Page 24 of Wings of Cruelty and Flame

It was almost charming to discover he slept like the dead. I wished I could stay in bed and return to sleep myself, but I could still hear Shahzia’s screams, and there was no hope of more rest. Even if my head pounded and my eyes felt scratched dry, I was awake and staying that way.

I slammed my hands over my mouth when I got to my feet, muffling a grunt of surprise. Fuck, my legs hurt. And my backside, too. All my muscles strained and screamed at me, and it was a sign of the absolute madness my life had become that I didn’t know if the strain came from riding Makrukh or Varidian spreading my thighs to devour me.

My face burned at the memory. He’d seen everything, seen the most intimate part of me.

Ilikeyou Ameirah, and I don’t remember the last time I liked someone. I don’t want you across the hall in a separate room after I just watched you come so beautifully for me.

My tiny smile grew, but alongside the memory of Varidian’s voice was my sister’s screams and the clergy I killed. If I was going to survive today, I’d need coffee. But first, I needed to get out of this dress and find the baths Varidian mentioned. He saidsparebaths, so presumably this place had two? It would be nice to not have to use the public hammam like I did in Strava, to avoid the stares, the whispers. For all my father’s pride and gentry status, our villa had been tiny compared to Varidian’s. The perks of being the king’s son, I supposed.

I was now the king’s daughter. That was a thought I wouldn’t get used to.

I slipped quietly out of Varidian’s room—ourroom, I heard him insist in my mind—and down the corridor. Thanks to my explorations last night, I knew there were no baths down this hall, but they shouldn’t betoohard to find.

Wrong. It took me over ten minutes to find the entrance archway cut into a rugged mountain wall, but the second I stepped inside it was like entering a fairy story. Not the tales of old fae that bled with warnings and gore and curses, but the true, wonder-filled stories children grew up hearing.

These baths had been carved out of the mountain, the water gleaming pure turquoise, its heat sending steam spiralling into the air. It was smaller than I’d expected, a single room for Varidian’s wing of the house instead of the separate baths for men and women I was used to, but sinking into the water was pure luxury. I could get used to this.

Why should you enjoy a luxurious bath when your sister is dead?a nasty voice demanded in my mind.Why do you deserve this?

I ducked my head under the water, gasping when I came up for air. The voice was still there. So were Shahzia’s screams.

I bathed quickly, dried myself with a fluffy towel left for that express purpose, and helped myself to a closet stocked with simple yet fine clothes. They were wrinkled by the steam of the nearby baths, but I didn’t care when it felt so good to wear something other than the dress I’d flown in for hours. It was harder to find gloves, and I was only able to track down a brown leather pair that covered my hands, but they’d do.

I left the takchita with a bin of dirty laundry, bloody stain and all. No doubt someone would find it and word would spill across the city about my successful deflowering. Judging by the sheer number of cheers and chants yesterday, the empire would be thrilled.

Clean and dressed, I debated returning to the bedroom. But my head was still pounding and my mood was a little too raw to face Varidian. Instead, I went in search of the kitchens. The cook at our villa in Strava had been one of the few people who didn’tlook at me with disgust or fear, so I hoped to find a friend in the kitchens here, too.

It wasn’t hard to findthisroom at least; the rich, earthy scent of qahwa drew me along corridors and through a warren of rooms near the back of the riad. Instead of a cook tending to breakfast, I found a glamorous woman in her sixties cradling a cup with steam wafting into her face, throwing ribbons of fragrance through the air. She sat at a small table to the right of the room, dressed in a rich orange djellaba, the long kaftan flowing over her broad frame and draping the chair on which she sat. The fabric drew my eye, woven with lines of metallic gold thread that caught the lamplight, every bit as beautiful as anything worn to my wedding.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I said awkwardly as the woman shifted in her seat towards me, a bright smile creasing her round face when she saw me. She was beautiful in a way most people weren’t—from within. Her skin glowed with radiance, her round face adorned with makeup that only enhanced her natural beauty. I envied the thick black braid she wore down her back, and the long lashes that framed brown eyes so dark they were like pools of ink. I’d craved brown eyes my whole life, my mismatched eyes another sign that I didn’t quite belong, like my violet hair.

I began to back out of the room, but the beautiful woman fluttered her hand in my direction. “Come, sit with me. Would you prefer mint tea or qahwa?”

“I’m fine, really,” I tried to protest but she shot me a searing look that froze me on the spot.

“No one’s fine so early without a drink,” she disagreed, getting out of her chair and approaching the other side of the kitchen. My eyes widened. I’d been so focused on the woman I hadn’t noticed the long counter piled with a dozen different tagines, plus twenty pots, dishes, plates, and yet more utensils.I couldn’t help but smile. This kitchen was nothing like the pristine room in Strava, and yet it was so charming it relaxed me instantly.

“Qahwa, thank you,” I said, rushing across the room when she reached for a sturdy coffee pot, my slippers slapping the tiled floor. “Here, I can carry it.”

She gave me a sly look when I lifted the pot before she could, grunting at its weight. Heavy, as I suspected.

“Do you think me frail, then, daughter?” she asked, an eyebrow rising slowly in arched question.

I startled so badly I nearly spilled the coffee. “Not frail,” I blurted, scrambling to save myself. “I just thought I could pour while you hold the cup. I don’t know where they’re kept, of course, so it’s better left to you.”

“Of course,” she agreed, a smile settling into her brown face. I got the sense she was deeply amused by me. “But you wouldn’t deny me the pleasure of pouring qahwa for my daughter-in-law at our first meeting,surely.”

I winced. She laughed brightly, the sound echoing off the high, tiled ceiling.

“You walked very neatly into that trap,” she told me, finding a small cup among the chaos of the kitchen, unsettling a precarious pile of bowls in the process. They tumbled across the counter before settling into a suggestion of order. Varidian’s mother didn’t bat an eyelid. “Here, set it on the table and I’ll pour.”

I did as she ordered because she was smiling and I was mortified. It was the host's job to pour coffee for a guest, and while I now lived here… I’d fumbled this meeting. Badly.

Luckily, she wore the same amusement Varidian did when I almost stabbed him. I saw where he got his mischief from.

“Sit,” she said firmly, eyeing the seat across from hers. I dutifully sat, and she poured rich, fragrant coffee. I nearlygroaned when I took the first sip. “So,” she said. “Are you already infatuated with my son, or have you entertained luring him onto the second floor to toss him out a window?”

I nearly choked on my coffee. “Neither.”

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