Page 93 of Gilded

“Oh? You’ve visited there often, have you?”

Madam Sauer faltered, long enough for Serilda to reach around and snatch the book away from her.

She let out a disgruntled cry.

“I’ll have you know,” Serilda added, “that Adalheid is a lovely town full of lovely people. But I agree that you should stay away from it. I daresay you would not fit in.”

Madam Sauer’s eyes blazed. “Selfish child. You are already a blight on this community, and now you will bring wickedness upon us!”

“This may come as a surprise to you, madam,” said Serilda, her voice rising as her temper overcame her, “but your opinion is not required.”

Turning, she stormed from the house, slamming the door so hard behind her that Zelig, tied to the fence post, gave a jump and a whinny.

She paused, fuming, before she turned and thrust open the door again.

“Also,” she said, “I will not be attending the Eostrig’s Day festival. Please give the children my heartfelt apologies and tell them how very proud I am of their work on the god figures this past month.”

Then she slammed the door again, which was awfully satisfying.

Serilda expected the witch to come charging after her, slinging more insults and warnings. Her fingers were shaking as she tucked the book into a saddlebag and untied the reins. It had felt good to yell, when she had been swallowing her enraged screams all month.

Serilda hauled herself into the saddle and spurred the horse down the road—toward Adalheid.

She did not try to take the forest route, knowing that Zelig would refuse again. As the sun traced its path across the sky, she was glad they had gotten an early start. It would be far into the afternoon by the time she arrived.

She still thought of the Hunger Moon, when the coachman had first appeared at her doorway. She had been nervous then, even a little excited. There might have been moments when she’d been afraid, but she realized now that she had not been afraid enough. She had approached it all like a great story and had loved every moment she’d spent telling the children about her exploits, knowing they only half believed her.

But now?…

Now her life was balanced precariously on the tip of a sword, and every direction was fraught with danger. Fate was closing in around her, and she couldn’t imagine how to escape it. Her father was gone. She knew now that she could never escape the Erlking, not unless he chose to let her go. Eventually he would find out the truth, and she would pay the price.

And she knew she should be terrified. She knew it.

But mostly she was livid.

This was just a game to the Erlking. Predator and prey.

But to her, it was her life. Her family. Her freedom.

She wanted him to pay for what he had done. Not just to her, but to countless families, spanning centuries.

She tried to use the long hours to concoct some sort of plan for this night. It wasn’t as though she could just stroll up to the Erlking, grab his hunting knife, and plunge it into his heart.

For starters, even if, by some miracle, she actually succeeded in such a plot—she wasn’t even sure if that would kill him.

She wasn’t even sure hecouldbe killed.

But that didn’t keep the fantasy at bay.

At least, if she failed, she intended to go down with the drums and trumpets. For now, she tried to focus on practical measures she could take on this, the night of the springtide. But even then, her thoughts quickly became muddled. She knew she must try to sneak into the castle. She would find Gild. If Leyna was right, he would be alone. She needed to talk to him. To ask if he might know anything about her mother. To ask about the history of the castle, and if the Erlking had any weaknesses.

And, if she were being honest, she simply wanted to see him again.

Thoughts of Gild came with their own persistent fantasies.

The last moments of the Crow Moon had been overshadowed by her fears for her father, but she could not think of Gild without remembering that hasty kiss pressed against her lips. Hungry and wanting and then, simply,gone.

She shivered at the memory, but not from cold.