Page 26 of A Kingdom of Sand and Ice (Kingdom of Gods #2)

I know Hades had something to do with this damned war. I know, somehow, he turned the lands against one another. He made this happen. He made them hate us. Now Hadrian and I must fight for our lives. He’ll never admit it. But I feel it, deep in my bones.

Tabitha Wysteria

No matter how fiercely Mal fought to vanish, to melt into shadows and slip through cracks, she always ended up back where she’d begun.

Either standing at the banks of that cursed river or seated, once again, in the grand hall of the castle, Thanatos laughing at her torment like a cat toying with a bird.

After days of futile attempts to escape, she surrendered to the inevitable.

‘I will not marry you,’ she said through clenched teeth, striving to keep the revulsion from her voice as she found herself, once more, imprisoned in familiar stone and shadow.

Thanatos still wore Ash’s face, a cruel mimicry that turned her heart inside out.

That same bone structure, that same cruelly beautiful mouth.

Only the hair betrayed the lie, no longer gold as firelight but pale as snowfall.

And then, the eyes. The moment those cold, endless voids met hers, it was as though icewater sluiced down her spine .

‘Hades has agreed you need not wed me… yet. ’

Her jaw tightened at that final word, heavy with suggestion. Still, she bit back her fury and chose to bide her time. She needed to find the way back, back to mortal lands. Back to Ash.

Makaria had caught her crouched by the river, hidden beneath the veil of the underworld’s gloom, and sent her laughing back into Thanatos’ clutches. Mal had become a plaything between Makaria and Zagreus, their favourite entertainment during the endless, grey hours.

‘How do I return to Hades?’ she asked.

‘You could stay here,’ Thanatos replied, voice like velvet laced with poison.

Her frown deepened. ‘Why?’

‘Because Hades wishes for you to be trained, to master the divine gifts running through your veins. And I am the finest teacher he could offer.’ He smiled, a smile as elegant as it was engineered, sculpted solely for her.

‘Besides, you know this castle. And there are many rooms in which you might find comfort… or distraction.’

Mal said nothing. She refused to give him the pleasure of her response. After a pause, he sighed, as though disappointed by her silence. ‘Makaria will visit later to keep you company. The others will join us tonight for a feast.’

A feast. In the Underworld. Mal bit her tongue, the question burning in her throat.

Why did the dead dine? Instead, she rose and gestured to the black gown clinging to her like a shroud.

‘I wish to change out of this . I have been made to wear the same dress, day after day,’ Mal muttered, her voice laced with disgust. She had washed herself in the river’s icy waters, only to be forced back into the same soiled garment, its fabric stiff with filth and memory.

Thanatos let his eyes drift over her with an infuriating slowness, the corners of his mouth twisting into a smirk.

‘Well,’ he said, voice like silk drawn across a blade, ‘we thought perhaps you’d change your mind about the marriage… the longer you wore the gown.’

Mal bared her teeth, the urge to rake her nails across that mocking face near unbearable.

‘You will find more comfortable clothes in your chamber.’

Her heart faltered at the thought of her room. Her real room. Could it be?

‘One last thing, Melinoe,’ Thanatos called as she turned to leave.

‘What now?’ she snapped, her patience fraying thin. ‘And my name is Mal. Not Melinoe.’

Thanatos waved his hand, as if he could wave away her frustration. ‘Time moves… differently, down here.’

She froze. ‘What does that mean?’

But he only turned his face away, his grin stretching, widening, blooming like a bruise. She had grown weary of their games, truths cloaked in mystery, every secret veiled behind another cryptic riddle.

Without another word, she fled through the corridors of the castle she had once called home. The same halls, the same arched doorways. Her siblings’ rooms passed in a blur. And then, hers.

It was exactly as she had left it. Nothing out of place, not a curtain drawn. It should have unsettled her, sent a chill rippling across her skin. But instead, she felt something entirely different.

A quiet warmth. A memory. A piece of her past she hadn’t yet lost. And for the first time in days, Mal let herself breathe.

She slipped into a soft grey cotton gown, the fabric rough yet blessedly clean against her skin.

With a flick of her wrist, she hurled the wedding dress out the window, watching it flutter like a dying bird before vanishing from sight.

It had been a beautiful creation. Lavish, elegant, stitched with threads that whispered promises of power and union, but now it stood only as a symbol of what Hades had tried to force upon her. She never wanted to look at it again.

What unsettled her most was not the proposal, but how swiftly Hades had retreated from it.

His abrupt change of course spoke not of mercy, but of machinations still buried in shadow.

