Gisela’s concern touched Adelinde’s mind as she worked the soft cloth in slow circles across the wyvern’s scales. The herbal oil left golden surfaces gleaming in the lantern light, each stroke revealing new depths.

  The familiar motion settled her racing thoughts, if only briefly. Around them, the royal stables breathed their eternal rhythm—the rustle of hay, the soft huffs of sleeping wyverns, the occasional clink of chain against wood.

  She dipped the cloth in more oil, breathing in the calming scent of lavender and wormwood. The mixture was her own creation, developed through months of careful experimentation—each ingredient chosen not just for its physical properties but for its subtle effects on the bond resonance between rider and mount. The lavender promoted calm, while wormwood strengthened mental clarity.

  But tonight, even these familiar comforts felt hollow. Each stroke of the cloth seemed to echo with questions unanswered, theories untested, possibilities unexplored.

  “I should have seen it coming.” Her strokes became slightly harder, though Gisela’s scales were already immaculate. “The corruption spreading through the ravenglass network…what if that’s why he—?” She swallowed hard, the words sticking in her throat. “Why he didn’t sense the danger in time.”

  Gisela’s tail swished against the straw-covered floor, creating soft susurrations in the quiet stable. Each movement stirred the air, carrying the complex mixture of scents that made up stable life—fresh hay, mineral oil used on leather tack, the distinctive musk of wyverns, and underneath it all, the metallic tang of ravenglass that permeated every corner of palace life.

  “The signs were there.” Adelinde moved to a new section of scales. Her fingers found the familiar patterns, each scale a perfect geometric shape, and each row aligned with mathematical precision. “Subtle changes in resonance patterns, micro-fluctuations in the bond web’s stability. Three months ago, I noticed a change in the network’s baseline harmony. Sigmund said it was within normal parameters, but I knew.” She let out a sigh. “If I’d just connected the pieces sooner, figured out what the corruption was doing to the network”—her voice cracked—“he might still be alive. If I’d pushed harder about my theories, made them understand the implications of degrading resonance patterns…”

  Gisela’s wings snapped open, the sharp movement startling Adelinde back a step. “You chase shadows through a maze of your own making,” Gisela said, her voice gentler than her posture suggested. “Grief makes patterns where none exist, builds bridges across gaps too wide to cross. You seek logic in chaos, causation in coincidence.”

  “No.” Adelinde gripped the cloth tighter, its herb-soaked fibres dripping onto the stable floor. “There has to be a connection. The corruption’s timing, the assassination, the way the bond network’s been destabilising—it’s all linked.”

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  “When did you last sleep?” Gisela’s tail curved around.

  “I’ve slept.”

  “Really sleep, not simply doze over your research. When did you last eat something besides bread snatched between experiments?”

  “I’ll rest when I understand.” But even as she said it, exhaustion pulled at her limbs. “I can’t stop now. Not when I’m so close to seeing the whole pattern. The corruption’s spread follows specific pathways through the bond network. If I can just map the progression, understand the mechanism—”

  “Patterns blur when viewed too closely.” Gisela lowered her head and her warm breath stirred Adelinde’s hair. “Your father valued wisdom above all else. Would he want you driving yourself to collapse in search of answers that may not exist?”

  Adelinde resumed her grooming, hands shaking slightly as she worked the cloth over scales that needed no further attention. Each stroke felt mechanical now, the familiar rhythm turned hollow by grief and exhaustion. “He would want me to use my knowledge. To protect the Kingdom he died defending. Every day that we delay understanding its mechanism puts more bonds at risk.”

  “And how will you protect anything if you cannot think clearly?” Gisela’s concern deepened into something almost physical—a warm pressure against Adelinde’s mind. “The answers you seek may require fresh eyes, not endless hours of strain. When was the last time you looked at the stars instead of your books? When did you last walk in the gardens without carrying three volumes of ancient texts?”

  Adelinde’s movements slowed, the rhythm of grooming becoming less frantic. She could feel the truth in Gisela’s words, even as part of her rejected them. Every time she closed her eyes, fragments of text and diagrams danced behind her eyelids. Corrupted ravenglass specimens pulsing with sickly light, ancient warnings half-erased by time and deliberate damage, resonance patterns that seemed to mock her with their complexity.

  “Just a few more hours. There’s a passage about resonance degradation that might explain why the corruption spreads faster at night. If I could just correlate the timing with the bond network’s natural harmonic cycles—”

  “Your father’s funeral is tomorrow. The eyes of the Kingdom will be upon you. The texts will wait. The specimens will wait. But your mind needs rest to serve you properly. You know this. You’ve written papers on the importance of mental clarity in bond resonance studies.”

  Adelinde sighed and set down the cloth. Her fingers ached from hours of writing, her eyes burned from squinting at faded script. Every muscle seemed to carry its own exhaustion, accumulated through days of hunching over workbenches and ancient tomes.

  “You sound like Master Sigmund.”

  “Perhaps because we both care more for your wellbeing than your research.” Gisela’s wing curved around her, creating a space of warmth and quiet. “We will solve this mystery together, but not at the cost of your health. The Kingdom needs your mind sharp, not dulled by exhaustion.”

  Gisela’s presence had always been Adelinde’s anchor, keeping her grounded when theories and calculations threatened to sweep her away.

  She leaned against her warm scales, breathing in the mingled scents of herbs and wyvern musk. The stable’s shadows seemed softer now, less filled with accusation. Her research could wait until her mind was clearer and her hands steadier.

  The answers would come. They always did, if one knew how to look.

  As they left the stable together, Adelinde caught a glimpse of stars.

  For the first time in days, she allowed herself to really see them, to appreciate their eternal dance across the night sky.

  Perhaps Gisela was right. Sometimes the clearest view came only after stepping back from the puzzle.

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