The woods were both living and dead.
Hero and villain.
The dark and the light.
There are two sides to every story.
Serilda was dizzy with fear, but she gripped the reins and dug her heels into Zelig’s side.
He whinnied loudly and reared his head. Rather than trotting forward, he backed away.
“Go on, now,” she encouraged, leaning forward to pat the side of his face. “I’m here.” She urged him forward again.
This time, Zelig lifted up onto his hind legs with a desperate squeal. Serilda cried out, clutching the reins tighter to keep from being thrown off.
As soon as his hooves hit the dirt again, Zelig turned and bolted away from the woods, back toward Adalheid and safety.
“Zelig, no!” she shouted. At the last minute, she was able to swerve him away from the city gate, heading toward the western road instead.
He slowed to a canter, though his breaths were still quickened.
With a frustrated groan, Serilda glanced back over her shoulder. The woods had been swallowed up again in mist.
“Suit yourself,” she grumbled. “We’ll go the long way.”
The rain stopped somewhere before Fleck, but Serilda did not dry out the entire ride. Dusk was approaching by the time M?rchenfeld finally came into view, tucked into its valley by the river. Though equal parts cold and miserable, Serilda was overcome with happiness to be home. Even Zelig’s steady clomping steps seemed to pick up at the sight.
As soon as they reached the mill, she tied Zelig to the hitching post, promising she would be back with his supper, and ran into the house. But she had no sooner opened the door than she knew Papa wasn’t home. There was no fire in the hearth. No food simmering in the pot. She’d forgotten how barren they’d left the house, having sold off so many of their belongings before leaving for Mondbrück. It felt like entering the home of a stranger.
Cold. Abandoned.
Decidedly unwelcoming.
A loud grinding noise drew her attention toward the back wall. It took her exhausted mind a moment to place it.
The mill.
Someone was operating the mill.
“Papa,” she breathed, running back outside. Zelig watched drowsily as she scampered through the yard, hopping over the gate that surrounded their small garden, and rushed around to the gristmill. She yanked open the door and was greeted by the familiar smell of grinding stone and timber beams and rye grain.
But she stopped cold again, her hopes crashing to the wooden planks at her feet.
Thomas glanced up from adjusting the millstones, startled. “Ah—you’re back,” he said, starting to smile, though something in Serilda’s expression must have given him pause. “Is everything all right?”
She ignored him. Her gaze darted around the mill, but no one else was there.
“Serilda?” Thomas took a step toward her.
“I’m fine,” she said, the words automatic. They were the easiest lie, one that everyone told from time to time.
“I’m glad you’re home,” said Thomas. “I was having some trouble with the water gate sticking earlier, and thought your father could offer some suggestions.”
She stared at him, fighting back tears. She’d had so much hope.
Miserable, unfounded hope.
Swallowing, she gave her head a shake. “He’s not home.”
Thomas frowned.
“He stayed in Mondbrück. I had to return to help with the school, but Father … the work isn’t finished yet on the town hall, so he wanted to stay.”
“Ah, I see. Well. I’ll just have to figure it out myself, then. Do you know when he plans to be back?”
“No,” she said, digging her fingernails into her palms to keep away the threatening tears. “No, he didn’t say.”
Serilda waited for him.
She remembered smelling sea salt in the air during the hunt. He could have fallen as far away as Vinter-Cort for all she knew. It could take days, even a week, and that was if he was able to find transportation. He likely had not had coin with him. He might have to walk. If that was the case, it might take even longer.
She clung tightly to these hopes, and tried to keep up appearances in town. Everyone was so busy preparing for Eostrig’s Day that no one paid her much attention. She feigned an illness to keep from going to the school. She spent her days going through the mindless motions of sweeping out their house, sewing a new dress for herself, as the few articles of clothing she owned had been left behind in Mondbrück, and spinning—when she could stand it.
She spent many hours staring at the horizon.
She could not sleep at night. The house was too eerily quiet with no rumbling snores coming from the next room.
When Thomas had questions about the mill, she told him that she would write to her father and let him know once she’d heard a response, even going so far as to walk into town to post the fake letter.
When she saw nachtkrapp, she threw stones at them until they flew away.
They always came back.
But her father never did.
Chapter 28
She had been dreading this visit all week. Had, on more than one occasion, tried to persuade herself that it was not necessary.
But she knew that it was.
She needed to know more about Adalheid. She needed to know when and how and why the Erlking had claimed the castle. What had happened to leave its walls haunted by so many brutally murdered spirits. Whether or not there had been a royal family who had ever lived there, and what had become of them. She needed to know when and how the citizens of Adalheid had entered into this strange relationship, in which they prepared a feast on the equinox, in exchange for the hunt leaving them and their children alone.
She didn’t know which answers, if any, would be useful to her, which was why she would learn as much as she could. She would arm herself with knowledge.
Because knowledge was the only weapon she might hope to wield against the Erlking. The man who had taken her mother. Who left her father to die in the middle of nowhere. Who thought he could imprison Serilda and force her into servitude. The man who had killed so many mortals. Stolen so many children.
Maybe there was nothing she could do against him. In fact, she was rather certain there was nothing she could do against him.
But that would not stop her from trying.
He was a blight of evil on this world, and his reign had lasted for far too long.
But first—she would have to deal with another blight of evil.
Taking in a bracing breath, Serilda lifted her fist and knocked on the door.
Madam Sauer lived less than a mile from the schoolhouse, in a one-room cottage surrounded by the nicest garden in all M?rchenfeld. Her herbs, flowers, and vegetables were the envy of the town, and when she wasn’t educating the children, she could usually be heard lecturing her neighbors on soil quality and companion plantings. Mostly unsolicited advice that, Serilda suspected, went largely ignored.