She had no jobs to complete. No one to talk to.

  Nothing to do but wait.

  She wished she had taken the potion at sundown. If only she’d known. The waiting was almost as tedious as spinning.

  Finally, after an age and a year had seemingly passed, the sunset lit the horizon on fire. Indigo blue stretched across the sky. The first stars winked down upon the village of Märchenfeld. Night descended.

  The Awakening Moon shone bright overhead, called such because the world was finally growing lush with life once more.

  Except for her. Obviously. She was dead or dying or something in between.

  Hours passed. The moon painted the river with streaks of silver. It alighted on the tree boughs and kissed the slumbering mill. The frogs began their concert. A colony of bats, invisible against the black sky, squeaked overhead. An owl cooed from a nearby oak.

  She tried to guess at the time. She kept yawning, but that seemed to be mostly out of habit. She was not really sleepy, but she couldn’t tell if that was merely because of her nerves keeping her awake, or if wandering spirits had no need of rest.

  The night must be half through, she thought. Halfway until morning. Soon, the Awakening Moon would be over.

  What if the hunt didn’t come tonight?

  Was it enough that the nachtkrapp had witnessed her demise? Would that convince the Erlking that he had lost her forever?

  Would it keep him from ever looking for her again?

  Though she thought she should be growing more confident as time ticked on, she felt the opposite. Anxiety clutched at her. If this didn’t work, then by morning, nothing would be changed.

  And if the hunt didn’t come, how would she know whether or not this had—

  A howl crept across the fields.

  Serilda stilled. The owl, the bats, the frogs all fell silent.

  She hurried to the hiding place she’d decided on while the sun was still high, climbing up into the boughs of the oak tree. She did not know if the Erlking would be able to see her, and Madam Sauer had not known, either. But collector of souls that he was, she dared not risk it.

  It would have been a difficult climb, made more so by the fact that she could not let go of the ash branch even for a second. But her spirit form was almost weightless and she no longer had to worry about scrapes or bruises or falling to her death. Soon she was tucked into the branches, lush with leaves.

  Once settled, she did not have long to wait. The howls grew closer, soon joined by the cacophony of hooves. This was no aimless search for prey.

  They were coming for her.

  She spotted the hounds first, their bodies alight with embers. They must have been able to track her scent, for they did not hesitate at the cottage, but raced straight toward the riverbank and Serilda’s lifeless body lying in the mud. The hounds formed a ring around the figure, growling and pawing at the ground, but none of them touched her.

  The Erlking and his hunters arrived moments later. The horses halted.

  Serilda held her breath—needlessly, as there was no breath to hold. Her fingers grasped the limb of the ash tree.

  The Erlking nudged his steed closer, so that he was looking down upon Serilda’s body. She wished she could read his expression, but his face was turned toward the ground, his curtain of black hair hiding what little she might have seen.

  The moment drew out. She could sense the hunters growing restless.

  Finally, the king dismounted his horse and knelt over the body. Serilda craned her neck, but she could not see what he was doing. She thought he might have picked up the empty vial. Perhaps he traced her cheek with the pad of his thumb. He might have put something into her palm.

  Then he rejoined the hunt. With a single wave of his arm, they disappeared back into the night.

  Afraid that they would return, Serilda stayed in the oak tree while the howls faded away. As the first hints of light emerged in the east, she finally made her way back to the ground. She approached her body with both curiosity and dread.

  Watching herself die had been strange, but seeing herself dead seemed like a different matter entirely.

  But it was not her colorless skin or utter stillness that she took notice of first.

  It was the gift that the Erlking had left behind.

  In her corpse’s hand was one of the king’s arrows, tipped with shining gold.

  Chapter 49

  Madam Sauer arrived just past dawn. Serilda was waiting, standing barefoot in the river and marveling at how the water passed right through her without so much as a ripple.

  When she saw the witch approaching over the hill, she broke into a grin and started to wave, but evidently not even a witch could see her.

