Page 54 of A Kingdom of Sand and Ice (Kingdom of Gods #2)

‘I don’t care,’ she said, her voice rising with every syllable. ‘I’m cold. And you made me bathe in my dress.’

Kai’s patience visibly thinned. ‘Deadly gods, give me strength. I did not force you to wash.’

‘I did you a favour, commander. I stank. Perhaps wyverians are immune to such things, but I am not.’

‘If wyverians are used to stinking creatures, then how was it a favour to me? ’ he said, one eyebrow raised in mockery.

‘I am cold! And tired! I need a fire. Right now.’

‘Fine,’ he said with theatrical exhaustion. ‘Then make one yourself.’ He gestured grandly to the scattered twigs. ‘Be my guest.’

Dawn bit the inside of her cheek. She had always relied on magic for such mundane tasks. Survival skills were for those who didn’t know how to bend the world to their will. Still, there was no chance in the underworld she would let the smug wyverian win.

‘I shall make the grandest fire you’ve ever seen,’ she declared, already storming out of the hut, collecting branches and muttering like a madwoman. ‘And you, commander, shall sit in the cold, trembling with regret while I bask in glorious warmth.’

‘Terrific,’ Kai replied, settling himself beneath a tree, arms crossed and expression unreadable.

She busied herself with exaggerated purpose, trying to recall how fires were built—something about friction, spark, air.

Why had she never paid closer attention?

The memory of firelight in the drakonian castle danced through her mind, of long evenings pretending to belong, of Ash smiling at her through the flames…

‘You’re getting distracted,’ Kai drawled.

Dawn jumped, cursing under her breath. She returned to her task with the ferocity of a woman scorned by nature itself.

Minutes stretched into hours. The twigs refused to light, the wind mocked her efforts, and eventually she descended into a full tantrum, throwing branches into the air with screams loud enough to startle birds from trees.

One particularly sharp twig flew straight into Kai’s face.

He was on her in an instant, gripping her arm, his dark eyes burning with fury. The tension in his jaw could have cracked stone. ‘Is this how you deal with failure?’ he asked, his voice low and lethal, surveying the chaos she had unleashed.

‘Piss off.’

Kai sighed, as if her very existence was a trial to endure. ‘I’ll show you. Pay attention, witch. I won’t repeat myself.’

Dawn watched, stunned into silence, as his calloused hands moved with precision, coaxing fire from dry twigs like a god of flame. Her mouth parted in awe.

‘You ought to close your mouth,’ he said, without looking up. ‘You’ll catch flies.’

She nearly kicked him. But instead, she snapped her jaw shut and sat beside him, quietly watching, and though she would never admit it, learning.

When the flames finally sparked to life, Dawn’s lips curved into a triumphant smile. She turned to Kai, eyes aglow with a pride she couldn’t quite contain.

‘I did that,’ she said softly, marvelling at the crackling light. ‘I made a fire.’

Kai let out a short chuckle, low and unexpected. But then he seemed to remember himself, remembered her, and the sound vanished. His expression hardened once more, retreating behind that familiar wall of frost.

Dawn felt the shift like a sudden gust of wind against bare skin.

Disappointment settled over her shoulders, heavy and damp, but she made no mention of it.

Instead, she crouched beside the fire, stretching her hands towards the warmth.

It was hard to blame him for his silence, his coldness.

Her people had carved wounds into his heart, deep ones, and yet…

Night crept in through the trees, wrapping the forest in a cloak of shadows.

Dawn exhaled slowly, watching her breath curl like smoke into the chilled air.

She wondered how long it would take for her magic to return, and what chaos might be unfolding in the world while they remained lost in this strange place.

‘Do you ever wonder,’ she asked at last, her voice soft against the crackle of flame, ‘why we speak the same language apart from the common tongue?’

Kai didn’t respond at first. He was seated across from her, his eyes fixed on the fire, the flicker of light dancing over the sharp lines of his face.

His hook swords lay on the ground beside him—silent, watchful companions.

When he noticed her glance at them, he picked them up at once, reattaching them with a practiced flick, as if her stare alone might dull their edge.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked, his tone cautious.

‘Witches and wyverians,’ she clarified. ‘It’s strange, isn’t it?’

‘I’ve never cared,’ he replied.

‘They say the God of the Dead once fell madly in love with Hecate, goddess of witchcraft. To win her heart, he created the wyverians as a gift. But she did not fall for him, she fell for his creation. They say the god, jealous and enraged, killed the lover she chose. But Hecate, in her grief, used her magic to bring him back. And so the wyverians and witches have always shared one tongue.’

Kai snorted, unimpressed by the tale.

‘That’s why,’ she continued, unbothered, ‘our voices sound the same. Our words come from the same story.’

‘Why are you telling me this?’ he asked, tone clipped.

Dawn shrugged, letting the silence stretch a moment before breaking it again. ‘Because we’re not so different, you and I.’

Kai’s jaw tightened. ‘I am nothing like you, witch.’

‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘But like those gods, we both would burn the world to ash… for the ones we love.’