Page 87 of Fallen Nocturne

Coral whimpers behind me, distressed by my tone. I force myself to lower my voice, but my hands are shaking.

“Coral isn’t suffering,” I say, shaking my head. “She’s happy when we walk through the gardens. Treats still make her dance in circles. At night, she curls up beside me and makes that little purring sound.”

Landon’s expression doesn’t change but something flickers in his eyes. The mate bond twists between us, tangled with anger and hurt.

Tarian sighs. “I’m trying to spare you both this pain.”

“Then spare me your advice.” I step closer to Coral, one hand resting on her head. “She’s mine.”

We stare at each other. His jaw is set. Mine is too. Neither of us blinks.

“As you wish,” the keeper says. “But when the suffering gets worse, and it will, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Tarian closes his satchel and rises. He gives Coral one final, sorrowful look before turning toward the doorway.

Alys lingers beside Coral for a moment. She sets the tin of balm on the stone near my feet.

“Use it twice each day,” she says quietly. “More often if the skin begins to crack.”

Alys reaches toward Coral, then stops before her hand can touch the little wyvern’s head. Her fingers curl into her palm.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers before leaving.

Landon hesitates. He looks at me, and I see the conflict written across his face. The mate bond pulls tight between us and aches. But he doesn’t say anything. He just follows Tarian and Alys out.

Then he’s gone.

I’m left alone with Coral, who has already turned back to picking at her scales. The soft sound of tearing makes me flinch. I pull her head into my lap, gently restraining her.

I understand what Tarian means. I have seen Rainer end the suffering of animals when nothing else could be done. He did it for noctrals whose legs were shattered, whose bodies were too broken to rise. Even for Judge, the old hound who had slept beside his chair for years. Rainer wept when he buried him, but he never allowed the dog to suffer simply because saying goodbye hurt too much.

There is courage in that kind of mercy. I know there is.

But Coral is not dying from some mortal wound. Tarian wants me to end her life because she cannot fly. Because she was born without the one thing every wyvern is supposed to possess.

That is not enough.

Still, his warning follows me into the silence. Tarian is a wyvern keeper. He has spent years caring for creatures like Coral. Landon did not argue with him. Neither did Alys. They all looked at Coral with the same terrible pity, as though they already knew how this would end.

What if Tarian is right?

What if the frustration grows until the happy little creature I know disappears? What if she tears herself raw, stops eating, and suffers while I keep her alive because I am too selfish to let her go?

The thought makes my arms tighten around her. I do not know whether refusing is brave or cruel. I only know I cannot make that choice now. Not while Coral still leans into my touch.

“I won’t let them,” I whisper against her head. “I won’t give up on you. I promise.”

Coral makes a soft sound and my heart breaks all over again.

Chapter 12 Rhianelle

My legs shake as I dismount from Sunstorm. It’s the good kind of trembling. My muscles are fatigued from a job well done, not fear. Three weeks of training, and I’m finally starting to understand what Landon means when he talks about becoming one with the wyvern. Today I held formation through a complex aerial maneuver without a single correction.

“Excellent work,” Landon says, swinging down from his own mount with effortless grace. There’s pride in his voice, and the golden string glows warm between us. “You’re a natural, Rhianelle. Better than riders I’ve trained for years.”

I manage a tired smile, pushing sweat-damp hair from my face. “I had a good teacher.”

His expression softens. For a moment, something passes between us. Then he clears his throat and turns to tend to his wyvern. The moment breaks.