quinn nodded towards a corner of the room, and I realized there was a young child hiding in the corner, as far away from the statues and the nest as she could get. She wore rags, dirty, torn rags that barely covered her.

I balled my hands into fists, clacked my teeth together, and waited, my fury burning through me until nothing else remained.

“Is the whelp yours?”

Audrey snorted. “Of course not. I wouldn’t produce such—”

Quinn darted forward, and my grandfather-in-law covered my eyes with a hand. “I don’t think you need to see this part.”

Audrey screamed, the shrill cry of a dying animal, and the crack of bone cut the sound off. Okay. I could deal with broken statues and piles of ashes that’d once been people. Wet crunches, however, went right over the line into the realm of the stomach churning. “That sounds gross.”

With a sigh, Quinn’s grandfather adjusted his hand over my eyes, and a moment later, he stroked his hand over my hair, the gesture oddly comforting. “It is. Killing a gorgon can be done in many ways. He’s making sure Audrey and her sisters don’t return—and that their bodies can’t be used to create more dust.”

Something tore, and I shuddered. “That’s good.”

“It is. Bear with it a little longer. It’ll be over soon. Ah, that’s promising. The little whelp is crying, but she’s clapping her hands. Good.”

“I fail to see how that’s a good thing.”

“She celebrates. Perhaps she is the prince’s whelp? Or stolen. She’s not of their blood or hive; had she been, she would only cry. She’s happy, as are her snakes.”

Crunch.

“Do I want to know what he’s doing?”

“No.”

Oh boy. I gulped. “What about the other gorgons in the nest?”

“They’re in torpor. They won’t feel a thing.”

“What is torpor?” Maybe if I talked about something—anything—else, I could ignore the sounds.

“Are you sure you’re certified to handle gorgon affairs?”

I wrinkled my nose. “I may have slept during the biology and sociology courses. It was a guaranteed pass. I sometimes did homework for other classes during it. Sorry. I wasn’t expecting to actually need it.”

Quinn’s grandfather chuckled. “I suppose I can’t blame you for that. Newly mated females will often hibernate while nesting. They curl around their eggs and sleep while the eggs grow, preparing for when they need to care for the young after they hatch. It is the responsibility of the male or hive sisters to care for the females in torpor. Torpor helps elevate a female’s body to a suitable temperature for incubating the eggs. Outside of torpor, gorgon females have a body temperature about twenty degrees below humans. During torpor, their temperature is closer to a human’s.”

That explained why Quinn worried about having someone hold the eggs. I didn’t need a biology degree to understand how eggs required a certain temperature to remain viable.

“Are there eggs?”

“Certainly. Living ones, however, is a different matter. Audrey isn’t the nurturing kind, and I expect her hive sisters starved while nesting. After two weeks without feeding, a female in torpor will cool too much for the eggs to remain viable.”

I clenched my teeth so tightly my jaw ached. “You think if there are eggs, they’re dead, don’t you?”

“Very likely. Quinn understands it’s unlikely there are surviving eggs. He’s quite displeased. We’ll find out soon enough. He’s almost finished. Ah, no, little Samuel. Take their bodies away from the nest before you petrify the remains. Don’t get too excited.” My grandfather-in-law chuckled. “Now that’s adorable. The little whelp’s helping, and she’s almost as enthusiastic as little Samuel. Do be careful of the eggs, children.”

I decided I really didn’t want to know.

It felt like an eternity had passed before my grandfather-in-law uncovered my eyes. Of the female gorgons, I saw no sign. “What happened to them?”

The former gorgon king pointed at a far corner of the room. “He buried their petrified remains within the walls so they can’t be used by someone else to create dust. He’s a very thorough child.”

The young whelp hopped along at Quinn’s heels, flailing her too thin arms. The pair halted at the nest.