Page 11 of A Kingdom of Sand and Ice (Kingdom of Gods #2)

‘So this is the sister we’ve been waiting for,’ he said, voice a velvet drawl. His smile widened, baring teeth far too knowing. ‘Careful, Makaria. You might have competition.’

Makaria gave a sharp snort of laughter, a sound like a crack in the dark.

Mal wrenched her hand from his grasp, her skin crawling. ‘ She has nothing to fear.’

‘Oh?’ he asked, teasing. ‘Are you not a threat?’

‘Do you want me to be?’ she replied coolly, letting her fangs show. If he thought he could cow her, he’d find he’d picked the wrong wyverian.

He leaned in, invading her space with a predatory ease, his nose nearly brushing hers. He was enjoying this far too much. ‘You look like one of my pets,’ he murmured. ‘I ought to put a collar on you.’

‘Try it,’ she whispered darkly, her voice low as a blade unsheathing. ‘You might lose a few limbs along the way.’

That drew a laugh from him, deep and delighted. He turned and clapped Hades on the shoulder. ‘I like this one.’

‘I thought you might,’ Hades replied, clearly amused.

‘I’m not a trinket you’ve just acquired,’ Mal snapped, her voice sharp enough to bite. Before either man could reply, Makaria stepped forward and looped an arm around Mal’s, tugging her protectively close.

‘Ignore these two fools,’ she said lightly, her veil of mockery barely disguising her fondness. ‘You’ll get used to our brother’s idiocy. He’s mostly harmless once you’ve weathered his nonsense. Isn’t that right, Zagreus?’

‘I liked you better when that cloth covered your mouth as well as your eyes, sister,’ Zagreus muttered, his grin not faltering in the slightest.

Makaria’s face twisted with irritation, and before Mal could register what had happened, Zagreus crumpled like a discarded marionette onto the stone floor. Hades glanced down at his son with no more concern than if a breeze had passed through.

‘We were just about to go in and sit, Makaria. Must you always resort to that?’ he said with a weary sigh.

‘Then teach him better manners,’ she replied, seizing Mal by the arm and tugging her up the steps into the gloom of the temple.

‘What did you do to him?’ Mal asked, not entirely certain she wanted to know.

‘I granted him a blessed death,’ Makaria said breezily.

‘Though, strictly speaking, he’s already dead, so I merely sent him back to the Underworld’s threshold.

He loathes having to row all the way back with Charon.

’ She let out a soft, mischievous giggle.

‘Your hair is so dark, it nearly resembles a void.’

Mal blinked, unsure whether to thank her or run in the opposite direction.

They descended a narrow corridor, too cramped for them to walk side by side, so Makaria took the lead, her fingers still looped around Mal’s arm.

The passage was lined with dust-cloaked frames, empty and sorrowful, like ghosts left to wither.

The light was faint, flickering, yet curiously warm, as though the shadows themselves had grown fond of the place.

They entered a vast dining chamber where a long, black wooden table loomed like an altar. Makaria hummed an off-key tune as she guided Mal into a chair and flitted about the room preparing drinks. Hades drifted wordlessly to the head of the table, his red eyes dancing with silent amusement.

Mal had the sudden and childlike urge to roll her eyes at him.

‘Do you drink tea?’ Makaria asked, pausing mid-motion.

‘Not particularly,’ Mal replied.

A flash of annoyance crossed Makaria’s face, but it vanished almost as swiftly as it had come. ‘Then I shall make you my famous blend. You’ll be converted before the cup is empty.’

Mal’s gaze darted back to Hades, her mind swimming. What was the point of any of this? It still didn’t feel real—this place, these people. Her father. Her family. Surely, if she were a god, she would have known?

‘Why would you have known such a thing?’

The words, spoken aloud by Hades, landed with a weight that made her flinch.

Mal’s jaw clenched. Rage simmered within her. ‘Stop it,’ she growled, slamming her fist against the table. ‘Do not dare read my thoughts. If you want me here, you’ll keep out of my head.’

Hades’ smirk only deepened, amused by her indignation.

‘Afraid of what he might see?’ Makaria said, her tone playful, her eyes gleaming with wicked delight.

‘I’m not afraid of either of you,’ Mal snapped.

But her defiance betrayed her. The moment she felt vulnerable, her mind betrayed her too by flashing images of Ash, the memory of his lips, the safety of his arms. And then, the terror. The fear of returning to find him gone, replaced, holding someone else. Loving someone else. Her chest tightened.

Hades’ smile widened.

‘Stop it!’ Mal shouted, leaping to her feet, trembling with fury. ‘You’ve no right!’

‘Sit down,’ Hades said mildly, waving off her outburst like a tired schoolmaster. ‘I was only teasing.’

Makaria returned with a tray, setting steaming cups around the table like a hostess at some eerie tea party. She gestured grandly to Mal’s. ‘Drink. It’ll calm your anger.’

Mal ignored it. ‘Why am I here?’

Instead of tea, Hades was handed a goblet of what appeared to be wine. That alone made Mal push her teacup even further from her. If he wasn’t drinking it, she certainly wouldn’t.

He took his time answering. Leaning back in the heavy wooden chair, he observed her with the quiet, deliberate patience of someone who already knew all the questions she would ask.

His crimson, soulless eyes gleamed with dark amusement the very moment his lips curved into a wicked smile, the faint lamplight catching on the sharp glint of his fangs, like silvered daggers veiled in shadow.

