She had freed him.

  Shaking, Serilda stuffed the arrow fragments into a pocket inside her cloak. He couldn’t see her. The Hunter’s Moon had not yet risen. But it would, soon, and then the veil would fall.

  “Where are we?” asked the princess. “What happened? Who is this?” She picked up a skull.

  “Adalheid. Serilda broke our curse. I don’t know. Come on.” Gild started for the edge of the pit, having no idea that Serilda was mere inches from him.

  “Adalheid!” cried the princess. “It worked? I’m out of Gravenstone?”

  “Very clever, Your Luminance.”

  Serilda spun around to see Giselle waiting in a doorway, tossing a knife into the air and catching it in such a blatant display of arrogance that it made Serilda want to laugh.

  Instead, she fought to mold her face into one of terror as she approached the side of the pit and climbed out on trembling limbs. Behind her, she could hear the princess’s persistent questions and remarks, but she tried to ignore her and Gild. They couldn’t see her. They couldn’t see the dark ones. They couldn’t help.

  She was alone now.

  “Please,” she said, raising her hands in supplication, “don’t hurt me.”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” Catching the knife, Giselle pointed it toward Gild as he and the princess scrambled from the pit. “You just cost my king one of his most prized possessions.”

  “Yes, well”—Serilda flashed a smile—“it isn’t the last thing I’ll be costing him tonight.”

  Giselle frowned.

  Serilda bolted toward the hall.

  The knife flew past her, clattering against the wall. Serilda exhaled, glad that her guess had been correct. If Giselle were any good with a knife, she would have been a hunter, not left behind to care for the animals.

  She passed the massive dining hall, a game room, then skidded through the doorway into the great hall. She rounded the massive fireplace. The rubinrot wyvern hung over the mantel, as hauntingly lifelike as it had always been, unmoved after all these years. Its slitted eyes seemed to follow her as she reached for the arrow embedded in its side.

  Her fingers wrapped around the shaft, and with a determined bellow, she yanked it free. The arrow’s black tip emerged, along with a chunk of flesh and shimmering scales. The force of it sent her flying backward and she landed on her rear end, panting as she gaped up at the massive beast.

  Giselle chased after her, face contorted. “Why do you keep running, little mort—”

  She cut off as the wyvern’s head swiveled in her direction. Its slitted green eyes blinked. Once. Twice. A forked tongue darted out from between a horrible maw lined with rows of needlelike teeth.

  With a low, vibrating growl, the wyvern yanked one wing and then the other away from the pins that had long held it in place on the castle wall. The beast shuddered with pain, but that didn’t keep it from extending great clawed forelegs toward the floor. It prowled toward Giselle, who backed slowly away.

  Serilda couldn’t recall ever having seen a dark one afraid. Truly afraid.

  Giselle raised a hand, as if she could reason with the creature. As if she could tame it with a few fatty slabs of meat. But she didn’t even have that to ward off this massive beast.

  Giselle pivoted on her heels. She started to run, just as the wyvern opened its jaws and spewed forth a rush of molten flames.

  Serilda screamed and scurried backward as an almost unbearable heat surged through the room.

  When the wyvern was finished, all that remained of Giselle was a black mark on the stone wall, and a tapestry smoldering away to ash.

  Serilda’s jaw dropped. She blinked once, twice, three times, before she managed to speak. “You killed her! You killed a demon! I didn’t think they could … be…”

  She trailed off as the wyvern swiveled to face her. It clomped closer on heavy, taloned limbs. Drops of oily blood splattered across the carpets from its open wound.

  Serilda trembled as she lifted the black arrow, still tinged with the wyvern’s blood. “T-Tyrr? My name is Serilda. I’m a godchild of Wyrdith. I’m not your enemy. I freed you.”

  Behind the wyvern, she caught sight of Gild and his sister creeping through the castle—though they were seeing a very different castle than she was. One that was long abandoned, left to decay under the burden of time.

  She swallowed, wishing Gild could see her. Wishing he knew she was there.

  But they were divided now, until the sun set. How much longer?

