Astrid

“One. Two -”

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

Beside me, Isabelle’s eyelids flutter closed. She counts under her breath.

“Four, five, six…”

Thump. Thump.

I peek through the smallest window in the kitchen.

More townsfolk stream in from the forest while the initial fifty who arrived just minutes earlier run a heavy log into the front doors over and over again. Our home stands unyielding, but I know it will not be long before they are here.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“Nine. Ten.”

A streak of light cuts right across my field of vision. The sound of alarmed cries erupts as the blazing barricade Bayorn has just ignited divides the mob clean in half. But our ring of fire will only protect the castle’s perimeter for a few hours.

That is enough, I try to tell myself, but I am not assured. Hopefully when the crowd is contained and the beast is given a head-start to escape into the woods, they will be enticed to give chase.

I know one person will remain, however.

And he will regret it.

Isabelle’s finger’s squeeze mine, dragging my speculations away from the future and into the present.

“Do you think this is going to work?” her words come in a whisper.

I squeeze back. “It will.”

Thump, thump, thump.

My heart is slamming hard against my chest, so loud that I wonder if Isabelle can hear it, too. That is, if she can even hear it over her own apparent nervousness. She draws her sword and moves away from the window, and I follow suit.

Thump. Thump.

Strangely enough, my hands are steady as they grip my bow and arrow. Perhaps my shots will be accurate this time – but I don’t really need them to hit their mark.

Isabelle eyeballs me and tries on a brave, shaky grin. Thump, thump. Thump.

“See you on the other -”

CRASH!

We part immediately. All is dark, but my feet know their way around the passageways concealed in the stone walls. In one moment I am enveloped in darkness – in the next, I am hiding in the shadows with a full view of our guests.

Few young soldiers file in first, each step calculated with caution. I wonder if Imogen and Bayorn are greeting the others round the sides of the castle. Across the hall, blending into the shadows, I catch a glint of Isabelle’s throwing knives as she waits atop the stairs.

“What was that?” one of the men sounds.

Some of them turn towards the direction of nothing. I don’t blame them. In this setting, the castle has turned into an avenue for horrific imaginations to run wild.

Then the show really begins.

“Over there!”

Poised on the middle platform of the staircase, a lady in a flowing white dress watches them all. Her sleek hair tumbling over one shoulder and ghostly eyes all add to the theatrics.

I grin to myself. Even with her stoic expression, it is obvious Lady Selaena is enjoying herself.

One by one, the fabrics of cloth we hung up and draped over the floor rise to the height of the men. But nobody notices. When the cloths envelope the unsuspecting people at the back first and bundle them up to the ceiling like insects on a spider’s web, nobody pays heed.

The first man steps forward: the head. Damian. He is dressed in full armor.

“Show us the animal, madam, and you will come to no harm.”

Lady Selaena’s blood-red lips tilt up in a haunting smile. She gestures to them with a sweep of an arm.

“Be our guest.”

An arrow flees from my bow, wedging itself into the wall on the opposite side. I shift my position so that nobody can trace me.

“Ambush!”

Cries of alarm start to ring out. When the men in the front turn to their fellow comrades, they suddenly realize they are clinging to the ceiling, their eyes widened in petrification.

Knives fly across the room. Some mark the men’s legs. Some bounce off the walls and bury themselves into the furniture. None of them miss.

Damian turns towards Selaena again, raising his shield. But she is gone.

“Take cover!” he hollers, but it goes without saying.

Men scramble and scurry out of reach of our aim. We are relentless. I nock arrow after arrow until I am left with two in my quiver. These, I keep as I slip back into the narrow passageway to continue the hunt.

I have become a predator. I can hear their hushed warnings, panicked and rushed, as they travel down the corridor. In corridors where Isabelle and I cannot work, the doors themselves are supposed to be flying open to lure men into the rooms, where they will be trapped.

The hidden passageways help me find the backs of unwitting men.

I work with surgical precision, nicking the backs of their knees or incapacitating them without doing too much harm. For a split second, I almost believe I really am skilled - until I spot the weapons in their hands. Pitchforks, spades, makeshift wooden shields.

Most of these people are not trained for combat. They are just...villagers. Farmers.

But this is no time for sentiment. I clear the corridor and allow the castle to do the rest.

Then, I race to the Centre Wing in search of Isabelle.

Someone else finds me instead.

A pair of hands shove me from behind. The force of it sends me sprawled face-first onto the first steps of the grand staircase, my forehead thudding against the corner of a step.

For a split second I cannot see. I turn around and scramble further up the staircase.

My vision refocuses and a face comes into view. It takes me a quick second to reconcile that cruel grin with a familiar face. I almost drop my weapon.

