Chapter 30 Svenn #3
“Death by wyvern fire is too much,” he mutters, looking at Landon. “I’m not as sadistic as my brother.”
Rhianelle’s trying to pull herself toward her sword. She is still fighting and refusing to give up. Even as she is facing a behemoth.
Gods. My wife.
“I’ll make this quick,” Finnbheara promises as he draws his sword again. “One stroke. You won’t feel a thing. I swear it.”
The new fae king approaches and positions the blade over her neck this time. Rhianelle stops crawling and goes still, accepting the end. He raises the sword high.
A piercing screech tears through the roar of the crowd.
A wyvern’s call.
Everyone’s heads snap up, searching for the source. From the elf side of the ravine, something launches into the air. Something pale and small, moving with desperate speed.
“No,” I breathe.
Because I recognize those wings. Those useless, broken wings that were supposed to never fly.
“Coral,” I whisper.
Rhianelle’s wyvern is flying with her wing braces. The mechanical harness I built is on her and it’s working.
Coral isn’t flying well. Her movements are awkward and jerky. The braces compensate for her damaged wings but don’t fully replace them. She’s fighting gravity with every wingbeat.
She dives toward the circle. Toward Rhianelle.
The wyvern’s screech echoes across the ravine again. Coral crashes into the circle rather than landing. Her clawed feet dig furrows in the earth. The wing braces spark and groan with the impact. But she’s there between Rhianelle and Finnbheara.
Between her friend and death.
She spreads her broken, braced wings and roars. It’s not as impressive as Sanguisyl’s roar, but it’s fierce. The entire ravine goes silent.
Finnbheara lowers his sword and stares at the pale wyvern.
“She has a wyvern,” he mutters in disbelief.
His gaze is locked on the mechanical braces on Coral’s wings and the way she stands over Rhianelle like a shield. He turns his piercing stare toward Landon. “You knew she had one.”
“Of course, I knew,” Landon replies. There’s something almost amused in his tone. “I helped Rhianelle train the little one.”
Coral chirps a soft sound. She looks back at Finnbheara and Sanguisyl. Her broken, beautiful wings spread wider.
She’s magnificent.
Small, yes. Damaged, yes. But fierce and protective. She’s ready to fight the world for her bonded rider.
The crowd stares.
Then someone laughs. It starts as a single voice from the fae side. A snicker and a giggle. Then more join in. The laughter spreads across the ravine.
“That’s her wyvern?” someone shouts. “It’s barely bigger than a horse!”
“Look at those contraptions on its wings! It can’t even fly properly!” an orkan warrior jests. “Sanguisyl will eat it for breakfast!”
The laughter grows and becomes a roar.
Sanguisyl is ancient, massive and scarred from a thousand battles. A legend made flesh, while Coral is young and damaged, a wyvern held together by mechanical braces.
It’s a joke.
But Finnbheara isn’t laughing. He’s staring at Coral with a strange expression. His hand has fallen to his side and his whole body has gone rigid.
“Finn?” Landon calls down. “Something wrong?”
Finnbheara doesn’t answer. He’s looking at Sanguisyl now.
The massive red wyvern’s burning eyes are fixed on Coral. Not with aggression or the predatory focus of a hunter seeing prey, but with something soft. Sanguisyl makes a sound, but it’s not a growl. It sounds almost like a croon.
Coral’s head snaps toward him. She abandons her protective stance over Rhianelle for just a moment, tilts her head, and makes a sound back, questioning and curious.
They recognize something in each other. Sanguisyl has been alive for centuries. An ancient wyvern who’s seen empires rise and fall. Who’s bonded with Finnbheara and served the fae royal line for generations. In all that time, he’s never found his mate.
Until now.
Until a small, pale wyvern with mechanical wings stood in a circle and refused to back down.
Could they be mates?
Finnbheara sees it too. I can tell by the way his face has drained of color. By the way his sword hand trembles.
“No,” he whispers.
But Coral isn’t thinking about mates. She isn’t thinking about anything except the fact that Rhianelle is hurt and this fae prince is the one who hurt her. The little wyvern turns back to Finnbheara and hisses, showing her teeth.
Behind her, I see Rhianelle moving. Her hands glow with soft light. She presses them against her broken shin. The bone begins to knit. The healing is incomplete and imperfect. But enough to stand and to fight. She’s healing herself while Coral provides the distraction.
