Page 25 of Wings of Cruelty and Flame

“There’s time yet,” she replied, and didn’t elaborate on which option she meant. When she reached for the pot to pour more qahwa into her own cup, I noticed the fine lacework of scarring on her arm, all the way from the top of her hand to her bicep where it disappeared beneath her clothes. I quickly looked away before she caught me staring.

“Be careful with his heart,” she said, setting the pot back down between us. When I glanced up, she was watching me. “He might be a warrior disproportionately fond of scowling, but his heart is delicate.”

“I’ll be careful as long as he’s careful with mine,” I said quietly, sipping my drink, its bitter richness clearing away the cobwebs of my nightmare. So too was this conversation and the woman across from me.

“A fair reply,” Varidian’s mother said, smiling again. I jumped when she reached for my hand, holding it between both of hers. Her palms were warm and soft as petals even through the gloves, comforting hands, nurturing hands. “I wish I could have been at your celebration and we could have met yesterday, but I’m glad you’re an early kitchen dweller like me. I’m Rawiya Marrakchi, Varidian’s mother.”

Not Rawiya Saber. A small clue about why Varidian hated his father so much; he’d never married his mother.

“Ameirah Jaou—Saber,” I corrected clumsily. I groaned into my coffee and hoped the universe would take pity on me with a distraction.

Rawiya squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry, it’ll take some adjusting to your new name. And my sensibilities aren’t so easily offended. Are you very attached to your previous surname?”

“No,” I laughed, a little too quickly, too loudly. Was I attached to the family that had hated me and either pretended I didn’t exist or made my life a misery since I was seven? Let me think…

“Mere habit, then,” Rawiya said, sounding pleased. “Good. I’d hate for you to pine after your old name and your old family. Especially one so awful.”

Another laugh burst free. “They’re still my family. You can’t call them awful.”

She raised a thick black brow. “Are you disagreeing with my description?”

“Well, no, but it seems terribly rude.”

“Consider it payment for the qahwa pouring incident.”

“It wasn’t anincident,”I said, my mouth running faster than my mind. “A faux-pas at best.”

“Consider it payment for the qahwa pouring faux-pas,” she countered so quickly I smiled. I liked her instantly, and the knot in my chest eased. I relaxed into my chair, taking another drink. My hands were sweating inside my gloves, but I felt better, more comfortable, with them on.

“I see exactly where Varidian gets his humour from,” I remarked, setting down the empty cup. I’d been so nervous to meet his family, to be slapped across the face by their rejection, but this hadn’t gone how I expected at all. Then again, Rawiya didn’t know what I’d done. As if she could sense the flow of my thoughts, she gave the gloves on my hands a questioning look.

Well. Better to get it out of the way now, before I became attached to her as my mother.

“If I don’t wear these, everyone I touch will die.”

She tilted her dark head, confused.

“A single touch would kill you if I didn’t cover them,” I elaborated, having to look away from her. The sky was justturning navy blue outside the square window, offering a dark glimpse of the lawn where Makrukh landed yesterday.

“And have you killed before?” Rawiya asked, her tone impossible to decipher.

My chest tightened. “Yes.”

I waited for her face to turn stormy, for her eyes to darken with disgust, for her to yell at me to leave and never come back.

Rawiya made a small sound in her throat. “That’ll be useful.”

I jerked my head around to stare at her, my mouth hanging open. “Excuse me…?”

“My son has no shortage of enemies. A wife with death at her fingertips and a face so beautiful no one would suspect her of murder is everything I never knew he needed. You’re well suited.” She paused, seeing the heavy cloud over me. “Varidian isn’t a stranger to death. You should speak to him about it, when you’re ready.” She reached for my hands again, startling me by squeezing them despite what she now knew. “It’s a heavy burden to carry. Don’t shoulder it alone.”

“Why are you being kind to me?” I asked, my heart a tight knot. I kept waiting for her attitude to shift like the sudden storms that hit the desert.

“Because Iamkind.” Rawiya raised that eyebrow again. “Why are you so resistant to kindness?”

“Because I am.” Because it was so strange and foreign and I’d glimpsed it so rarely I couldn’t help but be suspicious of it. “Because when I was seven, I killed a clergyman and my little sister and everyone has rightly seen me as a monster since.”

Rawiya’s eyes widened.

---