The Kingdom

by Amanda Stevens

  “I know,” I murmured. “I feel it, too.”

  The oppression. The weight of those mountains bearing down on us.

  I heard a crack and looked up to see a boulder crashing toward us. It hit the highway directly in front of the car, releasing a shower of rocks and gravel that pelted my hood and windshield. I was so startled, I swerved too sharply and almost lost control of the wheel on the wet pavement. Righting the vehicle, I pulled to the side of the road to catch my breath and settle my nerves.

  The boulder had been close. Too close. A very dark omen.

  I wanted to believe it was just bad timing, but I had a feeling it was more than that. I had been warned.

  “It’s coming,” I whispered and Angus whimpered.

  * * *

  I had decided on the drive back that if anyone could help me, it would be Tilly. I headed straight for her house, but the dirt road through the woods had washed out, and I had to park my car and hike most of the way on foot. Halfway there it started to rain again, and I was soaked and miserable by the time I stepped up on her porch. She didn’t answer my knock, so I went around back to see if she might be working with the birds. The feeders and houses were empty, the trees disturbingly silent. I might have taken the quiet for another omen if I hadn’t realized the bad weather had chased the birds away.

  Angus huddled under the porch as I climbed the steps and opened the screen door. “Tilly?”

  No answer.

  I moved across the porch and tried the back door. It opened silently, and I stuck my head in, calling out her name.

  Still no answer.

  I pushed open the door and moved into the kitchen. “Tilly? Are you in here? It’s me, Amelia.”

  I stopped just inside the door and looked around. Nothing seemed out of place, but I’d only been inside the house once before. I might not notice if a chair had been moved or a cupboard rearranged. Something was different, though. I could feel it. Sense it.

  “Tilly?” The echo of her name in that silent house was eerie and foreboding. I made myself move out of the kitchen and into the living room. Nothing out of place in there, either, except for a pair of muddy boots at the front door where Tilly had undoubtedly left them.

  I walked down the tiny hallway. The front bedroom door was open and I peaked inside. It was small and sparsely furnished with an iron bedstead and an oak dresser. I saw myself in the mirror, face pale and drawn, eyes wide with fright. Yes, I was frightened. Fear had an icy grip on my spine as I inched deeper into the house.

  In the bathroom, I found blood splotches in the sink and bits of glass on the floor.

  My every instinct screamed for me to get out of the house, quickly, the same way I’d come in. But I couldn’t. Not until I found Tilly. She could be lying hurt somewhere. She could be—

  A sound froze me in my tracks. My hand flew to my chest as if I could quell the panic that accelerated my heartbeat and drove the air from my lungs.

  Someone was in the house, and I didn’t think it was Tilly. She would have answered me when I called out.

  The wood floor creaked as someone slipped down the hallway toward me. I didn’t dare move for fear of giving myself away. But I couldn’t just stand there. I needed to find a place to hide.

  The creaking stopped. Not as if the footsteps had moved away but as if someone had paused in midstride because they’d heard a sound or sensed a presence. And now they waited with suspended breath on the other side of the wall.

  I lifted a foot, and the screech of the floorboard drew a cringe. Out in the hallway, a shadow crept along the wall.

  A moment later, Catrice appeared in the doorway, and we both screamed.

  “Amelia!” She clutched her sweater around her.

  I stood there trembling. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was in town. I saw you drive through and I followed you.” She glanced around anxiously. “Tilly isn’t here?”

  “I thought your car was broken down.”

  Her gaze darted away. “I…just got it fixed.”

  Her nervous demeanor confirmed what I had suspected all along—that our meeting in town that day hadn’t been coincidental at all. I doubted she’d even had car trouble.

  “Why did you follow me?” I asked sharply.

  “I have to talk to you,” she muttered. “I just hope—”

  “What?”

  “I’m so worried about Tilly.”

  “Why?” When she didn’t answer, I grabbed her arms. “There’s blood in here. Do you know something about that?”

  Her eyes widened. “Blood? Are you sure?”

  “Of course, I’m sure. See for yourself if you don’t believe me. But first, tell me why you’re looking for Tilly.”

  She looked distraught as her gaze flitted around the bathroom like a frightened bird’s. “I never thought it would come to this. You have to believe me.”

  “Come to what? Is Tilly in some kind of trouble?”

  Her brown eyes filled with tears as she nodded. “I’m afraid she might be.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Bad trouble. I think she’s in danger.”

  “From whom?”

  Catrice closed her eyes. “From Freya’s killer.”

  My heart jumped. “Who killed her?”

  “It could have been any one of us,” she whispered. “We were all there that night. And we’d talked about doing it before. Luna said we needed an offering and Freya was so easy to manipulate.”

  “An offering…for what?”

