Page 66 of A Kingdom of Shadow and Ash

Queen Cyra pulled a thick tome from the shelf, its leather binding worn but elegant, the rich gold of its cover matching the warm hues of the Fire Kingdom’s books. She placed it upon the table, stepping back with a quiet grace, her wine glass hovering near her lips as she observed Vera.

‘I have found some information about where that dagger might be.’ The queen’s voice was measured, but there was something in her tone—something watchful.

Vera approached swiftly, her fingers brushing the cover of the tome. It was unfamiliar. The scent of old parchment clung to it, but the binding…Notdrakonian.

Her stomach turned.

The queen saw the flicker of recognition cross her features.

‘It is from the Kingdom of Light.’

Vera froze.

The Kingdom of Light.

Since the beginning, the two kingdoms—Fire and Light—had always been the closest, like siblings bound by a shared devotion to their god. They had survived the Great War together, emerging on the other side still standing, still bound, when the other lands had crumbled into chaos.

Both worshipped the Sun God. Both held their power above all else. Even now, as time pulled the kingdoms in separate directions, their bond remained, unbreakable. And their people, forever intertwined.

Drakonians spoke the common tongue, but all of them learnt phoenixian—the language of the Kingdom of Light. A language of light and radiance, of reverence and pride.

Vera did not speak it. She had not been raised within the walls of the Fire Kingdom, had not been taught the language of its closest ally. And if the queen discovered that she could notread a single word written upon these pages…

She would know something waswrong.

‘Well?’ The queen’s eyes narrowed in frustration.

‘Uhmm…’ Vera stepped back, shaking her head. ‘I do not think this will help, your majesty.’

‘Why not?’

Think, think of something. Give her a little crumb to snack on.

‘The dagger belonged to Tabitha—she cursed the kingdoms. The curse will be broken by that weapon, no other.’ Vera felt her throat tighten. ‘The dagger must be in the Kingdom of Magic.’

The queen nodded, rolling her tongue over her teeth.

‘There are only ruins in that kingdom,’ Vera finally said. ‘But perhaps it is hidden in the witches’ castle.’

It was not. The witches had scoured every corner of their land for the dagger, searching in forgotten tombs, ruins swallowed by time, and places where even the bravest feared to tread. And yet, it remained lost.

Vera had deftly steered the queen’s attention towards her homeland, knowing well that no one dared enter the wastelands.If Queen Cyra believed the dagger lay hidden amidst the crumbling remnants of a kingdom long turned to dust, then let her believe it—there was nothing she could do about it. And that deception, at least for now, granted Vera the most valuable of things: time.

What Vera did not expect was for the queen to point her finger at her and say, ‘Someone must enter the wastelands and retrieve the dagger. You shall do.’

‘Me?’ Vera shrieked in panic.

‘You are a maid, no one shall miss you. Be quick.’ The queen dismissed her with a wave of her hand, rubbing her temples to make the headache that wasstarting go away.

‘But I am the princess’s maid, your majesty,’ Vera said softly as to not anger the monarch. ‘Surely she will notice my absence.’

The queen’s face grew taut.

‘We shall tell the princess that you have fallen ill and I will send her another maid. You should not be worrying over such extrinsic affairs. Your duty is to me, not the wyverian princess. Hurry along now, child. Time is of the essence.’

With a curt nod, Vera turned, slipping through the servants' door with the same practiced grace she had spent years perfecting.

Somehow, without meaning to, Vera had entangled herself in a web of her own making. For years, she had crafted her disguise, constructing the character of the anxious, unassuming maid, her glamour woven so intricately that no one had ever questioned her place. But now—now she would have to unravel it all. The role she had spent so long perfecting would have to be discarded, her face altered, her demeanour transformed.

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