Page 53 of Fallen Nocturne

One is Landon’s. Dorcha is massive, with wings that could shadow a house. I know her and nod respectfully.

The other is smaller and sturdier, with storm-gray scales and intelligent amber eyes.

“This is Sunstorm,” Landon says, running his hand along the gray wyvern’s neck. “He’s steady. Patient. Good-tempered. He’s trained enough of our novice riders that nothing surprises him anymore.”

I stare at the wyvern, then at Landon. “You want me to fly.”

“I need to show you something. Something you can’t understand from the ground.” He moves to Sunstorm’s side, checking the harness. “If you’re going to defend your kingdom against what’s coming, you need to see it the way they’ll see it. From above.”

My heart hammers. I glance at Coral, who has settled near the platform edge, watching us with those soulful eyes.

“I can’t leave her.”

“She’ll be here when you return.” Landon’s voice softens slightly. “I promise.”

I know he is right. But the thought of soaring into the sky while Coral remains earthbound feels like betrayal.

“Rhianelle.” He steps closer, and the mate bond pulses between us. It’s warm and encouraging. “Your people need you to do this.”

I close my eyes, take a breath and nod.

Sunstorm lowers himself obligingly, and Landon helps me into the saddle. His hands are efficient as he secures the harness around my waist and thighs, checking each strap. The leather feels foreign against my skin, and the height is dizzying even before we’ve left the ground.

“Hold here.” He guides my hands to the grips on either side of the saddle. “Knees tight against his sides. Lean with his movements, not against them. He’ll do most of the work. You just need to stay balanced.”

“That’s all?” I look down at the ground, which already feels too far away.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “That’s all.”

He swings onto his own wyvern, settling into the saddle as though he’d been born there. “Sunstorm responds to verbal commands. I’ll give them until you’re comfortable. Ready?”

“No.”

He actually smiles. The first real smile since we left his quarters. “Sunstorm, ascend.”

The world drops away.

One moment I am on solid ground. The next, I am climbing higher and higher, Sunstorm’s powerful wings beating in a steady rhythm that I feel through my entire body. My stomach lurches, and my hands grip the saddle tightly.

Far below, Coral races after us, growing smaller with every beat of Sunstorm’s wings.

My little wyvern runs along the training cliff, her stubby wings spread wide, trying desperately to follow. She reaches the edge and jumps. Her wings flap frantically, her feet churning the air before gravity claims her and she tumbles back onto the platform.

“Coral!” The wind tears her name from my lips.

She gets up and tries again, racing back and forth along the platform, jumping, reaching and falling.

“Focus up here,” Landon calls, his wyvern gliding beside mine. “She’s safe on the training ground. Look forward.”

But I can’t stop watching her. Even as we climb higher, even as she becomes a pale dot on the training field below, I can see her jumping. My heart cracks with each attempt.

“Rhianelle.” Landon’s voice is sharper now, cutting through my spiraling guilt. “Look at me.”

I tear my eyes away from Coral and find him watching me. His expression is understanding but firm.

“This is how wyvern riders see the world,” he says quietly.

Despite the ache in my heart, the fear and the guilt, I finally see it.