Page 31 of A Kingdom of Sand and Ice (Kingdom of Gods #2)

My second test... I cannot afford to fail. But I never expected it to be this. They’ve trapped me in the Forest of Endless Trees. I must find my way out. And yet, how strange my mind is that the very first thought to surface was…

What if I stay?

Tabitha Wysteria

It had begun to rain, and the scent of damp earth stirred Wren from slumber.

She had been lost in a peculiar dream, a vision of a handsome Fae with dark skin, eyes the colour of fresh spring leaves, and antlers that curled like ancient branches.

But the moment she blinked herself awake, she realised it hadn’t been a dream at all. He was still there. Very real indeed.

‘It’s daylight,’ Arden mumbled, voice husky with sleep. ‘We ought to get moving.’

Wren remained where she was, waiting for him to rise.

He didn’t. She noticed, with a quiet sort of surprise, how his arms had been loosely curled around her, a shield of warmth against the morning chill.

Part of her considered telling him that while wolverians did feel the cold, it was never as sharp to them as it was to the other kingdoms. But she said nothing.

She was far too comfortable to ruin it with facts .

‘Where’s Freya?’ she asked softly.

‘Your imaginary friend?’ Arden arched a brow. ‘She never came back.’

Wren sat up abruptly, all warmth abandoned as dread replaced it.

For the second time, Freya had disappeared into the forest, and for the second time, Wren had no idea where she had gone.

The valkyrian had promised to fetch food…

yet the night had passed, and there’d been no sign of her.

Had something happened? Had the forest swallowed her whole?

As if summoned by thought alone, Freya emerged through the trees in the distance, moving with calm, measured strides. Wren bolted from the hut, frustration overtaking fear.

‘Where were ya?’ she cried, storming towards her.

‘Foraging,’ Freya replied serenely, tossing a large leaf to the ground. It unfolded to reveal wild fruit in a range of colours Wren didn’t recognise.

Wren wanted to argue, to shout, to demand answers.

But instead, she bit her tongue. Time was slipping through their fingers like water.

So they sat and ate in silence, though Wren couldn’t take her eyes off the valkyrian.

Something about her felt... off. Why had it taken her all night to gather a handful of fruit?

The forest was known to warp perception, to twist truth into delusion.

Perhaps it was playing tricks on Wren, sewing seeds of doubt.

Meanwhile, Arden was speechless. He hadn’t said a word since Freya arrived, which was hardly surprising. Valkyrians had a way of silencing men with nothing but a glance. His green eyes were wide, his mouth half-parted in admiration. Wren glared at him. Daggers. He didn’t notice.

‘We should go,’ she announced curtly. ‘Arden will lead us out of da forest.’

As Freya stepped ahead, Arden moved swiftly to walk beside her.

Wren trailed behind, arms crossed and mood souring by the minute.

Of course he was smitten. Freya was tall and lithe, her body shaped by war and moonlight.

Her long brown hair rippled like water, framing a freckled face with eyes as blue as the cloudless sky.

She looked like every dream a man might have.

Wren, by comparison, was small. Too thin.

Her hair was a silver-white that shimmered pale and colourless in the sun, not golden or dark or rich with fire.

She was the soft hush of snowfall, the quiet tones of a canvas yet to be painted.

And yet for the briefest of moments she’d believed Arden had looked at her like she was something more.

‘There!’ Arden’s voice pulled her from the spiral of thought.

He’d hurried ahead, standing before two towering columns fashioned from tree trunks. Strange symbols had been carved into the wood, twisting and curling like ivy.

‘What is it?’ Wren asked, brow furrowed.

‘The entrance to Floridia,’ he said with a smile.

She frowned again. ‘How is that an entrance? There’s nothing here, just a field.’

‘It’s magic, little wolf. Witches aren’t the only ones who use it. Ours isn’t as refined, we can’t bend the elements or twist the stars. But we can enchant, conceal, beautify.’

Without another word, Freya stepped between the columns and vanished. Wren gasped, rushing forward, peering through the trunks as if she could make sense of what had just happened. She turned to Arden, her mouth full of questions. But he only laughed, extending his hand.

‘Go on. Walk through and see. I’ll answer everything once we’re on the other side.’

Wren stared at his outstretched hand, hesitation clawing at her. This would be the end of it. Once they crossed into Floridia, he would know, he would see . She was not just a wolverian girl lost in a forest. She was a princess. And Arden… Arden despised royalty.