“Enough,” Finnbheara says, and his voice is harder now. “Sanguisyl. End the small one. Quickly.”
Sanguisyl doesn’t move.
“Sanguisyl!” Finnbheara’s voice rises. “I command you! Attack!”
The massive red wyvern shifts uncomfortably. But he’s bonded to Finnbheara and has been for centuries. Loyalty runs deep. He opens his jaws.
Coral launches herself at the behemoth with a screech. She fights like a rabid dog. Her claws rake across Sanguisyl’s snout and her teeth snap at his eyes. She tries to climb onto him.
Sanguisyl isn’t fighting back. His jaws close and he shakes his head, trying to dislodge her. Coral digs her claws into his scales and climbs higher. She goes for his wings and tears at them. Her teeth find the delicate membrane between the wing bones and she bites.
Blood sprays across the circle. Coral fights with claws, teeth, and desperate fury, giving it everything she has.
Sanguisyl tries to shake her off without hurting her and backs away. The massive wyvern can’t fight back against his mate without breaking something deep and fundamental in himself.
“Gods,” Shade whispers beside me. “He’s letting her tear him apart.”
In the circle, Rhianelle has gotten to her feet. She’s limping badly. Her shin isn’t fully healed. But she’s standing and she retrieves her sword. Hrolf’s golden blade.
Rhianelle grips it with shaking hands. The fae prince cannot look away from his wyvern. Sanguisyl refuses to fight. Blood streams from his wings while the small wyvern tears him apart.
“This isn’t how—” Finnbheara starts. He shakes his head and forces focus. The fight isn’t over. He raises his sword and charges.
Rhianelle meets him. Barely. Her footwork is clumsy now. Her injured leg can’t support her weight properly. Every step is agony written across her face.
Finnbheara slips past her guard and drives his fist into her face. Her head snaps back, blood spilling from her mouth as she staggers.
He gives her no chance to recover. His boot slams into her stomach and sends her rolling across the dirt. Rhianelle curls around the pain, gasping, but still forces one knee beneath herself.
Finnbheara advances and swings again. She catches the blow on Hrolf’s sword, though the impact nearly tears it from her hands. He kicks her injured leg and she collapses with a cry.
Still, she rises.
Her movements are slower now. Blood runs down her chin and one arm hangs close to her ribs, but she drags herself upright and raises the golden blade again.
Behind them, Coral continues her assault on Sanguisyl. He’s making low, mournful sounds but he still won’t fight back. Even as she tears him apart.
The crowd has gone quiet again. This isn’t funny or entertaining anymore. Finnbheara presses his advantage. The partial healing bought Rhianelle time but not victory. He drives her back toward the white ash line that neither can cross. She’s running out of room as well as strength.
Finnbheara knows it. I can see the calculation in his eyes.
This ends now.
He pulls back. Not to strike with his sword but to cast a spell. His free hand comes up. Fae magic, the same kind used on Rainer and Alys.
A killing spell. Nevrin.
“Rhianelle!” I scream.
Finnbheara’s spell builds and the light glows brighter. Coral’s head snaps around. She sees the spell taking shape, aimed directly at Rhianelle.
Her rider and friend. Her everything.
Coral abandons Sanguisyl and leaps down from him. She lands between Rhianelle and Finnbheara.
The wyvern opens her jaws wide and screams. A sound that reaches into the chest and squeezes. Her eyes go wide and her pupils dilate until they nearly swallow the color.
Coral’s scales begin to glow. The pale white light gets brighter and brighter. Pure, raw, unstoppable power builds inside her small frame. It’s aimed directly at Finnbheara.
The fae prince’s spell dies. His hand drops and his face goes white. Because he recognizes what he’s seeing.
This is the same power Sanguisyl has. The power that can level cities, burn armies, and reduce mountains to slag. An ancient, devastating force living in Coral’s tiny body.
“Oh fuck,” Finnbheara breathes.
The crowd sees it too and their laughter dies completely, replaced by something else.
Fear.
Screams of terror erupt. The fae are running now, abandoning their positions. People scramble backward from the circle, away from the small pale wyvern who’s glowing like a dying star. Because they understand now.
This isn’t a joke.
Coral might be small and broken. But she has the same devastating power as Sanguisyl. And she’s about to unleash it on all of them.