  Trudging through the mud, she sat down beside her body and waited, watching curiously as Madam Sauer crouched over her body and felt for a pulse at her throat. Then she noticed the arrow. The witch stilled, a scowl creasing the corners of her lips.

  But she soon gave herself a shake and took a new vial from the folds of her skirts. Uncorking it, she lifted the body’s head and let the liquid dribble between her parted lips.

  Serilda could almost taste it. Clover and mint and peas fresh from the vine. She closed her eyes, trying to discern more of the flavors—

  And when she opened them again, she was lying on her back, staring up at a lavender sky. Her gaze slid over to Madam Sauer, who gave her a satisfied smirk.

  It worked, she said, or tried to say, but her throat was dry as parchment and the words came out as little more than a raspy breath.

  “Take your time,” said Madam Sauer. “You’ve been dead nearly a full day.”

  As feeling returned to her limbs, Serilda tightened her fingers around the shaft of the arrow.

  “A parting gift?” asked the witch.

  Still unable to speak, Serilda smiled weakly.

  With the older woman’s help, she managed to sit up. Her backside was soaked through, her cloak and the hem of her dress caked with mud. Her skin was cold to the touch.

  But she was alive.

  After some coughing and a lot of throat clearing and drinking some water from the river, finally Serilda found her voice. “It worked,” she whispered. “He thinks I’m dead.”

  “Do not praise the day before the evening,” warned Madam Sauer. “We will not know for sure that the ruse was successful until the next full moon. You should hide until then, and have wax for your ears, perhaps even chain yourself into bed. And I would advise that you never return to this place again.”

  The thought of it made Serilda dizzy with sadness, but also a fair amount of hope. Was she really free?

  It seemed almost possible.

  The rest of her life was before her.

  Without her father. Without the mill. Without Gild … but also without the Erlking.

  “I will help you.”

  She glanced up, surprised at the expression of softness on Madam Sauer’s face.

  “You are not entirely alone.”

  Serilda could have wept with gratitude for such simple words, even if she wasn’t yet sure that she believed them.

  “I feel I owe you an apology,” she said, “for all those mean-hearted stories I told about you over the years.”

  Madam Sauer huffed. “I am not some weak-willed daisy. I care nothing for your stories. If anything, I rather like knowing that the children are afraid of me. As they well should be.”

  “Well, I find it rather heartening to know that you are a witch. I like it when my lies turn into truths.”

  “I would tell you to keep that to yourself, but … well, no one will believe you even if you do tell them.”

  The loud, rapid clop of a galloping horse drew their attention toward the road. To the north of the mill, a little bridge passed over the river, and they could see a single rider on a horse racing across. Serilda climbed to her feet, and for a short, gleeful moment, she imagined her father returning with Zelig.

  But no—Zelig had been left behind in Adalheid, and her father was never coming home.

  It wasn’t until the man started yelling that Serilda recognized him. Thomas Lindbeck.

  “Hans! Goodman Moller!” he called, breathless. Panicked. “Serilda!”

  With a quick glance to the witch, Serilda lifted her heavy, wet skirts and climbed up the riverbank toward him. She didn’t relish the idea of having to explain such an early visit from the schoolmistress or why she was covered in river filth, but—what did it matter?—everyone already thought she was odd.

  Thomas stopped his horse by the garden gate, but did not dismount. He cupped his hands together and yelled again. “Hans! Seril—”

  “I’m here,” she said, startling him so badly he nearly toppled off his horse. “Father is still in Mondbrück.” She and Madam Sauer had thought it best to continue that lie. Soon, she would tell everyone that her father had gotten sick and she needed to travel to Mondbrück to care for him. From there, Madam Sauer would spread the rumor that he had died, and Serilda, in her grief, had decided to sell the mill and never return. “And Hans certainly isn’t here. Whatever is the matter?”

