Page 49 of Wings of Cruelty and Flame

When Varidian’s cries turned to hollow silence, I squeezed him to me and then let go. “I’ll make mint tea. It’ll help with the chill. When did you last eat?”

He shook his head, lost. “I don’t know. I foraged berries from the woods when we were driven from the sky but that was near dawn.”

My heart squeezed, a sharp pain shot like an arrow through the organ. “Do you want me to wake the others? They’re just upstairs.”

“No,” he said quickly, reaching for my hand. “I don’t want to—to have to tell them—”

“I understand,” I assured him, my voice so gentle I hardly recognised it. “And tomorrow, I can tell them if it’s still too difficult.”

Varidian nodded, scrubbing his hands over his tired face as I got to my feet and headed for the door.

“Should I take food for Makrukh?” And what did wyvern eat, anyway? I hardly thought a lamb tagine would satisfy them.

Varidian shook his head listlessly. “He’ll terrorise the nearby farm’s livestock if he gets hungry.” His eyes sharpened on me when I approached the hallway. “You’ll come back.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I’ll come back,” I swore, and made quick work of brewing tea, setting leftover tagine on the heat—edible but lacking the flavour of Aliah’s cooking. While that was heating, I rushed out to the wyvern house behind the fortress with a huge cloth I stole, dunked in boiling water to disinfect, then soaked in turmeric and verbena. It was far from an expert healer’s treatment, but it was better than nothing.

“Makrukh,” I called gently when I let myself into the massive brick and wood structure, passing the wyverns of the legion, avoiding looking at Shula’s grey. I flinched at the memory of Naila’s shredded body, but my grief had been dullened by two years. Varidian’s was fresh and as sharp as wyvern claws.

A rustle came from a stall at the end of the long stable-like building, and Makrukh’s white, pearlescent head poked above the door. His scales weren’t as gleaming as usual, their luminescence almost dead. He made a low, pitiful sound as I neared, his red eyes heavy-lidded with the same exhaustion as his rider.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “For bringing him home.” I reached out to brush his snout, leaving a yellow mark from the turmeric. “I’m glad you’re home, too. Although I hear you were injured.”

Mak replied with a lowing sound, exhaling a rough sigh that blew my hair back from my face.

“I brought something that might help. Can you show me where you’re hurt?”

In an instant, he narrowed his eyes at me, baring his teeth on a warning rumble.

My stomach flip-flopped but I held my ground.

“If you don’t get it treated, it could get infected,” I said in a low voice the other wyvern wouldn’t overhear. “You can trust me, Mak. I promise.”

His eyes narrowed further. This time my heart didn’t skip.

“Come on, big guy.” I shooed him back, opening the stall door when he lifted his head, letting myself inside with the sheet soaked in medicinal plants. “Show me the wound, let me apply this poultice, then I’ll get out of your hair.” I paused. “Scales.”

More life returned to me now Varidian was back. I could breathe again, feel again, and my heart was no longer like a stone in my chest. Guilt swirled that I was relieved even when a man was dead and his wyvern missing, but I couldn’t help it. My husband was alive. Makrukh was alive. The world seemed a lot less bleak than it had an hour ago.

“You can be brave,” I told Mak when he narrowed his eyes in warning. “You flew right into the fire at the Last Guard, and roared in the face of an armoured tiger so horrifying it gives me nightmares. You flew through a three-day storm and returned your rider safely to his wife, and I’m so grateful I can’t put it into words.”

He huffed a heavy sigh, a whining growl leaving him like a petulant child complaining.

“If you’re brave enough to do all that, to fly into war, you can show me where you’ve been grazed.” I held his red stare. “Trust me, I won’t hurt you.” I held up the cloth. “I might dye your scales yellow for a few days, but I promise not to make any jokes about yellow belly.”

His next sigh was more a growl, still a little grumpy, a little moody. But he manoeuvred himself onto his side so I could see the wicked scratch on his underbelly.

I inhaled a hiss through my teeth. “That must hurt, Mak. You’re very strong to keep flying even while you’re in pain.”

He almost rolled his eyes, but I remembered what Varidian said about inflating Mak’s ego by calling him big. I guessed the same could be said of any kind of praise, and calling him big, strong, and brave would soothe his pride.

It took me less than two minutes to spread the wet, yellow cloth over Mak’s wound. The scratches were deep, gouged through the soft scales of his belly in a dozen different places. I didn’t know much about wyvern physiology, but it seemed Varidian was right and Mak would be fine.

“Thank you,” I said when I was done, Mak grumbling in the back of his throat. I caught his huge snout and pressed a kiss to his scales. “You’ll heal just fine. Maybe you’ll even have a dangerous-looking scar that’ll make other wyverns fear you even more.”

His narrowed eyes widened a little, as if he hadn’t considered that.

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