Page 154 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

‘It won’t work with me,’ Kage warned.

Ah. A challenge.

She pressed herself against him, letting her fingers trail lower, lower, her legs wrapping around his waist like a serpent coiling around its prey.

‘Are you sure?’ she whispered, her breath hot against his throat. Her fingers teased down his chest, down his stomach—pausing just at the place where all men eventually surrendered. She wrapped her hand around his length beneath the water, watching for the telltale response, the loss of control. ‘Would you prefer my sister?’

Kage’s lips twitched in the faintest smirk. ‘Neither.’

Hessa glanced downward, taking note of his reaction—or lack thereof. Her eyes gleamed with something dark and dangerous. ‘So you prefer something a bit more familiar to whatyouhave?’

Kage leaned in, voice like a growl of distant thunder. ‘Precisely, princess.’

The spell shattered.

Hessa ripped herself away from him as though burnt, a snarl curling her lips. She treaded backward, fury dancing in the embers of her gaze.

‘What is itthat you want, prince? We were observing the beauty of the castle and happened to fall upon a maid’s room,’ she bit out. ‘We wanted to have a look. Is that a crime?’

‘That depends.’ Kage leaned back against the edge of the pool, unfazed, utterly indifferent. ‘Did you take anything?’

Hessa’s pale eyes sparked with something unreadable before she masked it with a smirk. ‘Why are you truly here, amir?’

Kage’s thin lips curled faintly at the Sandhii word for prince. He did not answer immediately, and that alone set Hessa’s nerves alight. Something was off. Something was wrong. She glanced towards Sahira, reading the same quiet unease in her sister’s gaze.

They had come to the Kingdom of Fire with one purpose—to watch, to listen, to uncover the whispers of the curse. They had always been mercenaries, their loyalty as fleeting as shifting sands, but there were stories—stories buried deep in the desert, tales of debts unpaid, of spirits unavenged.

The desert folk had always been a people of quiet reverence, their lives woven with the whispers of sand and the secrets of the wind. Once, long ago, they had stood beside the witches, their alliances bound not by ink and parchment, but by sacred oaths and ancient rites. They had danced beneath the silver glow of twin moons, their prayers rising like smoke to gods who listened.

But faith alone did not fill an empty belly, nor did loyalty to the forsaken promise survival. When the Great War cast its long shadow over the kingdoms, the desert folk were faced with a choice—not one of honour or kinship, but of necessity. Gold flowed from the coffers of the Kingdom of Fire and the Kingdom of Light, and so they became blades for hire, warriors whose allegiance was measured in coin ratherthan conviction.

Yet war is an unfaithful mistress, and when the last sword had clashed, when the kingdoms had shuttered their borders and drawn their lines in the dust, the desert folk were left adrift. The wealth that had once sustained them turned to nothing, and the hands that had once paid them turned away.

Famine and ruin swept through the dunes like a vengeful storm. The once-proud mercenaries became beggars beneath a sun that had once worshipped them. And so the stories began—the whispers of old debts unpaid, of gods who had turned their faces away in wrath. Many believed their suffering to be divine punishment, a curse shaped into the very sands they had once called sacred.

For they had forsaken their kin, chosen greed over faith, and now, the gods had forsaken them in turn.

‘I believe we have the same goals.’ Kage exhaled, dark and slow, watching her. ‘We are looking for the same thing.’

Hessa frowned, her nails tracing the surface of the water. ‘Looking for what, amir?’

His smirk deepened, dark amusement curling in his voice as he switched to her native tongue.

‘Dagaa, amiraa.’

The dagger, princess.

He tilted his head, letting the words sink in, his next sentence a blade pressed to her throat.

‘Hataa amir nar.’

To kill the Fire Prince with.

I have always found it curious how most of the kingdoms believe in the same gods but we each pray to them differently. Wyverians pray by their lonely trees, blessed by the gods. Witches have lengthy rituals that we do on special dates to honour the gods, and the desert folk are very cautious with food—they will only eat meat on special days and on others they give the meat away as an offering to the gods— on some nights they are not allowed to drink wine at all and some dishes must be prepared in a special way to honour the gods before consuming it. I still do not know much on wolverians, but I aim to learn more about the Kingdom of Ice.

Tabitha Wysteria

Mal dug her fingers into the brittle earth, cradling a rotten pear in her palms before placing it beneath the gnarled roots of the lonely tree. The air was thick with the warmth of the dying sun, a quiet hush settling over the land like a shroud. She listened, straining for the whispers of the gods, for even the faintest murmur of guidance. But as always, they remained silent.

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