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Hope skittered inside her. “You’ll do it? You’ll accept that offer?”
He sighed, the sound long and drawn out, as if it physically pained him to agree to this. “Yes. I will do this in exchange for … your firstborn child.But”—his grip tightened, squashing the jolt of euphoria that threatened to have her throwing her arms around him—“this bargain is binding and unbreakable, and I fully expect you to stay alive long enough to fulfill your end of it. Do you understand me?”
She gulped, feeling the magical pull of the bargain. The air pressing in around her. Stifling, squeezing in against her chest.
A magical bargain, binding and unbreakable. A deal struck beneath the Chaste Moon, with a ghostly thing, an unliving thing. A prisoner of the veil.
She knew she couldn’t really promise to stay alive. The Erlking would have her killed as soon as it pleased him to do so.
And yet, she heard her own words as if whispered from a distant place. “You have my word.”
The air shuddered and released.
It was done.
Gild flinched and pulled away.
He wasted no time in settling himself at the spinning wheel and beginning the task. He seemed to work twice as fast as he had before, his jaw set and his eyes focused only on the straw being fed into the wheel. It was magic itself to watch him. The confident movements of his fingers, the steady thump of his foot on the pedal, the deft way his hands tied the golden threads onto the bobbin as they emerged twinkling from the wheel.
Serilda once again set about assisting him as well as she could. The night passed quickly. It seemed that every time Serilda dared to glance at the candle, another inch had been lost from the wax. Her fears rose as she tried to estimate how much work they had done. She surveyed the pile of straw, picturing what it had been when she’d first arrived. Were they halfway through? More? Was there yet any sign of the sky lightening outside the castle walls?
Gild said nothing. He hardly moved but to accept each new handful of straw she handed him, always maintaining the steady spinning of the wheel.
So much for all her fantasies of romance, she thought dryly, then chastised herself for it. She was grateful—endlessly grateful that Gild was here, that she would live another night, despite the Erlking’s impossible demands.
Ifthey finished, that is.
The piles of straw slowly dwindled and the pile of sparkling bobbins grew, until there was a wall of gold thread glistening near the door.
Whir …
Whir …
Whir …
“I’ve been asking around to see if there are any spirits named Idonia.”
Serilda blinked. Gild was not looking at her. His focus never left his work. He seemed tense after their bargain. She supposed she felt pretty tense, too.
“And?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing so far. But I have to be careful who I ask. Don’t want it getting back to His Darkness, or he might get suspicious of us.”
“I understand. Thank you for trying.”
“If I do find her …,” he started uncertainly. “What should I tell her?”
Serilda considered. It seemed like an impossible hope at this point. What were the chances, that of all the hunt’s victims, her mother would be one the king had deigned to keep in his servitude? Her search felt futile, especially when she was supposed to be worrying about herself, her own servitude.
“Just tell her that someone is looking for her, I suppose,” she said.
At this, Gild did glance up, looking like he wanted to say more. But he hesitated for too long, then eventually returned his focus to his work.
“Shall I continue our story?” Serilda suggested, eager for a distraction. Something that didn’t have to do with her mother or her firstborn child or this rotten predicament she was trapped in.
Gild sighed, relieved. “I wish you would.”
The old woman stood on the bridge before the prince, her face in a permanent scowl, yet her eyes alight with wisdom.
