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Parasite.
Serilda shivered at the word, but tried not to let her disgust show.
She spread her palms, a sign of open honesty that she knew well. “I felt it,” she lied. “The moment I conceived, I felt the magic leaving my fingers, pooling in my womb, cradling this child. I cannot say for certain that he or she will be born with the same gift as I’ve had, but I do know that Hulda’s magic now resides in them. If you kill this child, this blessing will be gone forever.”
“Your eyes have not changed.” He said this as if it were proof that she was lying.
Serilda merely shrugged. “I do not spin with my eyes.”
The king leaned to one side, pressing a finger against his temple, massaging it in slow circles. His gaze slid to the barber, waiting with his tools wrapped again in their pouch. After a long moment, the Erlking lifted his chin and asked, “Who is the father?”
She stilled.
It had not occurred to her he might ask this, that he might care. She doubted that hedidcare, but what purpose might he have to wonder?
“No one,” she said. “A boy from my village. A farmer, my lord.”
“And does this farmer know that you carry his offspring?”
She slowly shook her head.
“Good. Does anyone else know?”
“No, my lord.”
Again he leaned forward, mindlessly tracing his fingers along the edges of his mouth. Serilda held her breath, trying not to shake beneath his scrutiny. If she could only buy herself some time … If she could only persuade him to let her live long enough to?…
To do what?
She didn’t know. But she knew she needed more time.
“All right,” said the king suddenly. He reached down to the side of his throne and took hold of the crossbow. His other hand took out one arrow—one not tipped in gold, but black.
Serilda’s eyes widened. “Wait!” she cried, lifting her hands even as she fell again to her knees. Pleading. “Don’t. I can be useful to you … I know there’s some way …”
The bow clicked loudly as he loaded the arrow into it.
“Please! Please don’t—”
The trigger snapped. The arrow whistled and struck hard.
Chapter 54
Agrunt. A gurgle. A wheeze.
Mouth hanging open, Serilda slowly turned her head.
The arrow had gone straight into the barber’s heart. The blood trickling down the front of his tunic was not red, but black like oil, and reeking of decay.
He collapsed to the ground, his body convulsing as his hands gripped the arrow’s shaft.
It seemed to go on forever, before the barber gave one last gasping exhale, then fell still. His hands dropped to his sides, palms open to the ceiling.
As Serilda stared, shocked, he melted away. His entire body succumbed to the black oil, his features dripping down into the rugs. Soon there was nothing left of him but a ghastly, greasy pool and the arrow left behind.
“Wh-what …? You just …,” she stammered. “You cankillthem?”
“When it pleases me to do so.” The rustle of leather drew Serilda’s gaze back to the Erlking. He lifted himself from the throne and paced over to retrieve his arrow. He still held the crossbow loosely at his side, and when he faced Serilda, she instinctively backed away from him.
