Astrid

Alfeir runs like speed itself. My heart throbs and pounds even quicker, so much that I feel the blood rush to my brain and I almost faint. But my hands are fastened to the reins by the frigid night wind.

After some time, I no longer recognize the route we are taking. I am not even sure if my worried, restless thoughts are to blame or if it is because I can barely see anything under the dim moonlight.

Eerie echoes of creatures unknown fill my ears, but I cling onto Alfeir like a lifeline and hope he runs faster than any predator.

He does.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, my father’s timepiece clicks in the pouch attached to the saddle by my thigh. I have already wasted nearly a full hour waiting for Alfeir to regain his strength and catch his breath. This journey is far too long for Alfeir to continually maintain his speed; every time he has to slow his gallop, impatience rushes over me.

The forest thins out eventually and gives way to a winding, uphill road. Up ahead, I glimpse the shadow of the largest building I have ever seen. The memory of the illustrations in my books tells me that it must be a castle.

Alfeir barely halts before I slip off his back. My skirts get in the way of my feet and I stumble up the wide steps.

Only one of the front doors has been cracked open – a firelight flickers through the opening. I swallow my leaping heart in my throat and slip past the door.

There are murmurs. Hushed, hurried murmurs, like there is a collective discussion going on. I follow the sound of their voices.

“The Master…so furious…”

“…fear what will become of the thief…”

“He will not listen…”

“The thief may as well deserve it.”

I start to run. My shoes patter against the floor like uselessly slow raindrops.

The voices lead me. That, and the dim firelight. It is as if these people are walking away; their voices grow more and more distant. I turn many corners and run down long corridors.

“We must try to -”

“Shh!” the other voice snaps. There is an abrupt silence. I, too, duck behind a corner. The light stops moving.

“What?” the man declares, but the woman shushes him again.

“Do you hear that?” she stage-whispers. “Footsteps.”

A pause. I hold my breath.

The male voice – rich, solemn – responds: “I hear nothing. Now, are we going to stand around listening for the settling in this ancient place, or are we going to try to put a stop to the Master?”

The woman with the somewhat musical tone scoffs. “As if that’s possible.”

The light shifts again. And again, I start to move as quietly as I can.

A door stands at the end of the corridor, lonesome and big. Unlike the other doors, it is made of iron. A huge latch keeps it securely shut.

One of the two figures paces up and down the width of the corridor. The woman, the one clutching the flickering lamp, watches the pacing man with worried eyes.

Finally, the man stops. He turns on her abruptly.

“I must go in.”

“Bayorn!” Her hand lashes out to grip his arm before he can take another step towards the door. “Are you mad?”

“It is my duty to stop him. I have to…I cannot just…”

The woman falters. She shakes her head.

“He- he would never,” she continues to insist. “The Master would never allow another incident to happen again. You know it.”

He jabs a finger in the door’s direction.

“But does it know?”

As if in reply, a deep rumble reverberates in the air. I can feel it; I can feel the walls shake. A chill runs down my spine.

There is something sinister in this place.

Someone screams.

It is as if a force as strong as gravity itself propels me forward. I no longer think. I bolt forward, my vision homing in on the latch upon the door.

They almost miss me. My fingers almost graze against the cold iron. I can almost see my father as he hollers and pleads.

Arms wrap around my waist and yank me backward. It all happens so fast – all the shouting, the crying and pleading, the change of view from the iron door to the inside of some darkened room.

All my senses blend with each other until the man’s orders for me to stop struggling sound so far away. My father’s screams sound so far away.

I am wrapped in darkness for another stretch of eternity. My fists pound against the locked door until my skin turns raw.

I fight worthlessly against the door until the first traces of sunlight illuminate the room.

Then the doorknob turns.

The same man from hours ago stands before me. With his face illuminated by the new light, I catch his features better: dark skin, deep-set eyes and a square jaw, set into a stoic expression. He wears a soldier’s uniform, though I do not recognize it to be similar to that of the King’s soldiers who have come home to Ainsfrel.

