Page 159 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

And in the castle halls, King Egan carried on as though nothing had ever happened. As though the clash of magic and fire had been nothing more than a whisper on the wind, fleeting and inconsequential.

A dangerous game of pretense. One that could cost them everything.

‘What is yer kingdom like?’ Wren asked, tilting her head towards the witch.

Vera hesitated. ‘It is mostly ruins.’

Regret pricked at Wren. She had not meant to tread upon delicate ground, but before she could retract the question, Vera continued, her voice a distant echo of something lost.

‘Once, they say, it was the most beautiful of all the kingdoms. Rivers carved through the land like veins, carrying boats from village to village. The marshlands stretched for miles, and though many see them as bleak and lifeless, they held a quiet kind of majesty.’ A wistful smile hovered at the corners of Vera’s mouth. ‘The cities were unparalleled. Tall spires woven from magic, libraries that breathed with knowledge—our home was a marvel.’

‘Where do most witches live now?’ Wren asked, curiosity weaving through her voice.

‘Scattered,’ Vera admitted. ‘Some left, sought refuge in other lands, hiding beneath glamours. Others remain, rebuilding what was lost.’

Wren frowned. ‘But if there’s so many of ya, why not use yer magic to fix everything?’

A thick, oppressive silence draped over them, dense and charged, like the breathless stillness before the heavens split open with fury.

The hairs on Wren’s arms rose, prickling against her skin. She did not move. She would not cower beneath those amethysteyes that now bore into her with something unreadable.

‘That is not the point, Wren,’ Vera said at last, her voice carrying the weight of centuries. ‘We keep the ruins to remember what was taken. To never forget what was done to us.’

‘But does that help anyone move on?’ Wren asked, arching a brow.

Vera let out a soft sigh. ‘I suppose not.’ Then, after a pause, she conceded, ‘Some towns have been rebuilt.’

‘And where are ya from?’

‘Elmwych.’

‘What’s it like?’

For the first time, Vera’s voice took on warmth. ‘It’s a small town, nestled against the marshes. It was burnt to the ground during the Great War, but we rebuilt it, stone by stone, until it stood exactly as it did a hundred years ago.’ A soft smile ghosted her lips. ‘Perhaps, one day, I will show it to you, Wren Wynter.’

Wren’s chest warmed at the unexpected offer. ‘So ya don’t hate us?’ she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Vera hesitated, her expression unreadable. ‘That is… a difficult question.’ She let out a slow breath. ‘I don’t think I can answer it. Not yet.’ Then, softer, ‘But I do not hateyou.’

Wren’s smile was slight, but it was real. Perhaps there was hope after all.

But before she could respond, something struck her. A force, unseen and inevitable, ripped through her mind like a knife through silk. Her body stiffened. The sky above her blurred. Her vision rolled backward, her irises turning to empty pools of white.

The vision seized her.

It pulled her from the present, into thefuture—a future where the curse was not broken.

The world was gone.

Not burnt, not ruined, not ravaged by war. Simply… gone.

No laughter. No voices. No life.

All had fallen into a deep, eternal sleep. A kingdom of ghosts, untouched by time.

All but one.

Wren’s body jolted as she returned to herself, a strangled gasp wrenching from her throat. The tower swayed beneath her as reality settled back into place. Her breath came in ragged pants, her limbs trembling from the toll of what she had seen.

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