Page 93 of Fallen Nocturne

I can see it properly now, the delicate metal framework that curves and mirrors natural wing structure, leather straps reinforced with thin steel.

“A chance,” he says simply, looking down at Coral. “If she’s willing to try. This wing brace could be her chance to fly.”

For a moment, I forget how to breathe.

A wing brace?

I stare at the thing in his hands, trying to make sense of what he is telling me.

Coral might fly. The thought is so impossible, so enormous, that I am afraid to let myself believe it.

“It’s based on old dwarven designs for injured miners. I modified it for a wyvern’s body.” He sets it down on the workbench and picks up a piece of parchment covered in sketches and calculations. “The theory is that if her wing cartilage is too soft to maintain rigidity, external support might compensate. These braces lock her wings into the proper position for gliding. The pulleys distribute tension evenly, preventing strain on any single point.”

I move closer, drawn by fascination and possibility. “Will it work?”

“I don’t know.” He looks down at Coral, who has raised her head to watch us both. “The metal is strong but light. Hrolf helped with the design. Apparently dwarves have been making prosthetics for centuries. But I won’t know if it works until we try it.”

“We?” I repeat, startled by the word.

He looks at me, and there’s something in his eyes I can’t read. “She’s your wyvern, Your Highness. I won’t try anything without your permission.”

Your Highness. So formal and distant. Moments ago, he called me Rhianelle. Then my queen. I should prefer the proper title, but instead I find myself wanting to hear those other words again.

I stare at the harness, at the vampire holding it, at my wyvern who stubbornly stayed by his side.

“Why?” I ask suddenly. “Why would you do this? Spend weeks or months designing something like this?”

His expression closes off. “I like a challenge. Blacksmithing gets boring without problems to solve.”

I narrow my eyes. “There has to be a catch.”

He turns back to the harness, adjusting one of the narrow leather straps. “There is none. If it helps her, does the reason matter?”

Yes, I want to say. It matters because I don’t understand you. Every time I look at you I feel like there is a word on the tip of my tongue that I can’t quite speak.

But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I ask, “Can I see it?”

He nods and gestures me closer. I step up to the workbench, acutely aware of how near he is. I can smell coal smoke, metal, and something dark and compelling that makes my pulse quicken.

The harness is even more beautiful up close. Every joint is perfect and every weld seamless. The leather is soft but strong, lined with silk so it won’t chafe her scales.

“You made this,” I breathe. “All of it.”

“Hrolf helped with the frame. I did the detail work.” He picks it up, demonstrating how the joints move. “See here? This section locks when weight is applied. That’s the part that should give her gliding capability.”

He adjusts a small lever, and the wings of the harness extend. “This is for when she’s on the ground. The wings fold back so she can move freely.”

I watch his hands as he demonstrates each feature. “It’s incredible.”

“It’s untested.” But there’s pride in his voice, carefully hidden. “It could be useless.”

“When can we try it?” The words burst out of me before I can stop them.

He looks surprised. “You want to?”

“Of course I want to!” I gesture at Coral, who’s watching us with those intelligent eyes. “If there’s even a chance this could help her, we have to try. We have to—”

My voice breaks. “She’s been destroying herself, picking at her scales and getting sadder every day. If this works, if she can fly, even just glide…”