“Who are you?” my voice is hoarse: a by-product of all those hours crying out useless threats. “What have you done to my father?”

He does not reply. Instead, he steps aside to give way.

I don’t need to be told twice. Clambering to my feet, I rush out of the room and turn to the iron door.

The latch has come undone. The door stands ajar; all the darkness contained within waits for me. Invites me in.

I enter.

The even stone floor gives way to what can only be a staircase. There is no light here, so I trace one hand against the wall until the floor stops descending and the air turns into near-frost.

When I glance over my shoulder, the people from before are nowhere to be seen. I wonder if they’ve run in fright, as much as I wish to.

But I do not run. Instead, I squint my eyes and cast a searching gaze around the dungeon. The cold, stone walls stretch out to a breadth similar to that of my own home. And there is no light; no means of escape save through the heavy door from which I came.

I can see no one, no one save the helpless figure crumpled inside one of the many cages.

My father cowers by the corner closest to one of the flaming torches that light the walls. His hands are visibly trembling as they hold his own head down, as if to protect himself from an unseen blow.

“Papa?”

My father lowers his hands and crawls forward. “Astrid?”

“Papa!” I run to the bars faster than he can reach them from inside.

My father sobs quietly beside me. For a horrible moment, his muffled apologies are the only thing that can be heard.

“What’s happened?” I ask, reaching for his face. “Who did this to you?”

“Th-there’s something here. Some…some creature. The lord of this house caught me plucking a peculiar rose from his garden and threw me in here with the…that thing.”

My heart goes cold. I whip my head around, but nothing comes for us. I cannot even hear any other breath besides ours.

“Oh, Papa. You shouldn’t have stolen anything.”

“It was made of pure gold. I…” he sniffles. “I just wanted to bring something home. Something that could help us.”

He releases me for a moment to reach for something hidden within his torn vest. When he brings the object to light, I gasp.

A rose carved out of gold catches the faint firelight.

I shake the temptation out of my head. “You never should have stolen.”

“I know,” he breathes, hanging his head low. “I know. Forgive me, love.”

My hand reaches out to lift his chin. He is weak, his breathing labored. Did he take his medicine? How long has he been here? I hate seeing him like this, hate being so fearful.

Suddenly, my father stops sobbing altogether. His fingers curl around mine on the cold bar, and he starts to mutter madly: “Astrid.” He starts to fumble with the lock to my right. “Astrid, try to open the door. Come inside.”

My eyebrows furrow. The torches light his eyes up with a panic I have never seen before.

“Don’t turn around. Look at me, darling, look at me.”

Slowly, I turn around.

A shadow bears down upon me.

My screams mingle with my father’s. Something clamps hard upon my shoulders, and then my grip is yanked free of the prison. Something jangles and then the door opens.

I am tossed into the prison like a ragdoll.

My father drags me into his grasp and kisses my hair repeatedly. I feel his tears fall upon my face.

“Who are you?” I shout at the darkness. “What do you want?”

Silence. I struggle to my feet.

“Retribution.”

The voice is made of ice and steel. I squint until I catch it: a person emerging from the darkness. His face comes into view.

My father and I both jump.

Only when he speaks again do I realize that the contorted face and bared fangs do not move. They remain frozen against his face.

He is wearing a mask.

“Your father stole something precious to me.”

My fingers reach for the rose in my father’s feeble grip. Taking it from him, I hold it up for the man to see.

“Do you mean this rose?”

He lunges against the bars. We spring backward, my chest just an inch from his clawed fingers.

“Give. It. To. Me!”

“Let us go first,” I raise my chin in defiance.

A low guttural growl escapes the man. It is so strange, so inhuman. A chill runs up my spine.

The ugly mask turns to my father. “Shall I simply feed your daughter to my pet?”

This touches a nerve. My father starts to whimper again.

“P-please, sir,” my father’s sobs stop me cold. My hand squeezes the flower. “I beg your mercy. My…my daughter. She does not deserve your wrath! Spare -”

“You should have thought of that before you stole from me!”

