Page 193 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

A gasp caught in his throat as one by one, the fallen stirred. Limbs twisted, hands flexed, bodies lifted. Eyes that should have remained closed in eternal slumber snapped open, hollow, unseeing, yet brimming with a dark purpose.

They took up the weapons they had died holding, the steel glinting beneath the glow of the torches.

A storm of bodies—undying, relentless—descended.

Through it all, Mal did not flinch. She moved as if none of it touched her, as if the chaos behind her was nothing more than the shifting of leaves in the wind. Her focus was elsewhere.

Ash followed her gaze—to the only body that had not stirred.

Haven.

Mal knelt beside her, her movements slow, reverent. She did not weep. Did not tremble. Instead, she reached down, plucking the black ring from her sister’s lifeless hand.

The moment it slipped onto her own finger, her mask cracked.

She had lied to him.

She had married him with the intent to kill him. To break a curse he wasn’t even sure was real. He should hate her. Should despise her for the betrayal. But he didn’t.

Not when he looked at her now. Not when she stood over her sister’s body, twisting the ring absently, her face lost, hollow, breaking.

She was the only light left in his world.

The only thing tethering him to hope.

He could not lose that, too.

‘Take my hand,’ he whispered.

Beyond them, Hagan screamed.

Ash did not turn to look. He did not need to. He could hear it—the realisation sinking in, the fury, the panic. No matter how many corpses Hagan blasted apart, more came. An endless tide.

The warlock was drowning in retribution.

‘It won’t hurt.’ Mal turned towards Ash, her voice soft as thedying embers of a fire. ‘Touching me won’t hurt.’

And for the first time, hesawher.

Truly saw her.

Her form still shimmered at the edges, her body woven from the very night itself, an entity that did not belong entirely to this world. Shadow-wrought.

He should have feared it.

But he didn’t.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I trust you.’

Something in her flinched, as though the words had burnt her. But she said nothing. Instead, she sheathed her sword. Her fingers hesitated before closing over his.

The undead did not touch them. Did not block their path. They parted. They bowed.

They shielded their princess from harm.

Ash and Mal climbed onto Nyx’s back, her great shadowed wings flexing as she prepared to take flight.

Then—they ascended. Up, through the gaping wound in the castle’s ceiling, through the smoke and ruin, into the night sky.

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