Page 34 of Wings of Cruelty and Flame

Varidian hung treacherously from his wyvern’s back, eerily calm like he’d done this a hundred times before. Maybe he had.Maybe rescuing children from horrific fires was an everyday occurrence for him. I wished I had his calm, but I couldn’t stop gasping, shaking, terrified I was going to die. I should be brave and heroic like the characters in my books, but when Mak grappled at the wreckage of walls on either side of us with his wings, as close to the ground as he could get, I almost vomited.

I wasn’t brave or valiant or heroic. I was one fae, with no experience, no courage, and useless magic. If I’d had air or water magic, I could have put out the fire. I could havesavedthese people.

A shadow passed above and I flinched hard, but it was just Nabil on his dark green wyvern, its tail lashing the air as they flew faster than an arrow over the village. Had they already evacuated people, or were we helpless, unable to do anything but watch a mass death?

“Lower, Mak!” Varidian yelled.

But Makrukh couldn’tgetlower; there wasn’t the space in the narrow road between rows of ruined houses. Fire licked at the wyvern’s wings, coming scarily close to me. Mak might have been fireproof but I certainly wasn’t. My heart thundered in my chest, my hands so sweaty I had to adjust my grip on his spike once, twice, three times. I was going to fall. I couldn’t breathe. I was going to—

“Mak!” Varidian bellowed, his voice cutting through my chest and striking my heart into an irregular beat.

I didn’t want to look over Mak’s heaving side, didn’t want tosee,but I couldn’t bear it. One glance and bile burned its way up my throat. Oh, fuck. We were nine feet above the ground, too far away for Varidian to reach the boy or his screaming mother. And racing along the mountain road towards the boy in his delicate bubble of magic, huge paws thundering the stone, horrific mouth hanging open to show rows of steel teeth, was a Kaldic tiger.

Ice filled my blood, my insides frozen even as my skin burned at the fire’s wrath. I’d never seen a tiger outside of books and art before. It was far bigger than I’d imagined, almost eight feet tall, with teeth and claws sharp enough to shred a body, and hammered steel covered its body, legs, and head, spikes forged at the helmet and vambraces. Designed for one purpose: to rip a body apart.

The amour was rent in places, ragged in others. I shuddered to think how many times it had been used, how many lives it had taken.

“Varidian,” I gasped, though he stood no chance of hearing me. I shook harder, gasping for air, choking on acrid smoke. It wasn’t just buildings burning now; I’d never smelled this before, but I knew the tang in the air was the scent of people burning.

The boy would be next. His bubble of magic was so thin I could barely see it now. Fire pressed against him on all sides, but the tiger racing ever closer was the worse threat. I couldn’t stand to watch it, but I couldn’t look away. The tiger was a fifth the size of even the smallest wyvern, but the danger was they never ran alone. Where was the rest of its pack? An organised group of tigers could take down a wyvern in five minutes flat. I wished I hadn’t read quite so many books, learned quite so many facts.

We weren’t safe here, but a boy was dying below and Varidian couldn’t leave him any more than I could. If I was terrified, how afraid was the boy? How afraid was his mother? I couldn’t hear her screaming anymore. I prayed it was because she’d seen that help had come and not because—because the fire took her. I couldn’t bring myself to look in her direction. I didn’t want to know.

I jumped, gasping a sob when Makrukh roared a sudden warning, so loud it blocked out the crash of collapsing buildings and fae screams for a moment. The tiger didn’t heed the warning; if anything it ran faster, the black-clad rider hunchedlower on its back. I couldn’t see the expression on the rider’s face but my imagination provided a twisted look of hatred and rage. For achild.

My own rage kindled, but fear snuffed it out when Varidian leaned lower, barely holding himself on Mak’s back. He was going to fall. I screamed when Makrukh knocked bricks from the buildings with his wings, trying to climb lower, close enough to the flames that heat blasted my hair back from my face. I hunched lower with a whimper, my eyes flowing tears. When I blinked them clear, Varidian had almost reached the boy, his grasping fingers so close, so close—

The tiger lunged forward with a burst of unnatural speed at the same time a howling wyvern cry came from across the village, and Varidian glanced up for a second. I followed the direction of the cry, too, inhaling a gasp of smoke when I saw a wyvern beat the burning sky with wings of midnight, mouth parted on a stream of flames.

“Fuck,” I whimpered.

A wyvern had really done this, reduced the village to cinders. I shook atop Makrukh, gasping, my head pounding with stress.

Three of Varidian’s legion raced to intercept the midnight wyvern, to prevent any more destruction, and my heart leapt into my throat. I wouldn’t miss Zaarib, but the others… they were Varidian’s friends. I didn’t want to watch anyone die.

Mak surged beneath me, ripping a scream from my throat at the sudden lurch. I slammed my eyes shut, holding on for dear life, a frantic prayer on my lips. I couldn’t explain why I prayed for Varidian, who’d helped kill my cousin, or for his legion, who’d murdered her. I should hate them. Ididhate them. But the scalding brush of fiery air and the screams had shaken my hatred.

Makrukh roared again, and I slitted my eyes open to see if the midnight wyvern was racing for us with murder in its throat, fire on its tongue. But Mak’s attention was below where—

Another sob burst free, the tears lining my eyes spilling over my hot cheeks. The armoured tiger reached the boy before Varidian or Mak, teeth, claws, and metal spikes colliding with his magic, popping it like a bubble, and—

I looked away, my eyes squeezed shut. I wished I didn’t hear the crunch and wet sounds of the tiger slaughtering the child. My stomach roiled. I angled my face away as vomit sprayed.

The boy was dead. The tiger killed him. I gasped, gasped, wheezed, sobbed—

Varidian shouted his rage, and I could have sworn the air crackled with it. The tiger stopped its vicious shredding, but it was too late. There was little left of the boy with water magic. My bottom lip quivered, more tears flowing. I knew we’d been at war for centuries, but this was the first time I really understood what that meant—innocents had been murdered for centuries. How many of our children had been killed since the war began? How many of Kalder’s had our own people killed? Had Varidian’s legion killed their share of children?

Why was this allowed to happen, for hundreds and hundreds of years? My stomach twisted again, but I choked it back, shaking with fear and rage.

The king must have known what happened at the border. The clergy and gentry, too. Surely these lives were worth more than winning the damned war? Most people alive couldn’t even remember what had started it, we were so caught up with hating Kalder and pushing to win the war, to bevictorious,we’d lost sight of its origins. What was the point of fighting a war for no cause, when children were dying. How often? Every month? Every week? Or were children slaughtered everyday?

I hated this. Hated the battles, the legions, the warring, the murder. It burned in my chest, as hot as the air slapping my face.

Varidian lunged suddenly, like he would leap off Makrukh’s back and fight the tiger with his bare hands, and I was tempted to let him. If he wanted to get himself killed in the name of violence and victory, who was I to stop him?

But Mak let out a chilling sound, half scream, half cry, and my heart knocked into my ribs when I realised Varidian wasn’t lunging; he wasfalling.

I should just let him die. My husband was a murderer. There was no glory or pride in flying into battle like I thought only this morning. Being a warrior was gritty and bloody and I wasn’t sure I liked it.

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