Page 64 of Gilded

Using the tool’s handle as leverage, he pried away the first board from the intricately carved door. Then the second.

Serilda’s hands fell onto her father’s. “Papa, what are you doing?”

He glanced toward her, but even in the dim lighting she could see that his gaze was unfocused. Sweat beaded on his brow.

“Papa?”

With a sneer, he put a hand to her sternum and shoved her away.

Serilda stumbled back.

Her father yanked open the door and rushed out into the night.

Pulse fluttering, she dashed after him. He was moving quicker now, hurrying across the square, toward the inn where they should have been staying. The moon illuminated the square in a silver glow.

Serilda was halfway across the square when she realized he wasn’t heading to the inn’s entrance, but around to the back. She picked up her pace. Usually she had no trouble keeping up with her father. Her legs were longer and he was not a man to hasten unnecessarily. But now she was out of breath as she darted around the large fountain of Freydon in the square’s center.

She turned the corner behind the inn and froze.

Her father had disappeared.

“Papa? Where are you?” she said, feeling the waver in her voice. Then, with clenched teeth, she reached for her ears and pried out the globs of wax. The sounds of the world rushed back around her. Mostly the night was quiet, the revelers from the public houses and ale gardens having long retired. But there was the sound of shuffling not far away.

She realized it was coming from the stables that were shared by the inn and other nearby businesses.

She stomped forward, but before she could duck into the shelter, her father emerged, leading Zelig by the reins.

She blinked in surprise, stepping back. Papa had secured the bridle over Zelig’s head, but had not bothered with the saddle.

“What are you doing?” she asked, breathless.

Again, his gaze swept over her without expression. Then he stepped onto a nearby crate and, with a strength and agility she would have been certain her father did not possess, heaved himself up onto the horse’s back. His fists grabbed the reins and the old horse lurched forward. Serilda threw herself back against the stable wall to keep from being trampled.

Dazed and frightened, Serilda ran after them, screaming for him to stop.

She did not have to run far.

As soon as she reached the edge of the wide-open square, she froze.

Her father and Zelig were there waiting for her.

And they were surrounded by the hunt. Beside them, Zelig looked small and pathetic and weak, though he was standing as proud as he ever had, as if attempting to fit in with these powerful warhorses.

Dread hardened in her stomach.

She was shaking as she met the Erlking’s gaze. He rode at the front of the hunting party, astride that glorious steed.

And there was one horse without a rider. Its coat as dark as ink, its white mane braided with belladonna flowers and sprigs of blackberries.

“How good of you to join us,” said the Erlking with a wicked smile.

Then he raised the hunting horn to his lips.

Chapter 21

It could only be a dream. True, many unusual and uncanny things had happened to her these past weeks, and the boundary between truth and fiction felt thinner every day.

Butthis.