Page 149 of A Kingdom of Wild and Power
The urge to reach him, to bury her face against his chest and feel the steady proof of his heart, nearly broke her. To know he was flesh and blood and not another cruel dream.
He looked drawn, thinner perhaps, but not broken.
His gaze locked on hers. The same desperate need shone there.
He moved as though to step towards her, but a warlock yanked him back. Arden hissed, teeth bared, a flash of somethingferal in his expression. Tattooed hands rose in warning, green smoke curling like a venomous serpent between them.
Ylva swallowed.
Not now.
They exchanged a single, weighted look, fear and understanding entwined. Obey. Observe. Survive long enough to find an opening.
‘Can I wash somewhere?’ Arden asked, voice rough but steady. ‘I haven’t bathed in weeks.’
‘Not a chance,’ a warlock spat.
They were driven up the winding stairs and out into the vast square courtyard at the heart of the keep. The sight that greeted them made Ylva’s stomach twist.
Dozens of witches stood in neat rows, emerald fire spilling from their palms. Bodies burnt upon the stone—drakonian bodies—their forms curling and blackening as the unnatural flames devoured them. Scrolls too were being fed to the fire, parchment shrivelling into ash.
Ylva’s attention snagged on the scrolls.
Were those the very ones Hagan had pored over for hours, day after day? The knowledge he had hoarded so greedily, now reduced to smoke?
Beside her, Arden went rigid.
His green eyes darkened to something lethal at the sight of so many fallen. His jaw clenched; his shoulders drew tight with barely restrained rage.
‘Don’t,’ Ylva mouthed urgently, forcing her eyes to his. ‘Not here. Not yet.’
There were too many of them. Too many witches, too much magic thick in the air. To attempt escape within these walls would be suicide.
They were shovedforward again.
‘Where are we going?’ Ylva demanded of the warlock gripping the invisible chains that bound her.
‘Shut up,’ he snapped without so much as glancing at her.
She bit back another retort.
If the courtyard was any indication, the keep was being abandoned. Preparations were underway; bodies burnt, knowledge destroyed, no trace left behind.
They were leaving.
Heading north towards Fae lands.
Fierce hope ignited in her chest. Good. Let them march. Let them leave the safety of their stronghold and venture into open land. That would be their chance. To run. To reach Arden’s people. To finally, finally be free of witches and of Hagan’s shadow.
Hagan appeared above them, leaning over the stone balustrade of one of the higher floors, his robes stirring faintly in the rising heat of green fire. From that height he surveyed the courtyard—witches burning bodies, warlocks feeding scrolls to the flames.
Even as he feigned indifference, Ylva felt it.
Those purple eyes had found her.
They always did.
He descended at an unhurried pace, boots striking the stone with deliberate calm, and stepped into the patio as though he were strolling through a garden rather than overseeing destruction.
