Page 50 of Wings of Cruelty and Flame

“Rest now,” I ordered him, stepping back and grabbing the stall door. “It’ll help you heal faster.”

He nudged me with his nose and I smiled at the unspokenthank you.

I latched the door again but paused there. “I meant what I said. Thank you for bringing my husband back safely. I owe you at least three sparkly crystals.”

Mak grumbled, stretching out in his stall.

“Ten?” I exclaimed, as if I understood his noises. “Dream on, big guy. I might—might—consider four.”

Playing along now, Mak made another low noise, his eyes meeting mine, brighter than they’d been when I entered the stall.

“Eight? You’re delusional, my friend.”

He paused to contemplate, then rumbled a soft noise.

“Six?” I tapped my bottom lip, thinking about it. “I suppose you do deserve them. Fine, you drive a very hard bargain, Mak. Six stones it is.”

His low, vibrating rumble was clear laughter. He settled down with his head resting on his front legs and slow-blinked at me.

“I’ll come see you in the morning,” I promised, taking a step back into the aisle. “Sleep well.”

When I returned to the kitchen and washed my hands, the tagine was hot and the tea well steeped. I filled a bowl with the former and a cup with the latter and carried both into the room at the front of the fortress where I’d left Varidian.

“Your gloves are yellow,” he said, taking the bowl from me and watching as I set the cup on the windowsill beside us, perching on the arm of the chair again. I didn’t want to be far from him. Today I’d begun to accept that he was gone forever, that he’d died out there, and having him back now intensified every fledgling emotion I’d had before he left.

I liked him and knew that would grow into far more than like. I was attached to him, proud to have him as my husband and, it turned out, fiercely protective of him. He was mine. I didn’t take my eyes off him as he ate, or as he set the bowl aside and pulled me down into his lap for a long hug.

“Seriously,” he said, seeming to have recovered a little. “Your gloves are yellow.”

“Turmeric,” I explained, brushing my hand over his arm, feeling the warmth and solidness of him. He needed a hot bath and new clothes, or he’d succumb to the chill no doubt setting in. “I took a poultice to Makrukh.”

Varidian raised an eyebrow. “And returned with both your hands. Impressive. He’s extra grumpy when he's injured.”

“I noticed.” Varidian was trembling, even with hot food inside him. “You need to remove these wet clothes and bathe, Varidian.”

He stiffened, as tense as an iron rod. “Later. Now I need—stay with me for a while.”

“You’ll get a chill,” I protested, brushing a wayward strand of black hair from his eye. “The clothes are dangerous, Varidian.”

He shook his head, some of the life leaving his eyes. But he locked his arms around my body and leaned back into the chair, stubbornness entering his expression. “Wet clothes won’t kill me. Being without you another minute might.”

“You’re being dramatic,” I said, but softly, a strange note of fondness entering my voice. He’d been gone for days, but he and Fahad were all the legion had spoken about—their escapades, their battles, all the times Varidian had led them to the wall and back to the fortress, all the ways he cared for them even at his own cost. “A bath would be far more beneficial to you than holding me.”

His lips curved at the very edges. “You’re severely underestimating the power of your touch. A kiss alone could cure a cold.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, it could, could it?”

His smile was strained and sad but there, nonetheless. “Kisses are powerful things. They can start and end wars. They can heal a heart or break one. They can make a grieving man see a glimmer of light in a wall of impenetrable darkness.”

My heart softened, melting inside me. “Like I said,” I teased, brushing the ends of his hair. “Dramatic. You could have simply asked for a kiss and I would have given you one.”

“So cruel to deny me,” he moaned, clutching his chest. “And after that pretty speech.”

“Itwasa very pretty speech,” I allowed, shifting so I could rest my hands on his shoulders, my palms to the damp leathers. “You have a talented way with words, Varidian Saber.”

“What you mean,” he said, his eyes a little brighter, his arms coming around my back, “is I have a talentedtongue.”

The time apart had withered my memory. His eyes weren’t amber at all but a stunning shade of topaz blue.

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