Page 38 of The Shadow Fae Rhapsody
The shadow stands abruptly and darts towards me. I think he is trying to explain himself, but I can’t hear or understand his sign language.
“He wants you to know that the red paint is made from berries,” Svenn quickly translates. “He also wants you to know that it’s organic. It’s not going to harm the poor thing.”
I blink. Too stunned for words.
“Told you she wouldn’t want this,” Svenn immediately hisses to Ken.
The two go on to bicker about color palettes and the decision to bring me here. I clutch my chest and slowly steps towards the bush. Everything in our books taught us that the wyverns are deadly and wild, a force of great calamity ever since the fae learned to tame them.
I approach the frightened wyvern carefully while Ken and Svenn argue. It rattles like a snake as I get closer. I flinch in my step.
“It’s all right. Don’t worry,” I say soothingly.
Wyverns are not pure dragons like the seadragons of the Varan trench. Trying to talk to them would be as futile as forcing a cat to listen.
I turn to Svenn and Ken. “We need to return her to her mother. She must be worried sick looking for this little one.”
“She’s not,” Svenn says quickly, his chest heaving with a heavy breath. He crouches next to me, holding out his hand to the terrified creature. “The mother has twelve baby wyverns in her nest to feed. One of her eggs—this one—was caught in the males’ brawl for territory and got trampled. It was cracked before it could be incubated properly.”
The wyvern shrinks shyly behind the bushes as if she knows we are talking about her.
“The mother had to choose which one would survive…” I mutter absently.
Svenn nods grimly. “She just didn’t make the cut. If I hadn’t fed her, she would have died weeks ago.”
This little one was abandoned… The very thought of it hurt my heart. I hold my hand to her, wondering if she’ll take it. My arm is aching by the time she comes out from her hiding place.
I exhale a breath of awe slowly. Yes, the pale creature is smaller than the other wyverns, but she is still bigger thanBriallen, my warhorse. She nuzzles the tip of my fingers curiously with her snout. I giggle at the ticklish sensation of her breath, and the sound of my laugh scares her away.
When the wyvern gathers her courage to come out again, I apply the secret technique I used to lure stray cats. I rub the wyvern under her chin. I’m surprise to find her scales rubbery and smooth instead of hard. She seems to like it and starts making soft, purring noises.
“She’s so cute.” My heart squeals at the eager wagging of her barbless tail. I stroke the spinal spikes on her neck next, but Svenn suddenly comes between us.
“Not her.”
It’s all I hear before a thunderous boom echoes, reverberating through the leaves. I cover my quivering ears at the deafening blow.
Dust settles from the sudden impact between the wyvern’s head and Svenn’s hand. I hardly dare breathe. If he hadn’t blocked that tackle, I would have ended with a broken skull.
Svenn tugs the wyvern’s rubber horn roughly. “You can do this to me and Coinneach, but not her.”
The wyvern paws at the dirt like a bull and charges at him again with her head. I think if Svenn was a mortal like the rest of us, he might have dislocated his shoulder from that headbutt.
“You absolutely cannot hit Rhianelle, understand?” Svenn tells her again. “If you don’t play nice. I won’t bring her again.”
The wyvern and I both pause at the warning. Her dark, gleaming eyes blink.
Slowly, it circles around me, barely grazing my skin with her rubber scale. I giggle at the strange suede sensation of her skin. It feels as soft as swimming with the moray eels in Völundr.
She’s trying to show him she understands.
Svenn withdraws a whole chicken from his satchel, and he has her full attention. Flame erupts from his hand, the same onehe used to burn my enemies alive last night. Now he’s using it to roast a chicken for this baby wyvern. The meat is almost charred when he finally stops.
“Sit,” he commands the wyvern.
The little one does so, and I’m impressed. She’s immediately rewarded with her meal. The hungry wyvern gobbles on her food like she hasn’t eaten for days. It’s so satisfying to watch her eat. My stomach growls at the crunching sound of her chewing the food.
Svenn passes me a packed lunch box. “Yours.”
