Page 57 of Wings of Cruelty and Flame

“Safe skies, asshole,” Zaarib called, looming a few paces away, his expression thunderous.

“Safe skies,” Varidian replied, softer. “All of you. You don’t have to wait at the Red Star—”

“Oh, shut up,” Nabil sniped, rolling his eyes. “We’ll be there whether you like it or not, so make your peace with that fact.”

Varidian smiled for the first time since we woke up. My heart hurt to see that too, so small and fragile. I moved close enough to take his hand, squeezing it in mine. “I’ll see you at home,” he told his legion, the words rough with emotion. “Come on, Mak, on your feet.”

Makrukh grumbled but pushed off the grass, his underbelly tinged yellow as I warned him it might. The slashes didn’t look quite as angry as they did last night, but I still worried about him.

“How are you doing, big guy?” I asked, approaching him as Varidian added Aliah’s package to our bags. Mak let out a low sound I wasn’t versed in wyvern enough to translate. “Do your wounds hurt?”

He butted my stomach with his snout. Was that a yes or no?

“He’ll be fine for the flight home, with a stop in Wyfell,” Varidian said, reaching me with long strides. He looked as handsome as ever, leather clinging to his huge shoulders, the planes of his face sharpened by his hair pulled back, but any fluttering feelings I might have developed died at the slump of his features, the exhaustion of grief in his eyes. “Then you’re on bedrest for a few weeks. Understood, Mak? No starting fights or flying off in the night to hunt livestock.”

Makrukh’s crimson eyes widened innocently, and I ducked my head with a smile.

“That look fools no one,” Varidian told him.

I patted Mak’s snout and followed my husband around Mak’s side to mount. It was a treacherous process, and my left hand slipped once, leaving me dangling by a precarious grip on the sharp edge of his scales.

“Someone needs to teach her how to mount,” Nabil commented.

“Yes, thank you,” I yelled down. “I could have told you as much.”

Someone else snorted. Probably Shula.

I swung my arm up and gritted my teeth as I hooked my fingertips over the fine edge of a scale, hauling myself up until I could rest my feet on the curve of Mak’s leg. I startled, nearly losing my footing, when he bumped me with his massive head, boosting me up the rest of the way. My whole body shook when I dropped into my seat on his back, leaning against the solid weight of his spike, even my blood shivery. My bones felt like jelly.

“Thanks,” I panted, patting his neck, out of breath. “I swear—one day I’ll get better at that.”

I expected the low rumble of his laughter, but he just tilted his head up to slow-blink at me. I slow-blinked back, wondering if it was part of the wyvern communication etiquette I’d never been taught.

On the ground, the legion spoke, probably discussing my abysmal mounting, or wondering why I’d never been taught how to ride a wyvern despite being born gentry. Maybe Varidian was explaining that my father was a heinous asshole. It saved me the trouble of explaining it.

“You know what they tend to have in markets?” I asked Makrukh, ignoring the look Shula aimed my way. Oh yeah, they were definitely talking about me.

Mak tilted his horned, ivory head, an uncanny motion when his neck was curved so he could look at me.

“Crystals and gems. Lots andlotsof gems.”

His pupils dilated, almost swallowing the crimson, and a low sound close to a purr shook him under me. I gripped his spike tighter but I also trusted him not to drop me.

“I owe you six stones after all.” And I still had the small amount of money I’d packed in my trunk before I left Strava. It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t exactly easy for a gentry’s daughter to find money when no one wanted to hire her because her magic was death.

Mak whipped his head forward again when Varidian raced up, grasped Mak’s thigh, and hauled himself onto his back with practised ease.

“Done gossiping about me?” I asked mildly.

“I wasn’t gossiping.” I was gratified to hear him winded, but less so when I remembered he hadn’t been winded mounting Mak before the storm. “We were fighting over the honour to teach you to ride.”

I rolled my eyes. “I doubt you were fighting.”

“Oh, we were. It’s a point of contention. Shula argues as the most skilled flier, it should be her honour. But I’m the fastest, and your husband, so it only makes sense to be me. Aliah pointed out she’s already begun teaching you knife skills, so she should be your riding teacher too. Zaarib would like to teach you so I don’t risk my neck tutoring you while I’m weak—his words, not mine.”

That sounded like him. I remembered Varidian’s tales of his legion as he flew us across the mountains, remembered him saying Zaarib was the joker, always ready with a quip. I’d seen no evidence of that; he was always serious and grave.

“And Nabil?” I asked.

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