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The pain she’d felt had not been death. It had been the sensation of her spirit being torn from her body.
Not letting go so much as being ripped away.
She was not dead.
She was not a ghost.
She was merely … cursed.
She rose to her feet, no longer trembling, and met the Erlking’s gaze. “That,” she said through gritted teeth, “was not very romantic.”
“My sweet,” he said, and she could tell that he took pleasure in this act, this mimicry of human affection, “were you hoping for a kiss?”
She exhaled sharply through her nostrils, glad that shecouldstill breathe, even if she didn’tneedto. Her hands patted down the sides of her body, testing the sensation. She felt different. Incomplete, but still solid. She could feel the weight of her dress, the path of tears on her face. And yet, her actual body was lying on the floor at her feet.
Her hands made their way to her stomach. Was her baby still growing inside of her?
Or was it now growing inside of?…
She glanced down at her body, lying there still and stunned. Not dead. Not quite alive.
She wanted to believe that the Erlking would not have used this curse if it would hurt the child. What would have been the point? But she also wasn’t sure how much thought he was giving to any of this.
That was when she realized what felt so distinctly different. When it finally came to her, it was obvious, and she wondered how she hadn’t noticed before.
She could no longer feel her heart beating in her chest.
Chapter 55
Now then,” said the Erlking, taking her fingers and tucking them into the crook of his elbow, “let us announce our good fortune.”
Serilda still felt dazed as he marched her out of the throne room, through the great hall, beneath the overhang of the massive entry doors that overlooked the courtyard, where all his hunters and ghosts continued to mill about, confused as to what their king expected of them.
The children were gathered right where she’d left them, clutching one another, Hans trying to defend them from a curious goblin who had hopped closer and was trying to sniff their knees.
Serilda crouched down, arms wide. The children hurried into her embrace—
And passed right through her.
It felt like a blast of icy wind cutting through her core.
Serilda gasped. The children backed away, gawking at her wide-eyed.
“I-it’s all right,” she croaked. Gild had told her that he could pass through ghosts. He had tried to pass throughherwhen they’d first met. Squaring her shoulders, Serilda tried to be more conscious of the physical limits of her body. She reached out to them again. They were more hesitant, but as Serilda’s hands found their arms, their cheeks, their hair, they again pressed into her.
It was awful touching them. The sensation was a bit like handling dead fish—cold and flimsy and slippery. But she would never tell them that, and she would never shy away from their embraces or from doing all she could to comfort and care for them.
“I am sorry,” she whispered. “I am so sorry. For everything.”
“What did he do to you?” whispered Nickel, tenderly placing a hand over Serilda’s wrist, where the hole from the arrow had stopped bleeding.
“Don’t worry about me. And try not to be afraid. I’m here, and I won’t leave you.”
“We’re already dead,” said Fricz. “Not much more he can do.”
Serilda wished that were true.
“That is enough, children,” said the Erlking, his shadow falling over them. As if he’d heard Fricz’s comment and was eager to prove just how wrong the child was, the Erlking flicked his fingers. As one, the children backed out of Serilda’s embrace, their spines stiff, their expressions dulled.
