Page 8 of Wings of Cruelty and Flame

Now I did turn to look at my husband, frowning at the rugged lines of his face. “Strange of you to defend them when you’ve been at the border more times than I can count, for months at a time.”

“You’ve kept up with my activities in the newspapers, I see,” he said, eyes twinkling as he met my stare. “Don’t believe everything you read.”

“Oh good, I like a man who can be both cryptic and alarming in a single sentence,” I quipped, facing the ocean again, aware of the fact Makrukh had slowed so we could appreciate the view.

Varidian laughed, his breath tickling the back of my neck. For a bewildering second, I thought he might kiss me there, but his lips never grazed my skin.

“Why is this your favourite view when the legend is so dark?” I asked, frowning.

His response was subdued. “I’ve seen dark legends of my own. I like the reminder of what can happen if it remains unchecked.”

Well, that answered exactly nothing. But of course he’d seen darkness; he was a rider who flew with a legion and fought our enemies.

The sea turned ruby red where the setting sun hit, sparkling like blood trapped in glass. I stared hungrily, wishing we would fly over the ocean, wished we’d land on one of those islands and explore their unknowable landscapes. Would there be markets and bookshops? Bakeries and baths? The need to know made my heart flutter faster.

“Let’s go home, shall we, Mak?”

My heart physically clenched when the wyvern angled his ivory wings away from the water.No,my heart protested, arching towards that unexplored land, those beautiful mysteries.

All the adventures we could have had, dashed.

If I’d had my own wyvern, if I hadn’t been a danger to every living thing in the world, I could have stayed. I could have soared over sand and sea and spires, could have soaked up the sight of every last bit of mystery. I could have landed on a sandstone roof and looked over the ancient city of the Torn Isle. But no wyvern would have a monster like me.

A knot formed in my throat; I did my best to swallow it down and pretend it wasn’t there, to ignore the longing that choked me like a fist. Tears were on my cheeks before I realised it, the wind tearing them from my skin when Makrukh adjusted his body to carry us down the coast, towards more ragged stone mountains.

I felt Varidian stiffen behind me, then his hand curled into a fist on my stomach. “If marrying me makes you so miserable, perhaps you should jump off Makrukh’s back,” he said, nothing rumbly or amused to his voice now. Only bitterness remained. I knew the taste of it well.

“Maybe I’ll pushyouoff,” I hissed, choking down the longing, the awe, the need to see the world, to be something other than the killer and disappointment I had always been.

Beneath me, Makrukh trembled, a rolling growl coming from his scaly throat. Laughter, I realised a moment later. Trust a wyvern to think a threat to kill its rider was hilarious. I scowled, all the softness and wonder of the moment gone.

There were no adventures in my future, only the dull, predictable life of a warrior’s wife. No matter how handsome he was, I couldn’t ignore what this marriage was.

A cage.

CHAPTER FIVE

AMEIRAH

Red Manniston was everything I expected—a hulking kasbah ringed in golden walls, the city itself chiselled from the great face of the region’s biggest mountain. The flat roofs of the Red Star strained their necks, like children peeking over a garden wall, but only the solid shape of the watchtowers managed to successfully rise above the wall from this angle. Straining my neck, I glimpsed an intricately detailed minaret at the heart of the city, and a villa made of silver and gold stone carved directly into the mountain, the riad’s structure one of harsh angles, sweeping curves, and a dozen different connected wings. From a distance the villa looked unsettlingly like a sprawling giant who’d laid down to rest and never moved.

I’d underestimated the city’s beauty. I hadn’t expected the particles in the brick that glittered like diamonds in the fading sun, or the bright vermillion and lapis that flashed from rooftops and archways, or the golden domes that drew my eye, promising comfort and salvation within the mosque’s walls. If Varidian wastruly horrible, I could escape him during prayer. That thought held me firm to Makrukh’s back as he soared over the city, even if I desperately wanted to flee now there was no turning back.

Red Manniston was twice the size of Strava, as intimidating as it was awe-inspiring, the city made up ofthousandsof buildings. I followed the levels of the city up to that riad on its very top, silver and golden and almost as big as the palace at Morysen. His father’s palace. I’d never seen a fortress-city before. I’d severely underestimated the size of them. I also hadn’t expected to see so manytreesclinging to the mountain, pressing against the smooth, straight-walled homes that spread out from a central square, poking branches above the walls. If nothing else, the Red Star was beautiful.

“Welcome home,” Varidian said, his voice a few degrees warmer than when I cried.

Home. No matter how big or overwhelming the kasbah was, this was my home now. I would live and die inside these walls.

“That must be your home,” I said, pointing to that huge villa. A hundred windows were cut into the stone, glass shining in the dying light. I dreaded to think how many people must live there, to manage a building so large. I wasn’t in the mood to socialise; the thought of being unable to escape even in my own home was a sour one. In Strava I knew all the hiding places; here, I’d have nowhere to retreat to.

“Our home,” Varidian corrected, his hand unfurling from its fist on my stomach, palm pressing flat to my borrowed leather coat. “I know it’s new to you, and everything must seem strange and intimidating, but this is your home. The people who live here are your people, the buildings all yours, too.”

I scoffed. “Hardly. Female gentry can’t own a house, let alone a kasbah.”

“Would you make a bet to that end?” he asked. Something in his voice made me decline, even though he was clearlydelusional. I heard his smile when he added, “You’re my wife, which makes every little thing that belongs to me also belong to you.”

It didn’t work that way, but if he wanted to give me a kasbah, I wouldn’t deny him. There was some strange magic at work every time Varidian opened his mouth. He set my worries at ease and softened the sharp edges of my fear that I’d be as hated and unwelcome here as I was at home. The Red Star became less scary than it had been moments ago. I found when I looked at it, that sense of adventure I’d felt staring at the Torn Isle rekindled until my belly fluttered with excitement. What new treasures and secret wonders could be found here?

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