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Afton
“There has to be another reason why the energy is doing this to you,” Ragan said. “I’ve tried to ask the imps for the past two days, and all I get are shrugs.”
Afton hadn’t attempted to talk to one yet—she was calming herself, knowing she would tear them apart if she did. Ragan had told her they could speak, but they elected not to most of the time. Well, she would make them speak today.
She’d been spending her time tapping into the energy, trying to get it to fully be a part of her, but instead, it seemed to be doing the opposite, unlatching. And each time Valgmyr pulled energy from her, the pain came in the same harsh waves. At night, she would entangle herself with Ragan and try to forget what occurred during the day.
Along the edge of the lake, Afton sat close to Ragan, studying the shimmery water, the frozen people. She wondered how long she would last before turning like them if the imps chose to reveal nothing.
“When we came here,” Afton started, “I felt the energy connect. But with each passing day, it’s loosening more and more. I won’t die.” It wasn’t that she feared death. It was because she knew the imps would go after Silver next. And while Afton wanted to stay there, protect Ketill from behind these closed walls, it wasn’t a place for her sister.
Silver would want to ride Midnight through the edelweiss fields, go to the shops to find unwanted objects to bring home, take tarts from the kitchens and share them with the servants.
Afton stood, looking from one unfamiliar face to the next. Curly blonde locks, straight black hair, pale skin, dark skin, tall, short, curvy, thin—so many people had come there and hadn’t survived.
“What about Thorin?” Afton asked, continuing to drift from face to face, wanting to know which one belonged to the king she had considered her enemy all this time, when in fact, he had barely inherited the crown before trying to save his home. “Which one is him?”
Ragan rose from the ground and motioned for her to follow him. They circled to the back of the lake where he came to a stop in front of a figure that was only a little taller than Afton, his shoulders broad.
“This is the real Thorin,” Ragan said, his lips pursed as if he was thinking about how he’d pretended to be him and hating it.
Afton stepped closer until she was directly across from the true King of Enare. His features looked nothing like Ragan’s. His hair was several shades darker than Ragan’s, and his face was handsome enough, rounder, his nose long, and his skin a deep golden hue. But if Afton had met him in Enare or Ketill, she wouldn’t have given him a second look—she would have never been tempted by him.
“Was he like his father?” Afton asked, turning to Ragan. She hated his father, hated the way he had controlled Enare. And she knew she should have stepped in sooner, not only to have tried to keep her territory safe, but the rest as well. It didn’t matter now, though, because the king was gone, and Silver would take Enare under her wing.
“I didn’t meet his father, but Thorin truly wanted to save his land. He was a good man, could’ve been a great king. But good people still die before they have a chance to become great.” Ragan paused. “He was the last one to come down here before I was released.”
Released from this cage... Freed for a time, but now shackled once again.
Afton would never know if Thorin would have been great—or if he would have fallen into a hole of cruelty, consumed by the control he’d inherited. But perhaps he’d been just like her, wanting to be nothing like his parents.
“I only pretended to be him to get you to come, as you know,” he said. “But then once you came, I shouldn’t have let you believe I was Thorin. I suppose I was trying to get you to hate me, to punish myself.”
“It worked.” Afton smiled. “Only briefly, though.” She glanced from face to face, curious as to how long ago each person had lived outside of Valgmyr. None of them looked familiar. “Are they always going to be here? You can’t make a funeral pyre or bury them?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Once they die, their bodies come here. Their flesh won’t burn and their feet stay planted to the ground.”
None of them had survived. Not even Ragan’s brother, Rory, was safe in the end. Afton’s gaze drifted farther down to where his brother was frozen. She sucked in a sharp breath when her gaze met his empty spot.
“What is it?” Ragan asked.
“He isn’t here!” She took off on a sprint to where she’d seen his form only days before, but now it was only a vacant area. The grass pressed down where his feet once stood.
“Where is he?” Ragan’s wild eyes searched the faces around the lake. “Rory!”
Afton studied each one, seeking horns and wings, but there were so many bodies. None of them were Rory.
“Go check inside the castle, and I’ll keep looking around here.” Afton nudged Ragan forward because he knew every nook and cranny. Could Rory still be alive after all? Afton’s mind reeled, but a sliver of peace blossomed inside. Perhaps something good could come of all this. If she died, then Ragan might at least still have his brother... It may not be the same, but it would be something to help him stay focused, surviving. That wouldn’t solve the issue he’d been facing for hundreds and hundreds of years, though.
Ragan took off in the direction of the castle while she ran beside the lake, verifying that each person wasn’t Rory. All the faces blended together as she lost count. The beat of wings cracked above her, and she glanced up to find Ragan lowering himself.
As his feet touched the ground, he closed his wings at his back, his chest heaving and his eyes filling with worry. “He isn’t in there.”
They would have seen him out here—wouldn’t they? He should have come when Ragan called him. Or maybe he wouldn’t? She truly didn’t know if he was decent like Ragan. Siblings could easily be like night and day—she and Silver were different in so many ways.
Before she could say anything else, he took off in the direction of the topiaries.
