Page 3 of A Kingdom of Sand and Ice (Kingdom of Gods #2)

The last time she had crossed into this room, Haven had been alive. Her sister’s dark eyes had twinkled with quiet secrets and affection. That smile, wise and warm, was still etched into Mal’s memory. It hadn’t been enough. Nothing had been enough to save her.

Mal’s hand slipped from the door, drifting instead to the hand that bore the weight of a black ring. Her fingers toyed with the ring, the ring that had belonged to Haven Blackburn, heir to the throne of shadows.

The future queen of darkness.

‘Do you know what’s on the other side?’ Mal whispered, her breath shallow and uneven, nerves coiling in her chest like serpents. Ash stood only inches behind her, but his presence was more felt than seen. The brush of his breath along her nape, a constant, steady promise in the chaos.

‘Whatever ha-happens, wherever you are,’ he said softly, ‘I will al-always be with you.’

She froze, her spine stiffening at the weight of those words. They sounded too much like a farewell. Like an ending.

No, not now.

Shaking the thought away, she ignored the way he hadn’t truly answered her and thrust the heavy doors open with a crash.

The hall beyond was cloaked in gloom. Shadows clung to the edges like cobwebs.

The hearth had been lit, the only flame in the vast room, flickering feebly against the gloom.

But it was not the darkness that struck her, nor the eerie hush that blanketed the space.

It was the sight of her parents seated not at the head of the long table, but off to the side.

And her brother Kai beside them, his posture tense, his eyes wide with silent terror.

Then a voice echoed across the chamber.

‘At last. I was beginning to wonder if you’d got lost along the way, Melinoe.’

Mal turned, frowning at the unfamiliar voice.

A wyverian man lounged in one of the stone chairs, his legs propped atop the table as if the castle were his own and he had every right to recline within it.

His horns curled with power, impossibly large, even rivaling her father’s.

Unusual. Royals alone bore such formidable crests.

His lips quirked into a grin, sharp canines flashing with mischief.

But it was his eyes that held her.

They were red. Vivid. Unnatural.

‘Come now, have a seat,’ the wyverian drawled, gesturing to the empty chair before him. ‘We’ve been waiting quite a while.’

‘Who are you?’ Mal didn’t move.

He chuckled. ‘Have you not guessed, Melinoe? Has your husband not told you?’

‘My name is not Melinoe,’ she replied. ‘I am Mal Blackburn, fourthborn of House of Shadows.’

He hummed, amused. ‘A lovely name. Very regal.’

‘What do you want?’

He shrugged, utterly at ease. ‘I just want to talk.’ Again, he gestured to the chair. This time, Mal moved, each step deliberate, cautious. She lowered herself into the seat but kept her gaze sharp, shifting to her brother. Kai’s eyes were wide with warning, but he said nothing.

‘They cannot speak unless I allow them to,’ the stranger said smoothly.

‘Are you a warlock?’

The question made him hiss, his teeth bared. ‘I am the God of the Dead. I am no filthy magic-user.’

Ash slid into the chair beside her, silent, his presence grounding. Mal didn’t turn to him, though she ached to.

‘You’re a god,’ she said. ‘Tabitha’s curse opened the path for you.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Then why are you here?’ she asked, fighting to keep her voice calm, steady, unshaken.

‘To meet you, Melinoe.’

‘There it is again.’ Her gaze narrowed. ‘Why do you keep calling me that?’

‘Because that is your name,’ he said simply. ‘The name I gave you.’

The air thickened. Mal dropped her gaze to her hand, to the black ring that had once adorned Haven’s finger. She focused on it, on the weight of it, refusing to look at the being who claimed to be not just a god, but her creator.

‘Melinoe,’ she repeated, tasting the name like a foreign fruit. ‘And what do they call you?’

The wyverian’s smile turned razor-sharp.

‘Hades.’

For the first time, Mal allowed herself to look at her parents. She had not dared until now, afraid they would see the truth etched across her face. That Haven was gone, that she had failed to save her, that she might never have belonged to them at all.

Her father’s expression was calm, though the tension in his jaw betrayed him.

King Ozul had always been the iron backbone of their family—loved by the people, adored by the villages.

A man who laughed easily and held the weight of the kingdom in his hands without flinching.

And here he sat, stone-still beneath the eyes of a god.

Her mother, Queen Senka, locked eyes with her. No accusation, only fear. Only love. Mal’s heart fractured under it. How would she tell her? How could she say the words: Haven is dead.

She didn’t dare glance at Kai.

‘Why are you here?’ she asked again.

Hades swung his feet off the table and leaned forward. The red in his eyes glowed like coals. Mal tensed, every muscle screaming for distance.

‘I’ve come,’ he said softly, ‘to bring you home.’

‘This is my home.’

‘No, Melinoe.’ His head tilted with maddening calm. ‘Your real home.’

Mal placed a trembling hand upon the cold stone table, anchoring herself. All she wanted was to turn, to reach for Ash and anchor herself to him instead. To curl into his warmth and let him protect her from these truths.

‘And where,’ she whispered, ‘would that be?’

Hades smiled, slow and awful.

‘The Underworld.’