As the moon began to wax, on the far side of the forest, the young prince recovered from his wounds. He told Shrub Grandmother that he must return home, to tell his family the sad news of his sister, yet also to let them rejoice that he himself was not lost.
Shrub Grandmother agreed that the time had come for him to return to his people. With much gratitude for their healing magic, the prince bestowed on the moss maidens what gifts he had in his possession—a small locket and a golden ring. Then, with a grateful bow, the prince set off for his home. He did not know until he left Asyltal that nearly a full month had passed, and he would be returning home beneath the glow of a full moon. He quickened his pace, eager to see his mother and father again, no matter how his heart ached to tell them what had become of their beloved princess.
But he could not reach the castle before the sun had set, and as he made his way through the encroaching darkness, he heard a sound that chilled his very soul.
Howls and the soulless croon of a hunting horn.
The wild hunt had returned.
Chapter 38
It was the silence that brought Serilda back to the present.
The wheel had stopped spinning.
She looked over to see Gild watching her, his chin cupped in both hands, leaning forward on the stool like a rapt child. But in the next moment, his brow had furrowed.
“Why did you stop?” he asked.
“Why did you stop?” she said, jumping up from the settee, where she’d settled at some point during her tale. “We don’t have time to—”
She paused and looked around.
The straw was gone.
They were done.
Gild grinned widely. “I said I could do it.”
“What time is it?” She looked at the candle, startled to see that it was still as tall as her thumb. Planting her hands on her hips, she glared at Gild. “Are you telling me that those first two nights, you were intentionally going slow?”
He shrugged, his eyes widening, a picture of sincerity. “I had nothing better to do with my time. And I was enjoying the stories.”
“You told me you hated the story that first night.”
He shrugged, then rolled his shoulders a few times to work out their stiffness. As he stretched his hands overhead, his spine emitted a series of loud pops. “I don’t think I used the word hate.”
Serilda scoffed.
Bobbins were scattered messily in a pile beside him, since he hadn’t paused to organize any of them and Serilda had been too distracted in her storytelling to complete her end of the work. She walked around the spinning wheel and started stacking them against the wall. She wasn’t entirely sure why she bothered. Some servant would come in, scoop them up, and take them away for whatever the king was doing with so much golden thread, but she felt guilty for not having helped much tonight.
As she set the bobbins into neat rows, they shone like little beacons in the candlelight, as pretty as gems. The amount of straw had made the task seem like an impossible feat, but Gild had done it with time to spare. She couldn’t help feeling impressed.
As she went to set the last bobbin of thread on the top of the last stack, she hesitated and looked down at the glistening gold.
What was it worth?
She still wasn’t entirely sure that it was real. Or—she believed it was real here, on this side of the veil, in the realm of ghosts and monsters. But if it crossed over into the sunlight, would it vanish like morning mist?
But no, the gifts that Gild gave to the people of Adalheid were real enough. Why wouldn’t this be as well?
Before she could second-guess herself, Serilda pulled back her cloak and tucked the bobbin, heavy with gold, into her dress pocket.
“What is he doing with it all?” she murmured, stepping back to inspect Gild’s work in all its shimmering glory.
“Nothing good, I’m sure,” he said, so close that she imagined she could feel his breath tickling the back of her neck.
Had he noticed her taking the bobbin?
She turned to face him. “And you’re all right with that? I know you’re helping me, but … you’re also helping him. Adding to his riches.”
“It isn’t wealth he wants,” Gild said with calm conviction. “He has something else in mind for this.” He sighed. “And—no. I’m not all right with it. I want to throw it into the lake to make sure he never gets any of it.” He looked back at her, his expression tormented. “But I cannot let him hurt you. Erlk?nig can have his gold if it keeps you safe.”
“I’m sorry that I keep bringing you into this. I will find a way out of it, somehow. I keep thinking that … at some point, he’ll have enough, and he won’t need me … or you anymore.”
“But that’s just the thing. Once that happens, you’ll be gone forever. And I know that’s a good thing. I don’t want you trapped here like I am. I don’t want anyone else to suffer here. There’s already plenty enough suffering in this castle as it is.” He paused. “And yet …”
He didn’t have to say it. She knew what words he was searching for, and she was tempted to put him out of his misery. To say the words for him, because words had always been her haven, her comforts … whereas Gild seemed to agonize over every one. At least, when he was being honest, like this. When he was so vulnerable.
Finally, he shrugged. “And yet, I don’t want you to leave, knowing that you’ll never come back.”
Her heart squeezed. “I wish I could take you with me. I wish we could both be free of him. Run away from here …”
His expression was hopelessly sad. “I’ll never be free of this place.”
“What happens if you do try to leave?”
“I get as far as the drawbridge, or the lake—I’ve tried jumping off the walls more times than I can count. But then …” He snapped his fingers. “I’m back inside the castle. As if nothing happened.”
A shadow passed over his features. “The last time I tried it, ages ago, I reappeared in the throne room and the Erlking was sitting there, like he’d been waiting for me. And he just started laughing. Like he knew how hard I was trying to get away, and that I never would, and seeing me struggle was the most fun he’d had since … I don’t know. Since he caught the wyvern probably.” He met Serilda’s gaze again. “That was when I decided that if I was going to be trapped here, I would at least spend my time making life as miserable for him as possible. I can’t really do anything to him. There’s no point in trying to fight him or kill him. But I can really, truly annoy him. That probably sounds childish, but … sometimes it feels like all I have.”
“And here I am,” she whispered, “asking you to spin gold. For him.”
Reaching forward, he took one of her braids between his fingers, running his thumb along the strands. “It’s worth it. You’ve been the most brilliant distraction I could have asked for.”
She bit the inside of her cheek, then did what her body had been yearning to do since he’d first appeared. She tied her arms around his neck and pressed her temple to his. Gild’s arms were quick to surround her, and she knew she wasn’t the only one who had been testing the strength of her will, to see how long she could go without falling into his arms.