Page 18 of A Kingdom of Sand and Ice (Kingdom of Gods #2)

The Council and the valkyrians share a love-hate relationship.

They’re constantly meeting to discuss various matters concerning the Eight Kingdoms. The Kingdom of Magic is the strongest, holding most of the power and influence over decisions.

Valkyrians exist solely to protect. They watch the witches more closely than anyone else.

I think they’re beginning to realise that there can never be true balance when one kingdom holds all the power.

Sometimes I wonder if their swords will one day be stained with witch blood.

Tabitha Wysteria.

Bryn Wynter knew, deep in his bones, that attempting to stop his twin sister was a futile endeavour. Once Wren had set her mind on something, it became law—unyielding and immovable. He loved her for it, of course. But it did rattle his nerves more often than he cared to admit.

He made his way down the corridor to Kage Blackburn’s room, a tray of rapidly spoiling food balanced in his hands.

He knocked, but the silence that followed was deafening.

Not unexpected. The wyverian prince hadn’t spoken a word since their arrival, hadn’t left his room, hadn’t touched a morsel of food.

Bryn wasn’t entirely sure how long a wyverian could go without sustenance, but judging by the faint rustle and occasional creak from within, someone was still breathing on the other side of the door.

‘Ya need to eat,’ he muttered under his breath, placing the tray carefully on the floor before knocking again to make the prince aware of its presence.

Under normal circumstances, a servant would handle such matters.

But with Wren gallivanting off to foreign lands and leaving Kage in Bryn’s care as though he were some glorified caretaker rather than the heir to the Kingdom of Ice, Bryn had taken it upon himself to keep watch over their solemn guest.

The following morning, he returned to find the tray untouched, the food beginning to rot in the cold air. He rapped his knuckles against the wooden door, suppressing a sigh.

‘Kage, I know yer grieving,’ he said, voice low with a gentleness he rarely showed. ‘But ya’ve got to eat, lad.’

A faint grunt drifted from the other side, just enough to confirm the prince was still alive, though far from well.

‘I’ll be back tonight,’ Bryn added. ‘Make sure that food’s gone by then.’

But when evening came and the moon rose high above the snow-swept castle, the tray remained exactly where he’d left it.

Untouched and now swarmed by flies. Grimacing, he retrieved it, unwilling to risk the stench and sickness it might bring to the rest of the household.

That night, he didn’t bother to speak through the door.

So the days wore on, each one folding into the next with the weight of routine.

Bryn would bring the food. Kage would ignore it.

Sometimes, a grunt would echo back, just enough to stop Bryn from kicking down the door in frustration.

Every morning, he awoke with the faintest flicker of hope.

Would this be the day the prince took a single bite?

He lost count of the days as they slipped quietly past, but the weight of them pressed down heavily.

Eventually, he found himself in the castle library, leafing through the few worn tomes they had on wyverian physiology.

What he discovered offered little comfort.

Apparently, wyverians could survive for astonishing lengths of time without food.

The hunger would gnaw at them, but their bodies, strong and forged from centuries of survival, would cling to life long after most others had withered away.

Still , Bryn thought, they might survive starvation, but what of sorrow?

One night, as he had every night before, Bryn Wynter arrived with a tray in hand, replacing spoilt food with fare that was only marginally fresher.

The act had become a ritual of sorts, though he wasn’t certain it served much purpose.

Still, the thought of rot spreading disease throughout the castle was enough to make him persist.

He set the tray down at the prince’s door, gave it a firm kick, and waited. From within came the familiar, faint grunt. A small but telling confirmation that Kage Blackburn yet lived.

With a sigh, Bryn slid down to the cold stone floor and rested his back against the door, the tray of food beside him. For a while, he sat in silence. Then, in a voice that barely rose above a murmur, he began to speak.

‘Ya know,’ he said, ‘some winters back we had a sickness run through town. It wiped out nearly all da animals. At first, we thought that was da worst of it, going without meat. But then da disease turned on us. It spread fast. We lost almost everyone in da nearest village.’

He paused, his eyes distant.

‘We brought da survivors into da castle, tried to look after them. That winter, we had no food left. We ate what we could find. Old, spoilt things from da back of da kitchens. Anything just to keep breath in our lungs.’

