Page 43 of A Kingdom of Sand and Ice (Kingdom of Gods #2)

Wolverians don’t often leave their kingdom.

However, they do trade, as their land cannot sustain itself entirely alone.

Their fish is highly prized across all kingdoms. Others may fish, but it never tastes quite as good as theirs.

Wolverians seem comfortable enough with wyverians and witches, but don’t expect them to sit down for a conversation with anyone from the south.

Tabitha Wysteria

Word had arrived from the wyverians. They had reached the great wall dividing their kingdom from that of the witches.

Their message was clear; they needed Kage to persuade Bryn to mobilise the wolverian army and march to the northern side of the boundary.

From there, a simultaneous assault would be launched: east and north, pressing upon the witches with overwhelming numbers, forcing their retreat into the barren expanse of the wastelands.

Once that desolate territory had been seized, the path into the Kingdom of Fire would lie open.

‘We’d be blind,’ Bryn said, his voice cutting through the still air of the main hall, where the men sat beneath frost-covered rafters. ‘We don’t know what awaits in da wastelands.’

Kage reclined into the stone-carved chair at the side of the long table, an unforgiving seat that should have frozen him to the marrow.

But it had been thoughtfully layered in thick pelts, keeping the worst of the chill at bay.

Even so, the air here bit at the skin, sharper than any blade.

Kage had always thrived in cold climates.

His own lands were infamous for their biting winters, but this kingdom was something else entirely.

A realm of unrelenting frost, of shimmering ice-scapes and snow-laden silence.

A wonder, yes. But one that clung to your bones with a cruel tenacity.

At home, he had never needed cloaks or coats; the air had always felt brisk, never hostile.

But here, even breath seemed to crystalise in the lungs.

The wolverians had offered him an array of silver, dove-grey, snow-white furs which, draped over his frame, only served to heighten the starkness of his appearance.

Pale as death and draped in ice, he became a shadow within the castle’s gleaming halls.

Everywhere he went, wolverian eyes followed.

He was a thing of contrast in this kingdom of frost and silence.

His hair a deep, liquid black, his eyes like shards of obsidian, his skin so pale it glowed faintly blue under the gloom.

The wolverians, though fair themselves, possessed the uncanny ability to vanish into their wintry realm, their muted cloaks and quiet steps rendering them nearly invisible.

It reminded Kage of the desert folk and their ability to disappear into sand and sunlight.

He did not blend in here. He had never intended to.

‘But there’s no other choice, is there?’ King Fannar exhaled wearily, dragging his thick fingers through the snowy white that cloaked his beard. ‘Either we face da witches head-on, or we risk watching them swallow us whole.’

The king had arrived days earlier, his presence heavy with concern, his voice edged with doubt.

The witch hunt, it seemed, was no longer enough to cleanse the realm of its creeping threat.

And each time the word witch was uttered, Bryn flinched as though the syllables were blades, slicing something unseen within him.

Kage had noticed the way the prince’s gaze would drift to the far corner of the room, watching nothing… or perhaps, someone only he could see.

Kage tilted his head, studying the king through narrowed eyes.

King Fannar was a mountain of a man, his arms thick as the oaks that groaned beyond the castle walls.

And yet, his son resembled him not at all.

Bryn was lean and quiet-footed and sharp as a fox in winter.

He and his siblings had clearly inherited their mother’s features.

But the fire in their bellies, Kage suspected, burnt with their father’s wrath.

Portraits of the late queen still adorned the stone walls, though most were dulled by a thin veil of dust. Kage had never dared speak of her.

Some griefs, he understood too well. They never truly faded; they simply settled deeper with time, like sediment in still water.

The first taste of loss was always the most bitter, but even when the sting dulled, the ache lingered.

‘It’s them or us,’ Kage said flatly, his voice low.

King Fannar let out a hollow laugh, a sound stripped of mirth.

His eyes drifted towards the painting of his queen, softening before falling once more to the hearth’s flickering glow.

‘Words like that… they’re what led us to ruin in da first place,’ he muttered.

‘Da gods may have granted us decades of peace, but we paid a steep price for it. Da Great War left our kingdoms fractured. If we do this, if we go to war again, there may be no healing left to hope for.’

