Except for her. Obviously. She was dead or dying or something in between.
Hours passed. The moon painted the river with streaks of silver. It alighted on the tree boughs and kissed the slumbering mill. The frogs began their concert. A colony of bats, invisible against the black sky, squeaked overhead. An owl cooed from a nearby oak.
She tried to guess at the time. She kept yawning, but that seemed to be mostly out of habit. She was not really sleepy, but she couldn’t tell if that was merely because of her nerves keeping her awake, or if wandering spirits had no need of rest.
The night must be half through, she thought. Halfway until morning. Soon, the Awakening Moon would be over.
What if the hunt didn’t come tonight?
Was it enough that the nachtkrapp had witnessed her demise? Would that convince the Erlking that he had lost her forever?
Would it keep him from ever looking for her again?
Though she thought she should be growing more confident as time ticked on, she felt the opposite. Anxiety clutched at her. If this didn’t work, then by morning, nothing would be changed.
And if the hunt didn’t come, how would she know whether or not this had—
A howl crept across the fields.
Serilda stilled. The owl, the bats, the frogs all fell silent.
She hurried to the hiding place she’d decided on while the sun was still high, climbing up into the boughs of the oak tree. She did not know if the Erlking would be able to see her, and Madam Sauer had not known, either. But collector of souls that he was, she dared not risk it.
It would have been a difficult climb, made more so by the fact that she could not let go of the ash branch even for a second. But her spirit form was almost weightless and she no longer had to worry about scrapes or bruises or falling to her death. Soon she was tucked into the branches, lush with leaves.
Once settled, she did not have long to wait. The howls grew closer, soon joined by the cacophony of hooves. This was no aimless search for prey.
They were coming for her.
She spotted the hounds first, their bodies alight with embers. They must have been able to track her scent, for they did not hesitate at the cottage, but raced straight toward the riverbank and Serilda’s lifeless body lying in the mud. The hounds formed a ring around the figure, growling and pawing at the ground, but none of them touched her.
The Erlking and his hunters arrived moments later. The horses halted.
Serilda held her breath—needlessly, as there was no breath to hold. Her fingers grasped the limb of the ash tree.
The Erlking nudged his steed closer, so that he was looking down upon Serilda’s body. She wished she could read his expression, but his face was turned toward the ground, his curtain of black hair hiding what little she might have seen.
The moment drew out. She could sense the hunters growing restless.
Finally, the king dismounted his horse and knelt over the body. Serilda craned her neck, but she could not see what he was doing. She thought he might have picked up the empty vial. Perhaps he traced her cheek with the pad of his thumb. He might have put something into her palm.
Then he rejoined the hunt. With a single wave of his arm, they disappeared back into the night.
Afraid that they would return, Serilda stayed in the oak tree while the howls faded away. As the first hints of light emerged in the east, she finally made her way back to the ground. She approached her body with both curiosity and dread.
Watching herself die had been strange, but seeing herself dead seemed like a different matter entirely.
But it was not her colorless skin or utter stillness that she took notice of first.
It was the gift that the Erlking had left behind.
In her corpse’s hand was one of the king’s arrows, tipped with shining gold.
Chapter 49
Madam Sauer arrived just past dawn. Serilda was waiting, standing barefoot in the river and marveling at how the water passed right through her without so much as a ripple.
When she saw the witch approaching over the hill, she broke into a grin and started to wave, but evidently not even a witch could see her.
Trudging through the mud, she sat down beside her body and waited, watching curiously as Madam Sauer crouched over her body and felt for a pulse at her throat. Then she noticed the arrow. The witch stilled, a scowl creasing the corners of her lips.
But she soon gave herself a shake and took a new vial from the folds of her skirts. Uncorking it, she lifted the body’s head and let the liquid dribble between her parted lips.
Serilda could almost taste it. Clover and mint and peas fresh from the vine. She closed her eyes, trying to discern more of the flavors—
And when she opened them again, she was lying on her back, staring up at a lavender sky. Her gaze slid over to Madam Sauer, who gave her a satisfied smirk.
It worked, she said, or tried to say, but her throat was dry as parchment and the words came out as little more than a raspy breath.
“Take your time,” said Madam Sauer. “You’ve been dead nearly a full day.”
As feeling returned to her limbs, Serilda tightened her fingers around the shaft of the arrow.
“A parting gift?” asked the witch.
Still unable to speak, Serilda smiled weakly.
With the older woman’s help, she managed to sit up. Her backside was soaked through, her cloak and the hem of her dress caked with mud. Her skin was cold to the touch.
But she was alive.
After some coughing and a lot of throat clearing and drinking some water from the river, finally Serilda found her voice. “It worked,” she whispered. “He thinks I’m dead.”
“Do not praise the day before the evening,” warned Madam Sauer. “We will not know for sure that the ruse was successful until the next full moon. You should hide until then, and have wax for your ears, perhaps even chain yourself into bed. And I would advise that you never return to this place again.”
The thought of it made Serilda dizzy with sadness, but also a fair amount of hope. Was she really free?
It seemed almost possible.
The rest of her life was before her.
Without her father. Without the mill. Without Gild … but also without the Erlking.
“I will help you.”
She glanced up, surprised at the expression of softness on Madam Sauer’s face.
“You are not entirely alone.”
Serilda could have wept with gratitude for such simple words, even if she wasn’t yet sure that she believed them.
“I feel I owe you an apology,” she said, “for all those mean-hearted stories I told about you over the years.”
Madam Sauer huffed. “I am not some weak-willed daisy. I care nothing for your stories. If anything, I rather like knowing that the children are afraid of me. As they well should be.”
“Well, I find it rather heartening to know that you are a witch. I like it when my lies turn into truths.”