Cursed, p.24
Cursed, page 24
She stiffened. A hundred terrible possibilities crashed through her. She had not seen Gild since the morning after the Straw Moon when he had been taken away in golden chains to the dungeons. As the Erlking had not broken any more of her fingers, she could only assume Gild was obeying the king’s orders and spinning straw into gold, likely night and day.
She had not dared ask about Gild, for fear the Erlking would come to know the full extent of her feelings for him, but also because she could not stand to know if he was being beaten or tortured. At least, in her denial, she could go on imagining him as he had been the first night she had met him in the Adalheid dungeons. Cheeky and unkempt and utterly exasperating.
But she was not a fool. Spinning was laborious work, even for a poltergeist, and she could imagine how he loathed every moment, knowing that the Erlking had won.
She followed Manfred out of the room. Though it was a different castle, she could not help reliving her long walk to the dungeons of Adalheid, when she had been certain the Erlking would murder her come morning.
Funny, she thought, how so many things had changed, and so many things had not changed at all.
As they descended into the castle sublevels, she found herself surrounded by knotted, ancient tree roots. The alder tree, forming the foundation on which Gravenstone had been built.
The cell itself was crafted of iron bars, though, for she supposed even magical tree roots would yield beneath a sword or claws or … persistent fingernails.
She braced herself for the first sight of Gild. She would not cry, she vowed. Not if his face was swollen and bruised, not if his bones were broken or his clothes stained with blood. She would be strong, for his sake.
Then Manfred opened the door, she spotted Gild, and all expectations crashed to the floor.
He was sitting on a pile of straw, arms defiantly crossed, a stubborn tilt to his chin.
No blood. No bruises. No broken bones.
His eyes landed on Serilda and he leaped to his feet. “You’re here!” he cried, reaching her in three giant steps and swooping her into his arms. Serilda gasped, too stunned to return the crushing embrace.
“You’re all right?” she asked. Tears stung her eyes at her eyes as he pulled away, holding her at arm’s length. “I thought for sure you’d be…” She trailed off, not wanting to put her fears into words.
“Could say the same of you,” he said, inspecting her from head to toe. He took her hands into his, studying every finger. “I didn’t know what he was doing to you. I kept thinking—” His voice hitched and he swallowed hard. “I told him I refused to spin anymore until I could see with my own eyes that you were all right.” His next words were barely a whisper. “He hasn’t hurt you?”
Serilda shook her head. “No. Not since … that first day. And you?”
“I’m fine. Great, in fact. Been spinning day and night, and I feel like my fingers are going to fall off, but look at all my new spoons.” He gestured to a pile of wooden spoons thrown haphazardly into a corner. “Who knew His Grump could be so generous?”
Serilda was so surprised to find herself laughing that she nearly started to weep. “It’s a fine collection.”
He shrugged, his expression darkening. “It satisfies the magic’s need to be paid, but somehow, I don’t think Hulda would be happy about it.”
“I’m just glad you’re all right. I’ve been so worried. Thank the gods.”
“You can thank me,” said a sharp voice.
Serilda spun around as the Erlking emerged from a shadowed alcove.
“I assure you, the gods have little to do with my mercy.”
Gild gave Serilda’s hand a quick squeeze before releasing her, but the Erlking still took note of the action. His expression was serene, though, as he flashed them an expectant smile.
“There you have it,” he said. “You wanted proof that she is not being harmed, and I have delivered it. Now, then. You have work to do, as do I. Manfred, take her away.”
“Wait!” Serilda cried, grasping for Gild’s elbow.
The Erlking raised an irritated eyebrow at her.
“Five minutes,” she said. “Please, can we have five minutes?”
He scoffed. “Why would I allow that? Manfred.”
Manfred stepped forward, but Serilda pressed closer to Gild, who instinctively wrapped his arms around her.
“You will allow it, or I won’t spin anymore,” said Gild.