Kage didn’t acknowledge the way Bryn’s stare burnt into the side of his face. Nor did he look to the shadow crouched atop the high shelf, the ever-watchful Spirox, a spectral wisp of darkness who never strayed from Kage’s side. His silent companion, as familiar as breath, and just as easily lost.

‘There is no going back,’ Kage said quietly, his words stretching into the stone chamber like a vow cast into still water.

Bryn straightened in his chair, the air about him shifting. They both knew what was coming, knew that whatever Kage chose now would set the world in motion. His decision would be the match to light the fire. The wolverians would rise. They would march.

‘We are warriors,’ Bryn said, voice steady, eyes bright with resolve.

Kage nodded once, the movement slow and weighted. Then he tipped his head back, letting it rest against the chair’s spine, as if the choice had drained what little strength he had left to offer.

There is no going back.

‘Only forward,’ he whispered.

…

‘Da wolverians grow restless,’ Bryn said as they made their way along the snow-draped castle grounds.

The wind howled against the stone walls like a creature mourning.

Kage trudged through the thick drifts with effort, his boots sinking into the unforgiving frost, while Bryn moved beside him like a wolf on the prowl—silent, smooth, born of the winter.

‘Their fear of da witches runs deep,’ Bryn continued. ‘They won’t stop burning those they deem cursed—witches, warlocks, innocents alike. We need to act swiftly. If we march soon, they’ll feel useful… necessary.’

Kage studied him, uncertain of how to respond. Since that grim day when the commander had ordered a boy’s execution, Bryn had seemed adrift—his eyes distant, his thoughts elsewhere. Whenever the word witch was uttered, he’d flinch, as though something deep and raw stirred beneath the surface.

The cold here was relentless, biting into Kage’s flesh like a thousand tiny blades.

It whispered with each gust that he didn’t belong.

His shadowed presence cut sharply through the grey-white world, stark as spilt ink on parchment.

Still, he pressed on, ignoring the silent warnings that clung to the wind, murmuring that he should leave.

The wolverians were a people steeped in faith, their belief in omens and signs woven into every breath they took. Without their Seer, the tradition of reading bones had taken precedence, the people placing their futures in the hands of splintered fragments and ancient rites.

Kage clenched his jaw at the thought of Wren. Gods knew where she was now, likely tangled in some wild scheme. Why had she left him? Had she seen something? A vision, perhaps? It was foolish to fret over her. She was a wolverian, after all. She could more than hold her own.

Bryn guided him away from the main grounds and into a snow-covered copse, stopping at a small, wooden hut tucked into the trees.

A gentle plume of smoke rose from its chimney.

Inside, two young girls huddled near a modest fire, the orange glow painting their pale faces in warmth and shadow.

It took Kage only a moment to realise they were Bryn’s sisters.

He hadn’t paid them much notice during his time at the castle.

Still in their adolescence, they spent most of their days chasing after their wolves or helping in the kitchens.

Yet something about them tugged at his memory.

They resembled Wren in a strange, bittersweet way.

Like echoes of her, fainter and softer. Not quite as radiant… but hauntingly close.

‘Me sistas will be doing da bone reading for us,’ Bryn announced, settling himself onto the fur-covered floor and tugging an uncooperative Kage down beside him .

‘This is absurd,’ the wyverian muttered under his breath, the scent of smoke already catching in his throat.

‘Ignore him,’ Bryn said with a grin when one of his sisters glanced up from her work.

Kage’s dark eyes fell upon the animal carcass they were carefully stripping, the girls separating meat from bone with quiet precision.

Each bone was then washed reverently, as though preparing a relic.

When they were ready, the one named Gwyneira—no, Gwenyth, Kage corrected himself bitterly—threw the bones into the heart of the fire.

‘Gwyneira,’ Bryn leaned in, his voice low with urgency. ‘What do ya see?’

Kage clenched his jaw. It was almost impossible to tell the twins apart, and truth be told, he hadn’t bothered to try. He didn’t know them. And more importantly, he didn’t care to.

‘What will da outcome be?’ Bryn asked eagerly, edging closer to the flames as if he might glimpse the future himself. Kage reached out and pulled him back, raising an incredulous brow at the sheer foolishness of it.