Page 13 of Wings of Cruelty and Flame (Heir of Wyvara #1)
CHAPTER TWELVE
AMEIRAH
V aridian’s hair was a glorious waterfall of black waves when it was down, but there was just something about watching him pull it back from his face and put it up in a bun, his movements quick and efficient. His biceps strained against the black leather of his coat, his head lifted, his strong, graceful neck exposed. I tried not to make my admiration too obvious, but it was hard to draw my eyes away.
Makrukh snorted, watching us a few metres away, his head pillowed on the grass. When I glanced over, I found him watching me. I discreetly slipped my hand into the pocket of the leathers Varidian had presented me with this morning—three sets in differing sizes, so I could find one that fit perfectly. The deep crimson leather rustled when I moved, and it was strange to wear trousers, but I liked the weight. I felt like a swashbuckling heroine off on a grand adventure. I would see more of the kingdom, see the Wall of Hydaran for the first time in my life.
The wall stretched across the whole continent from top to bottom, so thick it could carry a dozen wagons side by side, interrupted only by the Fallow Gate and Reaper’s Pass that allowed a select few merchants and dignitaries to travel between the two kingdoms every few months. Sometimes the dignitaries came back. Others they didn’t.
I closed my fingers around the polished piece of amethyst in my pocket and made sure my husband was still occupied finessing his hair as I flashed Makrukh a glance at the glittering gemstone. His red eyes sharpened, glowing from within, and he lunged closer.
“Mak, personal space,” Varidian chided, walking over to the bags he’d packed and checking their contents.
“He’s fine,” I assured him, smirking when Makrukh scooped the egg-sized gem into his mouth. He got to his feet with a feline stretch, those eerie red eyes still glowing, and shook the lawn when he trundled happily away from the house.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Varidian demanded, stepping up beside me.
Makrukh rumbled his reply, walking faster, disappearing around the side of the house. Uh-oh. I hoped he came back.
“Maybe he forgot something,” I said, giving my husband a wide-eyed innocent look.
“Like his sanity,” Varidian muttered, shaking his head. Makrukh’s footsteps could be heard again seconds before he reappeared, and if I wasn’t mistaken, there was a bounce in his step. I tried not to smile as he came to stand in front of us, then dropped to his belly in the grass to help us mount.
But even lying, he was over ten feet tall, an insurmountable height.
“I’ll show you how to mount him,” Varidian offered easily, no judgement in his voice. It made it easier to accept his help. “I’ll boost you up onto the arch of his leg, see there?” I nodded. “Grasp the top and pull yourself over, and from there you can jump up. You’ll get quicker and better at it every time you try.”
“I highly doubt that,” I drawled, chewing my bottom lip. But at least I didn’t have to lie this time. At least Varidian knew I was hopeless on a wyvern.
“Here, stand on my shoulders,” he said, kneeling.
I just stared at my mad husband. “Stand. On your shoulders.”
“Put one foot here, and your other here.” He patted each shoulder.
“I know the mechanics of standing, thank you very much,” I huffed, my face burning, ears tingling. I glanced up at Makrukh who watched us with curiosity instead of that narrow-eyed disappointment I saw when we first met in Strava. He thought I was weak then, and I didn’t want to seem weak now, even to a wyvern.
But standing on Varidian’s shoulders.
“I won’t let you fall, menace,” Varidian promised in a low purr.
Oh, fuck it. I did it in a burst of determination, putting one foot on his shoulder and bracing myself on Mak’s ivory scales while I bolstered my left foot onto Varidian’s other shoulder. I needed to act fast, to outrace my fear before it caught up to me.
I screamed when Varidian stood without warning, leaving me standing six feet above ground.
“Reach above you for the curve of his leg. You can do this, Ameirah.”
“I can’t,” I blurted, my breath coming faster. “It turns out I have an awful fear of heights.”
“Dearling, you wanted to ride out with me, so you have to mount the wyvern. Or you can stay behind…”
“No,” I growled through gritted teeth. “Bastard.” I knew what he was doing; he wasn’t subtle. But it worked. I hated the idea of being abandoned so much that I raised my trembling arms bit by bit, working them up Makrukh’s warm side and glad for his patience as well as Varidian’s. It took a lot of stretching to finally grasp the curve of his leg, and all of my abused muscles that woke up stiff reminded me they weren’t happy with me.
“Lean higher,” I shouted down, earning a gruff laugh from my husband.
“How tall do you think I am?” he asked, the warmth of amusement lending a burr to his voice.