The bars of our prison rattle. Animal speed shifts the man’s shadow towards the latch separating us from him. The door swings open.

My father and I scramble backward. My back is unceremoniously shoved against the wall as my father pushes himself to stand, shivering, between the Master and me.

“Stop it!”

Both of them freeze at my cry. I cling onto my father, more to steady myself as I blink back tears.

“Let us go,” I tell the Master. “Please. My father is ailing. He needs his medication.”

The man cocks his mask to one side.

“He will die here if he stays in this cold a minute longer!” I cry, desperation evident in my voice.

“And how is that my concern?”

“Have you no humanity?” I say, aghast.

Silence.

I step around my father. Despite his protests, I yank my arm free from his grip and take slow, damning steps towards the Master.

Now only the cold bars separate monster from person. I look up at the wide eyes of the wretched mask.

“What bargain will you strike?” my tone is flat.

He stares back at me. I can hear his breaths muffle against his mask.

Finally, he decides on his words.

“A deal,” he rumbles. “One of mine for one of yours.”

I scowl. “What?”

“Only one of you may leave. The other will serve my punishment: toil in this accursed place until the price of the rose is bought.”

“What?” I spit, disgusted. “Just take the rose and let us leave you in peace.”

That same animal growl returns again – this time in warning. “Once the rose has been plucked, it loses its magic. Its worth has been spent in your greed.”

“I am hardly of the opinion that anything related to you will be of any worth.”

My father chides softly: “Astrid.” Then, he says louder, “I will stay. Let my daughter return home.”

I recoil.

“I will do no such thing!” I cry indignantly.

“I am to blame for this. You have much to live for… Please. My days are already numbered.”

“You don’t know that,” I shake my head. A lump rises up my throat and threatens to finally break me. “I will never live with myself if I leave you.”

He reaches out to grasp my hands. His calloused skin is uncharacteristically cold. “You must. You must be strong, darling.”

“No.” I pull from his touch. “No.”

Then I am stumbling, nearly ready to collapse with anxiety. But I hold my head high and feign confidence for my father.

“Take me,” I order the man – the beast. “Take me, lest I return with an entire town to hunt you and your animal to the ends of the earth. I swear it.”

“Astrid!” my father gasps, horrified.

The Master tilts his head. He appears calm, more intrigued than agitated.

“Go on!”

For once in my life, my father says nothing to rebut me. There is nothing he can bargain to undo the damage my words have caused.

“Very well,” the Master says.

I do not turn to look at my father, who has lunged at me, pulling at my arms. I do not look behind when the beast opens the grill and yanks me free from my father’s desperate grabs.

Only when the door is shut behind me do I start to cry. At first barely any sound is made; I only whimper quietly as I am dragged along the corridor without mercy. My sobs only grow louder after I am sure we are far enough away from my father’s earshot.

By the time we reach the dark, dusty front hall of the castle, I am howling. I cannot help it. I kick and I scream, but the Master is stronger. He remains quietly unaffected by my efforts.

Then he chucks me out of the front door.

I stop raving like a lunatic.

“What are you doing?” my voice is hoarse.

He shies away from the open air, like he is allergic to the wind.

“I know you, Astrid,” he says instead. “I know your voice.”

My eyes are cast to the ground. The growl that escapes when he pronounces my name scrapes against my ears like metal on metal.

“You read to me. In the gardens. Before you stopped coming and I waited for you.”

Silence. I think he is waiting for me to respond, but I don’t care. If anything, his revelation makes me angrier.

“Are you expecting an apology?” I say venomously.

“Go,” he says. “Return with what you need by dawn, and then I will release your father. If my scouts see so much as a second soul next to you, you will not see your father ever again.”

I obey.

I turn on my heel and run to Alfeir, who is pulling on his rein and kicking at the ground wildly. I free him and he takes off with me on his back, sprinting, giving me the illusion that I am running away.