Page 23 of Wings of Cruelty and Flame

I wanted someone to look at me and know I was part of this family, wanted a single glance to show I had Shahzia’s eyes and baba’s nose and Beni’s scowl, and momentary bitterness choked my throat. I hated this world that had made me different, hated the mother that had abandoned me, hated the father that was at turns kind and harsh, and I knew I was overreacting but it didn’tmatter.A single pointed remark could unravel a good day.

“I wonder how your magic will show,” the man said, getting to his feet but still watching me, curious and warm. It didn’t matter that he meant nothing bad by it. The comment struck like a knife. “Will you have sunlight magic like Nezar, or will you heal like Emir? Or something new?”

He peered at me, only curiosity in his brown eyes, like I was an exhibit of oddities, a strange piece of art that earned a tiltedhead and confused narrowing of eyes. My face burned hotter. My hands stung, my feet itching. I wanted to run to my room and disappear into the adventures of my books. But even Fatima and Nura had hair like my sister’s and bright brown eyes like my father’s.

“I think,” the gentry man said, a smile wrinkling his eyes, “you’ll be something entirely different.”

It was the wrong thing to say. I ducked my head, ashamed of something I wasn’t sure deserved shame. Feeling like I’d done something wrong when I’d done nothing.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Baba said, a tightness to his expression as he looked at me, like he was thinking about how different I was, too. “Behave now,” he chided us. “No more running, or you’ll hurt yourself.”

“No more running,” I agreed, catching Shahzia’s hand—and jumping back with a gasp when shescreamed. She wrenched her hand from me, her face screwed up.

“Shahzia?” I breathed, patting her shoulder and freezing when she howled louder, tears erupting down her small face, making her dark eyes luminous.

“Shahzia!” baba exclaimed, more colour and emotion in his voice than I’d heard in seven years. I stumbled back when he brushed me aside, sweeping Shahzia into his arms. She looked so small cradled there, her eyes wide and tearful, her mouth parted as she screamed—and screamed.

“I didn’t do anything,” I whispered, fighting for air, panic closing around me. “I promise.”

“She needs a physician.” Father rose to his feet with Shahzia in his arms, her screams turning to howling cries. “Kaazhim, we’ll continue our conversation next week. Tareq, would you take Ameirah to my wife? We need to be sure this isn’t an illness capable of spreading.”

There’d been disease in the border towns, I knew, along the Wall of Hydaren. It was all Father had talked about months ago, his voice frequently loud. I wondered if he’d shout later, when the shock of Shahzia screaming wore off. I stared at my sister, only able to see the side of her face, her skin streaked with tears. Why did she cry? What did I do? If it was an illness like baba worried, would I catch it, too? Had I already caught it?

My whole body burned with pain and worry. “Will she be alright?” I asked in a small voice.

It was the gentry who replied—Kaazhim. “Time will tell,” he said kindly, watching as baba strode down the hallway in a rush.

“Let’s get you to yourlwalida,”the clergyman said, sympathy in his dark eyes now as he gazed at me.

She’s not my mother,I wanted to say, but that was rude and Shahzia was sick, and I didn’t want to make the day worse.

I took the man’s hand, his warm, dry palm engulfing mine. He smelled like dates and cinnamon—that was the last thought I had before he tore away from me with a cry so loud, I covered my ears.

I jumped back, so afraid I couldn’t breathe when the man collapsed to the floor beside me, his eyes empty, mouth still curved into a kind smile.

“I don’t understand…” I whispered, ice flowing down the knobs of my spine when baba paused at the end of the hallway, the red light of the setting sun staining his skin, his hair, his hands where they clutched the small body of my sister.

“He’s dead,” Kaazhim said, kneeling beside the clergyman with his fingers against his neck. I didn’t know how that told him the man was dead, but I believed him; I’d watched the clergy stumble back, heard him cry out, and I couldseethe emptiness in his eyes. It was my first experience with death. I always thought my first glimpse of the dead would be atop a wyvern,my enemies falling from the sky. Instead, it was empty eyes and simple wool and the scent of dates and cinnamon.

“Shahzia!” baba cried suddenly.

I froze, as still as a statue, not daring to lift my eyes from the floor where the man lay dead at my feet. I didn’t want to see, didn’t want to know.

“You killed him,” Kaazhim mused, glancing from the man to me, contemplation in his eyes. “That’s a rare power indeed, Ameirah.”

I shook my head over and over, flinging strands of eerie purple hair. No. He couldn’t be dead, he really couldn’t, because that meant—

“She’s dead,” baba said in a hollow voice. I felt his attention on me, my shoulder blades stinging, the burning in my veins falling still as fear replaced hatred.

“Shahzia is dead.” His next words came as an accusation, as sharp as any blade. “You killed your sister.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

AMEIRAH

Iwoke up with sweat on my upper lip and the rest of my body encased in the ice of memory. For a moment, I didn’t know where I was, didn’t recognise the mountain landscape hung on the wall, didn’t know the red curtains on the bed or the beautiful mosaic-inlaid furniture or the ceiling above me. I certainly didn’t know why my back was so hot or why there was a weight across my middle, pinning me to the bed.

My dream still had me in its talons, gripping tight, but after a sticky moment I remembered marrying Varidian, then the ride on Makrukh’s back to his villa in the mountains of Red Manniston. That was the city I could hear beginning to wake beyond the curtains blowing in a soft wind. And when I turned carefully, there was Varidian sleeping beside me, his face relaxed and more youthful in sleep. He didn’t look the sort to offer promises of murder because my father had never permitted me to bond a wyvern. Or even ride one. A smile tugged my lipsinto a tentative smile and I held that promise close as I climbed carefully out of bed, surprised my husband didn’t wake.

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