Page 20 of Wings of Cruelty and Flame

Now I was the one rocking back, her words hitting me like a spiked tail to the chest. “That’s… barbaric,” I breathed, horror twisting my stomach, making me sick. “Ameirah…” I whispered, staring at her, dragging my hand over my jaw. “What age did you manifest power?”

“Seven,” she answered in an emotionless voice. It was so flat I knew she must have a tempest of feelings beneath that mask. I pulled her back against me, clutching her to my chest, the shock beginning to give way to fury.

“Seven,” I repeated, a tremor of rage going through me, shaking my hands where they clutched her.“Seven?You should have bonded instantly! The magic could have killed you. Without a bond, it still could.”

It was why wyvern and fae were so dependent on each other. Without the bond, magic would burn up a person from the inside out, overwhelming both mind and body until the fae either went mad or erupted in a storm of magic, leaving nothing behind. Magic flowed through the bond between wyvern and rider, easing the weight, and with the excess power wyvern were able to heal themselves, ride faster than light, breathe fire, and accomplish feats of immense strength. To have no wyvern for eighteen years…

“Fuck, Ameirah, how are you alive?”

She shrugged. “No wyvern would have me. I suppose my body found a way to bear this magic without one.”

I could only stare at her for a moment, furious and sad and frightened. She could be dead tomorrow, her magic overcoming her in a split second. “With your power, any wyvern would fightto the deathfor the honour of bonding you.”

Vulnerability entered her eyes for a moment before she shrugged, pulling out of the circle of my arms, lifting the clothfrom her arm to inspect the cut. “Where’s my room? I want to sleep.”

“This is your room. Our room.”

She scoffed, sliding off the bed, the skirt of her dress falling over her golden legs, hiding them from view. Probably for the best if I wanted to think straight.

“Ameirah,” I warned as she strode across the room, walking purposefully to the door. “Get over here and sleep.”

She didn’t. My stubborn, wilful wife flung open the door, walking stiffly into the hallway, and slammed the door behind herself.

CHAPTER NINE

AMEIRAH

Hurt stabbed me like a thousand little blades, but I walked through it, let them cut me however they wanted. I found an empty bedroom on my third attempt, the first leading to a dressing room and the second to a room full of spare linen and weapons. A strange combination, but I was too prickly to bother wondering about it.

Closing the door behind myself should have offered relief, but Varidian’s words burrowed under my skin. It was worse that he got angry on my behalf. He should have been embarrassed to have a wife like me. I was certainly embarrassed enough for both of us.

Every gentry had a wyvern except me. All I had was death in the pads of my fingers. Nothing useful, no magic that could build or heal or leave the world a better place than I found it. If I never wore gloves, all I’d leave behind was a wasteland.

“Enough,” I hissed under my breath, crossing the rich woven rug to the bed. The craftsmanship was beautiful, the crimsonviper repeating over and over, similar to the piece I glimpsed in the souk. I wanted to go back to that moment, when Varidian was intrigued by me instead of pitying me, when I’d felt wonder at my new home instead of bitterness at everything I lacked.

With your power, any wyvern would fight to the death for the honour of bonding you.

I shook my head hard to dislodge the words, crawling onto the four-poster bed decked in orange fabrics, the ends trimmed in beads and sequins. It felt like heaven on my skin when I climbed in, and I wasn’t sure why I hated it, why I wanted to scream and cry and rip the beautiful silk to shreds.

The magic could have killed you. Without a bond, it still could.

Iknewthat, like I knew my father had been waiting for it to happen. He must have given up on the magic combusting me to fire and ash because he wouldn’t have married me to Varidian otherwise.

“So much for a real marriage,” I muttered, turning onto my side, staring blankly at the window cut into the wall, moonlight filtering through to light the room in silvery shades.

I tried to tell myself I didn’t evenwanta real marriage, but the part of me that escaped reality with romance books wouldn’t let the lie form even inside my mind. I wanted his intrigue to grow into appreciation and for that to grow to deep fondness. Who was I kidding? When I saw the way he looked at me at the celebration, I wanted him to see me and love me regardless of everything I lacked.

“Fucking idiot,” I muttered.

This was only the first of many things he’d discover was wrong with me. No wyvern willing to bond with me. No control over my deadly magic. No real skills. No prospects or special abilities unless you counted my ability to recite legends from memory.

“Enough,” I repeated, the unkindness of my thoughts spreading a poison through my soul. But I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t find anything worth kindness inside me, anything deserving of love.

I’d just settled deeper into my self-loathing when the bedroom door burst open. I shot upright, my heart heaving itself against my rib cage, and nerves tightened my gut when I saw Varidian framed by the door, barely more than a shadow.

It had felt like a blessing to be able to touch him without killing him, but as my husband strode purposefully across the room, his body tight with anger, I suddenly wished he wasn’t immune.

“This,” he said quietly, an undercurrent ofsomethingin his voice, “is not your room.”

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