  “It was just talk, a stupid game,” she babbled. “I never thought anyone would go through with it.”

  “But someone did.”

  “Yes.”

  “Who was there?”

  “We three girls, Hugh and Edward. Freya had told Edward earlier that she was pregnant with his baby. He was in shock. We all were, especially considering that she was almost ready to deliver. She kept to herself so much and she had such a small frame that no one suspected. And why would we? Who would ever dream that he would be so careless with someone like…with an outsider? Luna was furious because she’d always planned to have the first Asher grandchild. Hugh wasn’t exactly thrilled, either. And poor Bryn. She was the most devastated of all.”

  “Why?”

  “She was crazy about Edward. She would have done anything to get his attention, and there he was, sleeping around with someone like Freya Pattershaw.”

  “And you?”

  She drew a trembling breath. “Oh, yes. I had my reasons, too. I wanted to fit in just as badly as Freya, so I went along with the game. And all these years…” She glanced down at her hands. Her fingers had curled back as though the joints were afflicted with arthritis. “I should have come forward a long time ago but I didn’t have the courage. I’ve been such a coward.”

  “It’s not too late. You can still make it right. Catrice…who killed her? You must have some idea.”

  “I swear I don’t know,” she said desperately. “Don’t you see? That’s the way we planned it. None of us would know…except the killer. We lured her up there and then we scared her into running off. It was like a game of hide-and-seek. We split up and searched for her. Whoever found her first…” She trailed off. “We would all be complicit, but only one would have blood on their hands.”

  “But what about the fire?”

  “That was just a cover. We all panicked when we realized…when Freya never turned up, so Luna went to Pell. She convinced him that Edward had killed Freya. Naturally, he took care of everything. The fire, the funeral arrangements. Everything.”

  “How did Tilly burn her hands?”

  “Somehow she got word of the blaze. A lot of people had gathered to watch the building burn, but no one tried to do anything to help. When Tilly got there, she tried to get Freya out. That was hard to watch because Freya was never inside. She had already been killed when Pell had the fire set.”

  And Tilly knew that. So why had she rushed into that burning
building?

  “Wouldn’t it have made more sense to put Freya’s body in the building?”

  “That would have given the killer away because no one else knew where the body was. And we promised ourselves we’d never tell a living soul. We’d just forget what had been done. Forget about Freya.” She touched a hand to her forehead. “But someone must have seen. They dug up the body and delivered Freya’s baby. It had to be Tilly. No one else could have done it.”

  I pictured that lonely grave in the laurel bald. Freya’s grave. My grave.

  “If Tilly knew Freya was in that grave, why would she try to get her out of a burning building?”

  “Maybe she was already unhinged. Or maybe…” Catrice had gone very pale. “Maybe she knew that was what we would have expected her to do. Maybe she didn’t want us to know that she’d found the body because she was afraid for you. She burned her hands trying to protect you.”

  I went very still. “You know who I am?” I asked in a strained voice.

  “You have a certain way of turning your head…a certain way you smile. I see Edward in you.”

  “Who else knows?”

  “Luna, Bryn and Hugh. Pell, of course, because he’s the one who brought you here. You’re his last hope of producing an Asher heir. You and Thane.”

  I stared at her in shock. “What do you mean?”

  “He arranged to have you brought here so that Thane could seduce you.”

  “No. That’s not true. He wouldn’t have anything to do with that.”

  She looked at me with pity. “It is true. But Pell selfishly put you in danger because the fact that you’re alive proves Freya didn’t die in that fire.”

  “Thane didn’t know,” I said numbly.

  She put a comforting hand on my arm, but I jerked away from her.

  She searched my face. “Don’t you understand?” she asked softly. “He’d do anything to solidify his position in that family. I think he might cut off his right arm for the chance of giving Pell Asher a grandson.”

  I thought of Tilly’s warning about Thane. He covets what can never be his. And I thought about that night we were together in the cemetery, how the evil had found a way in through his weakness.

  Terror washed over me at what might already have been done. “I’m calling the police.”

  “You can’t,” Catrice said. “Not the local police. Wayne is too afraid of the Ashers to help us, and it’ll take too long for the state police to get here. Or even the county patrol. They’d have to come across on the next ferry because the back roads will be flooded by now. In this weather, it could take hours for them to get here.” Her gaze slowly lifted. “We’re completely isolated.”

  Thirty-Five

  I don’t know why I headed to the laurel bald, to Freya’s grave, but I had a strong sense that Tilly had gone there. Maybe I’d inherited her uncanny intuition, or maybe I could somehow hear her calling out to me. Maybe it was Freya’s ghost that guided me. I only knew that the pull was too powerful to ignore. And I knew of no place else to look for her.

