Page 102 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

The dagger.

If she could find it, if she could wield it, she could put an end to the curse. ‘What else can you tell me about the dagger or the curse?’

Wren exhaled slowly, as though unspooling a thread of long-buried knowledge. ‘Well… most believe there is a curse becas da Great War separated all da kingdoms that once upon a time had been united. But there are recordings—written accounts—that claim Princess Aithne was da first to mention it. They say that da moment da Great War was over and da witches defeated, screams echoed throughout all da kingdoms. And then…’ She hesitated, her voice growing softer. ‘Then they say almost every single kingand queen from each kingdom—except for their children—died in their sleep. All at da same time.’

A shiver trailed down Mal’s spine.

‘No one could explain it,’ Wren continued. ‘Of course, now they call it a plague. A tragic coincidence. But Queen Aithne—before she died—said it was no accident. She claimed Tabitha had cursed them all for what they had done to her.’

Mal frowned. ‘But Tabitha tricked Prince Hadrian. She ensnared him with magic, made him betray his oath to Aithne.’

Wren shrugged. ‘Tabitha was, in many ways, da reason da war started in da first place. If she hadn’t cast a spell over Hadrian, forcing him to break da marriage oath, da war would’ve neva happened. Some say she fell into despair when she realised what she had done—how she had condemned her entire kingdom to ruin. That in her grief, she cast one final spell.’

Mal’s heart pounded. ‘A curse.’

‘A curse,’ Wren confirmed.

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken truths.

At last, Mal asked the question that had haunted her since childhood. ‘Does anyone actually know what the curse will do when the hundred years are up?’ She had always heard fragments, bits and pieces of speculation, but no one truly knew. Only that when the centennial anniversary of the war arrived, something terrible would befall them all.

Wren tilted her head.

‘There are rumours,’ she admitted. ‘Some say all da kings and queens will die, just as their ancestors did. Others say a black mist will fall over all da kingdoms, drowning da land in eternal night. And then there are those who whisper that if da curse is not broken, da witches will rise and slaughter us all in our sleep.’ She snorted. ‘A bit far-fetched, that last one,but da point is—no one actually knows. All we do know is that when da hundred years mark da night of Hadrian’s death… something will come for us.’

A cold weight pressed against Mal’s chest.

‘And that is why,’ Wren went on, ‘even though Seers have not been able to see what will happen, most are trying to stop it. I’ve seen glimpses of da witches in me visions. I’ve seen a great battle, a war that will shatter da world. And…’ She hesitated. ‘I’ve seen ya, Mal. I’ve seen ya stab da Fire Prince in da heart.’

Mal’s breath hitched.

Sheknewit. She had known it since the moment she had stepped foot in this land, since the moment the prophecy had wrapped its invisible chains around her, binding her to fate.

But hearing it aloud, spoken by someone who hadseenit…

It made it real.

Her hands trembled.

‘So no matter what I do, there will be another war?’ she whispered.

Wren sighed. ‘If ya do not stop da curse, there will be no war. Becas there will be no one left to fight it.’ Her words settled like ice in Mal’s bones. ‘But if ya break it,’ Wren continued, ‘our kingdoms will bleed. The peace that has existed in silence will shatter, and there will be war again. We Seers… we see. But unless others believe what we say, our words are as hollow as air.’

Mal inhaled sharply, steadying herself. ‘I need to find that dagger.’ Her chest tightened, the weight of inevitability pressing down on her. ‘How do you know it will break the curse?’

Wren’s gaze darkened.

‘Becas da dagger belonged to Hadrian.’

She paused.

Then, with the solemnity of a death sentence, she added, ‘It’s da same dagger Tabitha used to kill him. The same one she used to take her own life.’

…

Wren followed Mal through the dim corridors until they arrived at Kage Blackburn’s chambers. The space was cloaked in shadow, the heavy curtains drawn tight against the sun. The air smelt of ink and dust, of old parchment and candle wax. Books and tomes lay scattered across every surface, spilling from shelves, stacked haphazardly on the floor, even strewn across the bed in a disordered symphony of knowledge.

In the centre of it all stood Kage, violin in hand, the haunting melody he had been playing cut abruptly short as his gaze landed on the two intruders in his doorway.

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