Page 81 of A Kingdom of Wild and Power
Ylva frowned at the parchment. ‘Shouldn’t one of your people be doing this?’
Hagan did not answer. He had already returned to his own scrolls, dismissing her existence as easily as he had commanded it—leaving her trapped beside him, reading words she did not trust, for reasons she did not yet understand.
‘What exactly am I meant to be looking for?’ Ylva asked.
He offered her nothing in return, not even a glance. With a quiet sigh, she lowered her eyes to the scroll and began to read. Minutes passed in uneasy silence before she spoke again, frowning.
‘What is a God-Killer?’
This time, Hagan lifted his head. His gaze slid from her face to the parchment in her hands. ‘What does it say?’
‘I’m not sure. Some of the words are…’
‘Are what?’
‘Strange.’
A low chuckle escapedhim. ‘I’m certain they are. They’re written in an old tongue, one very few still understand.’
Ylva’s brow furrowed as she studied the markings again, unsettled by the realisation that she hadn’t noticed before.
‘An ancient wolverian tongue,’ Hagan continued, almost lazily.
She pressed her lips together, the gesture sharp enough to draw his attention and his amusement.
‘Few can speak it. Fewer still can read it,’ he said. ‘Though there were rumours once that the late wolverian queen knew the language well enough to teach it to her children.’
‘Stop it,’ Ylva hissed.
‘Why?’ He leaned closer, invading her space until she was forced to lean back against the chair. ‘Afraid of the truth, valkyrian?’
Her jaw tightened. ‘My runes—’
‘They hurt, don’t they?’ His eyes gleamed, cruelly bright. ‘The more you reach for your past life, the worse the pain becomes. They say the runes can burn. That if you push too far, they might consume you entirely and reduce you to ash for daring to remember who you were.’
‘Then why do you keep forcing this on me?’ she snapped.
His smile sharpened. ‘Because I want to see them burn.’
The spit left her mouth before she could stop herself, striking his face.
Ylva knew instantly she had made a terrible mistake. The punishment would be severe. She had no doubt of that. But she did not regret it.
Some things, no matter the cost, deserved contempt.
Hagan seized her face, his broad fingers biting into the soft flesh of her cheeks, thepressure increasing until it burnt. His purple eyes dragged slowly over her features—her mouth, her nose—before settling on her eyes, unblinking and intent.
‘They say the eyes betray the soul that dwells within,’ he said, closing the distance until their noses nearly brushed. His breath was warm, invasive. ‘Tell me, valkyrian, what do you see when you look into these purple eyes?’
Ylva fought the urge to turn away. She did not want to look at him. Did not want to play his twisted games. All she wanted was the darkness of her cell, the warmth of stone at her back, and Arden’s steady and familiar voice, the only thing anchoring her to sanity.
‘We all have souls,’ she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest. ‘You may pretend you do not, if it helps you excuse your cruelty. But it is a lie. You have a soul, just as I do. And that excuse will not work on me.’
He stared at her for a long, suffocating moment. Then, abruptly, he released her.
Ylva sucked in a breath as the pressure vanished, her skin aching where his fingers had been. She watched his face carefully, and for the briefest heartbeat she saw something flicker behind those hard purple eyes, something raw and unguarded.
Sadness, perhaps. Or shock.