  It was raining again by the time Angus and I reached the cemetery. As I charged through the woods with my mace and a handful of tools—make-do weapons—I’d grabbed from the back of my car, I told myself it was foolish to think that I could save my grandmother single-handedly. Or that I could trust anything that came out of Catrice’s mouth. By her own admission, she had helped plan a murder. And yet…what choice did I have? Freya was lost to me forever. I didn’t want to lose Tilly now that I’d only just found her.

  As Angus and I crested the hill, I tried yet again to call the state police, but I still couldn’t get a signal. I thought about calling Thane, but what if Tilly was right? What if he’d been in league with his grandfather all along?

  The thought of his deception cut like a knife, but I didn’t have time for self-pity. Later, I could look back and dissect our every conversation, searching for clues and nuances that might have given him away. But now was not that time. Not with Tilly’s life on the line. She’d brought me into this world, and she’d never once hesitated to protect me. How could I not do the same for her?

  I scrambled down the overhang, and my heart started to pound as I approached the grave. My grave. Angus was acting very strangely. He sniffed the leaves and pawed at the ground, and I thought perhaps he’d picked up my scent. But when I called his name, he whirled with bared teeth and feverish eyes.

  My stomach tensed as I watched him warily. “Angus? What’s wrong, boy?”

  He answered with a low growl, and I drew back on a gasp. What had come over him?

  He crouched and circled as I stood frozen, Papa’s terrible warning thundering in my head: Those closest to you are the most dangerous because it will try to use them to weaken you.

  “Not you, Angus,” I whispered.

  He continued to circle, hair bristled, until I had no choice but to slowly back away. He returned to the grave then, but he kept his agitated gaze on me. He didn’t try to approach or attack. I wondered if he only meant to scare me away.

  The rain was still coming down, and I could hear the steady drip on the leaves. And something else. Something familiar and instantly alarming. A splintering sound…

  I couldn’t identify the noise, but I knew—somehow I knew—that the killer was just beyond the overhang, just beyond my line of sight.

  I remembered something Catrice had told me once. The three of them—she, Bryn and Luna—were like blood sisters, and they knew these hills like their own backyard.

  And what of Hugh? Could he be out there searching for me, too?

  Like Freya before me, I had been drawn into their dastardly game, but I couldn’t let myself think about my birth mother’s gruesome end or the horrifying way I’d come into this world. I couldn’t think about Thane’s duplicity or Angus’s betrayal. I had to keep a clear head—

  A silhouette appeared at the top of the overhang—black-clad with ax in hand—and I turned with a gasp, plunging recklessly through the bald. I almost expected Angus to lunge after me, but he stayed at the grave, watching over something that I couldn’t see.

  Limbs whiplashed my face and yanked at my hair as I ran blindly, driven by pure terror and the memory of Freya’s ghost. I kept up the pace until the mountain laurel thickened, the branches becoming so tightly entwined I could barely claw my way through. Any light that might have shimmered through the rain clouds was completely obliterated by the low-hanging canopy, and I was soon hopelessly lost.

  Emerging into a tiny clearing, I bent to rest, hands on knees, as I tried to catch my breath and corral my racing heart.

  Lifting my head, I listened for sounds of pursuit, but all I could hear was the relentless patter of rain and the buzz of mosquitoes around my face. No, that wasn’t quite true. If I listened closely, I could hear the waterfall in the distance. I tried to orient myself to the sound, but I’d strayed too far into laurel hell, and now I’d lost all sense of direction. A more effective trap, I could hardly imagine.

  I hunkered in that little clearing, wet and trembling and petrified of what waited for me somewhere in that maze. If the sameness of the landscape befuddled under the best of circumstances, navigating that solid wall in a full-blown panic appeared hopeless. I found myself turning in a slow circle, searching for some clue that would lead me to Tilly. To safety. All around me, the skeletal forms pressed in on me, the grasping branches like disembodied ghost arms reaching for me from the mist.

  Then over the rain, I again heard a cracking sound, rhythmic and steady, and now I knew what it was. The killer was using the ax to hack a path through the tangle of limbs, and the noise was getting louder as the hunter closed in on the prey. There was no need for stealth. I was already cornered.

  Hand to heart, I strained to pinpoint the direction. It was coming from my right, I thought. No, to the left. No…right… .

  As if tugged by a string, my head moved back and forth. Thoroughly disoriented by that treacherous labyrinth, I found m
yself momentarily paralyzed, terrified of fleeing straight into danger.

  Curling my hand around a knotty branch, I clung as if to a lifeline. I heard nothing now. No chopping, no footfalls, no ragged breaths other than my own. In that bated silence, my fingers tightened convulsively around the brittle limb as I imagined the killer’s hand gripping the ax.