Page 125 of Fallen Nocturne

The morning sun is barely cresting the mountains when Coral takes her first true flight.

I’ve been awake since before dawn, too restless to sleep. Arescaine and I have stood at the cliff edge while the sky changed from black to grey and finally to the pale gold of morning. We checked the braces three times. Tarian watched from behind us with his arms crossed, saying nothing, which from him means he believes they might actually work.

Coral stands at the edge for a long moment, staring into the valley below. Then she looks back at me.

I nod.

She doesn’t leap so much as hurl herself from the cliff, trusting the braces to hold.

For one terrible second, nothing happens.

My heart is in my throat as Arescaine’s wing braces gleam on her back. The mechanism engages with a soft click and then she’s gliding.

Coral is flying.

I clap both hands over my mouth, but a sound escapes anyway. Tears sting my eyes. I don’t care.

Her pale white scales catch the dawn light like scattered diamonds. She banks left, then right, testing the balance. I can hear her delighted chirps echoing across the valley.

She attempts a wider turn and wobbles so sharply that my stomach drops. Then the left brace shifts to compensate.

Coral steadies herself and tilts into the wind instead of fighting against it. She catches the current and rides it in a long, lazy circle above the valley floor. Her chirps rise higher and faster with excitement.

Coral understands.

She’s learning how to fly.

I grab Arescaine’s arm without thinking.

“Look at her,” I say, as though he isn’t already watching. “Look at what she’s doing.”

He doesn’t answer. When I glance up at him, something unguarded has slipped into his expression.

“She’s doing it,” I breathe, unable to stop the smile spreading across my face. “My Coral is flying.”

Arescaine stands beside me, arms crossed. He’s watching his creation work with what I’ve learned is his version of pride. There’s a slight softening around his eyes, a barely-there curve of his lips. He’s been working on those braces for weeks, adjusting, testing, and rebuilding them for Coral.

I think of last night, when I found him at his worktable long after the city had gone dark. Diagrams covered every available surface. He was surrounded by carved models he’d tested and discarded. Not once did he complain that the task was too difficult or suggest that it couldn’t be done.

He simply kept working.

“The balance is still off,” he says, ever critical. “She can’t gain more altitude. I need to reinforce the joint mechanism and—”

“Arescaine.” I touch his arm again without thinking and feel him go very still. “Thank you. This is... You’ve given her hope. You’ve given me hope.”

He looks down at where my hand rests on his forearm and something passes through his dark eyes.

“Rhianelle,” he says quietly.

Our eyes meet, and neither of us looks away. The morning light catches the sharp angles of his face. There is something in his expression that I cannot name. Something ancient and carefully restrained, an ache buried beneath centuries of silence.

“There is something I should have told you a long time ago,” he begins.

My breath catches.

“I am—”

“Your Highness!”