Page 63 of A Kingdom of Sand and Ice (Kingdom of Gods #2)

There is a quiet danger in wolverians.

I’ve seen how their bone readings once led them to burn an entire town to the ground, believing it was plagued with disease.

It wasn’t. But they place their faith in the gods and the signs above all logic, above all reasoning.

I admire their devotion.

But it is a dangerous one.

Tabitha Wysteria

In Kage’s eyes, Bryn’s army was hardly an army at all. He dared not voice such a thought, not aloud. But when he compared their modest numbers to his own command, he found himself questioning whether the wolverians truly stood a chance of breaching the wall and crossing into the wastelands.

Their numbers were too few. A century of separation between the kingdoms had left all lands fractured, but some had withered more than others.

The wolverians, for all their famed resilience to ice and hardship, had suffered deeply—ravaged by famine, thinned by disease.

And yet, when Kage looked into their sharp blue eyes, he saw a fire that refused to dim.

They would fall, if they must, but they would fall for their kingdom.

They had been camped for days now, nestled close to the great wall, awaiting the signal to move.

Patrols roamed the length of the barrier in endless circuits, sweeping as far as the eye could reach.

But nothing came. No witches. No shadowy figures creeping through the snow.

No midnight attacks. Just silence. It unsettled Kage.

Surely the witches knew they were here, waiting just on the other side. Or perhaps they didn’t. Perhaps their focus had shifted entirely towards the Kingdom of Fire. If that were true, now was the perfect moment to strike. So why had Ash and Kai not done so?

‘Yer fretting,’ Bryn said, returning with a fresh armful of wood to bolster the fire.

His enormous wolf trotted just a few paces behind, its silent presence a shadow at his heels.

Here, at the kingdom’s edge, the snow was thinner and the cold less biting.

Kage had finally shed the bulk of his heavy furs.

‘Something’s wrong.’ Kage leaned forward, eyes narrowed, staring into the flames as though they might offer an answer if he just looked long enough.

Bryn settled beside him, biting at his thumb in that casual, unconscious way he did whenever deep in thought. At the familiar gesture, Kage relaxed slightly, leaning back, allowing the tension in his shoulders to ease.

It was strange how quickly comfort had grown between them.

In just a few weeks, their shared silences had become something dependable.

They relied on one another, without ever needing to say it aloud.

Kage knew when Bryn needed support. And Bryn…

Bryn always knew when Kage was teetering at the edge of that dark, silent place in his mind.

Spirox appeared high above, a dark blur against the pale sky. With a sharp dip, the bird swooped down, slicing through the flames with a wild caw, as though it found the fire amusing.

Kage tilted his head slightly, the bond between him and his shadow-bird allowing him to read the creature’s movements as clearly as spoken words.

‘It’s empty,’ he said, attention shifting back to Bryn. ‘No witches. Again.’

Each morning, without fail, he had sent Spirox to scout the surrounding lands, to catch any sign of movement, any whisper of magic on the air. But day after day, the bird returned with the same answer.

Silence. Emptiness.

‘I sent word to Ash and Kai,’ Bryn said, scratching absently behind his wolf’s ear. ‘Still no reply.’

‘Perhaps I should go to them,’ Kage offered, his brow furrowing. ‘Something may have happened.’

Bryn opened his mouth as if to object, then thought better of it. He simply nodded. And that, somehow, unsettled Kage more than any protest could have. His stomach sank with the quiet, unspoken truth: Bryn didn’t mind whether he stayed or left.

Of course he didn’t. Why would he?

‘I’ll leave at dawn,’ Kage said, turning his attention to the fire.

He could not bring himself to look at Bryn, who sat just a few feet away, reclining against the great white wolf that never seemed to look away.

Its pale blue eyes bored into Kage, unblinking, seeing through him, past the armour and silence, into the hollows he tried so carefully to keep hidden.

And Bryn... Bryn was watching him too.

The weight of both their gazes—the prince and his beast—burnt hotter than the fire itself.

Clearing his throat, Kage stood, unable to endure another moment beneath the weight of eyes that seemed to know far too much.

At first, he had never told Bryn where he went.

