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She shrank back. The creature was huge. If it tried to jump—
A loudthwackinterrupted the thought.
The hound yelped and jerked, going stiff.
It took Serilda a gasping moment to notice the long arrow shaft fletched with shining black feathers. It had gone into one of the hound’s eyes and out through the side of its jaw. Black smoke oozed from the wound, as the flames slowly dimmed behind its ragged fur.
The hound fell to the side, its legs twitching as it wheezed its last breaths.
Dizzy with the rush of blood, Serilda tore her gaze away. The Erlking stood on the steps of the castle’s keep, dressed in the same fine leather, his black hair draped loosely across his shoulders. A massive crossbow hung at his side.
Ignoring Serilda, he turned his falcon’s gaze on the woman who stood between the kennel and the carriage. She had the striking elegance of a dark one, but her clothing was utilitarian, her arms and legs covered in leather braces.
“What happened?” he asked, his tone suggesting a calm that Serilda didn’t believe for a moment.
The woman dropped into a hasty bow. “I was preparing the hounds for the hunt, Your Grim. The kennel gate was open and I believe the chain had been cut. My back was turned. I didn’t realize what was happening until the beast was free and …” Her gaze turned swiftly up to Serilda, still perched on top of the carriage, then down to the body of the hound. “I take full responsibility, my lord.”
“Why?” drawled the Erlking. “Did you cut the chain?”
“Of course not, my lord. But they are in my care.”
The king grunted. “Why didn’t it respond to my commands?”
“That one was a pup, not yet fully trained. But no one gets fed until after the hunt, and so … it was hungry.”
Serilda’s eyes bugged as she looked again at the beast, whose body stretched out would have been nearly as long as she was tall. Its fires had been extinguished, leaving it a mound of black fur tight against its ribs, and teeth that looked strong enough to crush a human skull. She could see now that itwassmaller than those she had seen during the hunt, but still. It was only apup?
The thought was not comforting.
“Finish your work,” said the king. “And clean up the body.” He swung the crossbow up onto his back as he descended the steps, pausing before the woman, who Serilda guessed was the master of the hounds. “You are not responsible for this incident,” he said to the top of her bowed head. “This could only have been the poltergeist.”
His lip curled, just slightly, as if the word had a bitter taste.
“Thank you, Your Grim,” murmured the woman. “I will ensure it does not happen again.”
The Erlking crossed the courtyard and stood at the wheel of the carriage, peering up at Serilda. Knowing that it would be foolish to try to bow or curtsy while in such a predicament, Serilda merely smiled. “Are things always so exhilarating around here?”
“Not always,” responded the Erlking in his measured tone. He moved closer, bringing the shadows along with him. Serilda’s instincts told her to cower, despite how she towered above him on the carriage roof. “The hounds are rarely treated to the flesh of humans. One can understand why it was so easily excited.”
Her eyebrows shot upward. She wanted to think it was a joke, but she wasn’t convinced the dark ones knew what a joke was.
“Your Ma—Your Grim,” she said, with only a bit of a waver. “What a great honor it is to be once again in your presence. I hardly could have expected to be summoned to Gravenstone Castle by the Alder King himself.”
The corner of his luscious mouth twitched. In the moonlight, his lips were purple, like a fresh bruise or a squashed blackberry. Strangely, Serilda’s mouth watered at the thought.
“So you do know who I am,” he said almost mockingly. “I had wondered.” His gaze skittered quickly around the courtyard. The stables, the kennels, the ominous walls. “You are mistaken. This is not Gravenstone Castle. My home is haunted with memories I have no wish to relive, so I spend little time there. Instead, I have claimed Adalheid as my home and sanctuary.” He was smiling at some unknown pleasure when he met Serilda’s gaze again. “The royal family was not using it.”
Adalheid. The name seemed familiar, but Serilda could not place where, exactly, it was.
Just as she wasn’t sure what royal family he was talking about. Mär chenfeld and the Aschen Wood were situated in the northernmost region of the Kingdom of Tulvask, currently under the rule of QueenAgnette II and the House of Rosenstadt. But as Serilda understood, it was a relationship based on arbitrary lines drawn on a map, a few taxes, the occasional trade road built or maintained, and the promise of military aid if required—which it never was, given that they were well-protected by the towering basalt cliffs that dropped off into a treacherous sea on one side, and the foreboding Rückgrat Mountains on the other. The capital city of Verene was so far to the south that she didn’t know a single person who had ever actually been there, nor could she recall a member of the royal family ever having come to their corner of the realm. People talked about the royal family and their laws like someone else’s problem—nothing that held direct consequence for them. Some people in town even thought that the government was content to leave them alone for fear of annoying the true rulers of the north.
The Erlking and his dark ones, who answered to no one when they stormed out from behind the veil.
And Shrub Grandmother and the forest folk, who would never succumb to the rule of humans.
“I suspect,” said Serilda, “that few would argue with your laying claim to such a castle. Or … anything at all that you wanted.”
“Indeed,” said the Erlking, as he gestured at the coachman’s bench. “You may come down now.”