  “Have you seen him?” Thomas asked, trotting the horse closer. By all accounts, it was almost unforgivably rude for him to stay perched on his horse staring down at her, but his expression was so harried, Serilda hardly noticed. “Have you seen Hans? Has he been here this morning?”

  “No, of course not. Why would he—”

  But Thomas was already yanking on the reins, swerving the horse around in the other direction.

  “Wait!” Serilda cried. “Where are you going?”

  “Into town. I have to find him.” His voice started to break.

  Lurching forward, Serilda grabbed for the reins. “What’s going on?”

  Thomas met her eyes and, to her astonishment, did not flinch away. “He’s gone. Went missing from his bed last night. If you see him—”

  “Last night?” Serilda interrupted. “You don’t think…”

  The haunted look that twisted his face was answer enough.

  When children went missing on the night of a full moon, it was easy to guess what had become of them.

  She set her jaw. “I’m coming with you. I can help look. Drop me off in town and I’ll go to the Weber farm to see if they’ve heard anything, and you can check with the twins.”

  He nodded and lent his elbow as she leaped up into the saddle behind him.

  “Serilda.”

  She jolted. She’d almost forgotten about the witch.

  “Madam Sauer!” exclaimed Thomas. “What are you doing here?”

  “Consulting with my assistant over this week’s lessons,” she said quite easily, as if lying was not a punishable offense after all. In different times, Serilda might have pointed out her hypocrisy.

  Madam Sauer fixed a stern gaze on Serilda, one that had often made her feel as if she were barely an inch tall. “You should not be riding.”

  Serilda frowned. Riding. The horse?

  “Why ever not?”

  Madam Sauer opened her mouth, but hesitated. Then shook her head. “Just—be careful. Don’t do anything rash.”

  Serilda exhaled. “I won’t,” she said.

  Madam Sauer’s expression darkened.

  Just one more lie.

  Thomas dug his heels into the horse’s sides and they dashed off. He did as Serilda had suggested, dropping her off at the crossroads so that she could run the rest of the way to the Weber farm while he went to look for Hans at the twins’ home.

  Serilda refused to think the impossible. Would the hunt have taken Hans to punish her? To send her a warning?

  If the Erlking had taken him … if the hunt had done this and Hans was gone, killed or stolen behind the veil … then it was her fault.

  Maybe not, she tried to tell herself. They had only to find him. He was hiding. Playing a prank. Which was out of character for the stalwart boy, but maybe Fricz had set him up to it?

  But all those desperate pleas shattered as soon as the Weber cottage came into view. As idyllic as always, surrounded by pastureland and grazing sheep, Serilda felt an ominous chill sweep over her.

  The Weber family were all gathered on their front stoop. Little Marie was clutching at her grandmother. Baby Alvie was swaddled in his mother’s arms. Anna’s father was trying to saddle their horse, a speckled gelding that Serilda had always thought was one of the finest-looking horses in town. But the man’s movements were clumsy, and as she approached, she could see that he was trembling.

  Her eyes searched their faces, all gripped with terror. The elder Mother Weber had a handkerchief pressed against her mouth.

  Serilda searched and searched. The garden, the front door left open, the road and the fields.

  All the family was there … except for Anna.

  As Serilda got closer, they all startled and turned toward her with flitting hope that immediately came crashing back down.

  “Miss Moller!” cried Anna’s father, tightening the bridle. “Do you have word? Have you seen Anna?”

  She swallowed hard, and slowly shook her head.

  Their expressions fell. Anna’s mother buried her face into her daughter’s hair and sobbed.

  “We woke up and she was just … gone,” said Anna’s father. “I know she’s headstrong, but it isn’t like her to just—”

  “Hans is missing, too,” Serilda said. “And I worry”—her voice caught, but she forced out the words—“I worry they aren’t the only ones. I think the hunt—”

  “No!” bellowed Anna’s father. “You can’t know that! She’s just … she’s just…”

  A black shape in the sky drew Serilda’s eye upward to a patchy pair of wings showing glimpses of blue sky between the feathers. The nachtkrapp circled lazily above the field.

