Page 79 of A Kingdom of Wild and Power
The procession was no longer a distant suggestion upon the ridge but a living thing now, bodies moving in deliberate descent, blades catching the light as they drew closer with every measured step.
Alina’s voice cut through the tension, calm and sharp assteel.
‘You’d better hurry,’ she said. ‘They’re coming.’
I was once told that the God-Killer was in fact, the original. The creator of everything. That this being formed and shaped the gods. But after some time, the God-Killer became disillusioned by its own creations, by how vile they had become with time. And so the God-Killer began to cut them down. One by one. The gods ran away, hiding in different parts of the world from the very thing that had given them life. That had created them.
Tabitha Wysteria
Ylva had been made to stand in Hagan’s chamber since dawn, rooted in place as he pored over yet another of the countless scrolls strewn across his desk. His blood magic wrapped tight around her limbs, an invisible vice that held her obedient and still. They both knew the truth of it: the moment he dared to release her, she would tear his head from his shoulders without hesitation. And he knew better than to allow that. Not after all he had forced her to see.
The past days had passed in a suffocating hush. Ylva had retreated into silence so complete that not even Arden’s voice could reach her. The ache in her chest was constant, a deep, grinding pain that threatened to break her open, to leave her sobbing and exposed. But she would not give Hagan, or any ofhis witches, that pleasure. She was valkyrian. A warrior. And warriors endured. She would find a way out. She always did.
The doors slammed open with sudden violence, the sound cracking through the chamber.
Eris strolled inside as though she owned the place. Her attention landed briefly on Ylva, sharp and satisfied, before she dropped into one of the many empty wooden chairs. She lounged there with careless ease, legs splayed, arms draped over the armrests, the picture of lazy dominance. Tilting her head back, she let her wild brown hair spill over the chair like a fallen curtain.
The body the goddess had chosen was not beautiful in any gentle sense, but it carried an edge, something honed and dangerous. Her purple eyes were wrong in a way that set the nerves on edge, unlike those of any mortal kin. One only had to look closely to know the truth.
A goddess had made her home there.
‘Do you require something?’ Hagan asked at last, his voice carrying from the desk without so much as a glance in their direction.
‘I’m bored.’
‘Do you not have better uses for your time?’ he replied, a faint crease forming between his brows. ‘Causing havoc and chaos, perhaps?’
‘I do.’ Eris huffed, and a loose strand of brown hair leapt into the air as if startled, before settling lazily against her shoulder once more. She shifted in the chair, her eyes glittering with mischief as they slid back to Ylva. She winked. ‘But you are far more entertaining.’ Then, with feigned curiosity, she tilted her head. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Reading.’
‘What are you reading?’
Hagan exhaled slowly, a sound heavy with old irritation, and finally turned to face her. ‘During the Great War, when the drakonians invaded my lands and butchered most of my people, they did not leave empty-handed. They stole from us. Art, books…even secrets.’ His gaze drifted around the chamber, lingering on the walls heavy with shelves and scattered parchments. ‘This keep houses a rather impressive collection of what was taken.’
Eris rolled her eyes. ‘And what, exactly, is so fascinating about a pile of dusty scrolls?’
Hagan’s mouth twitched, as though he might laugh at the question and thought better of it. ‘There is forbidden magic among them,’ he said evenly. ‘Magic lost to us, buried by war and time. I intend to reclaim it. To learn it. And then to teach it to my people.’
Eris turned her head slowly to study him. It was impossible to tell what passed behind that stare; her expression was always the same unsettled blend of amusement and irritation, as if the world itself were little more than a mildly diverting inconvenience.
‘How interesting,’ she mumbled, though the words rang hollow, edged with mockery. Her attention drifted back to Ylva, who had endured the entire exchange in rigid silence, as though pretending hard enough might render her invisible. ‘And does she truly need to be here for all this? Or may I borrow her for a little… amusement?’
Ylva’s muscles tightened, every instinct screaming at her to brace.
She felt Hagan’s attention settle on her, heavy and assessing, his jaw set hard.
‘She keeps me company,’ he said at last, his tone flat, almost lazily disinterested.
‘I could keep you company,’ Eris pouted, drumming her long, pale fingers against her stomach. Then her eyes flicked down Ylva’s form with open disdain. ‘Why do you insist on dressing her in such ridiculous things?’
Ylva resisted the urge to glance down at the blue-grey gown she had been forced into for the past two days—another stolen relic from the wolverian castle, one of many Hagan seemed to hoard. Dresses dragged across kingdoms by witches, only to be used as silent cruelties.
‘She might remember something,’ Hagan muttered, already turning back to his scrolls.
Eris scrunched her nose. ‘And why would you want that?’
Hagan shrugged, as though the answer were beneath explanation. ‘It amuses me.’
