Page 158 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

Hessa nodded, picking up where her sister had left off. ‘Hadrian was never without it. The archives mention it frequently—his favoured blade, lighter than a sword, easier to wield in close quarters.’ She tapped the page again, drawing attention to the white stone embedded in the hilt. ‘All our weapons bear this mark—a symbol of our eyes, of our land.’

Kage’s gaze darkened. ‘And you believe Tabitha Wysteria used this dagger to kill him?’

Hessa’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. ‘Tabitha could not have slit Hadrian’s throat with his own cumbersome longsword,’ she said. ‘No, she would have needed somethingswifter, something she could wield in one decisive movement.’

Mal, who had been sitting in contemplative silence, finally spoke. ‘Then why was the dagger never found?’

Hessa turned, her expression unreadable. ‘What do you mean?’

‘If the legends hold any truth,’ Mal mused, ‘Tabitha seized the dagger, killed Hadrian, then took her own life. And yet, when the bodies were discovered, the weapon had vanished. Why?’

Sahira shrugged. ‘Likely stolen—such a blade would fetch a high price.’

Mal’s lips pressed into a thin line, dissatisfaction evident in the crease of her brow. ‘It doesn’t add up,’ she said, more to herself than to the others. ‘Hadrian’s body never returned to my kingdom for burial. The records claim soldiers from the Kingdom of Fire found the scene—left Tabitha to rot, but took Hadrian’s remains to return them to the Kingdom of Darkness as a show of respect. Yet the body never arrived, and no history book can explain why.’

‘There was war,’ Vera interjected, though her expression had sharpened with intrigue. ‘Bodies are lost.’

‘They are,’ Mal agreed. ‘But not the bodies of those who spark wars.’ Her gaze drifted back to the book, to the dagger rendered so carefully in ink. ‘And we know, from Tabitha’s own writings, that she never truly died. What if…What if Hadrian never died either? What if she never killed him? Does the diary not say?’

Vera’s fingers traced the edges of the weathered pages before tugging the notebook closer, her brows knitting together in thought. ‘Pages have been torn away,’ she said, frustration dancing in her purple eyes like embers caught in a dying wind. She exhaled, a slow, measured breath. ‘It is impossible to say whetherhe truly met his end, or if the stories we have been told are nothing more than carefully spun illusions. Perhaps she never killed him at all. Perhaps the curse itself is a fabrication.’

A silence fell over the room, the weight of her words sinking in like stones into deep water. Kage watched his sister as she stood, her arms folding tightly across her chest, her mind weaving a web of thought too tangled for the rest of them to follow. Her sharp teeth caught the edge of her thumb, a nervous habit, as she began to pace. Kage recognised that look—the faraway glint of realisation, the slow, methodical unraveling of a mystery.

‘The anniversary is nearly upon us,’ Hessa reminded them softly. ‘And we still do not know where the weapon lies.’

Mal stopped abruptly, her hands braced against the desk, her purple eyes trained on the open book. Something ghosted across her face, a revelation so sudden and visceral that Kage took an unconscious step forward, drawn to it.

‘What is it?’ he asked, unable to contain his impatience.

Mal’s lips parted, then closed again. She turned, her eyes locking onto his with unmasked astonishment.

‘I know where the dagger is,’ she breathed, the words almost lost to the room’s heavy silence.

She swallowed, her fingers curling over the book’s edge as if grounding herself.

‘And I know who has it.’

I have learnt through my travels that there are some very lethal groups to watch out for in the different kingdoms. The wyverians as a whole are probably the most dangerous of them all. In the Desert Kingdoms there is a group formed solely by women called the Dunayans, trained from the age of five to become ruthless mercenaries. I have heard that the desert king always sends his daughters to become a part of the Dunayans and it is a tradition passed down through generations. Another group I have learnt a lot about is the Red Guard in the Kingdom of Fire. They are only formed by male warriors and their training is only for a year, but I have heard that it is short because of its intensity. If it were any longer they would not survive it. I wouldn’t mind seeing the Dunayans and the Red Guard under the same roof. It would be rather interesting to witness.

Tabitha Wysteria

Wren lay sprawled atop the weathered stone of the tower’s ledge, one leg dangling carelessly over the abyss below. The sun blazed overhead, relentless and unyielding, painting her fair skin in molten gold. A lazy breeze did little to combat the Kingdom of Fire’s oppressive heat, and she longed for the cold embrace of her homeland—the heavy, brooding skies, the frost-kissed air, the comfort of a hearth blazing in defiance of winter’s grasp.

She had not climbed the tower for solitude, though she would have preferred it. Vera sat mere inches away, the eeriepallor of her white hair nearly matching Wren’s own. It had been the witch’s idea to step outside, to escape the confines of Kage’s chamber, where the air had grown thick with irritation. Especially the wyverian prince, who accustomed to shadows and isolation, had begun to chafe beneath their prolonged company.

‘I am not your enemy,’ Vera said, her voice smooth, quiet.

Wren did not look at her. Instead, she kept her pale blue eyes trained on the vast, unforgiving sky, refusing to squint against the brightness. She had no patience for the witch’s claims.

‘Ya say ya here to help Mal kill da prince,’ Wren mused, her voice thick with skepticism, ‘and yet, ya won’t tell us a thing about da witches. Not their plans, not their numbers, nothing. How can I trust a single word ya say?’

‘They aremypeople,’ Vera snapped, her tone harsh. ‘I would not betray them like that.’

Wren let out a slow, measured sigh. ‘Then I cannot trust ya.’ She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow. ‘Witches attacked us at da wall. They killed Mal’s wyvern. Whether there’s more to it or not, ya still a witch, and in da eyes of yer kind, we are still enemies.’

Vera let out a sound of frustration, a quiet snarl of irritation, but she did not argue. There was little point. The plan had already been set in motion—while Mal ventured forth to retrieve the dagger, the rest of them would remain behind, keeping watch over the witch as though she were a caged beast poised to strike.

No one knew what the witches were plotting—if they were plotting at all. The silence that had followed the battle at the wall was unsettling, like the eerie stillness before a storm that threatened to tear the sky apart. No vengeful horde had pursued them. No further attacks had come. The world held its breath,teetering on the precipice of something unseen.

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