Page 35 of Wings of Cruelty and Flame

But the bastard was my husband, and even if I wanted to murder him… I didn’t want him to die. So with a growl, I wrapped my right arm around Makrukh’s spike in a tentative hold, and choking on tight breaths of panic, I let go with my other hand, fumbling at the air.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

I was going to slip, fall, and splatter on the cobbles below. If I was lucky, I’d break my neck on landing. If I was unlucky, the tiger would shred me, too.

“I’m going to regret this,” I gasped, forcing my eyes open to slits so I could see Varidian’s hand, choking back a shriek at how close the fire was, at the violent spikes of the tiger racing under us, leaping the burning timber in its search for more victims.

Eyes on Varidian, I reached my hand further, further from my body, my arm shaking where I held onto Mak’s spike, tears veiling my vision. I was wrong earlier when I said I’d never been so afraid. That fear had nothing on this, hanging onto a wyvern by a single arm, reaching down, down into thin air for my husband as he clung to Makrukh with thigh power alone.He hung almost upside down, hands flailing, reaching for a handhold and finding nothing.

“Varidian!” I yelled, holding out my hand, breathing faster, smoke burning my throat raw. I suppressed a cough; one false move and I’d tumble off Makrukh’s back too.

I strained my fingers further, muscles burning in my arm, a scream between my gritted teeth. I saw Varidian’s mouth open on a cry when he dropped another inch, but the flames were so loud I couldn’t hear him. Which meant he couldn’t hear me either. Shit. It was all up to me.

This was what I got for wanting to be valiant and heroic.

The gloves were a hindrance. I swallowed bile and hooked the tip of my glove with my teeth ripping it off my hand, reaching for the only person in the world I couldn’t kill with my touch.

I screamed as I stretched another inch, then two, then—hooked my fingers around Varidian’s sleeve, hauling with all my might. Sensing my intention, Makrukh tilted his body to help my momentum, bricks tumbling on either side of us as his clawed wings knocked them free. I dug my fingernails into Varidian’s leather coat, pulling with everything I had, exhaling a small sound when he reached up with his other hand and grabbed the sharp edge of Makrukh’s scales.

His eyes locked on mine, so bright with fear, his pupils blown, face bleached. I didn’t look away, didn’t let him see one flicker of doubt. I refused to let my husband die here. I refused to let him die at all.

When he dragged himself closer, scale by toughened ivory scale, I locked my hand around his wrist and heaved, throwing myself backward, forcing him onto Makrukh’s back even if muscles pulled in my arms.

“Fuck,” he exhaled shakily, his whole body trembling when he finally pulled himself up behind me, settling his legs on either side of Mak on pure instinct.“Fuck.”

He was alive. Shaking and swearing and alive. But the boy was dead, and I wasn’t naïve enough to think his mother had survived. Maybe it was better that they were together.

Somewhere close, a rider and wyvern screamed in unison. A male fae voice roared, “Let’s roast these fuckers!”

I didn’t have enough courage and strength left to do anything but tremble and cling to Varidian and Makrukh.

“Are you stable?” Varidian panted, pulling the glove from my mouth, carefully rolling it up my hand. “Can you fly, Ameirah?”

I jerked my head in a nod, forcing myself to let go of him when his arms locked around my waist, snapping both my hands around Mak’s spike again. My hands shook worse than ever, and all I could taste was bile and vomit, but I was alive. I hadn’t burned to death. Yet.

“You heard Zaarib, Mak. Let’s roast these fuckers.”

A chill went down my spine at my husband’s hard words. He’d just witnessed a child murdered, but he was still eager to burn and spill blood himself. I knew if we didn’t fight, the wyvern and tigers and their riders would kill us, but that truth tasted bitter.

I swallowed my scream when Makrukh shifted his weight and then leapt back into the air, screaming a warning into the grey skies over the Last Guard.

“The rider,” Varidian said, his breath roughened by smoke. “Did you see them?”

I nodded. I wished I hadn’t.

“The sigil they wore wasn’t Kaldic.” His voice hardened. “Have you seen a minaret surrounded by stars before?”

The man I’d murdered when I was seven flashed behind my eyes and I stiffened. “Clergy.”

“Exactly. But why the hell are Ithanysians under attack by a clergy member riding a damn tiger?”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

AMEIRAH

By the time the fires were put out, only smoke smouldering from the wreckage of homes, my legs were shaking and I could barely sit upright on Makrukh’s back. My eyes burned from the smoke, and it had coated my throat, making even my lungs raw. But we were alive. We’d made it out, and so had forty-two villagers with charred clothes, soot-stained faces, and haunted silence. I didn’t ask how many had died, but it had to be triple that number, maybe more.

Shula’s grey wyvern had a vicious scrape along his side, three plate scales raked through by the midnight wyvern’s talons, but he would heal. Zaarib bled where a tiger’s rider slashed his shoulder; I watched blood flow with satisfaction, but it wasn’t nearly enough to make up for Naila’s death.

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