Siofra smiles at that. “Indeed she is. And clever, too. Watch what she did yesterday.”
Rhianelle’s concern snaps back instantly. “I don’t want you exerting yourself,” she says, stepping closer. “You should be resting.”
“I need the exercise,” Siofra signs. “Coral keeps me entertained. Show them, sweet girl.”
Coral perks up, prancing back a few steps. She opens her mouth and Rhianelle tenses, waiting for fire that will never come.
Instead, Coral does something I’ve never seen a wyvern do.
She picks up a stick in her jaws and drags it across the flint stones near the stable. Sparks cascade from the friction. After several attempts, the kindling catches fire.
“Oh, clever girl!” Rhianelle claps her hands, genuinely delighted. “You found a way around it! My brilliant, clever darling!”
Coral preens, clearly understanding our approval. She presses her brow to Rhianelle’s shoulder first, then turns and bumps her head against mine as if demanding equal acknowledgment. Wyverns can’t eat unroasted meat. She cannot ignite flame from her lungs, so she makes it herself. She has forged her own way like a firebird.
Good girl.
Siofra’s hands move, eyes bright with the telling. “We’ve been roasting everything for her. But now she can hunt and do it herself when she’s hungry.”
I pull the chicken from the satchel I brought. Coral’s eyes lock onto it immediately. She stares at the raw meat, licking her nose.
I summon a small wreath of hellfire in my palm, carefully roasting the bird while she prances impatiently.
Rhianelle laughs, the sound that makes everything worthwhile. “She’s getting better at waiting.”
Barely.
The chicken is perfectly charred. I toss it up. Coral catches it mid-air, swallowing it whole.
Rhianelle wraps her arms around Coral’s neck. The beast goes impossibly still, gentle as a lamb. The creature that just demolished a chicken becomes soft as silk under my wife’s touch.
“Aren’t you perfect?” Rhianelle whispers. “Of course you are.”
Coral purrs and nuzzles into her silver hair.
Rhianelle turns to Siofra. “When do you return to the capital?”
“I will remain here a few more days. The warmth is good for me.” Her gaze drifts toward the hills. “Then I will travel north for the birth. Darstan worries about the journey. But he worries about everything.”
Her husband is right to be anxious. The roads are long and the borders unsettled. I would have offered to take her through the shadow path. It would be faster. But no one truly understands what crossing shadow does to something as fragile as an unborn child. Coinneach is an ancient fae. Old magic does not always care for innocence. I won’t gamble a child’s life on it.
Rhianelle reaches for Siofra’s hand briefly. “Send word when you leave. I’ll have extra guards escort you.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
Siofra excuses herself, moving back toward the manor with slow steps. We settle on the stone bench near the field. Coral curls at our feet like an oversized, scale-covered cat.
Rhianelle leans against my shoulder. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
Always, little fawn.
Coral chirps and flops dramatically onto her side before bounding off to play in the field. She watches Rhianelle from the corner of her eye. The wyvern never strays too far. They’re bound in some quiet, sacred way like the wyvern riders of Avalon. When Rhianelle speaks to her, Coral hums. When Rhianelle smiles, Coral mirrors it in her eyes.
“I need to tell you something,” I say quietly.
Rhianelle stiffens against me.
“I’m joining your war commanders in the southern borders.”