‘You are my daughter,’ he said at last. ‘For years I could not reach you, not while Tabitha Wysteria’s curse kept the gods from their creations. But the moment the veil lifted, I came for you.’

Mal didn’t reply. She wanted to believe him, desperately. All her life she had felt adrift, out of place. A question mark in a world that demanded certainty. Fourthborn in a kingdom where lineage defined identity: firstborn to inherit, second to protect, third to remember. And the fourth?

The fourth had no place at all.

Especially not one with purple eyes.

‘But I’m not truly your child. My parents are King Ozul and Queen Senka. You did something to my mother and—’

Makaria’s stifled giggle broke through the tension like glass cracking underfoot. Mal turned sharply to face her, the girl lingering against the wall like a shadow come to life.

‘You didn’t tell her?’ Makaria gasped, eyes wide with mischief. ‘She doesn’t know?’

‘Makaria…’ Hades warned, low and sharp.

‘What don’t I know?’ Mal demanded, her voice trembling as she flicked her gaze between them. ‘ What don’t I know?’

Makaria bounded forward, resting her hands on the opposite chair like a child preparing for a story.

Her eyes gleamed with a twisted delight.

‘They’re not your parents,’ she whispered.

‘Hades planted his seed in Queen Senka’s womb, knowing full well that Tabitha would protect the child with her own blood.

Only there wasn’t a child, until her magic mingled with his… and created one.’

‘What…?’

Makaria gave an exaggerated sigh and rolled her eyes. ‘You’re not theirs. You were made. Crafted from god and witch. Senka was merely a vessel, a borrowed cradle.’

A heavy stillness fell over the room, suffocating and close, as if someone had drawn a veil between the world and this one moment.

Mal could neither speak nor breathe. Her limbs felt leaden, her thoughts a thousand thorns.

She looked at Hades, eyes wide, silently begging him to deny it.

Because if this was true, if every breath she’d taken had been built upon a lie… What did that make her?

‘Tabitha can’t be my mother…’ she whispered, shaking her head. ‘Because that would make me a…’

‘A witch,’ Makaria supplied with unsettling glee.

‘I’m not a witch,’ Mal snapped. ‘I’m a wyverian.’

Hades laughed quietly, the sound rich and unsettling. ‘You are many things, child. A wyverian, yes. But that is only part of the truth. Above all, you are a god.’

‘Half-god,’ Mal said firmly, as if clinging to that small distinction might steady her world. ‘Tabitha was a witch. That means I’m only half.’

But even as she said it, she saw the look exchanged between Makaria and Hades. There was more. Always more.

She curled a strand of hair round her finger, searching for something, anything, to tether herself to. Ash had said something… when he returned from the lava, forged anew. A name. A title.

‘The Goddess of Shadows,’ Hades said softly, intruding on her thoughts like a ghost slipping through the cracks.

‘Stop doing that,’ she snapped, narrowing her eyes. ‘Why should I believe any of this? I don’t know you. And Ash, he never said anything about Tabitha being my…’ She froze. Hades was watching her with a look she hated. Pity. Her heart twisted. Had Ash lied?

‘We lie for those we love, Melinoe,’ Hades said. ‘Surely you’ve learnt that by now.’

‘But why?’ Her voice was barely a whisper. ‘Why would he lie to me? Why wouldn’t he tell me everything he saw?’

Hades took a long sip from his cup, then turned the vessel in his hands, staring into the liquid as if the surface would reveal the answers.

‘Because truth,’ he said eventually, ‘is a weapon. A poisoned blade that slides beneath the skin and festers slowly, until you beg for death just to end the ache.’

Mal wanted to ask what other truths lay in wait, what other parts of her life had been forged from deception. But before she could open her mouth, the room shook with a monstrous growl. Low, deep, and resonant, like thunder rolling through stone.

Makaria’s head snapped up. She grinned, wild and delighted. ‘He’s back!’

Without another word, she bolted from the room, shrieking incantations Mal didn’t understand. Moments later, Zagreus appeared in the doorway, chest heaving, eyes dark. ‘Where is she?’ he growled.

Mal opened her mouth, hesitating. The glint of a scythe in his hand turned her blood cold. She said nothing.

He stormed off, the heavy scrape of the blade echoing like chains across stone.

‘He’ll never catch her,’ Hades said lightly, as though it were a game and not a hunt.

‘Is he trying to kill her?’ Mal asked, horrified.

Hades shrugged. ‘If he does, she’ll pay a visit to Thanatos and the Moirai. They won’t be pleased, of course. These two spend eternity murdering each other in circles. It’s their idea of a good time.’

Mal frowned. ‘Thanatos? Moirai?’

Strange names. Not wyverian. Not anything she knew.

And then came the sensation of being watched. Her instincts kicked in a moment too late. A shadow slipped behind her, silent and precise. Steel kissed her throat.

Makaria giggled.

How? How had she crept up on Mal, a wyverian trained in blade and blood? No one was ever able to best her. No one.

‘Would you like to meet them?’ Makaria whispered.

Hades shook his head. Disapproval flashed in his expression, but he made no move to intervene.

Mal opened her mouth to protest, to plead, to scream.

She was too slow. The blade slid across her throat with an effortless stroke.

Warmth flooded her chest, her hands grasping at the blackness blooming from her neck.

Her body collapsed forward, slamming against the wooden table with a dull, final thud. The blood pooled.

And Mal was gone.

Dead.