Page 212 of Fallen Nocturne

“Burn her! Burn her!”

Others take up a different cry.

“Eat the queen! Eat the queen!”

The words spread through the crowd until the ravine shakes with thousands of voices demanding Rhianelle’s death. Sanguisyl releases a low rumble, smoke curling between his teeth.

Finnbheara looks toward Landon. “Are you satisfied now?”

“Yes,” Landon replies.

He turns back to Rhianelle. She’s still on the ground with her broken leg.

“Death by wyvern fire is too much,” he mutters, looking at Landon. “I’m not as sadistic as my brother.”

Rhianelle’s trying to pull herself toward her sword. She is still fighting and refusing to give up. Even as she is facing a behemoth.

Gods. My wife.

“I’ll make this quick,” Finnbheara promises as he draws his sword again. “One stroke. You won’t feel a thing. I swear it.”

The new fae king approaches and positions the blade over her neck this time. Rhianelle stops crawling and goes still, accepting the end. He raises the sword high.

A piercing screech tears through the roar of the crowd.

A wyvern’s call.

Everyone’s heads snap up, searching for the source. From the elf side of the ravine, something launches into the air. Something pale and small, moving with desperate speed.

“No,” I breathe.

Because I recognize those wings. Those useless, broken wings that were supposed to never fly.

“Coral,” I whisper.

Rhianelle’s wyvern is flying with her wing braces. The mechanical harness I built is on her and it’s working.

Coral isn’t flying well. Her movements are awkward and jerky. The braces compensate for her damaged wings but don’t fully replace them. She’s fighting gravity with every wingbeat.

She dives toward the circle. Toward Rhianelle.

The wyvern’s screech echoes across the ravine again. Coral crashes into the circle rather than landing. Her clawed feet dig furrows in the earth. The wing braces spark and groan with the impact. But she’s there between Rhianelle and Finnbheara.

Between her friend and death.

She spreads her broken, braced wings and roars. It’s not as impressive as Sanguisyl’s roar, but it’s fierce. The entire ravine goes silent.

Finnbheara lowers his sword and stares at the pale wyvern.

“She has a wyvern,” he mutters in disbelief.

His gaze is locked on the mechanical braces on Coral’s wings and the way she stands over Rhianelle like a shield. He turns his piercing stare toward Landon. “You knew she had one.”

“Of course, I knew,” Landon replies. There’s something almost amused in his tone. “I helped Rhianelle train the little one.”

Coral chirps a soft sound. She looks back at Finnbheara and Sanguisyl. Her broken, beautiful wings spread wider.

She’s magnificent.