“Tall enough to lift me onto a wyvern.”
He snorted and boosted me another inch or so. I grinned when I got a good enough grip to pull myself up, then almost screamed at the feeling of my whole body’s weight hanging on my two weak arms.
“This was a terrible idea!” I screeched.
“I don’t know, I’m quite fond of it myself,” Varidian replied, his voice rougher, rumbling. “The view is quite delectable from down here.”
Scoundrel. The smile returned to my face, and I heaved myself up with all my might, trying, trying… until I finally flailed onto Makrukh’s leg. Okay, halfway there. All I had to do was jump up onto his back, avoid getting impaled by his spikes, and not fall off.
Easy.
It was not easy. Every muscle in my body hurt by the time I got up, and only a handful of minutes might have passed but it felt to take a lifetime to mount Makrukh. It did not help my ego to watch Varidian run up Mak’s leg with nimble grace, grasp a spike, and vault his way into his seat. It took him twenty seconds.
“You look like a flea climbing a dog,” I told him sourly.
He laughed and kissed my head, settling behind me. My back to his chest, warmth began to bleed through leather into my shaking body.
“It takes most new riders a week to successfully mount a wyvern,” he said, squeezing my waist. “You just did it in four minutes.”
“It takes children a week,” I muttered, my initial victory wearing off to reveal the embarrassment that lurked beneath. “I’m an adult.”
“You’re a source of pride to me,” Varidian countered, effectively silencing me. “It took bravery and strength most adults don’t possess to get up here by yourself without a single formal lesson. I’m proud to call you my wife.”
“Oh,” I rasped, my throat thick with emotion.
“And I have no doubt with all your courage and stubbornness, in a month you’ll be running up his leg to mount like an experienced rider.” His hands fitted to my sides, running from my waist to my ribs.
“What? Am I sitting wrong?”
“No, I’m just helping myself to my wife while she can’t run from me.”
I elbowed him, then grasped frantically for Makrukh’s spike in front of me in the next second, terrified to fall off.
“You’re fine,” Varidian reassured me. “You’re secure.”
“You won’t let me fall?” I asked, my voice too small.
Makrukh rumbled beneath us, making my stomach lurch into my throat.
“Mak would like to inform you he won’t let you fall, either,” Varidian said, smiling against my neck. “He’s very grumpy about it, actually.”
I sucked up all my courage and took one hand off his spike, patting his scaly back. “I appreciate it, big guy.”
Makrukh seemed to grow to twice his size, his back straightening under us. I glued both hands to his spike at the shift of movement, swallowing a shriek and only resuming breathing when Varidian fastened his arm around my waist.
“He’s infatuated with you now. Wyverns love to be complimented on their size.”
“That’s not a wyvern thing,” I said with a breathless laugh. “That’s a male thing.”
He pinched me through my leathers. “Let’s go, Mak. Ready, dearling?”
“Yes,” I lied. My heart kicked into a sprint, throwing itself against my ribs. Oh shit, I was going to fly again. My hands shook violently where I gripped Makrukh’s spike. My stomach flipped then crashed when he took a few determined strides and then leapt into the air.
Oh, fuck, oh, fuck.
“This is my second-favourite view,” Varidian said against my ear, annoyingly serene despite my blind panic. “The Diamond from above. Usually, it means I’m coming home.”
It was still surreal to live in a riad that had a name, to be royalty, married to a prince, to ride the third-most powerful wyvern in all of Ithanys.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed, daring to glance at the mountain palace from the corner of my eye even if I wasn’t brave enough to look straight down. The gold brick and silver details glittered from up here. I tried to locate the room where I’d slept last night, and the small kitchen window, but couldn’t quite orientate myself. The spread of the gardens, the trees, the lawn… it really was breathtaking.
“The ocean is your favourite view,” I said, remembering what he showed me yesterday.
“No, I changed my mind. My favourite view is watching you come for me.”
My whole body stiffened, my breath catching. “Varidian!”
He laughed, and the sound warmed me from the inside out as we flew over the Red Star, watching the souk in full flow, vendors yelling about their wares; soaring over what had to be a trade centre where wagons sagging under crates and boxes battled for space on the roads around a huge square building with a domed roof; and a tower that had to function as a madrasa judging by the scholars lined up outside, waiting for their education to begin.
From above, I saw glimpses of the crimson vipers of Marrakchi everywhere, along with the sun, star, and moon motifs of the Ithanysian kingdom. It was even more beautiful in the daylight than it had been in fading light, sunlight shining on coloured tile, sandstone, and marble. And like Mak said, the square he showed me last night glittered like treasure. By the time we reached the wall and the watchtowers, I was smiling, my fear dullened by wonder.
