Chapter 5 Rhianelle #2
His grip is warm and steady, offering the same gentle comfort as before. There is no spark racing beneath my skin. His touch feels nothing like that of the person who ravaged me on an altar last night.
My chest tightens.
“She’s fast,” he observes, releasing my hand to brush dirt from my sleeve.
We both look at Coral. She has found a puddle and is splashing in it with delight. Muddy water sprays everywhere, coating her belly and legs in dark streaks. She looks absolutely delighted with herself.
The keeper shakes his head. “This won’t do. She needs firm correction.”
He reaches for his belt and pulls out a riding crop, the leather worn smooth from use.
My blood runs cold. “Wait—”
“Wyvern scales are hard as steel. She won’t feel a thing,” Tarian assures me.
I look to Landon, waiting for him to say something. Surely he’ll object. Surely he won’t—
But Landon’s hand moves to his own belt, where an identical crop hangs. My heart sinks.
“It’s not a bad idea,” Landon says calmly. “Rhianelle, wyvern scales are incredibly thick. The crop doesn’t hurt them. It’s just a tool for communication.”
I don’t want to argue against centuries of wyvern training and methods that clearly work for everyone else. But the thought of striking Coral makes my stomach turn.
Landon catches my expression. “It’s pressure, not pain. A way to reinforce commands.”
I stare at him, then at the keeper and finally at Coral. She has now flopped onto her side in the flowers, her wings spread out like she’s making snow angels. Petals stick to her damp scales. She looks absurdly precious, entirely unaware that we are discussing how best to discipline her.
My mate wouldn’t hurt something I loved.
I hold Landon’s gaze. “No.”
Landon’s brow furrows slightly. “Rhianelle—”
I move between the keeper and Coral, my hands clenched at my sides. “She’s not… she doesn’t need that. I won’t allow it.”
Tarian exchanges a brief look with Landon. Nothing is said, but I can read the judgment in the slight tightening of his mouth. To him, I am the soft elven queen who does not understand how these things work, allowing emotion to overrule practical sense.
My throat tightens. They think I’m being foolish and soft. Maybe I am. But the thought of anyone striking Coral makes something fierce and protective rise in my chest.
She’s mine. She trusts me.
I feel tears prick at my eyes and hate myself for it. This is exactly what they expect from me.
But Landon’s expression softens when he looks back at me.
“All right,” he says quietly. “We’ll do it your way.”
The keeper throws his hands up in disappointment and stalks off, muttering something in Old Fae that I don’t catch. His boots strike the ground hard enough to send up small clouds of dust.
Landon steps closer and I’m suddenly very aware of how tall he is. The morning light catches the copper in his red hair. “We’ll find another method.”
I nod quietly, not trusting my voice.
Coral chooses that moment to sneeze, scattering dandelion fluff over both of us. White fluff clings to Landon’s hair and my dress. Landon wipes his face and despite everything, the corner of his mouth twitches.
“Let’s start with basics,” he says with a smile. “Posture training first.”
He crouches beside Coral, studying her. His hands move over her wings, checking the joints and membrane. Coral leans into his touch, making happy sounds.
“Is she food motivated?” he asks.
“Very,” I say.
I pull a piece of dried meat from my pouch. Coral’s head snaps toward me instantly. Her eyes lock onto the treat with focus. I hold it above her head and she rises onto her hind legs, reaching for it with her front claws.
“Good,” Landon says. “That’s what we need.”
It takes us another twenty minutes to coax Coral back to the training ground proper. I walk backward, holding treats just out of reach. She follows like I’m leading her on an invisible leash. Landon walks beside us, occasionally redirecting her when she gets distracted.
She gets distracted often. A bird flying overhead catches her attention and she tries to chase it, forgetting about the treat entirely. An interesting-looking rock needs thorough investigation. The wind carries an interesting scent and she has to stop and sniff the air for a full minute.
My bad leg is throbbing by the time we reach the designated training area. The dull ache has sharpened into something that demands attention. I try not to limp, but Landon notices anyway.
“Do you need to rest?” he asks.
“I’m fine.”
He nods and turns back to Coral.
Guilt twists in my stomach. He’s done nothing but be kind all morning. I’m snapping at him because he doesn’t remember a dream. Because touching him doesn’t set me on fire. None of that is his fault. It isn’t fair and I know it.
Coral is too wild for her own good.
The training cliff rises before us, a manufactured precipice that drops thirty feet to a landing area below.
Someone, probably Tarian, has filled it with sand and straw to soften a fall.
