Page 216 of Fallen Nocturne

“Finn, Rhianelle challenged you knowing she’d lose. Knowing she’d probably die, she did it anyway. To save her people.” Landon’s gaze shifts to Rhianelle, still leaning against Coral to keep herself upright. “You’re better than this. I know you are.”

Finnbheara’s hand tightens on his sword hilt.

“You don’t understand,” he says quietly. “I have to do this. I am the new Fae King. If I don’t, if I show mercy now—”

“Then you show you’re not your father.” Landon takes another step toward him. “That’s what you’re afraid of, isn’t it? That showing mercy makes you weak and walking away from this fight means you’re not fit to rule. But Finn… mercy isn’t weakness. It comes from strength.”

Finnbheara does not lower his weapon, but something in his expression changes. The fury falters. His eyes move from Landon to Rhianelle, then to the frightened faces of the people he is fighting for.

No one dares to move. Everyone seems to hold their breath as Finnbheara stands with Rhianelle’s life balanced on the edge of his blade.

Landon searches Finnbheara’s face for any trace of the friend he knew. Someone capable of choosing his people over his pride.

“You’re wrong,” he says to Landon. “I’m sure to win against Aelfheim. My army will keep coming, bigger and stronger. From the tall mountains of Darvan to the depths of Hel itself. We have allies across the continent.”

Finnbheara gestures at the fleeing crowds and the devastation around them.

“The elves are broken. Their queen is wounded and their forces are scattered. It’s only a matter of time before Aelfheim falls.”

“You’re probably right,” Landon says, and the agreement surprises everyone. “Yes. If you press the attack, if you commit everything, Aelfheim will fall. The elves will lose.”

Finnbheara nods.

“But they won’t go quietly,” Landon says, his voice dropping. “They won’t surrender without a fight.”

“All wars have costs,” Finnbheara says dismissively.

“Do you know what this will cost?” Landon turns toward Sanguisyl. The massive red wyvern stands where the fight left him, wings tattered and bleeding, head hanging low. “Sanguisyl can level entire cities.”

“Exactly,” Finnbheara says. “We’ll attack seven cities across the thirty-three regions.”

“Coral can do the same,” Landon says, looking at the small pale wyvern. “We just saw it. That devastating, world-ending power. She has it.”

He pauses and lets the words sink in.

Landon is bluffing. But I’m fucking certain a fae can’t lie. The fae part of me confirms it, so I don’t know what the hell Landon is thinking.

I stare at Coral. She is pressed against Rhianelle’s side, chirping softly as if she didn’t almost reduce everyone in this ravine to ash.

None of us knew she had that sort of power until today. The truth is no one knows how to control it. Not me, not Rhianelle, certainly not Coral herself. What happened moments ago was purely accidental, a desperate response to save Rhianelle.

Could she do it again? Maybe. Probably not. Almost certainly not on command, not directed at specific targets, not as a weapon of war.

Coral is just a young wyvern with broken wings and a heart too big for her body.

“I do not know how many cities Coral can attack before she needs to recharge,” Landon says. “I wasn’t the last person to train the young wyvern. You should ask him.”

He points directly at me.

What the fuck?

Every face in the ravine turns my way. I stare at Landon, but his expression gives nothing away.

He is fae. Coinneach whispers. Fae cannot lie. He has reached the limit of how much he can horseshit this.

“I…” I begin.

Five thick fingers rise beside me.