A soft shift behind the door made him still. He imagined the prince on the other side, perhaps leaning as he was, listening.

‘Wren… she neva gave in.’ He smiled faintly. ‘Ya’ve seen what she’s like, I’m sure. Headstrong, stubborn as a frozen river. But back then, she couldn’t bear it. Our ma died that winter, and I don’t think Wren’s eva forgiven herself. Thought she should’ve done more.’

Bryn drew in a breath.

‘She was seventeen. She vanished into da forest for days. Most thought her dead. But I knew betta. Twins always know. When she came back, she wasn’t alone.

Da wolves came with her. Wild ones. They hunted for us, dragged what little game they could find to da edge of da trees.

Enough to keep us going. By da end of da winter, most of them had died for us. ’

Another shift. A subtle pressure on the door. Bryn knew then that Kage was sitting just on the other side.

‘Starve or don’t, Kage Blackburn,’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘But make yer mind up about it. This is da last tray I’m bringing. I won’t risk rot and illness for ya, no matter who ya are. Our land’s cold, aye, but hunger and sickness are colder still. We can’t afford to waste food. Not here.’

He knew the words were sharp. Perhaps cruel. But wolverians lived on the edge of survival, where every scrap of food mattered. Feeding another without question was their way, but watching that food rot untouched was something Bryn couldn’t abide.

He turned to leave, shoulders heavy with guilt and frustration. He didn’t want to let the wyverian prince waste away behind a door. At some point, if it came to it, he would break that door down and force him to eat. But he hoped it wouldn’t come to that .

He understood loss. Knew the shape of it. And he could only imagine what it felt like to lose a sister in such a brutal, senseless way. His own harshness tasted bitter now, but he could not abandon his duty to his people.

Just as his foot met the next stone, the soft creak of a door halted him.

Bryn looked over his shoulder, blue eyes widening at the narrow slit of darkness that had opened behind him. He stood motionless, holding his breath.

The door eased open wider. A pale hand emerged, snatched the tray, and vanished. The door slammed shut once more.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then Bryn smiled, warmth tugging at the corners of his mouth for the first time in days.

Perhaps there was hope after all.

…

Wren and Freya had chosen to travel on foot. As painful as it had been to part from her wolf, Wren could not predict what the future might bring, and besides, moving by foot allowed them to remain unseen, shadows against snow.

It had taken two days to cross the outer reaches of her homeland, and another two before the faint outline of the border revealed itself in the distance, the place where the Kingdom of Ice ended and the Kingdom of Fauna began.

They had travelled swiftly, stopping rarely and speaking even less.

At first, Wren had wondered whether Freya might struggle with the heavy snows, but the valkyrian moved with such fluid precision that it seemed as if winter itself bowed to her steps.

She glided over the drifts like a creature born of frost and wind, as though the snow had never been a burden but a birthright .

That night, they made camp beneath the pale hush of a starlit sky.

Wren’s chest thrummed with the anticipation of what tomorrow might bring.

Soon, they would stand on Fae soil, and she would deliver the warning.

Whether or not the Fae King had yet heard of what had befallen his daughters, it was her duty to bring him the truth.

And with that truth, she would ask for steel and warriors, for his armies to rise against the witches.

The witches had been defeated once. With unity, they could be defeated again.

Her gaze shifted and landed on Freya, standing motionless at the edge of the trees, her silhouette framed in silver by moonlight. Wren squinted into the distance, following Freya’s line of sight until she realised what the valkyrian must be looking at.

The Forest of Endless Trees.

‘Legend says it’s so endless, no soul eva finds its way out once it steps inside,’ Wren said, the words falling like mist. The tales should have sent a chill through her, but Wren had never been the type to back away from a challenge.

She thrived on them. ‘At night, they say ya can hear da whispers of da ghosts of all da ones da forest has claimed.’

‘I heard it was a gift from a goddess,’ Freya replied softly, her voice thoughtful. ‘That she made it as a haven for her creations. Only they may walk its paths unharmed.’

‘Well, I hope that part’s just a tale,’ Wren said with a snort, turning back towards their modest camp. ‘Otherwise, we’re both lost already.’

‘We’ll be fine, Wren. I will keep you safe.’