The riders on the wall let us pass, recognising Makrukh or Varidian or both, and they didn’t bat an eyelid at the sight of me, either. Possibly because word had spread that Varidian had married—either through official channels or through Rawiya’s fearsome friend group. I had a feeling the latter could spread information much faster than the former. Any group of women over forty should never be underestimated.
“We’re meeting the rest of my legion on the other side of the mountains,” Varidian told me, sitting as easily and confidently behind me as he’d lounged in the kitchen chair this morning.
“Do they know to expect me?”
“I sent word ahead bragging that I was bringing my wife,” he said, lips brushing my ear as Mak beat his wings, carrying us over a small, rugged mountain. Golden light warmed his scales, pleasant on my skin as the sun continued its slow path. “They might be under the impression that you’re meek and delicate. Please educate them, however you see fit.”
I laughed loudly, the wind carrying my voice. “What are they like? Your legion?”
I knew from my fictional adventures that a legion could be anywhere from five to thirty people, and that the smaller their number the more dangerous and powerful the members were. Some of my favourite romances had been between legion members from rival families, forbidden to fall in love with each other. They always found a way to live happily in the end.
“Loud and annoying,” Varidian replied jovially. “They’ve always got an opinion, they’re constantly complaining, and they’re forever hungry. But they’re the best bunch of people I know.”
He spoke about them like most people talked of family. My smile grew. I hadn’t fallen to my death yet; I was beginning to believe I’d be fine. And I was curious to meet Varidian’s legion. Would they have more secret bits of information about my husband, like Rawiya telling me he refused to eat vegetables like a youngling?
Varidian kept me entertained with stories about his legion as we flew over the rocky mountains to the forestland on the other side. By the time the rocky peaks below us changed to tall, proud trees, I felt like I knew them—Shula the fearsome warrior who joined the army in disguise as a man to take her sick brother’s place, Nabil who knew every last detail about Ithanysian history and was obsessive about rule following, Aliah who was sweet and generous but never to be underestimated, Fahad who was the oldest of them and the most serious and who once took on a whole enemy legion by himself, and Zaarib, Varidian’s closest friend, who always had a quick remark and a joke to make everyone smile even on the bleakest days, but who became fierce with rage when confronted with betrayal.
I was almost excited when we landed in a wide clearing surrounded by trees that had clearly been used for wyvern landing regularly; the grass was churned up underfoot, raked by claws and powerful feet. The landing was terrifying, especially when we flew straight at the ground, but Varidian didn’t release his hold on me, and Makrukh promised not to let me fall, so I survived with only minimal screaming.
Five wyvern already waited for us, every one of them smaller than Makrukh’s mammoth size. One was a sleek burgundy, mounted by a slim woman in burnished orange leather, her headscarf a matching colour embroidered with butterflies. House Hanae’s colours and sigil. I guessed she was Aliah, since the other woman in their group—mounted on a bulky, mean-looking grey—was three times the Hanae woman’s size and built like a warrior of legend, wrapped in sturdy brown leather emblazoned with the hyena of House Fathi from forested Earlsorn.
The three men were so different I’d never expect to find them all together. A tall, straight-backed man with light brown skin and a rat-like face sat astride a dark green wyvern almost as sleek as Aliah’s. Judging by the self-important look on his face, he must be Nabil. Fahad’s wyvern lounged in the grass beside Nabil’s, a wizened crimson that wore scars across their scales, much like their ageing rider wore scars on his skin, his arms bare to show them like trophies. Where both men sat straight, proud, the third lounged like an imperious prince, a smile already crossing his face when we landed beside him.
“Took you long enough,” he called to Varidian. “Did you stop for pastries on the way, prince?”
Varidian’s best friend, Zaarib, wore the black and silver colours of House Kissami, a massive fox branded into his leather chest plate. Long black hair was worn loose to fall over his shoulders, his face youthful and bright for a man who had to be nearing forty. His voice shot through me like a knife. His smile cut deeper. But the sight of him lounged on his golden wyvern without a care in the world, joking, laughing, made me see red.
This was the man who slaughtered my cousin, my only friend.
My mind emptied of everything but the memories. I forgot I was afraid of heights. I drew one of the knives Varidian pinned to my body, tensed on Makrukh’s back, and leapt into open air.
The golden wyvern sailed closer, and so did the man I planned to murder.