Page 27 of Gilded

But Serilda cared nothing for this boy or whatever he might think of her. For him to treat her desperation like a game made him almost as cruel as the king who had locked her in here. She swiped her sleeve across her nose, sniffling, then straightened beneath his scrutiny.

“I’m beginning to reconsider,” he said. “Maybe you really are a witch.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Let’s find out. Shall I turn you into a toad or a cat?”

“Oh—a toad, most definitely,” he said, not missing a beat. “Cats don’t get much notice. But a toad? Could cause all sorts of trouble at the next feast.” He cocked his head to one side. “But no. You’re not a witch.”

“Met many witches, have you?”

“Just can’t imagine a witch ever looking as pitiful and helpless as you did just now.”

“I’m not pitiful,” she said through her teeth. “Or helpless. Who are you, anyway? If I didn’t summon you, then why are you here?”

“I make it my business to know everything of note that happens in this castle. Congratulations. I’ve deemed you noteworthy.” He flourished the piece of straw toward her, as if he was bestowing her with a knighthood.

“I’m flattered,” she deadpanned.

The boy laughed and lifted his hands in what might have been a show of peace. “All right. You’re neither pitiful nor helpless. I must have misunderstood all the weeping and moaning and so on and so forth. Forgive me.” His tone was far too light for it to sound like arealapology, but Serilda felt her anger beginning to cool nevertheless. The boy turned around, examining the room. “So. The Erlking brought a mortal to the castle and locked her up. A bunch of straw, a spinning wheel. Easy enough to guess what he wants.”

“Indeed. He wants some straw baskets for storing all the yarn that’s going to be spun on this wheel. I think he means to take up knitting.”

“He does need a hobby,” said the boy. “One can only go around kidnapping people and butchering magical creatures for so many centuries before it gets tiresome.”

She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t help the way her mouth twitched into an almost-smile.

The boy caught it and his grin widened further. She noticed that one of his canine teeth was a bit sharper than the other. “He wants you to spin this straw into gold.”

She sighed, the momentary humor evaporating. “He does.”

“Why does he believe you can do it?”

Serilda hesitated, before answering, “Because I told him that I could.”

Surprise flashed across his face—genuine, this time. “Can you?”

“No. It was a story I made up to … it’s complicated.”

“You lied to Erlkönig?”

She nodded.

“Direct to his face?”

She nodded again, and was rewarded with something more than mere curiosity. For a moment, the boy looked impressed.

“Except,” Serilda hastened to add, “he doesn’t really believe me. He might have at the time, but not anymore. This is a test. And when I fail, he will have me killed.”

“Yes, I heard about that. Might have been eavesdropping upstairs. To be honest, I thought I’d come down here and find you wallowing in self-misery. Which you were, clearly.”

“I wasn’t wallowing!”

“I have my opinion, you have yours. What I find more interesting is how you were also …trying.” He gestured to the spinning wheel, and the bobbin wrapped with broken and knotted bits of straw. “I didn’t expect that. At least, not from a girl who is decidedlyunwitchy.”

Serilda rolled her eyes. “Not that it did me any good. I’m not a gold-spinner. I can’t do this.” A thought occurred to her then. “But …youhave magic. You got in here, somehow. Can you get me out of here?”

It was only a temporary solution, she knew. The Erlking would come for her again, and next time, she knew he would follow through on his threats. He might not just come for her, but for her father, perhaps for the entire village of Märchenfeld.

Could she risk that?