She could not let her guard drop. The Underworld, for all its silence and gloom, pulsed with unseen threats. She needed to escape.

A knock at the door startled her. For a moment, she was so surprised by the courtesy of it, she thought she’d imagined it.

‘I’m naked,’ she hissed. ‘Go away.’

The door creaked open regardless, and in swept Makaria, a cascade of giggles following in her wake. ‘Do you really think that would stop Thanatos?’

Mal’s lips curled into a snarl. ‘Did you know?’

‘About what?’ Makaria asked airily, feigning fascination with the wardrobe as though the question had not landed sharp as a blade.

‘Don’t play the fool with me.’

Makaria sighed, spinning around with a look that belied something older and more haunted than her youthful frame suggested. ‘Of course I knew. But I thought you’d be pleased, sister. Thanatos is…well, rather striking.’

‘I’m already married.’

Makaria’s nose wrinkled in distaste. ‘To a drakonian. A living drakonian. We’re gods, Melinoe. We don’t… consort with their kind.’

‘I’m not one of you. ’

Makaria laughed, a sound both sweet and sinister. ‘Perhaps not yet. But give it time.’

Mal watched her warily as the strange girl stepped closer, reaching out to toy with a loose strand of Mal’s hair. ‘I do love your hair. May I brush it?’

The question was so odd it disarmed her.

Still, she gave a small nod. Makaria fetched a comb and began to drag it gently through the midnight tangles, and for a fleeting moment, Mal allowed herself to be still.

The gesture reminded her of Vera, those brief days when the witch, disguised as a maid, would tend to her hair with surprising care.

She wondered where Vera was now. Where any of them were.

‘Have you come to hunt me down again?’ she asked softly.

Makaria’s smile grew. ‘Perhaps,’ she said, the word curling like smoke. ‘Zagreus and I do so love our little games. Though next time, do try to make it more difficult. You were far too easy to kill last time.’

‘Why do you do it?’ Mal asked, her voice a quiet thread in the silence. ‘Chase me. Kill me.’

Makaria hummed a lilting melody beneath her breath, a tune as old as time and twice as eerie.

The comb glided through Mal’s hair in slow, deliberate strokes.

For a moment, there was no answer, only the whisper of bristles against dark strands.

Then, through the tarnished mirror, Makaria’s eyes met Mal’s.

‘Because, for a hundred years, Zagreus and I were trapped here in the Underworld with nothing but shadows and silence for company. Killing each other… it became a game. The only one we had.’

Mal’s body stiffened, her shoulders drawn tight. ‘But you're not trapped anymore, Makaria. I broke the curse. You’re free now. You could leave . So why don’t you?’

‘I've always wanted a sister,’ Makaria said, neatly dodging Mal’s question.

Her movements were surprisingly delicate as she combed through the dark tangles, each stroke measured, gentle, even reverent.

Mal hadn’t believed Makaria capable of tenderness, not after witnessing the many cruel, imaginative ways she had killed her during their twisted game of cat and mouse.

‘Father used to speak of you often,’ she continued. ‘But I could only shut my eyes and imagine. The curse kept us apart.’

‘I didn’t even know you existed,’ Mal replied, her voice low.

‘I heard you,’ Makaria whispered, her voice shrinking into something smaller, fragile. ‘When you prayed to the gods. I heard you through the cracks in the walls. I tried to answer… but you couldn’t hear me.’

Makaria’s breath ghosted close, a warmth against Mal’s skin. ‘Thanatos listened too, you know. He would sit and listen to your prayers. He made sure your room here looked exactly like the one above, in the mortal realm.’

‘Why would he do that?’ Mal asked.

‘Because he adores you.’

Mal stiffened. ‘He doesn’t know me, Makaria. And neither do you.’

‘But we do,’ Makaria insisted. ‘We’ve heard you your whole life. We’ve always been there. You just didn’t know it.’

Mal turned slightly to look at this strange girl meant to be her sister.

There was no mischief in Makaria’s expression, no playfulness.

Just a solemn truth, laid bare. Mal’s instinct was to lash out, to strike at the soft core of that sincerity and twist it with spite.

But Makaria wasn’t to blame. Not for any of it.

‘I had a sister, up there,’ Mal said, her gaze lifting to the ceiling as though she could pierce through stone and shadow and glimpse the sky beyond.

Haven’s name caught in her throat. Her sister, fierce as winter’s breath, unyielding as steel.

Wherever she had ended up, Mal believed with all her being that she was surviving. Thriving. ‘She was killed.’