Page 24 of Wings of Cruelty and Flame (Heir of Wyvara #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

AMEIRAH

T he legion weren’t too happy that Varidian and I were riding off alone, but my husband refused to let them come on such a personal, intimate trip. Marriage marks were between a husband, wife, and the mark-scribe. Judging by the look on Zaarib’s face, he was calculating how fast he could train as a scribe.

“You almost died in the storm,” Aliah pointed out, frustrated but not surprised that Varidian was leaving so soon. I was getting the impression my husband struggled to stay still, always busy, always fighting. “At least rest here for a day, Varidian.”

“I rested all night,” Varidian replied a little petulantly, his long hair pulled into a knot on the back of his head, his leathers scrubbed free of dirt and blood. He strode across the lawn that was still soaked with stormwater—rain kicked up around his boots—and began checking the bags strapped to Mak’s back.

I folded my arms across my chest and watched him, fully on his legion’s side in this point.

“Stay until dhuhr at least,” Zaarib tried to coax him. “Don’t be a fool, Varidian. You must be exhausted, and only god knows how many illnesses you picked up in the storm. Some can be delayed; you could drop off Mak’s back.”

“Ameirah would catch me,” Varidian dismissed, patting Makrukh’s thigh. “And Mak wouldn’t let me fall.”

Mak’s grumbling reply could have been agreement or insult. His eyes drooped as he lounged on the lawn, his huge scaled body expanding with slow breaths. He looked disinclined to move.

“Don’t make us lose you, too,” Aliah murmured, her arms wrapped around herself as she watched Varidian. The blood had drained from her face when I told her Fahad hadn’t made it, and she’d been sallow since. I knew that pain, knew how grief numbed at first before cutting so deep there was no recovery. “Let one of us come with you, Varidian.”

“I am,” he replied, too flippantly. I gave him a reprimanding scowl; Aliah was hurting and afraid, the least he could do was reassure her. “Ameirah will be with me.”

“I’m no use on a wyvern,” I pointed out, earning a grumbling remark from Mak who apparently overestimated my skills. “It couldn’t hurt to have someone come with us.”

“I need ink,” Nabil informed us. “Wyfell’s souk is as good a place to get it as any.”

“So is literally any other souk,” Varidian huffed, shaking his head in amusement. It didn’t reach his eyes, and the smile was brittle. My heart pulled tight. “We’ll be fine. I’ll send a message when we’re back to the Red Star.”

“We’ll be there waiting,” Shula said, storming out the front doors with a stern expression on her face that left little room for disagreement. She thrust a wrapped parcel at me and muttered, “Don’t let him brush off his emotions. He’ll try to pretend they don’t exist.”

“I heard that,” Varidian grumbled, coming closer. “What’s in the bundle?”

“Food and water for the flight. So you don’t die.” Shula met and held his stare, a command in her steely eyes.

Varidian ran a hand over his hair. “I’m not going to die.”

“You scared the shit out of us,” she informed him, punching his arm. “Don’t do it again.”

“I don’t plan to.”

Shula’s grunt was less than satisfied but she backed up with a scowl, clapping my shoulder with significantly less force than my husband’s. The touch should have burned—no matter the days we’d spent in the same fortress, they were still responsible for Naila’s death—but for some reason it didn’t. Maybe because Shula loved her too. Or maybe because the time I’d spent with the legion forced me to see them as more than killers. I’d spent most of my life trying to be seen as more than a killer; it was hard not to project sympathy on them.

“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 and lots of 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.

“Wants us to pick up ink.”

I laughed, the sound carrying far. “So who won?”

“I always win, dearling.” His arms settled around my waist, thighs tightening around Mak’s body. “Always.”

I rolled my eyes, adjusting my grip on Mak’s spike, waiting for the terrifying moment when we leapt into the sky. It was blue above us, the shade of cornflower and lapis. I’d never believe it had stormed for three days straight if I hadn’t obsessively watched it from every possible window.

“I certainly won when I married you,” Varidian said against my ear, brushing a kiss to the sensitive shell. “Ready to fly, Ameirah?”

“I was ready minutes ago,” I quipped. “You’re the one dragging your heels, husband.”

His laugh travelled all the way down my spine, but there was something about it that sounded forced. Shula’s words came back to me; I had to keep an eye on my husband if he was going to pretend everything was fine and he hadn’t lost a dear friend.

I removed one hand from Mak’s spike to squeeze Varidian’s knee and squealed when he chose that exact moment to tell Mak to fly. If I dug my fingernails into leather so hard, they bit into skin, that was his own fault.