Page 4 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

A long exhale ghosted over her face, and then the Seer turned, vanishing deeper into the forest.

Mal hesitated. She knew what it meant to follow. Some part of her—the part still tethered to reason, to fear, to the memory of warmth—begged her to turn back, to return to the castle, to forget. But she couldn’t. She needed to know.

Bare feet met the darkened soil, and the ground welcomed her home.

With steady steps, Mal wove through the twisted trees, her breaths slow and even—though her heart screamed otherwise.

The creatures lurking in the shadows could hear it. Could smell it.

She had been granted entry by the Seer. That did not meanshe would be allowed toleave.

Then—a presence.

Mal stiffened. A child.

A girl, no more than six, stood at her side, her swollen face blue from drowning, her empty sockets fixed upon Mal.

She smiled, wide and too knowing.

‘Stay with me, princess,’ the child whispered.

And then—a hand, small and clammy, latched onto her own.

The world shattered.

Mal awoke on the ground.

‘Drink.’

The Seer’s hut had not changed. Rodent bones dangled like wind chimes from the ceiling, casting eerie shadows in the dim candlelight. The scent of thick, cloying oils dripped from overturned pots, staining the wooden floor littered with the skins of creatures long since departed.

Mal exhaled sharply, swallowing down nausea.

A wooden cup was pressed into her hands. She knew what it was before she even smelt it. She grimaced. Drank anyway.

Bitter, thick, earthy. It never got better.

‘Still weak,’ the Seer chided, a hint of amusement in her rasping tone.

Then—pain. A dagger, swift and sharp, sliced across Mal’s forearm. She barely flinched. Her black blood pooled into the waiting cup.

The Seer raised it to her lips, drinking deeply, the dark liquid staining her mouth.

Mal did not look away. It washerblood. And soon, it would tell her fate.

The whispers of the dead coiled through the hut like tendrils of mist, rattling the walls with their hollow pleas. Mal did not heed them. Their voices scraped against the wooden beams,pressing, begging, yearning to be let in, but she kept her focus sharp, her gaze locked on the Seer.

The creature arched backward, her breath shallow and unnatural as her yellow eyes rolled into a blank, ghostly white. The effect of Mal’s blood took hold, winding through the Seer’s veins like an incantation whispered by forgotten gods.

‘Ask,’ the Seer rasped, her voice no longer her own, but that of the lost.

Mal's throat tightened, but she did not falter.

‘Are the witches preparing for war?’

‘Yes.’

A breath hitched in Mal’s chest. Her fingers curled against the fabric of her dress, her pulse thrumming like the war drums she feared she would soon hear.

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