Page 38 of Wings of Cruelty and Flame

“No.” Varidian wrenched me closer, stunning me with a brief kiss to my lips before he pulled away and scaled Makrukh in a rush of power and movement.

“Threatening you with what?” I asked no one in particular, feeling cold and bereft as Varidian settled atop Makrukh, Fahad mounting his scarred crimson wyvern in a move so practised that it was clear he’d been riding all his life. I brushed aside the ache that formed behind my breastbone.

“Shit scooping,” Nabil answered, his rat-like face narrowed even further, his face pinched like he’d tasted sour lemon. “It’s a favourite punishment of our illustrious prince’s.”

While I stood there, staring at the Wall of Hydaran as I fought a rising wave of dread, Aliah and Zaarib explained the plan to the refugees of the Last Guard. Twelve injured villagers were helped onto the wyverns’ backs, others gathering on the path, ready to follow them to the safe house. How big was the house, to take this many people?

I jumped at a touch to my back, a strange rush of emotion hitting me, making my eyes sting when I realised it was Makrukh’s ivory wing nudging me aside. Protecting me so I didn’t get knocked over when he took off.

“Safe skies,” Aliah called, the signature farewell of wyvern riders.

“Safe skies,” I echoed along with the others, my voice rough.

I backed up, my stomach in knots as Mak used his powerful thighs to propel himself into the air, those leathery wings kicking up a windstorm as he beat them, scaling higher, higher. I swallowed, my nausea worsening. But I didn’t want to be sick again. Even if I now had to climb onto an unfamiliar wyvern with a stranger.

That didn’t stop you yesterday,my mind reminded me. But that was different; Varidian was my husband and Shula was… nothing to me. Yet, I supposed. If she was anything, she was an enemy.

“Come on, a-lalla,” she barked, not particularly kindly. “No use mooning at the sky. It’ll be hours before they’re back.”

Great. I tore my stare from the rain-veiled sky, hating the way my heart pricked through with pain. I wanted to kill him mere hours ago. I still did. The sight of my husband flying away shouldn’t hurt so much.

But I couldn’t deny the pain.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

AMEIRAH

When we made it to the fortress where we were to shelter and wait for Varidian and Fahad, the rain had turned to a fierce storm. Vertical rain battered the austere grey walls of the building at the edge of Willow Green, growing heavier with every hour that passed. It sluiced the verdant trees that surrounded the structure until their boughs slumped with its weight, and struck the grass so hard it bounced back up.

I was soaked all the way through, my hair plastered to my head, and a cold threatened to set in at the abrupt shift from fire-heat to freezing rain. It had cleaned the ash and soot from us, but I could still smell the char of bodies and timber. I was starting to think the smell was burned into my nose.

The fortress wasn’t exactly welcoming. It was four stories tall and built in a similar angular style as the Diamond, though hewn from the grey stone of nearby mountains. Only the entrance archway was visible, the rest of it masked with moss and trailingplants. Probably to blend into its surroundings. Fortress was the right word for it; there was nothing homely or welcoming about this place. Nothing warm.

I felt even more like an enemy to the Legion of Fyrevein. I felt like they’d brought me here to be imprisoned. No doubt this place had a score of cells beneath it for prisoners. I shot Zaarib a wary look as he landed in the grass beside Saif, Shula’s temperamental grey. The wyvern had tolerated me riding him, but only barely. Every now and then he’d make me jump in my seat by swinging his long neck around to spear me with glowing green eyes. I thought he would crunch his huge needle teeth around me. Eat me.

It had taken us two hours to reach the fortress from the Last Guard despite the shadow of the wall that still loomed over us, proving how little we’d travelled. The rain made our passage slow and careful. No matter how much they glared at me or accused me of being a Kaldic spy, I got the sense the legion flew slower because of me, because of the care a princess warranted. Or maybe their friend’s wife.

I shifted where I was wedged between a six-foot spike and Shula’s muscular body, a piercing pain shooting up my tailbone at the abuse of riding.

“You get used to it,” Shula said, making me jump. She’d spoken a grand total of twelve words to me in two hours, and I was ready for more silent treatment. “Your ass is always numb on wyvern back. They’re not exactly built for comfort.”

Saif whipped his grey head around, teeth snapping to say he’d heard that remark.

“What?” she huffed at her wyvern, releasing the awkward hold she had on my middle. “Should I lie that you’re cushioned and comfortable?” She snorted. Saif narrowed his green eyes at her, then at me.

“Go ahead, pick a fight with the princess,” Shula dared him, expertly swinging a sturdy leg over his back, sitting side-saddle. “Don’t blame me when Makrukh gets you in a headlock.” With a smirk, she added, “Again,” and slid down his side, over his belly, and landed solidly on the grass below. She didn’t even look winded. For a reckless moment, I wanted to be Shula. I wanted to be that coarse and confident and secure in myself.

When I lifted my stare from her, I found her wyvern still scowling at me. My stomach tangled into a thousand knots.

“Thank you for letting me ride you,” I said politely, because I didn’t want to be eaten by those needle teeth.

Saif expelled a grunt of hot air and faced the fortress again. I glanced down, gasping at the visceral swoop in my stomach. Something told me Shula wouldn’t catch me if I landed badly. And Saif certainly wouldn’t extend his leg to make my dismount easier.

I miss Makrukh,I thought, and pulled my quivering leg over the grey wyvern’s back. I seethed with anger over Varidian’s part in Naila’s death—herexecution—but I could allow myself to miss Mak, who’d accepted me as a friend and rider easily, who’d given me the grand tour of his favourite spots in the Red Star and always seemed pleased to see me.

Saif grumbled, his body bristling under me.

“Yes, alright,” I snapped. “I’m getting to it.”

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