Page 41 of Gilded

It was far worse.

The size of a toddler, but with the face of a devil. Horns spiraled forward from the sides of its head. Black leathery wings sprouted from its back. Its proportions were all wrong. Arms too short; legs too long; fingers tipped with spindly, pointed claws. Its skin was gray and purple; its eyes slitted like a cat. When it hissed at her, she saw that it had no teeth, but a serpent’s pointed tongue.

The creature was a nightmare, literally.

A drude.

Fear claimed her, crowding out any thoughts beyond horror, and some animalistic instinct to run. To get away.

Except her feet wouldn’t move. Her heart felt like it was the size of a melon, pressing against her ribs, squeezing the air from her lungs.

Her hand reached for her stinging cheek, wet with blood.

The drude shrieked and lunged for her, wings spread wide.

Serilda tried to strike out at it, but its talons latched on to her wrists, their sharp points puncturing like needles. Its wail invaded her, a scream so unearthly it felt as though it were piercing her soul. Her mind crystallized into nothing but fury and pain—then shattered.

Serilda was back in the castle’s dining hall, surrounded by disgusting tapestries. The Erlking was looming over her, his smile easy and proud. He gestured to the wall. She turned, her stomach in knots.

The hercinia bird was above the buffet, its glowing wings stretched out. But this time, it was alive. Screeching in pain. Its wings kept fluttering, trying to fly away, but they were mounted to a board, stuck through with thick iron nails.

And on the wall to either side, two disembodied heads had been placed on stone plaques. To the right—Gild, glowering at her with hate, his eyes flashing. This was her fault. He had tried to help her, and this was what had become of him.

And to the left—her father, his eyes open wide, his mouth twisting, trying desperately to form words.

She stepped closer to him, straining to hear him with tears on her cheeks.

Until a word finally came. A whisper as harsh as a scream.

Liar.

Distantly, a roar thundered through the dining hall.

No.

Not the dining hall.

From a corridor, upstairs.

Serilda’s eyes snapped open. She had fallen against one of the corridor’s windows, her shoulder cracking the glass, leaving a series of hairline fractures.

Her wrists were bleeding, but the drude had released her. It was standing a few feet away, its knees bent and wings lifted, preparing to take flight again. It was screeching, the sound shrill enough to make Serilda press her hands to her ears.

The drude jumped upward, but had barely left the ground when one of the candelabras tipped over. No—wasshovedover. It crashed against the drude, momentarily pinning it to the ground.

The creature howled and crawled out from beneath the heavy iron. It might have been limping, but it took flight again with ease.

A wind like a sea storm rushed through the hall, smelling of ice, tossing Serilda’s hair into her face and thrusting the drude against one of the doors with such force the chandeliers trembled overhead. The beast collapsed to the ground with a hiss of pain.

Seeing her chance, Serilda scrambled to her feet and ran.

Behind her, she heard something fall. Something crash. Another door slamming shut so hard the wall torches shuddered.

She whipped past the stained-glass windows with their watchful gods, down the staircase, her heart choking her.

She tried to remember where she was, but her eyes were blurred and her thoughts muddled. The halls were as unfamiliar as a labyrinth, and nothing looked the same as last night.

Another scream lifted the hairs on Serilda’s neck.