Page 375 of Burn of the Everflame

“It’s her,” I said.

“It could be one of the others. We’ve seen them pass over before.”

“It’s her.”

I thrust my hand above my head and sent pale blue light swirling upward. Somewhere not far away, a gryvern let out a jubilant roar.

A smile burst across Luther’s face. “It’s her.”

Against the inky backdrop of the night, stars began to flicker as two silhouettes flew overhead, soaring in slow circles toward the ground. Luther and I backed to the edge of the clearing to make space for them to land, but they dove for the trees instead, vanishing into the forest’s leafy dark.

“Sorae,” I called out, waving an arm. “We’re over here!”

A hesitant, inquisitive trill emerged from the woods. The pocket of Faunos magic I’d been saving since the Faunosians left stirred to life.

Is it true? It’s really you?

I grinned. “It’s really me, and if you don’t get out here right now, I’m feeding all our apples to the goat.”

The ground began to rumble. Across the clearing, trees snapped in half, thrown to the side by a stampeding gryvern thundering through their midst. Sorae burst from the darkness and hurtled toward me, and I leapt into the air just in time to lock my arms around her neck as she reared back and erupted with a roar. I covered her snout in kisses and scratched her muzzle in all the places I knew she loved as she curled her wings around me.

I couldn’t help but notice how her body had changed. The wing she’d damaged in the war was slightly crooked, and the talon Xipherus had ripped apart had healed over, though the missing toes had not regrown.

She didn’t seem to mind. Her feathers puffed as she bounced from foot to foot, sniffing me feverishly and whipping her tail against the ground in happy thwacks. Her snout pressed against my cheek, my hands, my leg, and I laughed, thinking of how Luther had done the same when I returned, touching me over and over to make sure that I was real and not a dream.

“I missed you,” I said, smoothing a hand along her iridescent scales. A happy purr vibrated in her throat.

“I’d like a hug, too, you know,” Luther called out. “And I’m not above bribery to get it.” He tossed a glossy scarlet apple from hand to hand, freshly picked from the orchard we’d planted in our garden, hoping someday it would lure her back.

Sorae’s wing stretched out and hooked around him, dragging him into our embrace. We stood together for many minutes, laughing and sharing looks of grateful disbelief that somehow, we’d all survived.

“Tybold,” I shouted at the forest, “I missed you, too. Come out and join your mate.”

Tybold growled in answer: No.

“Come on,” I pleaded. “You saved my people. At least let me thank you face to face.”

He growled again, a rumble of irritation and gruff disdain. I laughed, but Sorae was not amused. She stomped her talon into the soil, and a flurry of snorts and grumbles flew back and forth between the trees.

And then I heard it—a quiet, high-pitched mewl.

Sorae plucked the apple from Luther’s hands, but she didn’t gulp it down. She swung her neck, flinging the apple to the far side of the clearing. Her wings folded against her, and her chest puffed out an encouraging trill.

A small figure emerged from the forest, no taller than I was, sniffing at the air. Its chocolate brown wings trembled nervously at its sides.

“By the Flames,” I whispered.

Sorae looked at me, her golden eyes bright, and I needed no magic to see the explanation shining in them.

“You have a daughter,” Luther said, beaming with a proud smile to rival mine. “Congratulations, Sorae. We couldn’t be happier.”

“I thought gryverns couldn’t procreate,” I said. “I assumed that’s why there were never more than the ten the Kindred brought over.”

“Maybe that’s why the Crowns kept them apart,” Luther mused. “Or else whatever stood in their way ended when you broke the spell that bound them.” He gingerly ran a hand along Sorae’s injured wing. “Perhaps that’s why these injuries didn’t fully heal, too. Without the Kindred’s magic, their bodies might work like any other creature now.”

Sorae chirped her agreement, and the reality hit me of what the gryverns had risked in joining the war. Tybold knew he could be flying to his death and leading the last of his kind to possible extinction. And still they’d come, they’d all come, to fight as one.

The young gryvern crept cautiously toward the apple, circling it four, five, six times, before finally taking a tentative bite. Her petite wings flapped with delight, and she wiggled her haunches before pouncing on the fruit and devouring it in giant chomps.