Page 34 of A Kingdom of Sand and Ice (Kingdom of Gods #2)
She stared at the space where Freya had stood, then turned her eyes southward.
There were two ways to reach the Desert Kingdom, either through the drakonian lands, now slowly falling to witches, or through the treacherous wastelands.
She could loop back to the north, return to her own kingdom and pass through wyverian territory, but the journey would take months.
Wren dropped to the ground with a graceless thud, her spirit as sodden as the soil beneath her.
Misery clung to her like a second skin. Why couldn’t the gods bless her with a vision when she actually needed one?
A glimpse, just a flicker, of what to do next.
Anything to quiet the storm of doubt roaring in her chest.
She could climb back up one of the towering trees and beg the Fae for provisions. Or she could steal them, though the thought made her heart twist with guilt.
Her mind drifted to Bryn, her steadfast brother.
Was he all right? Had Kage finally emerged from the solitude of his grief?
Returning home would be the most sensible plan, but then she’d have to face Bryn’s lectures, those sharp-edged words wrapped in love.
Ya neva listen, Wren. Ya always do something reckless. She could already hear him.
And for the very first time in her life, Wren Wynter broke .
The tears came like rain after drought—unforgiving, unstoppable.
She didn’t care if the forest bore witness.
She curled in on herself, sat upon the soft mossy grass, and wept until her face was raw and her heart hollowed.
She wept for everything; for Freya’s sudden departure, for Arden Briar’s turned back and his sharp, disappointed stare.
For the failure that clung to her like frost.
Time slipped past in a blur of silence and shadows.
When her tears had finally dried, Wren lay on her back, letting the cool breath of evening wrap around her.
Above, stars unfurled across the sky like scattered diamonds, distant and indifferent.
Her stomach twisted and growled in protest, but she ignored it.
She didn’t want to eat. She didn’t want to move.
She only wanted to lie there and curse the gods who’d whispered lies into her bones, lies that she was strong enough, brave enough, destined for anything at all.
Sleep took her slowly, gently, like a tide retreating from shore. But just before she drifted into dreams, she felt something, or someone, watching her.
And for once, she was certain it wasn’t the gods.
…
Wren spent the morning perched beside the twin wooden columns, those silent sentinels that guarded the gateway to the next leg of her journey.
She sat there, knees tucked to her chest, paralysed by uncertainty.
The forest beyond whispered with possibility and peril alike.
That peculiar sensation of being watched clung to her like morning mist, but each time she turned to catch the observer, she found only trees and shadows. So she ignored it. Or tried to.
Then something struck the back of her neck with a dull thud.
Hissing in surprise, Wren rubbed the sore spot and glanced down. At her feet lay a half-eaten apple, glistening with mischief. She snatched it up, spun round on her heel, and opened her mouth to deliver a furious tirade at whatever idiot had decided to pelt her with fruit.
Arden Briar stood a few paces away, one brow arched, his lips curved in that maddening smirk she had come to associate with equal parts amusement and provocation.
‘You’re not seriously thinking of running off with my jacket, are you?’ he said lazily.
‘I’ve no clothes,’ she snapped.
He shrugged, entirely unbothered. ‘Yeah, well... hand it over.’
Wren’s eyes widened. ‘I’m naked underneath!’
‘Fae don’t mind a bit of skin.’
‘I’m Wren Wynter of House of Snow! I am not stripping in front of ya like some…!’
But her outrage only made his grin stretch wider.
‘Well, well... how the mighty have fallen. Titled and temperamental now, are we? Going to start bossing me about with that fancy lineage of yours?’
Wren opened her mouth, but the words lodged in her throat as he sauntered closer, snatched the apple from her grasp, and took a nonchalant bite.
He wiggled his eyebrows and nodded towards the columns.
‘Just because you're a princess now doesn't mean you get to waste perfectly good food. Come on, then. Where to next?’
‘I thought… ya’d left,’ Wren said, frowning, still dazed by his sudden reappearance. ‘Ya were angry. Ya walked away.’
‘I had to get you some clothes,’ he said with a shrug, ‘and enough food to satisfy that bottomless pit you call a stomach.’
‘Excuse me?’
He laughed, full-bodied and unrepentant, at the twitch of irritation in her eye. ‘You eat more than a wyvern twice your size.’
‘Yer unbelievable.’
‘And yet you’re still here,’ he teased, extending a hand towards her. ‘So? You coming or not?’
Wren hesitated, staring at his hand. A part of her bristled with doubt. Another, smaller voice—quieter but stronger—urged her to trust him. To believe that there was something real behind his smile, something that wouldn’t vanish the moment she turned away.
She wanted to ask why he’d come back for her, why he was still willing to follow her into danger, and how his fury had faded so swiftly like a summer storm, loud but fleeting. But instead, she simply placed her hand in his.
‘How do ya know what a wyvern eats?’ she asked.
Arden laughed. A sound that danced through the air like sunlight on river water, and to Wren, it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard.
And this time, as they crossed between the towering columns, Wren left behind the fragments of her broken faith, still scattered like glass upon the grass.
Yet, as her feet moved forward into the unknown, a small piece of that lost faith was gently restored, set back into place by the hand that held hers, steady and sure, guiding her through the dark.