Each day, without fail, Kage had offered his guidance to the wolverians, training them in techniques unfamiliar to their way of life.

Though he had never been regarded as a warrior in his own kingdom, a wyverian was a fighter by blood, if not always by choice.

At fourteen, he had been conscripted into two relentless years of military service, an experience that had carved something sharp and unyielding into his bones.

He would never match the skill of his siblings, that much he accepted.

But it did not make him any less dangerous.

Teaching, he found, was something he didn’t mind. In fact, he rather enjoyed it. Not quite as much as reading in a quiet corner, cloaked in shadows and blissfully ignored by the world, but it came close.

At first, only the most inexperienced wolverians dared approach him.

Young ones with uncertain hands and wide eyes, too green to know fear.

The others had kept their distance, wary of the strange, silent figure who moved like a whisper of death.

Some muttered prayers under their breath, casting strange hand gestures whenever he passed, as if to ward off whatever darkness clung to him.

But curiosity had a way of softening fear.

In time, more of them began to gather, drawn to the quiet precision with which he trained the youths.

He did not shout, nor did he boast. He simply taught.

And slowly, the five uncertain wolverian teens grew into a group of twenty, then more.

Day by day, the circle widened beneath his watchful instruction.

Even Bryn had joined them, standing at the back, silent and attentive. He had listened to every word Kage spoke with the same focus he gave to the movement of his own warriors. And when evening came, Bryn returned the favour, offering to teach Kage the art of hunting.

Kage knew how to hunt. Wyverians were apex predators, feared across the Eight Kingdoms. His instincts were razor-sharp, his senses honed for the kill. His body was a weapon. His mind, deadlier still.

But he said nothing.

He let Bryn speak. Let him fill the silence with stories of tracking rabbits, of crafting snares from twine and making arrows from bone. He listened, not because he needed the knowledge, but because there was something soothing in the rhythm of Bryn’s voice.

Because in those moments, those quiet, unremarkable hours beneath open skies, Kage found something he hadn’t known he was searching for.

Company.

And he cherished every second of it.

…

‘Couldn’t ya call yer wyvern?’ Bryn asked, his voice low in the hush of evening as they sat beside the tent, sharing a modest supper beneath a sky laced with stars.

‘It’s too far,’ Kage replied simply. ‘We aren’t bound to our wyverns the way we are to our shadows.

Wyverns are wild. They choose to remain with us, yes.

But they are not ours to command. Not truly.

Our shadows, though... they are chosen. Selected to become our companions.

To guide us to the Underworld when our time comes. ’

Bryn’s gaze drifted to Spirox, perched upon a nearby branch, feathers puffed as if in sleep. But both men knew the creature was anything but unaware. The bird’s stillness was intentional, its attention razor-sharp.

‘Who chooses them?’ Bryn asked.

Kage gave a small shrug. ‘No one knows for certain. Some shadows remain always visible, never straying far. Others only appear when summoned. It varies. My brother, Kai, has a shadow that answers only to his call. The rest of the time, it’s…

elsewhere. Some say, when not here, they dwell in the Underworld—one foot in the realm of the living, the other already lingering among the dead.

’ His eyes settled on Spirox once more, aware of the bird’s unwavering awareness.

Whether it truly understood, he couldn’t say.

‘Spirox stays here with me in shadow form. Always has. Whether it’s his choice or mine, I’m not sure anymore. ’

‘Perhaps it’s both,’ Bryn offered, his tone gentle. ‘Perhaps ya simply enjoy each other’s company.’ He caught the fleeting shift in Kage’s expression. ‘Ya don’t believe that?’

‘I don’t believe anyone could enjoy my company,’ Kage said quietly.

Bryn’s brows lifted in subtle disbelief. ‘And why would ya think such a thing?’

Kage didn’t answer. He only stirred the contents of his bowl—broth that had clearly been made for him, yet bore the unmistakable scent of decay.

The scraps of the camp’s meals, gathered and left to rot before being passed to him.

He recognised the taste. It was the same stew the others had eaten over a week ago.

Kage had always known he wasn’t the most enjoyable of companions. He had never been the boy others sought out, never the one who filled a room with light or laughter.