For all Tarian’s severity, care lies behind every part of this place.
Both he and Landon want Coral to succeed. They want her to fly.
Landon positions us near the edge. I feel the updraft from below, cool and steady. The wind here is predictable, as he explained earlier. Perfect for first flights.
“Wings up,” Landon instructs for the hundredth time. “Coral, wings up.”
Coral’s wings droop like wilted flowers. She’s been standing on the cliff for over an hour. I can see her legs trembling with effort. Every time she manages to lift her wings to the proper position, they sag back down within seconds.
“She’s trying,” I say, my own shoulders aching at the sight.
“I know.” Landon circles Coral, his trained eye assessing every angle. “Her wing muscles are weak.”
My heart is in my throat at the remark.
Landon pauses, running his hand along the delicate membrane of her wing. “The cartilage should be firm, springy.” Coral chirps softly, leaning into his touch. “Hers feels... soft. Underdeveloped.”
A cold weight settles in my stomach. “What does that mean?”
“It may mean we need to build strength. Come on, girl. One more time.”
Coral manages to lift her wings halfway. They shake with the strain. Then they drop again. She makes a frustrated sound and sits down heavily.
“That’s enough for now,” I say, moving to her side.
Landon nods. “We’ll take a break.”
Landon’s squadron practices aerial maneuvers in the sky above us. Their wyverns move in perfect formation, wings slicing through the air with powerful strokes. Coral watches them with fascination, her head tilting back to follow their movements. A sound like longing escapes her throat.
Then she turns to Landon and chirps, nudging his arm with her snout.
He looks down at her. “You want to try again?”
Coral chirps once more, louder this time, and looks toward the cliff.
Landon glances at me. I hesitate, but the determination in Coral’s eyes has returned.
“All right,” I murmur. “Let us try.”
“The goal is to get her to glide. Feel the air catch her wings. Build that muscle memory,” Landon explains as he guides Coral to the edge. She peers down at the drop and makes an uncertain noise.
“It’s all right, Coral,” I murmur, stroking her neck. “I’m right here.”
Landon positions her wings, spreading them wide. His hands are gentle but firm as he adjusts the angle. “On my count, she jumps and extends. The air should catch her.”
I move in front of Coral where she can see me clearly and lift my hands. Lady Siofra taught me the signs she used to communicate with us. Coral never had a clutch or an elder wyvern to teach her normal wyvern calls. This is the only language she understands.
I point toward the open air, then sweep both hands outward like wings. Jump. Spread. Hold.
Coral watches every movement, her bright eyes fixed on my hands. I repeat the signs more slowly, then touch my chest and point to her. I am here. You are safe.
Coral stares back at me with those bright eyes. There’s determination there, a spark of fire that makes my chest ache with pride.
Coral wants to do this. She wants to fly like the others.
“Ready?” Landon calls. “Three... two... one... go!”
Coral crouches, gathers herself and leaps from the edge.
Her wings beat frantically, but they find no lift. She drops like a stone, without control or even a fleeting moment when her body seems to understand what it is meant to do. My wyvern twists helplessly in the air before striking the sand below with a heavy thud.
I’m already running down the path before Landon can stop me. “Coral!”
The little wyvern’s already climbing to her feet when I reach her. Sand flies from her scales as she shakes herself. She looks embarrassed more than hurt.
“Again,” Landon calls from above. “She needs to try again.”
Coral’s head snaps up at his voice. She chirps and immediately scrambles toward the path. Her claws scrabble on stone as she climbs. The determination hasn’t left her eyes. She wants to try.
And so we do it again and again.
But she falls.
Her wings beating uselessly, the cartilage too weak to catch the air.
Each time we do it, Coral climbs to the edge with less enthusiasm.
Her steps grow slower and her chirps quieter.
By the tenth attempt, she won’t even approach the cliff edge.
She plants her feet and refuses to move, making a sound that breaks my heart.
“Coral?” I kneel beside her, touching her snout gently. “What’s wrong?”
She won’t look at me. Her wings droop against her sides brokenly.
Landon descends the path, his expression grim. He doesn’t say anything as he watches Coral huddle against my legs, trembling.
“She’s exhausted,” I say. My throat feels tight. “We pushed too hard.”
“Maybe.” His voice is careful. Our bond tells me something is bothering him.
I look up at him. “What is it?”
He doesn’t answer right away. His jaw tightens as he looks at my wyvern. “Let’s get her back to the stable. Have the keeper examine her properly.”
Fear coils in my stomach. The walk back feels endless.