  She met Tyrr’s fearsome gaze again, and determined it was a good sign that the god hadn’t yet burned her up like a roast pig.

  The wyvern huffed, and a wave of heat scorched Serilda’s skin. Its nostrils flared. Its eyes narrowed.

  It took Serilda a moment to realize it was glaring, not at her, but at the arrow in her hand.

  “Oh—this isn’t mine!” she said. “I would never … um. Here.” She broke the arrow over her knee, then tossed the pieces into the hearth. “Better?”

  In the corridors, the thunder of footsteps rattled the walls. The clang of weapons.

  “The dark ones are coming. Please—I need your help.”

  The beast prowled closer, so close she could see her own reflection in its faintly glowing eyes. And she could see it. A wisdom deep in those narrow pupils. An ancient magic, breathtakingly powerful.

  Tyrr. God of archery. God of war.

  “Please,” she breathed, cowering. “Will you help me?”

  The beast snarled, sending a breath of steaming air over her.

  Then the wyvern bent its head low to the ground.

  It took Serilda a long moment to realize it was encouraging her to climb onto its back.

  “I … are you sure?” she said, scrambling to her feet.

  The beast gave a shake of its head, but did not throw her off as she grabbed on to the row of scales on its back and hauled herself up between its wings.

  Serilda had hardly grasped what was happening before the rubinrot wyvern was barreling toward the doors and launching itself out through the entry hall, stopping dozens of dark ones in their tracks.

  Then the flames started, surging through the crowd. Serilda kept her head lowered against Tyrr’s scales, afraid that the heat would blister her skin. But it did not last long. A second later, the wyvern was forging ahead, through the entry hall and onto the steps of the castle keep. The wyvern stretched its neck upward and roared at the gray twilit sky, trembling the stone walls all around them. Wings extended and, with two powerful thrusts, they were airborne.

  Serilda bit her cheek against a scream and ducked her head along the muscled back, gripping the scales as tightly as she could. The clouds were dark gray, and though she could not see the sun, she knew sunset was near. As the wyvern swooped over the castle walls, she spotted two figures racing across the drawbridge.

  Gild and his sister.

  “There!” she said, pointing. “Can you land us in front of those buildings?”

  At first, she didn’t think the wyvern would listen to her. Then it banked hard to the side.

  They dropped toward the ground. She felt the shimmer of the veil falling over the world just as they landed in front of Gild and his sister with a thump and a flap of enormous wings.

  Gild cried out, throwing his arm in front of his sister to protect her. His eyes widened as he took in the great golden beast with the ruby gem on its brow—and Serilda astride its back.

  She smiled at him, though her whole body was shaking and her hands would not release the wyvern’s scales. “We didn’t get Solvilde or Hulda,” she said, panting. “But we did free the god of war.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The streets of Adalheid were dark, the window shutters latched, not a candle or torchlight to be seen beneath the cloud-covered sky. But Serilda was still afraid that one of the townsfolk might decide to peel back their curtains and peer out to see if the wild hunt was screaming by, and she didn’t want them to see Tyrr. The dark ones were frightening enough. The people of Adalheid didn’t need to start having nightmares of wyverns in their midst, too.

  They retreated outside the gates, finding relative security in the graveyard that sprawled across the rolling hills north of the city.

  “Stay alert,” said Serilda, having finally caught her breath. “The veil is down and there can be vicious things in graveyards.” She shivered, thinking of when her father’s corpse had awoken as a nachzehrer.

  In response, the princess started to laugh.

  Gild and Serilda frowned at her and she cut off abruptly, as if surprised that they hadn’t joined her. She returned their frowns in force. “I am a vicious thing,” she said. “The graveyard should fear me.”

  Serilda couldn’t help the smile that crept across her mouth. Three hundred years old or not, it was impossible not to imagine this girl as a child playing make-believe.

  She knew that wasn’t fair to her, though. She had rallied countless monsters to her side and fought against Perchta and the dark ones. She had fought valiantly.

  “I will keep guard,” rumbled a throaty voice.

