Do you recognize him?I asked Lore.
He studied the poor man.I sent him on a scouting mission. When he didn’t come back, I thought borgons had taken him.
A shudder jerked through me. Was he still alive inside, watching us like we watched him?
This could be my imagination, but I’d swear his eyes followed us as we moved.
“Fuck,” Dorion muttered, the word echoed by Farris’s whine.
The garden closed in around us, trees swaying down lower and vines skittering across the ground as if shoved by wind I did not feel. In fact, it was utterly, horrifyingly, still here.
The air grew heavy, clogged with the sickly sweet scent of flowers.
When a vine snapped toward us, Lore sent a spear of ice its way, locking it in place. It shriveled before turning gray, only to rejuvenate in a murky shade of swamp green.
We picked up our pace, Farris trotting a few steps ahead only to peer back at us over his shoulder with urgency in his expression. His tail remained spiked out behind him and the fur on his back stuck up in all directions.
Every turn of the path revealed more stone statues, more faces frozen in pain and fear.
“What a way to greet guests,” I huffed.
Dorion snorted.
Lore lifted his hand and traced a symbol in the air. Ashimmering ward arched around us. “It won’t make us invisible, but it’ll keep our voices inside.”
“They can still watch.” I couldfeelthem.
“They have been for some time.” Likely from the moment our vehicles pulled onto Irridain land.
We rounded another bend. At the far edge of the garden, before the hill road began its climb, a final statue had been placed apart from the others.
The woman stood upright, one hand raised, her fingers curled as if she’d once held something that was now gone. Her hair had been sculpted in an intricate arrangement on the top of her head, and her cloak had frozen in a billow behind her. Her head hung, however, shadowing her face.
Lore’s gaze flicked from the statue to the nearest vine that hissed and snapped away the moment his eyes fell on it. The other vine may have recovered from Lore’s freezing touch, but they didn’t like it and were wisely wary.
Farris trotted over to sniff the woman’s feet. He sat and looked up at her, releasing a low howl.
I didn’t know why I did it, but I left the path and walked over to look up at the woman.
A guttural groan sliced up my throat, and I reeled backward.
Lore flitted to me and snatched me up, moving us both back onto the path. He held me tight, staring down into my eyes.
“Don't look.” The words tore from my chest.
Lore was already moving, flitting to the figure with deadly grace. The sound that ripped from him when he saw her face was pure anguish wrapped in fury.
He returned to us, his jaw clenched so tight I could hear his teeth grinding.
“His mother,” I whispered to Dorion's questioning look.
His expression darkened with understanding. “A grief wraith,then. Perhaps all of them. The spell feeds on recent loss, reshaping the stone to mirror whoever you've mourned most deeply.” His voice dropped to a bare whisper. “Cruel magic. It doesn't know who you are, only that you're bleeding inside.”
He raised his hand, and fire erupted from his palm in a controlled blaze, engulfing the figure. Stone hissed and cracked under the heat. When the flames died back, a stranger's face stared back at us, its unremarkable features carved into something almost pleasant to look at.
“Better,” Dorion muttered, lowering his hand.
We continued past her, but I felt those new eyes tracking our movement, boring into our backs as we climbed toward the castle gates.
