“I’m not sure that’s true,” she said, thinking of the rubinrot wyvern mounted in the castle’s great hall, which supposedly had been hunted all the way in Lysreich. “Besides, Father … I’ve seen nachtkrapp.”

  He tensed. “What?”

  “I think they’re watching me, for him. If they think I am trying to leave, I don’t know what they’ll do.”

  His brow furrowed. “We will have to be very careful, then. Make it seem like we’re only leaving temporarily. Not draw any suspicion.” He considered for a long moment. “We can go to Mondbrück. Pretend that we have business there. Stay at a nice inn for a few nights and then, when the full moon comes, we’ll sneak away. Find refuge in a … barn or a stable. In some places, they put wax in their ears to block out the call of the horn. We will try that, so that even if the hunt passes near, you will not hear their call.”

  She nodded slowly. There were doubts crowding into her thoughts. Warnings from the coachman. Images of a cat toying with a mouse.

  But she had so few options. If she continued to be called to the castle, eventually the Erlking would discover her lies, and he would kill her for them.

  “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, for nothing.

  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.

  Thomas was just about to turn off the road, heading toward the mill on the other side of the house, when he spotted her and his expression faltered. His whistling cut short.

  The moment that passed between them was horrendously awkward, but blissfully brief.

  Clearing his throat, he seemed to gather his courage before looking at Serilda again. Well, not at her, exactly. More … at the sky just above her head. Some people did this. Too uncomfortable to look her directly in the eye, they would find something else to focus on, as if she couldn’t tell the difference.

  “Good morning, Miss Serilda,” he said, removing his cap.

  “Thomas.”

  “Are you off to the school?”

  “I am,” she said, gripping the handle of the basket tighter. “I’m afraid you’ve missed my father. He’s already gone to Mondbrück for the day.”

  “Won’t be much longer before he’s done over there, will it?” He nodded toward the river. “Water’s picking up. Imagine this mill will be a flurry of activity soon enough.”

  “Yes, but the work on the town hall has been a boon for us, and I don’t think he wishes to leave until it’s finished.” She cocked her head. “Are you worried about having to run the mill without him, should he not be back in time?”

  “Naw, I think I can handle it,” he said with a one-shouldered shrug. Finally meeting her eye for real. “He’s taught me up pretty well. So long as nothing breaks, that is.”

  He flashed her a smile, showing the dimples that had once made her swoon.

  Recognizing the peace offering, Serilda returned a weak grin. Thomas was the only boy in Märchenfeld that she had once upon a time thought … maybe. He was not the handsomest boy in town, but he was one of the few who didn’t shy away from her gaze. At least, back then he hadn’t. There had been a time when they were friends. He had even asked her to dance once at the Eostrig’s Day festival, and Serilda had been sure she was falling deeply in love with him.

  She’d been sure he felt the same way.

  But the next morning it was discovered that one of the gates on the Lindbeck farm had been left unlocked. Wolves had gotten two of their goats, and a number of their chickens had either escaped or been carried off by the pack. It wasn’t a difficult challenge for the Lindbecks to overcome—they had plenty of livestock. But still. Everyone in town had interpreted it as terrible ill fortune brought on by the cursed girl in their midst.

  After that, he barely looked at her and made hasty excuses to leave whenever she was around.

  She now regretted how many tears she’d wasted on him, but at the time, she had been devastated.

  “I’ve heard that you’re hoping to offer your hand to Bluma Rask.”

  She was surprised that the question had escaped.

  Surprised more at the utter lack of spite it held.

  Thomas’s cheeks flushed as his hands brutally twisted and untwisted the cap. “I … yes. I hope to,” he said cautiously. “This summer, I hope.”

  She was tempted to ask how long he planned to apprentice for her father, and if he hoped to one day take over the mill. The Lindbecks owned a fair amount of farmland, but he had three older brothers who would inherit before him. It was likely that he and Hans and their other siblings would have to find their own way in the world if they hoped to provide for a family of their own. If Thomas could get the coin for it, he might even be interested in buying the mill himself. She pictured him and his sweetheart living here, in the house she had grown up in.

  Her stomach curdled at the thought. But not out of jealousy for Thomas’s someday bride. Rather, she was jealous to think of the brood of children whose laughter might carry over these fields. They would splash in her river, climb her mother’s hazelnut tree.

  She had always been so happy here, even if it was only her and her father. It was a wonderful home for a family.

  But what did it matter? She had to say goodbye. They would never be safe here. They could never come back.

  She nodded, and her smile became a little less forced. “I’m very happy for you both.”

  “Thank you,” he said with an uncomfortable chuckle. “But I haven’t asked her yet.”

  “I won’t say a word.”

  She bid him farewell and started down the road, wondering when, exactly, she had fallen out of love with Thomas Lindbeck. She did not remember her heart healing, and yet it seemed clear that it had.

