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She swallowed hard and looked back. Gild’s jaw was locked. Misery mixed with anger across the planes of his face.
It was too far for her to see the chains clearly, but Serilda had no doubt they were crafted of strands of pure gold, woven into an unbreakable chain.
Her heart ached.
He had made his own prison, and he had done it for her.
But to stare a second longer would lead to suspicions, and the king could not know that it was Gild who had the gift of spinning, not her. If he knew what the cursed prince was truly capable of, he would no doubt find new ways of torturing him until Gild agreed to spin all the gold he wanted.
And if she knew Gild at all, she knew that he would endure the torture rather than do anything this monster demanded of him.
For eternity.
She forced herself to turn away. To face the spinning wheel.
A story,some sneaky voice whispered as she took a seat on the stool. What she needed was a great lie. Something convincing. Something that would get her out of this predicament and also let her keep her head, and rescue Gerdrut.
That was a lot to ask of a simple fairy tale, and her mind was blank. She doubted she could have recited a nursery rhyme in that moment, much less spun a story as grand as she needed.
She gave the wheel a turn with her fingers, as if testing it. She pressed her foot against the treadle. She tried to appear contemplative as her fingers skimmed across the empty, waiting bobbin.
What a picture she must make. The charming peasant girl at her spinning wheel. She had become a spectacle.
She reached into the cart for a handful of straw, taking the opportunity to glance around once more. Some of the ghosts were leaning forward, craning their necks to see.
She pretended to inspect the straw in her hands.
A lie.
I need a lie.
Nothing came.
Wyrdith, god of stories and fortune,she pleaded silently.I have never asked you for anything, but please hear me now. If my father did help you, if you did give me your blessing, if I am truly your godchild, then please. Spin your fortune’s wheel. Let it land in my favor.
Serilda’s hand shook as she picked out the longest piece of straw and took in a staggered breath. She had seen Gild do this so many times. Was it at all possible that his magic might have transferred into her? That one couldlearnto be a gold-spinner?
She gave the wheel another spin.
Whir?…?
Her foot pressed against the treadle, increasing its speed.
Whir?…?
She moved the straw toward the maiden hole, as she had moved countless knots of fresh-sheared wool since she was a child. The straw scratched at her palms.
Whir?…?
It did not wrap around the bobbin.
Of course it didn’t.
She’d forgotten to tie the leader yarn.
Face heating with embarrassment, she fumbled to secure one end of the straw onto the bobbin. She could hear rustling in the audience, but from the corner of her eye, the Erlking stood perfectly still. He might have been a corpse himself.
With the leader yarn attached as well as she could get it, and knotted to the next strand of straw, she tried again.
