Page 66 of A Kingdom of Wild and Power
Every fear she had carried since childhood rose up and claimed its victory. Her mother had left…why would she have stayed for Dawn? Her sister Vera had left as well…why would she have chosen Dawn over herself? Even Hagan had been incapable of loving her, despite the years Dawn had spent trailing after him, obeying and enduring.
And Ash…Ash had loved another without hesitation.
No one had ever chosen Dawn.
No one had ever loved her.
Dawn did not release Alina’s hand. Instead, her fingers tightened, knuckles whitening, until the Fire Princess hissed softly and winced at the pressure.
‘Are you ready?’ Dawn asked.
She had kept her blood magic buried deep, hidden from every watchful eye. It had been Hagan who taught her in secret, forcing the knowledge upon her when she had refused to learn it willingly. She had never used it. Not once. Not out of weakness, but out of defiance. Blood magic was vile, corruptive. She had sworn to herself she would never touch it. Never let it stain her hands.
And yet here she sat, breaking that promise with full awareness of what it would cost her.
Alina nodded, drawing herself taller, squaring her shoulders as resolve hardened her gaze. Her grip remained firm around Dawn’s hand, unyielding, as if anchoring herself to the moment.
‘I’m ready,’ she said.
Dawn inhaled slowly, deeply, and summoned the magic she despised.
‘Good,’ she replied, her voice steady even as the power stirred beneath her skin. ‘Becausethis is going to hurt.’ Her purple eyes darkened.‘A lot.’
Even though it was the drakonians that started the Great War, and they managed to massacre so many witches, and destroy so many cities… They were still not strong enough to defeat them entirely. That is why the war lasted so long. It took them years to try and convince the other kingdoms to join them in the fight. For it was the other kingdoms that knew the truth.
If you enter battle against a witch, be prepared to die.
Tabitha Wysteria
When Ylva was returned to her cell, she could almost feel Arden’s despair seeping through the stone between them. Again and again he had asked whether they had hurt her, his voice threaded with quiet panic. And each time, very patiently, she had told him she was unharmed. Only then had his breathing steadied, the tension in him easing at last.
She had lost track of how many days had passed since she’d been dragged from the cell. Time blurred in the dark. They were fed three times a day proper meals, which had surprised her more than anything else. Yet it was the darkness that gnawed at her most, pressing in, relentless and suffocating.
‘Breathe,’ Arden murmured from the other side of the wall.
‘How are you so calm?’ Ylva asked, easing herself back against the warm stone. She did this often, resting against that very wall, the one that separated them, pretending that the heat beneath her skin was his warmth, that if she closed her eyes she might imagine his arms around her.
Silence followed, stretching long enough that she wondered whether she had spoken aloud at all.
‘When we are trained in the Black Lotus,’ Arden said at last, his voice steady despite the words, ‘we are kept in cells like these. Underground. In complete darkness. Days pass like this, mostly filled with torture, until we are summoned to carry out the king’s will.’
Ylva’s body went rigid.
‘You learn to endure it,’ he continued quietly. ‘But it takes time. When I was younger, I panicked. I screamed. I cried. And every time I did, they came and beat us for it. So eventually… you learn to swallow the fear.’
‘That’s horrific,’ Ylva whispered.
‘It is,’ Arden agreed.
Ylva sighed and let her head rest against the wall, her eyes drifting shut. There was little point keeping them open in the dark.
‘Your voice helps,’ she muttered. ‘It really does, Arden Briar.’
He chuckled softly. ‘Does it?’
‘It does.’ She felt the tightness in her chest ease, her breathing finally slowing. ‘Tell me about the girl you miss so much.’
‘You won’t grow jealous, little wolf?’ She could almost hear the curl of his smile in the words.
