She looked briefly at Meadowsweet and the gathered maidens. There was not a friendly face among them, but she could not blame them for being mistrustful, especially knowing that the dark ones made a game of hunting them for sport.
“The Erlking believes that I can spin straw into gold,” she started. “A blessing from Hulda. That was the lie I told him when I was hiding Meadowsweet and Parsley, yes, in an onion cellar. Three times now, he has summoned me to the castle in Adalheid and asked me to do just that, and threatened to kill me if I failed. But there is a … a ghost in the castle. A boy who is a true gold-spinner. In exchange for that magic, and for saving my life, I gave him the necklace and the ring.”
Pusch-Grohla was silent a long time, while Serilda shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.
“And what did you give as payment on the third moon?”
She stilled, holding the old woman’s gaze.
Memories flashed in her thoughts. Searing kisses and caresses.
But no. That wasn’t what she was asking, and it certainly hadn’t been payment for anything.
“A promise,” she answered.
“God-magic does not work on promises.”
“Evidently it does.”
Testy surprise flashed through Pusch-Grohla’s eyes, and Serilda shrank back a bit.
“It was a promise for … for something very valuable,” she added, embarrassed to say more. She didn’t think she could adequately explain what had led to such a deal being struck, and she didn’t want Pusch-Grohla to see her as the sort of person who would carelessly bargain away her firstborn child.
Even if she was. Evidently.
She turned her attention to Meadowsweet. “I am sorry, though, if the necklace held special meaning for you. May I ask, who was the girl in the portrait?”
“I do not know,” said Meadowsweet, with no apparent regret.
Serilda flinched. It had not occurred to her that the portrait could hold as little sentimental meaning for the moss maiden as it had for her. “You don’t?”
“No. I had that locket for as long as I can remember, and do not recall where it came from. As to its special meaning, I assure you, I value my life more.”
“But … it was so beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as snowdrop flowers in winter,” said Meadowsweet, “or a newborn fawn taking its first shaky steps.”
Serilda had no argument for this. “What of Parsley’s ring? It had a seal on it. A tatzelwurm entwined around the letter R. And I saw the seal on a statue in Adalheid Castle, too, and in the cemetery outside the city. What does it mean?”
Meadowsweet frowned and looked to Pusch-Grohla, but the old woman’s face was blank as slate as she studied Serilda.
“I don’t know that, either,” Meadowsweet answered. “If Parsley knew, she never said, but I don’t believe she was any more sentimental over that ring than I was about the necklace. When we venture into the world, we all know to keep trinkets with us, in case payment is required. They are to us as your human coins are to—”
“This boy,” interrupted Pusch-Grohla, unnecessarily loud. “The one who spun the gold. What is his name?”
It took Serilda a moment to change the direction of her thoughts. “He goes by Gild.”
“You say he is a ghost. Not a dark one?”
She shook her head. “Definitely not a dark one. The townspeople call him Vergoldetgeist. The Gilded Ghost. The Erlking calls him a poltergeist.”
“If he is one of the Alder King’s dead, then the king controls him. He would not be fooled by this charade.”
Serilda swallowed, thinking of her conversations with Gild. He seemed proud to be known as the poltergeist, but it was clear to them both that he was not like the other ghosts in the castle.
“He is a prisoner in the castle, like the other spirits who have been trapped by the king,” she said slowly. “But he is not controlled by the king. He is not a servant like the others. He’s told me that he doesn’t know what he is, exactly, and I believe he is telling the truth.”
“And he claims to have been blessed by Hulda?”
“He … doesn’t know where his magic came from. But that seems to be the most likely possibility.”
Pusch-Grohla grunted.
Serilda wrung her hands. “He is one of many mysteries I’ve encountered during my time in Adalheid. I wonder if you might be able to shed light on one of the others?”
One of the maidens made a derisive sound. “This is not a social call, little human.”
Serilda felt her hackles rise, but she tried to ignore her. When Pusch-Grohla had no response, she dared to plunge ahead. “I have been trying to learn more about the history of Adalheid Castle, to find out what happened there. I know it used to be home to a royal family, before the Erlking claimed it for himself. I’ve seen their graves, and a statue of a king and queen. But no one knows anything about them. And you, Grandmother, are as old as this forest. Surely if anyone would remember something about the family who built the castle, or who lived there before the dark ones, it would be you.”
Pusch-Grohla studied Serilda for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter than Serilda had yet heard it.
“I have no memories of royalty in Adalheid,” she said. “It has always been the domain of the Erlking and the dark ones.”
Serilda clenched her teeth. That wasn’t true. She knew that wasn’t true.
How could even this woman, as old as an ancient oak, not remember? It was as if entire decades, perhaps centuries, of the city’s history had been erased.
“If you uncover a different truth,” Pusch-Grohla added, “you will tell me immediately.”
Serilda sagged, wondering if she was imagining the troubled look in the woman’s sharp eyes.
“Grandmother,” said one of the moss maidens, her voice thick with concern, “what possible use could Erlk?nig have for this spun gold? Other than—”
Pusch-Grohla lifted a hand, and the maiden fell silent.
Serilda glanced around the circle, at their fierce and beautiful faces shadowed with worry. “Actually,” she said slowly, “I do have some idea what the king wants the gold for.”
Reaching into her pocket, she took out the bobbin full of gold thread. Stepping forward, she held it out to Shrub Grandmother. The old woman tipped her head toward Meadowsweet, who took the bobbin and held it up before the woman’s eyes, turning it to catch the light.
“He’s been taking these threads and braiding them together into ropes,” said Serilda.
Around her, the maidens tensed, their concerned looks darkening.
“Last night, the wild hunt used these ropes to capture a tatzelwurm.”
Pusch-Grohla’s attention snapped back to her.
“The king told me that spun gold is perhaps the only material that can hold magical creatures like that.”
She opted not to mention how she had inadvertently told him where to find the beast.
“Indeed,” said the woman, her voice brittle. “Blessed by the gods, it would be unbreakable.”
“And … is it?” Meadowsweet asked hesitantly. “Blessed by Hulda, I mean.”
Pusch-Grohla looked like she’d bitten a lemon as she glared at the spool of gold. “It is.”
Serilda blinked. So Gild really had been god-blessed? “How can you tell?”