  Serilda started and spun around to find that she was face-to-face, not with a wyvern, but a human. They were shorter than Serilda, but stout and muscular, with a braid of long auburn hair tossed over one shoulder, full lips, and piercing green eyes. Most striking of all was the cut ruby that gleamed from the center of their forehead, marking the division of their face and body—half of which was covered in lizard-like scales, the other half in shining amber skin.

  Tyrr did not move while they gaped at them, as if they were used to humans being rendered speechless by their sudden appearance.

  “Th-thank you,” sputtered Serilda. “That would be appreciated.”

  With a slow incline of their head, Tyrr picked up a tree branch that had fallen from a nearby oak and cracked it over their knee before tossing away the less pointy end. They approached the side of a moss-covered tombstone and, with effortless grace, hauled themselves up on top. They crouched there, gripping their makeshift spear, still as a gargoyle.

  Serilda cleared her throat. Of all the times she’d imagined meeting the gods since she and Gild had concocted their plan, she hadn’t thought she would be quite so nervous around one.

  “I cannot wear this,” said the princess, picking at the nightgown she wore with disgust. “I want my armor back.”

  “Your armor is in Gravenstone,” said Serilda. “For now, it will have to do, until we can find you something else.”

  “Here,” said Gild, undoing the clasps down the front of his jerkin, the one he’d been wearing when he was cursed. Underneath was the same linen shirt he’d always worn, but much cleaner and newer looking. He handed the leather jerkin to the girl, who eyed it with distrust. “It’ll be big on you, but it’s the best we can do for now.”

  The girl huffed, but slipped it on over her nightgown. “It’s a bit better,” she admitted, her lip curled. “But what about my weapons? And my loom?”

  “Loom?” asked Gild.

  “For my tapestries,” she said, as if it should have been obvious.

  “Great gods,” muttered Serilda. “We broke your curse! We freed you from Gravenstone, like we said we would. We’re doing the best we can.”

  The girl lifted her chin, glaring at Serilda and then Gild. Finally, she said, “Yes, fine. I’m grateful.” She did not sound grateful. “And I like that you brought a god with you. I’d never seen a wyvern before.” She nodded up toward Tyrr approvingly.

  Tyrr raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  “Perhaps we should introduce ourselves?” said Serilda, noting that Gild’s eyes kept awkwardly alighting on the princess, then darting away, then back to her again.

  “I know who you are,” said the princess.

  Gild’s eyes widened. “You do?”

  “Well enough. Your faces have been appearing in my tapestries for centuries.” She gestured at Serilda. “Wyrdith-blessed and bride to the Erlking.” To Gild. “Gold-spinner. Hulda-blessed, like me.” Then to Tyrr. “God of war. Obviously.”

  Gild and Serilda exchanged looks.

  “Yes, well,” said Serilda, “it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

  The girl gave Serilda a knowing look. “You do seem like the sort that likes to complicate things.”

  “No, that’s not what I—” She huffed. “Gild, why don’t you start?” She nudged him in the side.

  “I … yes. I’m Gild.” He scrunched his shoulders nervously toward his ears.

  The princess stared, waiting.

  He glanced once at Serilda, as if begging for help, but she just nodded, urging him to continue.

  “And I’m…,” he started slowly, “the prince of Adalheid.”

  The princess’s keen eyes did not leave his. “Should I curtsy?”

  “No. No, no.” He cleared his throat. “Do you know who you are?”

  She stood taller, somehow making the oversize jerkin on top of her linen nightgown look almost respectable. “I am Erlenkönigin.”

  Serilda let out a startled laugh. “The Alder Queen?”

  The princess smiled slightly. “You may call me Erlen for short.”

  “Erlen,” repeated Gild. “I like it.”

  “I didn’t ask your opinion.”

  His grin widened. “I like you.”

  The girl scoffed. “And I think you are a royal twit masquerading as a hero.”

  Above them, Tyrr chuckled.

  Gild cast them an affronted look and Tyrr schooled their face into stone again and made a show of scanning the graveyard for potential threats.

