Page 141 of Gilded

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 Erlkönig 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 wereyourlife we were discussing?”

The maiden lifted an eyebrow. “I am notblithe.Erlkönig 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 Erlkönig 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 Erlkönig and his hunters must be our enemy.”

She shook her head. “I have no desire to be your enemy.”