“But I have nothing more to give.”
She looked at the necklace, its chain visible behind his collar. At the engraved ring on his finger, the seal the same that she’d seen in the cemetery.
Then, with a flash of inspiration, she beamed and gestured at his chest. “How about a lock of hair?”
His brows drew together and he glanced down, noticing the knot of hair that had been left behind, still tangled around the shirt’s button.
His lips twisted to one side as he peered back up at her.
“What?” she asked. “Sweethearts give each other locks of hair all the time. It must be a coveted treasure.”
Surprise, and a hint of hope, flashed across his face. “Are we sweethearts?”
“Well …” She hesitated. She wasn’t sure what else they could be after their kiss in the stairway alcove on Eostrig’s Day, but it wasn’t a question she’d ever had to answer before. She wanted to answer honestly, tell him what she truly wanted to say. But it felt safer to tease. So instead, she responded, “You did just take me for a tumble in the hay, didn’t you?”
She watched him closely, delighted to see his face shift from confused to mortified, pink blotches darkening his freckled cheeks.
Laughter exploded out of her.
“Yes, yes, you’re very clever,” he muttered. “I don’t think a lock of hair will sufficiently pay for pounds and pounds of spun gold.”
She pouted. Considering. Then—another thought. “I will give you a kiss!”
He grinned, but it was pained. “I would accept it in a heartbeat.”
“Are you sure you have a heartbeat? I’ve tried to listen for it before and was unconvinced.”
He chuckled, but the sound was hollow, and Serilda felt a jolt of guilt to be teasing him. He looked truly sorry as he opened his palms to her. “I cannot take a kiss, though I wish I could. It must be gold for … well, something with tangible value. Not a story. Not a kiss.”
“Then name your price,” she said. “You can see everything I have in my possession. Will you take my cloak? There are some holes from the drude, but it’s in decent shape. Or maybe my boots?”
He groaned, casting his gaze skyward. “Are they worth anything?”
“They’re worth something to me.”
She was irritated at the anger rising inside her. She could tell that Gild was being honest—she knew enough about lies to know the difference. He didn’t want to be having this conversation any more than she did.
Yet here they were. Discussing payment, when her life would be forfeit if this wasn’t done.
“Please, Gild. I have nothing of value and you know it. It was sheer luck that I had the locket and the ring to begin with.”
“I know that.”
Serilda chewed on her lower lip for a moment, considering. “What if I promised to give you something in the future?”
He shot her a disgruntled look.
“No, truly. I don’t have anything of value now, but I’ll promise to give you something of value when I can.”
“I don’t think that will work.”
“Why not?”
“Because …” He shook his head, as frustrated as she was. “Because the likelihood of you actually having something to offer in the future is so slim. Do you think you’re suddenly going to come into an inheritance? Discover some long-lost family heirlooms?”
“You don’t need to sound so dismissive.”
“I’m trying to be realistic.”
“But would it hurt to try?”
He groaned. “I don’t … I don’t know. Maybe not. Just let me think.”
“We don’t have time for this! This is so much straw; it’s already going to take most of the night, and if he comes back and I’ve failed, you know what will happen to me.”
“I know. I know.” He crossed his arms over his chest, glowering at nothing. “There must be something. But—great gods, Serilda. What about next time? And after that? This can’t go on forever.”
“I don’t know! I’ll think of something.”
“You’ll think of something? It’s been months. Do you think he’s suddenly going to get bored with you? Just let you go?”
“I said I would think of something!” She was shouting now, the first hints of desperation clawing at her. For the first time it occurred to her that Gild might actually say no.
He might leave her. The work undone. Her fate sealed.
Because she had nothing more to offer.
“Anything,” she whispered, reaching for him, gripping his wrists. “Please. Do this for me one more time and I’ll give you …” A thought struck her and she let out an exalted laugh. “I’ll give you my firstborn child!”
He balked. “What?”
She gave a chagrined smile, a helpless shrug. And though the words had been said in jest, she was already beginning to wonder.
Her firstborn child.
The likelihood that she would ever conceive a child was so minuscule. Ever since the fiasco with Thomas Lindbeck, she’d felt resigned to a future of solitude. And given that the only other boy who had captured her interest was dead …
What did it matter if she promised away a nonexistent child?
“Assuming I live long enough to birth any children,” she said. “Even you have to admit that’s a good deal. What could possibly be more valuable than a child?”
He held her gaze, his expression intense and, she thought, just the tiniest bit saddened.
Under the soft fabric of his sleeves, she imagined that she could feel his pulse. But no, it was only her own heartbeat, fluttering in her fingers. And in the sudden silence, she caught the tremulous rhythm of her own shallow breaths.
The moments ticking by, too fast.
The candle flickering in the corner.
The spinning wheel, waiting.
Gild shivered and tore his gaze from her face. He looked down at her hands, then pried his arms away.
Serilda released him, heart sinking.
But in the next moment, he’d taken her fingers into his. His head lowered, avoiding her gaze, as he wrapped his fingers around hers.
“You are very persuasive.”
Hope skittered inside her. “You’ll do it? You’ll accept that offer?”
He sighed, the sound long and drawn out, as if it physically pained him to agree to this. “Yes. I will do this in exchange for … your firstborn child. But”—his grip tightened, squashing the jolt of euphoria that threatened to have her throwing her arms around him—“this bargain is binding and unbreakable, and I fully expect you to stay alive long enough to fulfill your end of it. Do you understand me?”
She gulped, feeling the magical pull of the bargain. The air pressing in around her. Stifling, squeezing in against her chest.
A magical bargain, binding and unbreakable. A deal struck beneath the Chaste Moon, with a ghostly thing, an unliving thing. A prisoner of the veil.
She knew she couldn’t really promise to stay alive. The Erlking would have her killed as soon as it pleased him to do so.
And yet, she heard her own words as if whispered from a distant place. “You have my word.”
The air shuddered and released.
It was done.