  Sighing, Gild reached for the chain around his neck. Months ago he had returned the locket to his mortal body, and now he lifted the chain over his head. “All right. But before you were the queen of Gravenstone, you were the princess of Adalheid.” He opened the locket, revealing the girl’s portrait inside.

  Erlen took it from him, inspecting the painting, tilting it one way and then the other. “When was this painted?”

  “Before you were taken by the Erlking,” said Gild. “Before we were both cursed. My memories of my life before were stolen from me.”

  “It’s a part of the curse placed on your family,” explained Serilda. “The Erlking erased the whole world’s memories of the royal family of Adalheid. Do you have any memories? From before you were in Gravenstone, I mean.”

  The princess stared at the portrait. “Not many. I remember a castle. Gardens. Learning to weave…” She looked up. “Should I remember you?”

  “No one does. Turns out, I’m awfully forgettable,” said Gild, trying to cover his sadness with a spark of humor.

  No one laughed.

  Gild cringed at himself, then reached forward to take the locket back from her. But she pulled back, hiding it in her fist. The gold ring on her finger glinted in the moonlight.

  “That ring,” said Gild. “It’s our family seal.”

  Erlen tilted her hand, peering at the engraved symbol of the tatzelwurm wrapped around the capital R. “I’ve had this ring since I can remember. Lost it once. Took it off when I was weaving because it kept getting caught on the loom. That was years ago.”

  “Gerdrut found it in the hall with all the tapestries,” said Serilda. “Gild has a ring just like it.”

  With a hard swallow, Gild held up his hand, showing his own royal seal.

  Erlen’s eyes narrowed. “Princess of Adalheid?”

  He nodded. “And … also … my sister.”

  They stared at each other a long moment, Gild’s eyes full of worry and hope, and Erlen’s eyes full of … doubt, mostly.

  But also a tinge of understanding.

  Finally the girl tore her gaze away and dropped it back to the portrait. She snapped the locket shut. “This girl looks like a pretty clay doll. That isn’t me. Not anymore.”

  She held the locket back for Gild, and he took it with a grin. “No. This girl never could have organized a bunch of monsters to set a trap for the Erlking.”

  She grunted. “Which you ruined.”

  “An honest mistake.” He shook his head, his expression giving in to the wonder he must have been stifling since they’d first seen Erlen in the lunar rotunda. “I thought you were dead. I thought the Erlking killed you all those years ago.”

  “Please,” said Erlen. “He just left me to rot away in that castle of his. The joke is on him, though, isn’t it? He underestimated me. He left me a prisoner, but I became a queen. It took less than a year to earn the respect and loyalty of the monsters he’d left behind. Turns out, the dark ones weren’t much nicer to them than they are to humans, so it was easy enough to claim them as my own.” She smiled haughtily, but it was quick to fade. “Though, I suppose I’m queen of nothing now. These last months have been the worst of all my years of captivity. Having to keep hidden while the dark ones acted like the castle was theirs. And now I don’t even have my dear monsters anymore. They were my family. My friends. But they fled after the battle and never came back and I … I failed them. They trusted me, and I failed them.”

  “You didn’t fail anyone,” said Serilda. “You were brave to stand against the dark ones. They are an impossible enemy.”

  “No. Not impossible,” said Erlen. “I’ve seen them defeated. Tossed back into the pits of Verloren. I thought that we … that I could … I thought maybe I could be the one to do it. To save us all.” She looked away, and for the first time, Serilda could see how she still had the heart of a little girl on the inside. A child doing her very best.

  “What do you mean, you’ve seen it?” asked Gild.

  She shot him a bewildered look. “In my tapestries, of course.”

  Gild’s brow furrowed.

  “He hasn’t seen them,” said Serilda. “He was locked in the dungeons the whole time we were at Gravenstone.”

  “No,” said Gild, snapping his fingers. “I saw that one. In the great hall. The gross one, with the Erlking and Perchta being eaten alive in Verloren?”

  Erlen brightened. “Easily my favorite. And you see? If the tapestry shows them in the land of the lost, then there is a future possible in which they are no longer in the mortal realm.” Her shoulders drooped. “But the tapestries tell me only what’s possible, not how to accomplish it.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46