Gooseflesh speckled Serilda’s arms. “I’ve tried running from him. It didn’t work.”
“Of course you cannot run from him,” said Foxglove. “He is the leader of the wild hunt. If he wants you, he will find you. Erlk?nig relishes nothing more than tracking his prey, luring them into his grasp, and striking.”
“Yes, I know that now. It’s just, we’d thought, I’d thought maybe there was a chance. He can only leave the veil under a full moon. My father and I had sought to travel far enough away that he would not be able to travel so far in one night.”
“Do you think the boundaries of the veil end at his castle walls? He can travel anywhere he wishes to, and you will have no idea that he is right there at your side, following your every move.”
Serilda shuddered. “Believe me, I’ve realized my mistake. But you have been hiding from him for ages. He cannot find this place. Perhaps, if I could …” She trailed off as the expressions darkened around her. Even Meadowsweet looked aghast at what Serilda was suggesting. “Could stay here?” she finished lamely.
“No,” said Pusch-Grohla simply.
“Why not? You don’t want me returning to Adalheid, and despite the array of sharp weapons around here, I don’t think you are prepared to murder me, either.”
“We do what we must,” growled Foxglove.
“That is enough, Foxglove,” said Pusch-Grohla.
The moss maiden lowered her head. Serilda couldn’t help the burble of enjoyment she felt at seeing her chastised.
“I cannot offer you sanctuary,” said Pusch-Grohla.
“Cannot? Or will not?”
Pusch-Grohla’s knuckles tightened around her staff. “My granddaughters are capable of withstanding the call of the hunt. Are you?”
Serilda froze, her mind flooding with foggy memories. A powerful steed beneath her. The wind tossing her hair. Laughter spilling from her own lips. Blood splattered across the snow.
Her father—there one moment. Gone the next.
Shrub Grandmother nodded knowingly. “He would find you even here, and your presence would be putting us all at risk. But you are correct. We will not be killing you. You once saved two of my granddaughters, and while that debt was paid, my gratitude remains. Perhaps I have another way.”
She unbent her legs and used the walking stick to stand on top of her rock, so that she was nearly eye level with Serilda. She beckoned her closer.
Serilda tried not to look afraid as she approached.
“You understand the repercussions should Erlk?nig amass enough golden chains to capture a god, do you not?”
“I believe I do,” she whispered.
“And you will never seek to implore this Vergoldetgeist to spin more gold for that monster?”
She swallowed. “I swear it.”
“Good.” Pusch-Grohla hummed. “I am keeping this gold thread. In exchange, I will try to help you be free of him. I cannot promise it will work, and should it fail, we will rely on you to keep your promise. If you betray us, then you will not live to see another moon.”
Despite her threat, hope fluttered in Serilda’s chest. It was the first time in a long while she’d dared to think freedom might be possible.
“I will speak with my herbalist to see if we can prepare a potion suitable for one in your condition. If it is possible, then I will send a message to you by sundown tonight.”
Serilda’s brow furrowed. “My condition?”
The woman’s mouth tightened into a thin smile. She lowered the staff and beckoned Serilda closer. And closer still, until Serilda could detect the scent of damp cedar and cloves on her breath.
The old woman was silent a long time, studying Serilda, until the corner of her mouth lifted tauntingly. “Should we fail, and the king summons you again, you will tell him nothing of this visit.”
“You have my word.”
The woman cackled quietly. “One does not get to be as old and admired as me by trusting every brittle creature that dares to make a promise.” She tipped her staff forward, plunking it lightly against Serilda’s forehead. “You will remember our conversation, but should you ever try to find this place again, or lead anyone to us, your words will turn to gibberish and you will become as lost as a cricket in a snowstorm. If I wish to communicate with you, I will send word. Understand?”
“Send word how?”
“Do you understand?”
Serilda gulped. She was not sure that she did, but she nodded anyway. “Yes, Shrub Grandmother.”
Pusch-Grohla nodded, then thwacked her stick on the side of her rock. “Meadowsweet, have the girl returned to her home in M?rchenfeld. We do not wish for her to come to any harm in the forest.”
Chapter 45
She did not immediately realize what she had promised. Or what it would mean. The truth, when it hit, was as startling as a thunderclap.
She would never see Gild again.
Or Leyna. Lorraine. Frieda. Everyone who had been so kind to her. Who had accepted her more easily than almost anyone in M?rchenfeld ever had.
She would never know what had become of her mother.
She would never know the secrets of Adalheid Castle and its royal family, or understand why the dark ones had abandoned Gravenstone, or why drudes seemed to be guarding a room with a tapestry and a cage, or figure out whether or not Gild really was a ghost, or if he was something else.
She would never see him again.
And she couldn’t even say goodbye.
She managed to hold her tears inside until the moss maidens abandoned her at the edge of the forest. In every direction she saw emerald-green pastures. A herd of goats grazed on a hillside.
There was a flurry of noise from a crop of fig trees, and a moment later, a flock of crows took to the skies, swirling in the air for a few long minutes before soaring over to a different field.
She started down the road on her own, and the tears came flooding forward.
He wouldn’t understand. After what they had shared, she felt like she was abandoning him.
An eternity of loneliness. Of never again feeling warm embraces, gentle kisses. Her torment would eventually end. She would grow old and die, but Gild … he would never be free.
And he would never know what had become of her.
He would never know that she had started to love him.
She hated that these were the thoughts clawing at her most, when she knew she should be grateful that Shrub Grandmother offered to help her. From the beginning, she’d known it was possible that she would either die at the Erlking’s hand or be in service to him for the rest of her life, and perhaps even beyond. But now there might be a different fate for her, one that didn’t involve her desperate and foolish attempts to avenge her father and murder the Erlking (a fantasy that even she could not believe might actually happen). It was remarkable. It was a gift.
She didn’t like to give much credit to her godparent, but she couldn’t help wondering if the wheel of fortune had finally turned in her favor.
Though Pusch-Grohla had not been sure that whatever she was planning would work.