The Erlking laughed. “As you wish. Don’t spin anymore. I’ll enjoy breaking out my wife’s teeth with an old chisel. I’m sure I saw one lying around here somewhere.”
Pulling away from Gild, Serilda thundered closer to the king. “A word with you,” she growled, before storming off down the corridor.
The Erlking sauntered after her. “I am not in the habit of bowing to the demands of mortals.”
She spun back to face him. “Yet follow you did,” she snapped.
His eyes flashed, but she ignored the warning in them and stepped closer, until she had to crane her neck to meet his eye. “Do you think I won’t tell the whole court that you are not the father of this child?”
The warning morphed into a growing threat. “Careful, miller’s daughter. You know the consequences of going back on our bargain.”
“Yet I would do it, to spite you. What would the court think, when they realize the child you intend to raise as your heir is nothing but the child of a nobody farmer? Human down to their bones.”
The king’s eyes narrowed, calculating. “A nobody farmer?” he said coolly. “Here I had begun to wonder if that was only one more lie.”
His gaze flicked meaningfully toward Gild’s cell.
Serilda scoffed. “What an imagination you have.” She planted her hands on her hips. “I am only asking for five minutes to speak with him. To see that he is being well taken care of. Five minutes.” She tilted her head. “What are you afraid will happen?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. He slowly inhaled through his nostrils.
Without answer, he spun away and gestured toward Manfred. “I am needed in the rotunda,” he growled. “Give them five minutes, and not a second longer. And do not leave them alone.”
With one last warning look at Serilda, he swept from the corridors.
Though he tried to appear indifferent, Serilda could tell by the widening of Manfred’s good eye that he was impressed by her bargaining skills. And, likely, curious to know what, exactly, had been said.
But he didn’t pry. Instead, a glint of defiance came into that eye. “I noticed a horrific number of cobwebs in the corridor that mustn’t be tolerated. I don’t suppose you would mind if I go take care of that?”
Her chest warmed. “Not at all.”
“Good. I’ll leave the door parted a bit, so as not to leave you alone.”
She couldn’t be sure of it, but Serilda thought the squint of his eye was an attempt to wink, before he left the cell, leaving the door ajar barely the width of his thumb.
“Always did like him,” said Gild.
Serilda turned back, overcome—with gratitude, with relief.
With desperation. The clock was already ticking.
She threw herself into Gild’s arms.
“What did you say to His Glumness to make him leave?”
“Nothing of importance. Come, tell me everything.”
“I have nothing to tell,” said Gild. “How long have I been down here?”
“Four weeks. Tonight is the Harvest Moon.”
Gild groaned. “And I thought time passed slowly in Adalheid.”
Serilda looked at the pile of straw, to the spinning wheel in the cell’s corner. “How much have you spun?”
“Enough to capture every animal in the Aschen Wood,” he said, rolling a kink from his shoulders. “I didn’t even know I could get blisters anymore.” He lifted his hands to show her the sore spots on his palms and fingers. “And I’ve got a permanent ache in my leg from stepping on that damned treadle. I’ll be happy to never spin again after this.”
“Gild—you shouldn’t be doing this. He plans to catch a god. He’s going to bring back Perchta—”
“Do I have another choice?” He wrapped one of Serilda’s braids around his fingers. “I can’t let him hurt you. Just like you can’t let him hurt those children.”
She slumped, frustrated with how easily the Erlking had manipulated them.
“Besides, let him bring back his huntress. I killed her once, didn’t I? I can do it again.”
“Can you?”
He laughed and shrugged. “Probably not. I’ve no idea how I did it the first time. Something about an arrow? I am decent at archery.”
“It’s also possible Tyrr had something to do with that.”
Tyrr, the god of archery and war, was often credited with a lucky shot.
Gild groaned. “You want to give the gods credit for everything. But I don’t want to talk about Perchta or the Erlking or spinning gold. Serilda … we’re in Gravenstone.” He fixed her with a meaningful look. “Have you … I mean … have you seen her?”
