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Nickel scowled. “What does that have to do with the king and queen?”
“And their children?” added Gerdrut.
Anna scratched her ear, accidentally smearing paint down one of her braids. “I hadn’t thought about that.”
Serilda chuckled. “Keep thinking. This is the start of a very exciting tale. I know you’ll figure it out.”
The children bandied about ideas as they worked. Sometimes the Erlking was the villain, sometimes it was the god of death, once it was the queen herself. Sometimes the townspeople narrowly escaped, sometimes they fought back, sometimes they were all massacred in their sleep. Sometimes they joined the hunt, sometimes they were stolen off to Verloren. Sometimes the ending was happy, but usually it was tragic.
Soon, the story had tied itself into knots, the threads growing ever more tangled, until the children were arguing over which storyline was best, and who should die and who should fall in love and who should fall in love andthendie. Serilda knew she should interject. She should help them set the record straight, or at least reach some sort of ending that they could all agree on.
But she was lost in her own thoughts, hardly listening to their story as it became more and more cumbersome. Until it no longer resembled the story of Adalheid Castle at all.
The truth was, Serilda didn’t want to make up another story about the castle. She didn’t want to keep spinning outlandish fabrications.
She wanted to know the truth. What had really become of the people who had once lived there? Why were their spirits never put to rest? Why had the Erlking claimed it as his sanctuary, and abandoned Gravenstone Castle, deep in the Aschen Wood?
She wanted to know about Gild.
She wanted to know about her mother.
But all she had were questions.
And the brutal certainty that she would never have answers.
“Serilda? Serilda!”
She jolted. Anna was frowning at her. “Fricz asked you a question.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I was … thinking about your story.” She smiled. “It’s very good so far.”
She was met with five dismayed looks. It seemed they didn’t agree.
“What did you ask?”
“I asked if you’ll be walking with us during the parade?” said Fricz.
“Oh. Oh, I can’t. I’m too old now. And besides, I …”
I’ll be gone. I’m leaving you, leaving Märchenfeld. Forever.
She couldn’t tell them. She hoped it was easier this way, to just leave and never come back. To not have to suffer through their farewells.
But she didn’t really believe it would be easier at all.
For sixteen years she’d believed her mother had left her without a goodbye, and there had been nothing easy about that.
But she couldn’t tell them. She couldn’t risk it.
“I might have to miss the festivities this year.”
“You won’t be there?” shouted Gerdrut. “Why not?”
“Is it because—” Hans began, but then stopped himself. As a Lindbeck, he had probably heard all about the year that his older brother danced with the cursed girl, and wolves got into their fields.
“No,” said Serilda, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “I don’t care what everyone says about me, even if I am bad luck.”
His frown deepened.