Still, she reached for him.

Their fingers laced together, warm and solid.

And hand in hand, Wren stepped into the unknown.

…

Wren had never seen a place quite like Floridia. Granted, she hadn’t seen much of the world beyond her snowy borders, but even in her most elaborate daydreams, not even the wildest corners of her imagination could have conjured a city such as this.

Floridia dwelled high in the embrace of ancient trees, nestled within a forest not unlike the Forest of Endless Trees.

In fact, some whispered that the gods had crafted that very forest as a mirrored illusion of Floridia, meant to trick wandering souls into believing they had arrived at their destination, only to find themselves hopelessly lost.

The city itself bloomed in the canopy above, suspended in the air as if held by the hands of the gods.

The trees were vast and regal, their trunks as wide as castles, their branches strong enough to cradle entire homes.

Dwellings were built high among the limbs, each one linked to the next by slender, sturdy bridges that wove together like an elaborate tapestry of walkways and winding paths.

There were several ways to ascend. Wooden lifts, simple yet effective, carried citizens between levels with slow elegance.

Alternatively, for those who sought thrill or tradition, the trees themselves had been carefully marked with footholds and handholds carved into the bark, an invitation to climb .

Wren bounced eagerly on the balls of her feet, eyes shining with delight. The tree loomed before her like a challenge she had waited her whole life to accept.

‘Seriously?’ Arden tilted his head, regarding her with disbelief. ‘You actually want to climb that beast? There’s a lift right there!’ He gestured to where two Fae girls stepped daintily onto a platform waiting to rise.

‘But where’s da fun in that?’ Wren’s grin widened, mischief dancing in her eyes.

‘You’re… completely mad.’

‘That’s all right, Arden. Ya don’t have to follow if yer scared. I understand. I’ve met plenty of chickens in me time.’

Something sparked behind Arden’s eyes—challenge, irritation, amusement. ‘Oh, really? You think you could outclimb me?’

‘I could do it with me eyes closed.’

‘Right then, little wolf. Let’s find out.’

Freya gave a long-suffering sigh and turned towards the lift. ‘I’ll wait for you at the top,’ she called over her shoulder, already rising.

‘No cheating,’ Arden said, rolling up his sleeves with mock seriousness.

‘Speak for yerself!’ Wren was already moving, launching herself towards the tree with giddy determination. She laughed aloud at the sound of Arden’s swearing behind her.

Gripping the handholds, she climbed fast and light, her feet finding purchase with ease, her muscles burning with the delicious strain of effort.

The higher she went, the more the world below blurred into irrelevance.

The wind kissed her cheeks, the bark scraped her palms, and still she grinned.

The fall would be fatal, but that only made her push harder, faster.

When she finally reached the first landing, she swung her leg over the wooden edge and hauled herself up with a grunt, chest heaving, hair plastered to her brow. Triumphant, she raised her arms, until she spotted him.

Arden was already there, casually leaning against the tree trunk, tossing an apple from hand to hand. He looked unbearably pleased with himself.

‘Took your time, little wolf.’

‘How…?’ Wren gaped over the edge, seeing how far below the forest floor still lay. She was a swift climber, one of the best in her village. How in all the gods’ names had he beaten her?

‘I’m Fae,’ he said with a lazy shrug, as if that explained everything.

Furious, she shoved him. ‘Ya cheated!’

‘I did not,’ he said, though laughter laced every word.

‘Ya did!’

Freya waved them forward, unimpressed by their antics. Wren stuck her tongue out at him, well aware she was behaving like a child but too cross to care.

Arden leaned in, voice low and teasing. ‘I might’ve cheated.

Then again… maybe I didn’t. Guess you’ll never know.

’ With that, he sauntered off after Freya, his laughter trailing behind him like the tail of a comet.

And Wren followed, fists clenched, cheeks warm, and heart thudding harder than it ought to.

Freya led them from one towering tree to the next, weaving through a maze of wooden bridges and swaying walkways until they reached the grandest of them all, the thickest trunk in sight, vast as a fortress and twice as ancient.

This, Wren realised, was no ordinary tree.

The entirety of its breadth and branches belonged to the royal family, and guards stood sentinel at the entrance to the bridge, unmoving as statues carved from bark and bone.

Wren couldn’t help but wonder how Freya had known the exact path to take. But she kept her questions caged for now. There would be time later to ask the valkyrian what else she seemed to know.