Page 102 of A Kingdom of Sand and Ice (Kingdom of Gods #2)

I always believed Hades to be the vilest of all the gods.

I was wrong.

The others…

The other gods are far more foul.

And they are coming for us all.

Tabitha Wysteria

Kage knew there would be no slipping from Hagan’s fury unscathed.

The air cracked with sorcery as witches and warlocks closed in, hurling their magic like vengeful lightning at three unlikely allies.

He did not allow himself to think of Wren, of her shattered, crumpled body, too fragile for a world so cruel.

His fury had been kept tightly leashed, held back for her sake, in the desperate hope of preserving what little remained.

He had not seen her since the day they arrived at the wolverian stronghold, since he had locked himself away, burying grief beneath stoic silence.

How history delighted in echoing its tragedies.

But this time it wasn’t Haven Blackburn’s neck snapping under the weight of Hagan’s magic.

It was Wren who had been broken. And if Freya failed to save her in time…

How could he ever face Bryn Wynter with the ruin of his sister?

The Fae male moved like a whisper between worlds, too fast to follow, his body blurring, dissolving into motion and shadow.

Kage had read of such abilities, of the Fae’s talent for illusion and misdirection, but to witness it was something else entirely.

The man was vengeance made flesh. Not even Kage’s eyes, darkened by grief and tempered in fury, could compare to the rage that burnt in the Fae’s.

But Kage knew that when Hagan unleashed his blood magic, none of it would matter. They would not walk away.

Vera must have reached the same conclusion. Her eyes met his for a fleeting moment, a silent understanding flaring between them. Then she turned, her attention shifting to the Fae.

‘Find her,’ she said, her voice the steel of a dying star. And with that, she turned her back, stepping forward to face the storm alone.

Kage made to follow, but the Fae’s hand clamped around his arm like a vice, yanking him back towards the towering doors, now slowly creaking open by some invisible command of Vera’s making.

A surge of her magic crashed upward, slamming into the ceiling above, dislodging stone and sending part of it to rain down in a violent cascade, blocking the witches and warlocks from reaching them in their attempt at escape.

‘The wards,’ Kage cautioned as their boots touched the stone beyond the temple’s shadow.

‘I see them,’ the Fae said, his steps slow and precise, like a dancer navigating blades.

He moved with the wariness of someone who had brushed too close to death once before.

Kage had read what little he could find about witch-crafted wards, but the pages had always been shrouded in mystery and half-truths.

All he truly knew was this: if one who was not a witch crossed the boundary, death would greet them swiftly, and cruelly .

He had passed through them once before, but only under Freya’s protection. No ward could stand against a god.

‘I can conjure an illusion,’ the Fae said, voice clipped with urgency. ‘But it will buy us seconds, no more.’

Kage gave a single, resolute nod.

This would be his first time witnessing Fae magic.

He had, in a manner of speaking, seen Freya wield it, but surely this would be something altogether different.

He found himself oddly curious, even as danger closed in behind them.

Would it shimmer like starlight or crackle like lightning?

A glance over the Fae’s shoulder showed Vera still holding the line, but only just. Her magic sparked in defiant bursts, forcing back a tide of witches, yet the storm would soon swallow her whole.

There was no more time.

The Fae brought his hands together in a slow, deliberate motion, as though rousing a dormant beast. Threads of golden light flickered to life at his fingertips, delicate as spider silk and glowing like sunlit dew.

He leaned in, lips parting, and exhaled over the gleaming motes, sending them dancing towards the stairs like dandelion seeds caught on a divine breeze.

‘Run!’

Kage didn’t pause to think. He sprinted, his legs carrying him two, three steps at a time. His breath tore from his lungs as the world narrowed to the beat of his heart and the surge of adrenaline. He felt the wards shift, fading just long enough for passage.

But then he felt them stir, awaken, begin to hum with deadly energy.

They were too slow.

Not enough time.

A strong hand caught his arm.

‘Jump! ’

And Kage leapt, just as the wards snapped back to life, whispering death in the air behind him.

Panting, he collapsed upon the ground, eyes wide with the echo of what had just passed.

A voice, sharp and unrelenting, shrieked within his mind, urging him to turn back, to return for Vera.

But she had offered herself freely, a sacrifice carved from defiance and fire.

He would not let her offering be in vain.

The Fae gave a sharp shake of his body, casting off the remnants of their escape, then turned to glare at Kage, no doubt questioning his connection to Wren Wynter. Curious. It seemed the wolverian princess had lived a far more entangled life than any of them had realised.

Spirox cawed above, sweeping down from the heavens just as Bryn’s wolf came bounding from the shadows of the alley where Kage had left them.

He hadn’t wanted them caught in the storm.

Bryn Wynter would never forgive him if anything befell his beloved beast. Strange, how Kage had managed to protect the wolf, but not Wren.

‘Kage Blackburn,’ he said, offering his name like a token of gratitude. ‘House of Shadows.’