“Keenan?”

“Witch,” he spits back, his grin twisted into triumph at the target he’s just caught. “Look at what you’ve unleashed upon us all.”

He raises his dagger to strike, but I roll out of the way in time. My head spins. Something warm trickles down my nose from my forehead, but I cannot think of my injuries now.

Seeing him here makes my stomach turn. I remember when he used to tug at my ponytails when we were children, and I would throw small stones at him as punishment.

“Where is Francis?” The thought of having to cross blades with my oldest friend’s husband frightens me to no end.

He smirks derisively. “That coward knows not how to refuse his own missus.”

Before I can heave a sigh of relief, he swipes with his blade again, and again, and again. I block and parry, but this dance is wearing me out quickly.

Soon he knocks me over with the full force of his weight. I am thrown down the three steps. I land on my bottom - hard. He rushes forward with unforgiving speed, as if I am a stranger.

Clang!

Isabelle is as agile as a spider. She skids across the floor on her knees and leaps up with equal speed to meet Keenan’s thrust. Even with the jarring difference in experience, she holds up long enough against Keenan’s strength.

I clamber for my weapon and leap up just in time to meet the clash of another’s club. I am kept busy until I find an opening, and I knock the man’s chin with the hilt of my blade. He sinks to the ground.

I turn to Isabelle and Keenan. There is a flash of blades. One of their weapons skids across the floor.

Isabelle pants hard, gripping her blade in front of her. Keenan’s back retreats towards me. She follows. But for a split second, I catch it: that hesitation in her stance. Mercy.

She lowers her sword.

Keenan must see it, too, because he lowers his own surrendered hands slowly. But the streaming sunlight from the open doors catches against a gleaming metal strapped behind his back.

He snags it free of its handle, but he never touches Isabelle.

Instead, my dagger plants itself into the side of his neck. He sinks to his knees.

Isabelle’s eyes widen in horror. I never want to touch my dagger again, but then I remember that I need it. It takes a horrific amount of force to yank it out from between his muscles. When his body thuds softly against the ground, I glance at my blood-soaked hands and realize they are shaking madly.

Isabelle and I glare mutely at each other. Neither of us knows what to say.

But before I can even formulate a thought, a flood of battle cries fills our ears.

The rest of them have found us. I spin on my heels.

And freeze.

Leading the group are two men, clad in royal reds and golds: soldiers. One of them is Damian.

The other is holding Imogen at knifepoint.

Out of the corner of my eye, Bayorn bolts in from one of the corridors. He skids to a halt when he catches Imogen’s wide eyes.

“You do not need to be told that you are outnumbered and surrounded!” the soldier booms, every syllable carrying the air of authority, as if he has any idea who he is about to cross.

“Release your animal, and we will do the same for her.”

I shake my head. Look to Damian. But he is watching Bayorn, waiting for the livid guard to pounce.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” Isabelle finds her words quicker than I do. “We have it under control. Please, please just leave!”

The soldier contemplates on her desperate expression with a look of disapproval, as if we are misunderstanding children. He shakes his head once and clears his throat.

“I will count to three. If you do not release the beast before then, her head will no longer be attached to her body. One…”

Imogen bursts into tears.

“Give us more time,” Bayorn snaps, his words rushed into panic. He lowers his weapon to the ground slowly, as if any sudden movements will end her. When he holds up both hands, he reveals bloodied sleeves. He is injured. “We have kept it far out of your danger -”

“Two.”

“Wait. Wait!” I cry, surging forward. But Imogen’s eyes lock with mine.

In a fraction of a second, she shakes her head in a motion so miniscule, yet so undeniable.

I stop.

The man huffs, already bored.

“Three.”

He moves his arm with deadly practice, as if slicing an envelope open.

Imogen’s body drops like a ragdoll.

I do not know who is screaming. All at once, the mob rushes forward, ready to drown us in our moment of vulnerability. Bayorn finds me first, but I cannot hear the orders he is shouting at me. My ears are ringing. I turn my head to the angry, muted faces.

The ground trembles beneath my feet.

At first I think my legs are giving way. But then Isabelle and Bayorn stumble into me.

Then the ground splits. A hairline crack travels across the hall and widens like a cavernous mouth. Some people trip and fall into it. Some people jump across in time, and Bayorn and Isabelle meet them.

Behind us, Lady Selaena’s eyes are a storm. The furniture goes wild, books and shards of ceramic and glass flying across the space at howling assailants.

Then Bayorn’s orders sharpen in my ears: “Find Kieran!”

I look at Selaena. She nods once at me, and I cannot afford to think twice.

I run from one nightmare into the next.