Page 12 of A Kingdom of Sand and Ice (Kingdom of Gods #2)

Even though it is the coldest land, wolverian hearts are the warmest.

Tabitha Wysteria

‘Wren, get back here!’

Wren did not pause. Her brother’s voice echoed down the corridor behind her, ignored as she walked on with purpose, her boots silent against the worn stone of the castle she had called home since childhood.

The small fortress nestled within the snowy wilds had been a place of comfort once.

But now, its walls felt too narrow, its silence too loud.

They had returned only days ago, weary and dust-covered after fleeing on the backs of their wolves.

The journey had drained her, and yet the real disquiet had begun only upon their return, when she had stepped into the main hall to find Kage Blackburn and Freya standing beneath the vaulted ceilings, gazing around as though the castle were some forgotten relic.

On that first day, Wren had expected Kage to leave, to vanish like smoke and return to the Kingdom of Darkness, to his siblings, to whatever fractured pieces of his life remained.

But he hadn’t. He had not spoken, had not stepped beyond the room they’d given him.

Every tray of food left at his door was found hours later, untouched and cold.

‘Leave him be,’ Bryn had said, his tone curt. ‘He’s mourning. Don’t disturb him.’

Wren understood. Haven Blackburn was dead.

His sister, his blood. Of course he mourned.

But that didn’t lessen the ache inside her, the quiet pull to be near him.

She wasn’t even sure if a creature like Kage could cry, but if he could, she wanted to be there.

And if he couldn’t, then she would sit beside him all the same.

Perhaps grief did not always need words, nor tears.

In the days since their return, a witch hunt had begun to spread like fire through their kingdom.

Wren had confessed to her family what she had seen, what she had survived, and fear had taken root.

But she wasn’t na?ve. Hunts like these rarely ended cleanly.

There would be accusations, finger-pointing, old grudges unearthed.

Some would hang without proof. Others would burn for nothing more than ill luck.

Still, she couldn’t shake the certainty gnawing at her that this wasn’t just their kingdom’s battle. The other lands needed to know. The darkness was no longer creeping; it was here. If the other realms failed to stand united, the witches would devour them all.

She had said as much to her kin, urging them to send envoys, to warn their neighbours, beginning with the Kingdom of Fauna.

But they had refused, each one resolute in their disapproval.

Wolverians were cautious by nature. Fiercely loyal, yes.

But wary, insular, and slow to trust. They did not meddle in the affairs of others.

But Wren could not, would not, stand by and do nothing. Not when the world beyond their forests was already beginning to burn.

‘Wren! ’

She didn’t stop. Didn’t look back. Instead, she slammed her shoulder into the door of her chamber, shutting it behind her with the heel of her boot. Her hands went straight to one of her old travelling satchels, the worn leather familiar beneath her fingers as she began to pack.

The door swung open behind her, and though she could feel her brother's presence looming just over her shoulder, she made no acknowledgement of it.

‘Wren, will ya stop and listen?’

‘No, I don’t think I will. Haven’t got time for yer yapping.’

She refused to meet those piercing blue eyes that followed her every movement as she swept across the small room, gathering tunics, daggers, a map.

Anything that might be useful. Though the Wynters were royal by name, their lives had always been steeped in humility.

What little wealth they had was given freely to their people.

The Kingdom of Ice had fared poorly over the last century, ever since the Great War had fractured the world.

Once a thriving land known for its enchanted artefacts and flourishing trade, they now survived on little more than grit and ice.

Without foreign commerce, they had suffered. Crops wouldn’t grow in their snow-clad soil, and the herds had thinned when the winters turned cruel. They relied heavily on fishing, especially in the north where the sea kissed the frozen edge of the world. But it was never enough.

Wren paused, her gaze falling on the modest space she had always called her own.

The furs on her small bed looked temptingly warm, a haven of comfort after the long days spent braving the cold.

She remembered, as a child, how Bryn would crawl beneath the covers with her so they wouldn't freeze in the night. People always assumed that ice-born folk were immune to the cold, but they weren’t.

Not truly. Their skin was thicker, yes, their blood more tempered to the frost, but death by winter was still death all the same.

‘Freya needs to return to her own kingdom,’ Wren said at last, tightening the straps of her satchel.

Her eyes roamed over the wardrobe she barely used, the desk her sisters had once insisted belonged in here, though it was more burden than benefit.

She’d been meaning to gift it to a villager who might make proper use of it.

‘She’ll accompany me to da Kingdom of Fauna. It’s on da way to her homeland. She’ll see me safely delivered, then go on her own path.’

‘Wren...’

‘Don’t Wren me, brotha.’ She spun on her heel to face him, her tone sharper than she’d meant it to be.

Bryn Wynter stood tall in the doorway, lean and strong from years of labour despite his royal title.

His silver hair, so like her own, was tied back in a short tail, thin braids woven through in the northern style.

Freckles dappled his cheeks and nose, a constellation mirrored on Wren’s own face.

They could have been reflections of one another, were it not for the height difference.

She, being the shorter twin, often pretended not to mind.

Most of the time.

‘It’s not safe to be travelling,’ Bryn insisted, stepping further into the room. ‘Not after everything that’s happened. Just wait. A few days, perhaps. Let things settle.’

‘By then it might be too late,’ Wren replied, matter-of-fact. ‘Da witches are plotting. We don’t know what, but they won’t wait for us to catch our breath. We must be ready.’

She moved in and threw her arms around him, clutching his familiar frame. ‘Look after Kage Blackburn for me, will ya? I expect him in one full piece when I come back. ’

‘And if he doesn’t stay that long?’ Bryn asked, his voice quieter now.

Wren hesitated. It was a fair concern. She didn’t know how long her journey would take.

The Kingdom of Fauna was only the first stop.

She might press on to the other kingdoms, rallying support where she could.

She might even travel with Freya to the valkyrian lands, a place she’d only ever heard of in half-forgotten tales.

‘Then see that he gets home safely,’ she said at last, poking him in the stomach. ‘He’s in no state to go wandering off alone.’

‘I can’t go, Wren. Ya know that. I’ve responsibilities here.’

She rolled her eyes, though she didn’t argue. He was right. As heir to the throne, Bryn’s place was here, among their people, their soldiers. He had stepped in for their father more than once, especially during the king’s illness. And he had done it well.

‘Well then,’ Wren sighed, a lopsided smile tugging at her lips, ‘give him a reason to stay.’