Page 102 of A Kingdom of Wild and Power
The words drew a sharp, startled breath from him, so unexpected that she looked up despite herself.
He was watching her closely now, measuring her, as if trying to decide whether this was a trick, a lie, or something far more dangerous: understanding.
Ylva hoped—gods, she hoped that he would believe shecared. That he would think she felt sympathy. That he would mistake calculation for compassion.
She needed his trust. Needed it like air. Needed it so she could carve out a sliver of freedom and drag Arden with her out of this waking nightmare.
And yet the thought curdled in her chest. By earning his trust only to shatter it, she would become just another betrayal. Another knife in a long line of them. Another hand shaping him into the monster he had become. If the others had kept their word, if they had not betrayed him, would this war even exist?
‘I would hate them all too,’ Ylva said quietly, turning back to the scrolls. Her spine straightened as he leaned closer, close enough that it felt as though he were scenting her, searching for the lie beneath her skin.
‘Would you, valkyrian?’ His voice was low, threaded with menace.
‘I would.’ She forced the words to sound firm and certain. Unflinching.
But the light that flared in his eyes, the slow, wicked curve of his mouth, told her everything she needed to know.
She had not convinced him at all.
And Hagan knew, perfectly and cruelly, exactly what game she was trying to play.
My mother once told me that before the Great War, the Council had been considering the possibility of expanding and allowing a member of each kingdom to join them. My mother was set against it, as were most. I think they thought it would be a way to dissuade the growing tension with certain lands.
Of course, it never came to be.
I wonder now, if the outcome would’ve been any different, had they allowed outsiders in.
Tabitha Wysteria
Rio Hawthorne had been travelling for days now, leading a sizeable host of her people alongside soldiers and the Black Lotus. They marched along wolverian lands, keeping as close to the great wall as the terrain allowed. The Kingdom of Darkness, and the wyverian castle beyond it, was no longer far.
It had been several days since she had sent two scouts to search for Arden, Ylva, Elric, and Nymeria, who had never returned from the wolverian castle. Rio had expected the worst from their silence. The truth, when it came, was crueler still.
There had been no bodies to bring back for Elric and Nymeria, nothing left to recover. And of Arden and Ylva, there were no tracks at all, no footprints to suggest which way theyhad fled, or if they had fled at all.
‘They were taken,’ Rio said quietly as she crouched beside the fire, holding her hands out to its meagre warmth. Footsteps approached from behind her, and she could not help the faint smile that tugged at her lips at their familiarity.
‘Can a Black Lotus be taken?’ Elowen mused aloud, her voice musical as ever, each word lilting as if half-sung. ‘If so, your father, King Florian, was not especially thorough in his training.’
Rio rolled her eyes. ‘You ought not to joke about such things.’
‘The princess is right,’ Rowan said as he joined them, his stride heavier, more grounded. ‘This is no time to mock another’s distress.’
‘I am not mocking, brother,’ Elowen replied, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. ‘I am merely stating the obvious. No one kidnaps a Black Lotus.’
Rio listened to the silence that followed, keenly aware that both of them were waiting for her to speak. She merely shrugged, rubbing her hands together in an effort to coax some warmth back into her fingers. How she loathed this frozen land. Her home was thick with humidity, alive with jungle and forest, a place where green swallowed everything whole, but never snow. Never this biting cold. She longed to reach wyverian lands, even if the winds there were said to be sharp and the temperatures unforgiving. At least it would be familiar cold, not this endless white desolation.
‘If they were taken,’ Elowen pressed gently, ‘does it change our plans?’
‘No.’ Rio shook her head, decisive. ‘We continue to King Ozul. We need his numbers. His army.’
She felt Rowan study her. ‘Are you certain your sister is sureof this?’
Rio nodded without hesitation. ‘She is. She said the witches would come for us first. Quietly. Small attacks at the edges. And then they would turn their attention to Velunthar.’ Her jaw tightened. ‘If Velunthar falls, the crown falls with it. And we will not win this war alone.’ She lifted her eyes to the fire, feeling the flames curl and snap. ‘We need help.’
Rio could picture Elowen and Rowan turning towards one another, their brows knitting at her words. She did not need her eyes to see them; she had long ago learnt how to feel people instead. Still, there were moments when she wished she could truly look upon them. They had described themselves to her countless times, patient and indulgent, and she had traced her fingers across their faces, memorising the lines of cheekbones and brows, building their likeness carefully inside her mind.
Her father, King Florian, had given them to her when she was still a child, in the aftermath of losing her sight. The court children had drifted away from her then, uncertain, uncomfortable, as if blindness were contagious. Rio had tried to keep up at first, had tried to play their games, to follow their laughter, but she could not see the rules, nor the turns, nor the looks that passed between them. Loneliness had settled in her chest like a permanent ache.