  The king knew.

  His spies had been watching all year, and he knew. He knew precisely which children Serilda taught, the ones she adored. The ones that would hurt her the most.

  “Goodman Weber,” said Serilda, “I’m so very sorry, but I must take this horse.”

  He jolted. “What? I need to go find her! My daughter—”

  “Was taken by the wild hunt!” she snapped. While he was stunned speechless, she snatched the reins and sprang up into the saddle. The family cried in outrage, but Serilda ignored them. “Forgive me!” she said, trotting the horse far enough away that Anna’s father couldn’t grab her. But he didn’t make a move, just gawked, speechless. “I will bring him back as soon as I can. And if I can’t, then I will leave him at the Wild Swan in Adalheid. Someone will return him, I promise. And I hope … I will try to find Anna. I will do everything I can.”

  “What in all of Verloren are you doing?” Anna’s grandmother hollered, the first to find her voice. “You say she’s been taken by the wild hunt, and now you think … what? That you’re going to get her back?”

  “Precisely,” said Serilda. Pressing her foot into the stirrup, she cracked the reins.

  The horse bolted from the yard.

  As she passed through Märchenfeld, she saw that nearly everyone had emerged from their homes and were gathered near the linden tree at the town’s center, talking in frightened whispers. She spied Gerdrut’s parents, her mother’s belly round with child, crying while her neighbors tried to comfort her.

  Serilda’s lungs squeezed until she thought she would not be able to breathe at all. This road did not travel past the twins’ home, but she did not have to see their family to know that Fricz and Nickel would be missing, too.

  She lowered her head and urged the horse to run. No one tried to stop her, and she wondered if any of them would guess at her guilt.

  This was her fault.

  Coward. Fool. She wasn’t brave enough to face the Erlking. She wasn’t smart enough to trick him out of this game.

  And now five innocent children had been taken.

  The road blurred beneath the horse’s hooves as she left the town behind. The morning sun glistened off fields of wheat and rye, but ahead of her the Aschen Wood loomed, dense and unwelcoming. But she wasn’t afraid of it anymore. There might be monsters and forest folk and creepy salige, but she knew the true dangers lurked beyond the wood, inside a haunted castle.

  She was nearly to the woods when the birds caught her eye. At first she thought it was more nachtkrapp, an entire flock of them swarming above the road. But as she drew closer she could see it was just crows, cawing and screeching at her as she approached.

  Her gaze fell.

  Her lungs sputtered.

  A figure lay half across the road and half in the ditch.

  A child, with two dark braids and a pastel-blue nightgown streaked with mud.

  “Anna?” she breathed. The horse had barely slowed before she was jumping out of the saddle and racing toward the figure. The girl was lying on her side, facing away, and she might be merely sleeping or unconscious. That was what the wild hunt did, she told herself, even as she was falling to her knees at Anna’s side. They lured people from their homes. Tempted them with a night of wild abandon, then left them cold and alone on the edge of the Aschen Wood. So many had woken up disoriented, hungry, maybe embarrassed—but alive.

  It had been a threat, that was all.

  Next time would be worse.

  The king was toying with her. But the children would be all right. They had to be—

  She grabbed Anna’s shoulder and rolled her onto her back.

  Serilda cried out and fell backward, pushing herself away. The image seared into her mind.

  Anna. Skin too pale. Lips faintly blue. The front of her nightgown painted red.

  There was a ragged hole where her heart had been. Muscle and sinew gaping open. Bits of cartilage and broken rib bone visible in the thick, drying blood.

  This was what the scavenger birds had been feasting on.

  Serilda staggered to her feet, backing away. Turning, she braced herself on her knees and heaved into the ditch, though there was little to come up but bile and whatever remained of the witch’s potions.

  “Anna,” she gasped, swiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m so sorry.”