Serilda stared at him. “Perchta?”
He made a face. “My sister.”
Understanding bolted through her. Serilda had thought of the princess often in the first days since their arrival, but since then she’d been distracted by haunting whispers and drude attacks.
She shook her head. “She isn’t here. The castle was abandoned.”
Disappointment clouded his face. “He took her because of me. He had heard that one of the royal children was Hulda-blessed, and he’d assumed it was her.”
“She might have been a gold-spinner, too,” she said. “Maybe it runs in your blood.”
His mouth lifted on one side, and she had to admit that the possibility wasn’t much consolation.
“What do you think she was like?” Serilda asked.
Gild’s expression softened, and she knew he had thought of this often since learning that the girl in the portrait was his sister. “Silly,” he said. “I think she was very silly. I know the painter tried to make her seem all proper, but I don’t think that’s right. I can imagine her sitting for hours, being told to hold still, stop fidgeting. But that wasn’t in her nature.” He began to smile as he spoke, but all at once, the look darkened again. “But I’m just making that up. Who knows what she was like?”
His hand dropped to his side. Serilda took it into hers, lacing their fingers together. “She must still be out there, Gild. Somewhere. Don’t lose hope.”
His expression turned wry. “The truth is, when I looked at her portrait, it didn’t feel like I was looking at my sister. It just felt like looking at a stranger.” He sighed. “She isn’t here, but you are.” He tenderly cupped her neck, stroking his thumb along her jaw. “You’re all that matters to me.”
“Don’t say that—”
“It’s true. You want me to have hope? This is my hope. You and me, Serilda. Someday. Away from these haunted castles. In some village, dancing in the sunshine, telling stories in the public house. Maybe it’s impossible, but … it might be all I have left.”
A tear slipped from her lashes. “Gild, I—”
Manfred cleared his throat, and even rapped lightly at the door before pulling it open. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice gruffer than usual. “I gave you six minutes. I don’t think it would be wise to give you more.”
Serilda lowered her head. Sniffed. Slowly released him.
Gild let his hands fall to his sides.
They shared one lingering look, before she let herself be led away.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
There had been little talk of the hunt since coming to Gravenstone, and Serilda had begun to fear the hunters would not ride out on the Harvest Moon. But, when the sun set and the moonlight filtered through the alder tree’s boughs, to Serilda’s relief, the hunt seemed eager to depart. The hounds were all but salivating, pulling at their chains to be free. The horses, too, pranced excitedly as they were led to the colonnade that acted as a boundary between the castle and the forest beyond.
Serilda spotted Agathe among them. The weapons master had been avoiding Serilda since her betrayal, and this night was no different. Agathe kept her gaze focused on the gates, turned resolutely from Serilda.
The Erlking and his steed were the last to trot by. He paused and studied Serilda, standing just outside the castle’s black-stone door, gripping Gerdrut’s and Anna’s hands.
“I will know if you attempt to visit the poltergeist again,” he said.
Her eyebrows lifted. “And what will happen if I do?”
The Erlking’s gaze slipped meaningfully to the hollow cavity in Gerdrut’s chest, then slowly back up to Serilda. “Leave him be. His work is not finished.”
Serilda tipped her chin toward the hunters. Every one of them now wore chains of gold looped on their belts and overflowing from the packs on their steeds. “Unless you’re planning to set sail for the Molnig Sea and capture a kraken, I suspect you have enough chains for whatever beast you might encounter.”
The Erlking smiled. “I have always wanted a kraken.” He twisted around in his saddle. “It could live in the lake at Adalheid.”
She huffed. “I hope it drowns you all.”
His grin widened. “I will have to take my chances another night. We have a different prize in mind for this hunt.”
Serilda could tell he wanted her to ask what it was, which was precisely why she didn’t. Instead, she dipped into a half-hearted curtsy. “Then fair hunting and good riddance, my lord.”
