“I would know it anywhere,” said Pusch-Grohla. “And I assure you, the Alder King will be using it to hunt more than the tatzelwurm.”
“It’s this coming winter,” murmured Meadowsweet. “The Endless Moon.”
It took Serilda a moment to understand what they were suggesting.
The Endless Moon, when a full moon coincided with the winter solstice.
She inhaled sharply.
It had been nineteen years since the last one—the night that, supposedly, her father had helped the trickster god and wished to have a child.
“You think he means to go after one of the gods,” she said. “He wants to make a wish.”
Pusch-Grohla gave a loud snort. “A wish? Perhaps. But there are many reasons one might hope to capture a god.”
Chapter 44
Grandmother,” said Meadowsweet, gripping the golden thread in both hands, “if he does try to make a wish—”
“We all know what he would ask for,” muttered the maiden who had threatened Serilda before.
“We do?” said Serilda.
“No, Foxglove, I would not give him so much credit,” said Pusch-Grohla.
“But he might,” said Meadowsweet. “We cannot know what he would want, but it is possible—”
“We cannot know,” said Pusch-Grohla. “Let us not attempt to read his blackened heart.”
Meadowsweet and Foxglove exchanged a look, but no one else spoke.
Serilda looked between the three of them, her curiosity burbling. What would the Erlking wish for? He already had eternal life. An entourage of servants to do his bidding.
But the memory of her own made-up story whispered to her, answering the question.
A queen.
A huntress.
If this were a fairy tale, that is what he would wish for. True love must be victorious, even for a villain.
But this was not one of her stories, and while the Erlking might be a villain, it was difficult to picture him using a god-given wish to return his lover from the underworld.
What else?
“How much gold has this poltergeist spun for him?” asked Pusch-Grohla.
Serilda considered, picturing all that straw, all those bobbins. Stacks and stacks and stacks of them.
“The gold from the first two nights made enough rope to capture the tatzelwurm,” she said. “And he told me that what was done last night would be enough to … to capture and hold even the greatest of beasts.”
The greatest of beasts.
Pusch-Grohla’s mouth twitched to one side. She took a hold of the walking stick beside her and thumped it on the ground. “He cannot be given any more.”
Serilda clasped her hands in the same way she did when she was trying to speak patiently and practically with Madam Sauer. “I don’t disagree. But what would you have me do instead? He has threatened my life if I don’t do what he asks.”
“Then forfeit your life,” said one of the moss maidens.
Serilda gaped at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“Imagine what harm could come from Erlk?nig claiming a god-wish,” the maiden said. “It is not worth the life of one human girl.”
Serilda glowered. “Would you be so blithe if it were your life we were discussing?”
The maiden lifted an eyebrow. “I am not blithe. Erlk?nig has been hunting us and the creatures of this world for centuries. If we were to be captured, he would attempt to torture us into confessing the location of our home.” She gestured around to the surrounding glen. “And we would die with honor before speaking a word.”
Serilda glanced over at Meadowsweet, who met her gaze without flinching.
The Erlking had been hunting her and Parsley. He had mentioned having their heads to decorate his wall. But never had it crossed her mind that he might have tortured them first.
“The hunt threatens all living things,” said Pusch-Grohla, “human and forest folk alike. My granddaughter speaks true. That gold is a weapon in his hands. We cannot allow Erlk?nig to capture a god.”
Serilda looked away. She knew they wanted her to swear that she would not give the king any more of what he wanted. That she wouldn’t ask Gild to help her. That she would accept death over aiding the king again.
But she didn’t know if she could promise that.
She glanced around the circle, taking in the assorted weapons propped against rocks and laid across laps. For the first time since coming here she wondered if she was safe in the presence of the moss maidens. She did not believe they intended her harm, but what would they do if she did not promise what they wanted? She had the sudden uncomfortable sensation that she’d unwittingly found herself caught in the middle of an age-old war.
But if this was a war, what was her role to play in it?
Shrub Grandmother muttered something to herself, too low for anyone to hear. Then she tipped her head toward Meadowsweet and gently knocked the end of her walking stick against her own scalp. Meadowsweet set to lousing her hair again, picking through for bugs while Pusch-Grohla considered.
After four more critters had been flicked away, Pusch-Grohla straightened. “There is a rumor that he does not kill all the beasts he captures in the wood. That some are kept in his castle—for added sport, or breeding, or to train his hounds.”
“Yes,” said Serilda. “I’ve seen them.”
Pusch-Grohla’s expression darkened with thinly veiled loathing. “Does he hurt them?”
Serilda stared, considering the small cages, the untended wounds, the way some of the creatures trembled in silent fear when the dark ones walked past. Her heart squeezed tight.
“I think he might,” she whispered.
“Those creatures were our responsibility, and we failed them,” said Pusch-Grohla. “Anyone who aids Erlk?nig and his hunters must be our enemy.”
She shook her head. “I have no desire to be your enemy.”
“I care little of your desires.”
Serilda’s hands clenched. That seemed to be a common theme among these age-old beings, regardless of which side of the war they fell on. Nobody cared for the mortals caught in the middle.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said weakly. “I have nothing else to offer as payment for the magic. Gild cannot continue to spin gold to save my life, and he won’t do the work for free.”
“He can’t,” said Meadowsweet. “Hulda’s magic requires balance and balance is obtained through reciprocity. Nothing taken for granted.”
“Fine, then,” said Serilda, with a shrug that was more nonchalant than she felt. “No doubt the king will summon me again on the Awakening Moon and Gild will not be able to help me and I will fail his task and he will take my life. It seems I have already lost.”
“Yes,” said Pusch-Grohla. “You are very much sitting in the ink.”
“We could kill her now,” suggested Foxglove. She did not even bother to whisper it. “It would solve the problem.”
“It would solve a problem,” Pusch-Grohla countered. “Not the problem. This Vergoldetgeist would still be within Erlk?nig’s grasp.”
“But Erlk?nig doesn’t know that,” said Meadowsweet.
“Hm, yes,” said the old woman. “Perhaps it would be best if the girl never returned to Adalheid.”