The Fae stiffened, displeasure appearing across his features at the revelation. He said nothing. With the silence of one too familiar with pain, he turned away and began to walk.

‘Where are you going?’ Kage called after him.

‘To find my wolf,’ came the Fae’s growled reply, before vanishing down an alley, swallowed by the shadows.

…

Vera knew, deep in the marrow of her bones, that Hagan had allowed the wyverian prince and the Fae to flee.

The reason eluded her, some twisted motive no doubt curled behind his cold smirk.

The instant they had vanished from the temple, the tide of her battle had shifted.

The witches had stilled, frozen like statues in prayer, and Hagan had stepped forward to reclaim the space with terrifying ease.

Her blood boiled beneath her skin, molten with rage and magic, a scream ripping from her lungs as agony bloomed in every inch of her body, a pain unlike anything she had ever known. Still, she would not fall. Not to him. Never to him.

‘You let them go,’ she ground out through clenched teeth as he neared.

‘Yes,’ he replied, tilting his head like a curious child. His eyes gleamed with something she could not name. ‘I only needed you.’

With a mere flick of his wrist, the witches dispersed like dust on the wind.

Vera was left alone in the great hall with the creature who called himself her brother.

He tugged her behind him, an invisible tether of blood magic coiling around her spine, jerking her forward with every breathless step.

Each movement sent fire coursing through her limbs, tore shrieks from her throat that scorched her lungs.

If she had the freedom to lift a hand, she would have ended it herself, driven a blade into her own neck just to stop the pain.

Had Wren endured this? The thought struck like lightning. Her vision turned crimson.

No. She would live. She would survive this hell, if only to find the strength to carve open Hagan’s chest and tear his festering heart from its cradle.

Hagan descended the narrow stone steps into the bowels of the earth, into catacombs Vera hadn’t even known existed beneath such a place.

Shadows clung to the damp walls, and the air turned colder despite the oppressive heat still clinging to her skin.

She refused to glance at the skulls wedged in the crevices or the iron-veined door that awaited at the end of the passageway like a mouth poised to swallow her whole.

When it creaked open, her breath hitched, eyes widening at the monstrous slab of stone that loomed within—silent, waiting, ancient.

Without a word, she was dragged to it, her body slammed against its hot, unyielding surface. Bone met stone in a brutal embrace. Still, she would endure.

She was a witch. Damned, powerful, and born in pain. She had weathered storms that would have shattered others. She would not break. Not for him.

‘I’m not going to kill you, sister,’ Hagan said, his voice somewhere to her right.

She couldn’t move her head to locate him, only feel the rivulets of sweat crawling down her temples, soaking into her hair.

The stifling heat of drakonian lands clung to her like a second skin. She had always despised it.

‘I had planned to use Theodora for this,’ he mused. ‘But then you offered yourself so... politely. It won’t hurt, I promise.’

Vera clenched her jaw. She would not give him the satisfaction of asking.

‘Did you know,’ he went on, as if in idle conversation, ‘that the gods cannot walk this realm freely? They may visit, yes. But without a vessel, they remain bodiless. Spectres. Once, long before Tabitha Wysteria’s curse cast them into their own realms, they walked among mortals regularly.

And mortals, eager little things, offered up their bodies, just for the honour of carrying divinity. ’

‘So what?’ she rasped.

‘Not all vessels worked,’ Hagan said, ignoring her.

‘The stronger the god, the quicker the body would rot. It’s rare, so rare, to find a mortal capable of containing their power without tearing apart at the seams. I considered Theodora, briefly.

.. But you,’ he whispered, his voice curling like smoke, ‘I believe you could hold one.’

Vera let out a disbelieving and bitter snort. His madness had truly reached its crescendo.

He could not be serious.

‘Did you hit your head?’ she snapped, her voice sharp with exasperation. ‘You expect me to believe that you’ve found a way to summon a god, and have it possess me?’

Utterly absurd.

He had well and truly lost his mind.

‘It doesn’t much matter what you believe, does it?’ he said, and there was a blade beneath the silk of his tone, enough to give her pause. Uncertainty cut through her fury. ‘Did you really think I orchestrated all this alone?’

Vera thrashed against the invisible force that held her fast to the hot, unyielding stone, every muscle trembling with the effort.

‘For once in your pitiful, wasted life,’ he whispered against her ear, a breath colder than any winter wind, ‘you will serve a purpose.’

Her breath caught.

Vera’s purple eyes widened, catching movement in the shadows. Something ancient lingered in the far corner of the room, something wrong. It stared back at her from the abyss, cloaked in silence, black as oil, old as time.

No.

No, no, no, no.

Hagan’s laughter echoed around her like the tolling of a death bell, the last sound she heard before the darkness lunged.

It struck like lightning—devouring, unforgiving. The presence slammed into her with a force that tore her apart, dragging her into a chasm of endless black. Vera fell down, down, down, screaming into a void where no one could follow, where nothing existed but silence and shadows.

She felt herself fading, shrinking into something small, something voiceless.

And then…

Vera was no more.