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“All right,” she breathed. “I will tell our neighbors about our upcoming trip to Mondbrück, and no doubt it will reach his spies as well. I will ensure that it is plenty convincing.”
He took her into his arms, squeezing her tight. “This will work,” he said, his voice thick with desperation. “After all, he cannot summon you if he cannot find you.”
Chapter 18
The dream was a spectacle of gems and satin and honeyed wine. A gilded party, a grand celebration, sparkles in the air and lanterns hung from the trees and pathways scattered with daisies. Laughter tripping through a lush garden surrounded by tall castle walls that glittered with merry torches. A joyous occasion, brilliant and whimsical and bright.
A birthday party. A royal fete. The young princess stood on the steps adorned in silk and a beatific smile, clutching a gift in both arms.
And then—a shadow.
The gold melted away, flowing down into the cracks in the stone, out through the gate, until it filled the bottom of the lake.
No. It was not gold at all, but blood.
Serilda’s eyes snapped open, a gasp filling her mouth. She sat up and reached for her chest, feeling a pressure there. Something pressing down on her, squeezing her life away.
Her fingers found only her nightgown, damp with sweat.
The dream tried to cling to her—its misty fingers sketching the nightmarish scene—but already the memory was fading. Serilda’s eyes roved around the room, searching for the shadow, but she did not even know what she was looking for. A monster? A king? All she could remember was that feeling of dread, knowing that something horrible had happened and she could do nothing to stop it.
It took a long time for her to believe it hadn’t been real. She sank back down onto the straw mattress with a shivering breath.
The door was edged in morning light, the nights growing shorter as spring approached. She could hear the steady drip of water off the rooftop as the snow melted. Soon it would be gone. Grasses would sprout vibrant green across the fields. Flowers would unfurl their heads toward the sky. Crows would gather in great flocks, eager to hunt for scurrying bugs in the dirt, hence why the last moon of winter was called the Crow Moon. It had nothing to do with eyeless, tattered beasts. But still, Serilda had been anxious all month, startling at every caw. Eyeing every dark-feathered bird with suspicion, as if every creature of the sky might be a spy for the Erlking.
But she had seen no more nachtkrapp.
She dared not hope that the king had forgotten her. Perhaps it had not been the gold he wanted, but revenge against the girl he’d believed had kept him from his prey. Now that he knew the supposed truth of her ability, maybe he had no use for her. Maybe he would leave her alone.
Or maybe he wouldn’t.
He might yet return for her on every full moon until he was satisfied.
And he might never be satisfied. The uncertainty was the worst part. She and her father had made their plans, and she knew he would not reconsider, even if they might be running away for nothing. Uprooting their lives, seeking refuge in an unfamiliar city, fornothing.
With a sigh, she climbed out of bed and started to dress. Father was not in his room, having been gone early every morning this past week, he and Zelig making the trek to Mondbrück. He had hated leaving her so often, but Serilda had insisted it was the best way to make their ruse more believable. It only made sense that he would continue his work on the town hall until he was needed at the mill again. Soon the snow would melt in the mountains and the Sorge would surge with enough force to power the watermill, enough to turn the millstones and grind the winter wheat that would be harvested in the coming months.
It also gave him ample opportunity to bring home news of the upcoming spring market. All month long, Serilda had been telling anyone who would listen that she would be joining her father in Mondbrück for a few days so they could enjoy the opening festivities. They would return after the Crow Moon.
That was their story. If it was ever overheard by the Erlking’s spies, she had no way of knowing.
No one around Märchenfeld seemed to care much, though the children expressed plenty of jealousy and demanded that she bring them each back a gift, or at least some candies. It crushed her heart as she promised them that she would, knowing it was not a promise she would keep.
Meanwhile, Papa took on the responsibility of quietly selling off many of their belongings during his travels to and from the larger town. Their house, which had been sparse before, was now downright barren. They would pack lightly, loading up a single cart that could be pulled by Zelig, and hope that the old horse had enough stamina left in his bones to get them to Verene once the full moon had passed. From there, Papa would hire a solicitor to handle the sale of the gristmill from afar, and with the proceeds, they would work toward establishing a new life.
That left a few small errands for Serilda, and one that she had been putting off all month.
She gathered up a stack of books, placing them neatly into a basket. Her hand skimmed over the volume that the librarian in Adalheid had given her, and she was met with another tug of guilt. She probably shouldn’t have taken it to begin with, despite how eager Frieda had seemed to be giving it to her. She had no real intention of reading it. The history of industry and agriculture in this area was not nearly as interesting to her as the history of fairies and monsters, and a quick flip through the pages led her to believe that the author included little about the mysteries of the Aschen Wood.
Maybe she should donate it to the school?
After a long hesitation, she packed it into the basket and slipped out the door.
She had not passed beneath the branches of the still-barren hazelnut tree when she heard whistling. Glancing up the road, she saw a figure walking toward her. A mess of curly black hair and tan skin almost golden in the morning sun.
She went still.
She’d managed to avoid Thomas Lindbeck so far. He had only come into the mill a couple of times to clean the floors and oil the cogs, making sure everything was ready for the busier season, and she was normally teaching at the school on those days. With everything else happening, she had given him little thought, though her father mentioned a few times how lucky they were to have him working at the mill while they were gone. It would delay suspicions when they did not return after the Crow Moon, and farmers began arriving with grain to be milled.