“Where are you going?” Afton called, barreling after him.
“I’m going to find out what they did to him,” Ragan spat.
Afton’s heart pounded, remembering the topiaries moving, the imps hovering on top of the castle. Ragan was heading to the one place where he told her not to go, where she hadn’t wanted to go anyway.
But maybe she should have.
She took deep breaths, tapping into the energy that now only hung onto her by threads. Extending her claws and sharp teeth, she sprinted in sync with him. Skirting around body after body, she broke out from the collection and into red-berried bushes.
“You should wait in the castle or at the lake.” Ragan sighed, slowing to a stop. He had to know she wouldn’t listen, would only do what she wanted, which was to make sure he didn’t get himself killed.
Grabbing his arm, she drew him closer to her. “It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been down here, or that I’ve only been here a few days, I’m not letting you go there alone while I sit back and watch. Especially after you warned me not to go there in the first place. Yet here you are, risking yourself.”
He raked his fingers through his hair, disheveling it. “Just stay close to me, all right? That’s all I ask.”
Afton supposed she could handle that. She nodded and released her hold on his arm.
Ragan slipped his hand into hers, interlocking their fingers, and gave her a gentle squeeze before releasing her. “Come on, then.”
They leapt over round thorny bushes and stayed side by side as they entered the wide area filled with the lush green topiaries. A dragon, breathing fire, with its wings spread—a chicken, its beak pointed downward, nestled on the ground—a stag standing on its hind legs with antlers almost touching the limb barrier.
As she and Ragan edged closer to the center of the topiaries, the red eyes inside their leaf-covered heads ignited, burning brighter than the sun. Afton’s heart thundered with a fear of the unknown. In Ketill, she always had the upper hand, knew what she was facing. But not here. Not this.
“Where is Rory?” Ragan demanded, his voice echoing throughout the green garden.
A rustling sounded from beside her and Afton glanced up to see the stag’s movements. Grasping her hand, Ragan pulled her out of the way, just as the stag brought its hooves to the ground, inches from crushing her.
Afton bared her teeth, even though she couldn’t take down everything around her if they all attacked at once. There wasn’t much she could do to this massive beast either, but she would tear off as many limbs as she could before taking her last breath.
The wings at Ragan’s back expanded, creating a light gust of wind. Before anything could happen to her, she knew he would attempt to fly them back to the castle. When she glanced behind them, there was absolutely nowhere to go. The topiaries were brushed up against the ceiling of the limb cage, and there wasn’t a space Afton or Ragan could shimmy through. They were trapped.
“Rory’s body is gone,” Ragan growled through gritted teeth. “He was at the lake and now he isn’t.”
Afton thought there wouldn’t be an answer after moments of silence had passed, but then a pattering stirred. Out from the branches and leaves of each topiary, one by one, the imps poked their small skeletal heads forward, their white eyes glowing, their pointed ears perking.
A deep crackle vibrated from the stag, its limbs drawing back. An imp pushed its entire body out, dropping to the ground. Female. Her feet landed perfectly, and her fragile wings opened. It was the same one Afton had seen at the glass door to her room on the two occasions. The female imp lifted her hand and pointed a single digit upward.
“You set him free?” Ragan furrowed his brow. “But Rory was dead—we saw his body out beside the lake, and you only shrugged when I asked you about it.”
The imp shook her head to the first question, then shrugged at the second. Ragan tightened his grip on Afton—he must have felt her preparing to charge for the imp.
“Is he alive?” Ragan asked, his voice pleading.
Tilting her head to the side, the imp slowly nodded and her white eyes flashed.
“Where is he now?” Ragan asked, his voice low, deadly, but he still didn’t make a move.
The imp’s lips pulled back into a grin, baring teeth as sharp as Afton’s. She again pointed up toward the barrier. Afton peered at the branches, expecting to see a body cocooned within the limbs and flowers, but it was empty.
“And what about Afton?” Ragan bellowed. “Every time I ask you about her, all you do is shrug about that too. Do you want this to continue? Is that why you’re not giving me any answers?”
With a shrug, the imp turned back toward the stag topiary. Afton couldn’t take any more shrugs from the creature or her turning her back on them. She lunged forward, out of Ragan’s grasp, and caught the imp, just as the female was about to fly back in the topiary.
“Afton!” Ragan shouted, his voice more nervous than she’d ever heard him. “Release her.” A flock of imps were already holding him back.
Hisses echoed all around her, the greens of the garden darkening to blacks. She squeezed the imp’s throat, her nails digging in. “You’re going to quit shrugging and tell us how we can fix this, or I’ll make all your organs bleed,” she growled, her energy stirring as she peered at the rest of the creatures. “You will not ignore me like you’re doing with Ragan. And if you choose to kill me, my blood won’t be the only one spilled before I’m dead. Now, where is Rory?”
Above them, the branches unraveled, as they had when Ragan first brought her there. A strong beat and swish sounded, resembling Ragan’s wings, but his were unmoving. The heavy cracking drew nearer, a shadow of a form sliding into view. In his arms was another body with long, obsidian hair.
Her sister.
