Page 153 of Gilded

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.”

“I would tell you to keep that to yourself, but … well, no one will believe you even if you do tell them.”

The loud, rapid clop of a galloping horse drew their attention toward the road. To the north of the mill, a little bridge passed over the river, and they could see a single rider on a horse racing across. Serilda climbed to her feet, and for a short, gleeful moment, she imagined her father returning with Zelig.

But no—Zelig had been left behind in Adalheid, and her father was never coming home.

It wasn’t until the man started yelling that Serilda recognized him. Thomas Lindbeck.