Page 140 of Gilded

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?”

“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. Whatwouldthe 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.