  As she walked she noticed that the town of Märchenfeld was beginning to awaken as if from a long nap. Snow was melting, flowers were blooming, and springtide would soon be heralded by Eostrig’s Day, one of the biggest celebrations of the year. The festival took place on the equinox, which was still more than three weeks away, but there was much to do and everyone had a job—from preparing food and wine for the feast to sweeping the remnants of winter storms off the cobblestones in the city square. The equinox was a symbolic time, a reminder that winter had once again been bested by sunshine and rebirth, that life would return, that the harvest would be plentiful—unless it wasn’t, but that would be a worry for another day. Spring was a time of hope.

  But this year, Serilda’s thoughts lingered on darker things. The conversation with her father had cast a shadow over everything she did this past month.

  Her mother, who yearned for freedom, had been lured away by the hunt and never seen again.

  Serilda had seen many ghosts in Adalheid Castle. Could her mother be among them? Was she dead? Had the Erlking kept her spirit?

  Or—another thought, one that made her feel hollow inside.

  What if her mother had not been killed? What if she had awoken the next day, abandoned somewhere in the wilds of the country … and simply chosen not to come back home?

  The questions circled endlessly through her mind, darkening what otherwise would have been a most pleasant stroll. But at least she hadn’t spotted a single hollow-eyed raven.

  Anna and the twins were outside the schoolhouse, waiting for Hans and Gerdrut to arrive before they went in to begin their lessons.

  “Miss Serilda!” cried Anna delightedly when she spotted her. “I’ve been practicing! Look!” Before Serilda could respond, Anna was upside down in a handstand. She even managed to take three walking steps on her hands before she dropped her feet back to the ground.

  “Wonderfully done!” said Serilda. “I can tell you’ve been working hard on that.”

  “Don’t you dare encourage that child,” snapped Madam Sauer from the doorway. Her appearance was like the blowing out of a lantern—it extinguished all light from their small group. “If she spends any more time upside down, she’s going to turn into a bat. And it isn’t ladylike, Miss Anna. We can all see your bloomers when you do that.”

  “So?” said Anna, adjusting her dress. “Everyone sees Alvie’s bloomers all the time.” Alvie was her toddling baby brother.

  “It is not the same,” said the schoolmistress. “You must learn to act with propriety and grace.” She lifted a finger. “You will sit still throughout today’s lessons or I will have you tied to your seat, do you understand?”

  Anna pouted. “Yes, Madam Sauer.” But as soon as the old witch had gone back into the school, she made an ugly face that made Fricz cackle.

  “I bet she’s jealous,” said Nickel with a small grin. “I think she’d rather like to be a bat, don’t you?”

  Anna flashed him an appreciative smile.

  Madam Sauer was standing at the stove in the corner of the schoolhouse, adding peat to the fire when Serilda entered. Despite the approaching spring, the world remained cold, and the students had difficulty focusing on their mathematics lessons even when their toes weren’t numb inside their shoes.

  “Good morning,” Serilda chirped, hoping to start the conversation with brightness before it was tarnished by Madam Sauer’s perpetually rotten mood.

  The schoolteacher cast her a surly look, her eye darting to the basket on Serilda’s elbow. “What is that?”

  Serilda frowned. “Viper toenails,” she deadpanned. “Swallow three at sunrise and they will help enliven an ill temper. I thought I’d bring you the whole lot of them.”

  She dropped the basket onto the teacher’s desk with a heavy thud.

  Madam Sauer glared at her, her cheeks reddening at the insult.

  Serilda sighed, feeling a small twinge of guilt. She might feel terrible about leaving the children to her tedious lessons and strict expectations, but that didn’t mean she had to spend her last days here trying to offend the witch. “I’m returning some books that I borrowed from the school,” she said, pulling out the tomes—mostly compendiums of folktales and myths and stories of distant lands. They had received little appreciation in the schoolhouse, and Serilda didn’t really want to give them back at all, but books were heavy and Zelig was old, and they didn’t really belong to her.

  It was time to disavow Madam Sauer of her suspicions that she was a thief.

  Madam Sauer eyed the books with narrowed eyes. “Those have been missing for years.”

  She shrugged apologetically. “I hope you haven’t missed them too much? The fairy tales in particular didn’t seem to fit with the rest of your curriculum.”

  With a scoff, Madam Sauer stepped forward and picked up the book she’d gotten from the librarian in Adalheid. “This one is not mine.”

  “No,” said Serilda. “It was given to me recently, but I thought you might enjoy it more.”

  “Did you steal it?”

  Serilda’s jaw tightened. “No,” she said slowly. “Of course not. But if you don’t want it, I’ll happily take it back.”

  Madam Sauer grunted and gently turned a few of the brittle pages. “Fine,” she finally spat, snapping the cover shut. “Put them on the shelf.”

  As she returned to the fire, Serilda couldn’t resist copying Anna and making a face behind her back. Gathering up the books, she carried them to the small shelf.

  “Not sure why I’ve even kept some of those,” muttered the witch. “I know there are scholars who see value in the old tales, but if you ask me, they’re poison to young minds.”

  “You can’t mean that,” said Serilda, even though she was fairly certain she did. “There’s no harm in a fairy tale now and then. It prompts imagination and clever thinking, and good manners besides. It’s never the nasty, greedy characters that live happily ever after. Only the good ones.”