Page 151 of A Kingdom of Wild and Power
He lifted his boot and drove it hard into Arden’s chest.
‘Stop it!’ Ylva cried, surging forward before halting abruptly when Hagan’s head turned towards her.
Those eyes.
Sharp. Warning.
‘No wonder all your friends betrayed you, you arrogant pig!’ she flung at him, fury burning through her fear.
‘Ylva, stop it,’ Arden warned hoarsely from the ground.
‘Who would want to be friends with a beast like you?’ shespat.
The words had barely left her mouth before she realised her mistake. Her blue eyes widened as Hagan’s expression shifted.
He smiled.
But it was not a normal smile.
It was something carved from cruelty.
Slowly, deliberately, he turned his back on Arden and strode towards Ylva, who stood a few paces away. He closed the distance between them until she could feel the heat of him. His fingers rose and brushed beneath her chin, tilting her face up.
Almost gently.
That tenderness terrified her more than any blow ever could.
He studied her for a long, lingering moment, as though searching her eyes for something buried deep within. Ylva did not dare to look away. Did not dare to ask what he saw.
Then he bent closer still, his lips grazing the shell of her ear.
‘You will learn one day why I was right,’ he murmured softly. ‘Why having friends only ever leads to heartbreak.’
The words slid into her like ice.
He straightened and began to walk towards the great doors that led outside, dragging Ylva with him through the invisible chains. She twisted her head, horror etched across her face, keeping her attention fixed on Arden.
He remained on his knees until two warlocks hauled him upright and forced him forward after them.
The moment they stepped beyond the keep, Ylva saw a cluster of witches and warlocks turn back towards the fortress. They raised their hands as one.
Green fire bloomed.
Her breath caught.
She met Arden’s green stare one final time and then the world vanished in a surge of magic.
I’ve always wondered where Charon comes from. Was he a god originally that was placed into Hades’ service? Or is he simply a soul trapped in the Underworld, working through his sentence?
I asked him once, but as always, he did not reply.
Tabitha Wysteria
Mal did not wish to admit that, the moment she descended into the Underworld, it felt disturbingly like returning home.
She materialised at the river’s edge, where the air hung heavy with shadow and silence. A narrow black boat waited upon the dark waters, and upon it stood Charon, still as stone, hands resting upon the oar as though he had known precisely when she would arrive.
Thanatos stepped closer, his fingers grazing the air near her hand. He did that often, Mal realised. Hovering, almost touching, never quite daring. A presence at her side, constant as death itself.
