She’d been sure he felt the same way.
But the next morning it was discovered that one of the gates on the Lindbeck farm had been left unlocked. Wolves had gotten two of their goats, and a number of their chickens had either escaped or been carried off by the pack. It wasn’t a difficult challenge for the Lindbecks to overcome—they had plenty of livestock. But still. Everyone in town had interpreted it as terrible ill fortune brought on by the cursed girl in their midst.
After that, he barely looked at her and made hasty excuses to leave whenever she was around.
She now regretted how many tears she’d wasted on him, but at the time, she had been devastated.
“I’ve heard that you’re hoping to offer your hand to Bluma Rask.”
She was surprised that the question had escaped.
Surprised more at the utter lack of spite it held.
Thomas’s cheeks flushed as his hands brutally twisted and untwisted the cap. “I … yes. I hope to,” he said cautiously. “This summer, I hope.”
She was tempted to ask how long he planned to apprentice for her father, and if he hoped to one day take over the mill. The Lindbecks owned a fair amount of farmland, but he had three older brothers who would inherit before him. It was likely that he and Hans and their other siblings would have to find their own way in the world if they hoped to provide for a family of their own. If Thomas could get the coin for it, he might even be interested in buying the mill himself. She pictured him and his sweetheart living here, in the house she had grown up in.
Her stomach curdled at the thought. But not out of jealousy for Thomas’s someday bride. Rather, she was jealous to think of the brood of children whose laughter might carry over these fields. They would splash in her river, climb her mother’s hazelnut tree.
She had always been so happy here, even if it was only her and her father. It was a wonderful home for a family.
But what did it matter? She had to say goodbye. They would never be safe here. They could never come back.
She nodded, and her smile became a little less forced. “I’m very happy for you both.”
“Thank you,” he said with an uncomfortable chuckle. “But I haven’t asked her yet.”
“I won’t say a word.”
She bid him farewell and started down the road, wondering when, exactly, she had fallen out of love with Thomas Lindbeck. She did not remember her heart healing, and yet it seemed clear that it had.
As she walked she noticed that the town of M?rchenfeld was beginning to awaken as if from a long nap. Snow was melting, flowers were blooming, and springtide would soon be heralded by Eostrig’s Day, one of the biggest celebrations of the year. The festival took place on the equinox, which was still more than three weeks away, but there was much to do and everyone had a job—from preparing food and wine for the feast to sweeping the remnants of winter storms off the cobblestones in the city square. The equinox was a symbolic time, a reminder that winter had once again been bested by sunshine and rebirth, that life would return, that the harvest would be plentiful—unless it wasn’t, but that would be a worry for another day. Spring was a time of hope.
But this year, Serilda’s thoughts lingered on darker things. The conversation with her father had cast a shadow over everything she did this past month.
Her mother, who yearned for freedom, had been lured away by the hunt and never seen again.
Serilda had seen many ghosts in Adalheid Castle. Could her mother be among them? Was she dead? Had the Erlking kept her spirit?
Or—another thought, one that made her feel hollow inside.
What if her mother had not been killed? What if she had awoken the next day, abandoned somewhere in the wilds of the country … and simply chosen not to come back home?
The questions circled endlessly through her mind, darkening what otherwise would have been a most pleasant stroll. But at least she hadn’t spotted a single hollow-eyed raven.
Anna and the twins were outside the schoolhouse, waiting for Hans and Gerdrut to arrive before they went in to begin their lessons.
“Miss Serilda!” cried Anna delightedly when she spotted her. “I’ve been practicing! Look!” Before Serilda could respond, Anna was upside down in a handstand. She even managed to take three walking steps on her hands before she dropped her feet back to the ground.
“Wonderfully done!” said Serilda. “I can tell you’ve been working hard on that.”
“Don’t you dare encourage that child,” snapped Madam Sauer from the doorway. Her appearance was like the blowing out of a lantern—it extinguished all light from their small group. “If she spends any more time upside down, she’s going to turn into a bat. And it isn’t ladylike, Miss Anna. We can all see your bloomers when you do that.”
“So?” said Anna, adjusting her dress. “Everyone sees Alvie’s bloomers all the time.” Alvie was her toddling baby brother.
“It is not the same,” said the schoolmistress. “You must learn to act with propriety and grace.” She lifted a finger. “You will sit still throughout today’s lessons or I will have you tied to your seat, do you understand?”
Anna pouted. “Yes, Madam Sauer.” But as soon as the old witch had gone back into the school, she made an ugly face that made Fricz cackle.
“I bet she’s jealous,” said Nickel with a small grin. “I think she’d rather like to be a bat, don’t you?”
Anna flashed him an appreciative smile.
Madam Sauer was standing at the stove in the corner of the schoolhouse, adding peat to the fire when Serilda entered. Despite the approaching spring, the world remained cold, and the students had difficulty focusing on their mathematics lessons even when their toes weren’t numb inside their shoes.
“Good morning,” Serilda chirped, hoping to start the conversation with brightness before it was tarnished by Madam Sauer’s perpetually rotten mood.
The schoolteacher cast her a surly look, her eye darting to the basket on Serilda’s elbow. “What is that?”
Serilda frowned. “Viper toenails,” she deadpanned. “Swallow three at sunrise and they will help enliven an ill temper. I thought I’d bring you the whole lot of them.”
She dropped the basket onto the teacher’s desk with a heavy thud.
Madam Sauer glared at her, her cheeks reddening at the insult.
Serilda sighed, feeling a small twinge of guilt. She might feel terrible about leaving the children to her tedious lessons and strict expectations, but that didn’t mean she had to spend her last days here trying to offend the witch. “I’m returning some books that I borrowed from the school,” she said, pulling out the tomes—mostly compendiums of folktales and myths and stories of distant lands. They had received little appreciation in the schoolhouse, and Serilda didn’t really want to give them back at all, but books were heavy and Zelig was old, and they didn’t really belong to her.
It was time to disavow Madam Sauer of her suspicions that she was a thief.