Page 3 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

She would not fear her own.

The kingdoms beyond might tremble at the very whisper of their names, but Mal Blackburn had walked in darkness her entire life. The Seer was no different.

‘Rumours are spreading,’ Mal said, keeping her gaze locked onto the creature, knowing better than to look away. If she did, perhaps the Seer might vanish with the wind, slipping back into nothingness. ‘They say the witches are coming for us. I need to know if it is true.’ She hesitated. ‘If they are coming for…’Me.

But she would not speak the words aloud, wouldnot give them weight. If the whispers about her were true—if the rumours of what she was becoming were true—Mal did not know if she wanted to hear it.

The forest stirred. Whispers slithered through the air like fingers curling around her throat, beckoning, taunting. The dead longed for her, called to her, promising an end to everything that ached.

It would be easy.

One step.

One breath.

One surrender.

And she would betheirs.

A simple slip forward, a careless reach, and they would unmake her. The weight of her bones, the torment of her thoughts, the hollow ache in her chest—gone, washed away into the soil that craved her.

A mercy.

The Seer did not move, did not blink, but suddenly she was closer—too close. Mal’s breath hitched.

A long, bony hand lifted, and those terrible yellow eyes leaned in until they were nearly nose to nose.

‘You are not allowed here without permission, princess,’ the Seer whispered, voice slipping through the cracks of reality itself. ‘It is not your time.’

For a moment, she saw it—her own fate—saw the blackened roots of the trees coiling around her lifeless form, saw the sockets of her own skull, hollow and empty, devoured by the earth.

And it did not frighten her.

The Seer cocked her head. ‘Do not wish for what is not yet yours, princess.’

‘Death belongs to us all,’ Mal countered, voice even.

‘But the youngshould not hunger for it.’

Mal’s gaze drifted past the Seer’s shoulder, towards the gathering figures between the trees—the restless ones. Their hollow eyes bore into her, their silent mouths speaking in screams she could not hear.

She inhaled their emptiness, the void where they had once been.

In her kingdom, death was not feared. It was known. It was expected. It was understood. But something about this—about them—made something inside her tremble.

‘They are looking for you, princess,’ the Seer said.

Mal lifted her eyes towards the sky—grey, motionless.

‘I need to know if the witches are coming,’ she said, quiet but firm. ‘If they are going to start a war.’

The Seer’s gaze sharpened into slits, glowing in the dimness.

‘If you wish tosee, you mustgive.’

The bony fingers reached out, claws grazing her cheek—gentle, but only just.

Mal nodded.

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