“How quickly the blush of early love has faded,” he said. “Such a shame.”
With that, he pulled the hunting horn from his belt and released its sorrowful croon. Seconds later, he and the hunt had gone.
Nickel looked up at Serilda. “I don’t care what he plans to do to us. I would love to go visit the poltergeist.”
Serilda released Gerdy’s hand to ruffle Nickel’s hair. “I would love to visit him, too. Unfortunately, I do care what His Grim would do to you, and I won’t risk it.” She tilted her head back to look at the umbrella of tree boughs glowing silver with moonlight. “It would be a shame to squander such a perfect night, though, with the hunt finally gone. What shall we do?”
“Oh—hide and seek!” suggested Fricz. “Think how many great hiding places there are here.”
Hans frowned at the castle entry hall. “Too many, don’t you think? We’d never find one another. Gerdy would be lost until Eostrig’s Day.”
“We could limit how far we can go,” suggested Anna. “Maybe just play in the courtyard?”
The courtyard stood in the center of the sprawling castle grounds, just inside the first colonnade, easy to find because that’s where the alder tree grew. From just about anywhere in the castle, one could turn their head upward or look out a window and see the great trunk reaching toward the sky. It was a handy landmark, Serilda discovered, as she navigated the expansive fortress.
A sprawl of massive roots lay like a nest of vipers at the alder’s base, so that only a narrow pathway of broken stones wound along the outer wall. Up close, the tree’s illness was even more apparent. Its bark was crumbling and dry. The lowest hanging branches drooped limply toward the ground, many blackened and barren of leaves. As with the meadow outside the castle walls, a layer of brittle leaves filled the courtyard beneath the alder tree.
There were a few structures scattered along the far end of the courtyard—storage sheds and stables, a large smithy, a water well, and the like.
“Well,” started Hans, scratching the back of his neck, “there aren’t too many hiding places, but I suppose we’ll make do.”
“I know!” shouted Gerdrut, bouncing on her toes. “Let’s play Thirteen! We haven’t played that in ages.”
This suggestion was met with exuberant approval, and within seconds Serilda had been dubbed the seeker. She shut her eyes and counted down from thirteen, listening to the rapid stomp of footsteps as the children raced to secure hiding places.
“Three … two … one!”
Her eyes snapped open. Serilda looked around, straining to listen for telltale squirming and giggles. Gerdrut was almost always the first one to be found, as she simply hadn’t learned to hold still long enough. Anna was usually not far behind.
But from her place by the stone door, Serilda saw no one.
Hitching up her skirt hem, she took three enormous steps forward into the courtyard—all the movement that was allowed her.
No sign of the children.
“All right, I’m going to count again,” she called, shutting her eyes. This time, she started at twelve.
Immediately, the patter of feet could be heard as the children raced away from their hiding spots and came to tag Serilda while she counted. She felt the flutter of little hands smacking her, before they each darted away again to find new havens.
“One!”
She opened her eyes and searched around. No one.
“Hmm,” she said loudly, her fingers tapping her lips. “Where might they be?”
This time, she used her three steps to move to the left. Still, no sign of the children.
“Ready to go again?” she said. The countdown became shorter now, with only eleven seconds for the children to scramble from their places, tag Serilda, and find a new place to hide.
This time, when she opened her eyes, she was sure she saw a flutter of movement among one of the tree roots, but even after taking her three steps, she could not see the children.
“You are too good at this!” she said with a laugh.
She counted again from ten.
And again from nine.
Each time, taking three large steps, making a slow, winding path around the sprawling tree roots. Each time, searching what nooks and crannies she could see. But the children continued to elude her.
She started again from eight.
Giggles and racing footsteps. The brush of fingertips before the footsteps hastily retreated.
“Two … one!”
Serilda opened her eyes.
Movement caught her attention. A flash of golden curls disappearing behind the water well.
