He looked as though he were tempted to laugh. Leaning toward her, he whispered, with careful enunciation, “You will persuade it to work, or the child will be mine.”

  She shuddered.

  Her brain turned, grasping at anything. But she could see that the king would not be moved.

  Panic set in as she faced the spinning wheel. She thought of that first night beneath the Snow Moon, and how she had managed, at least temporarily, to persuade the Erlking that she could spin straw into gold. She thought of the first night in the castle, when Gild had appeared so suddenly, as if summoned by her very desperation.

  She wondered how many miracles one girl was allowed.

  Her footsteps felt leaden as she cast another look around the bailey, silently pleading for anyone, anything that could help her. But who could help her but Gild? Where was Gild?

  It didn’t matter, she told herself. He could do nothing here, not before all these witnesses.

  No help was coming. She knew that.

  But it didn’t keep her from hoping. Maybe he had some prank planned. Maybe she’d lied before. Maybe she did want to be rescued. Maybe she was never meant to be the hero at all.

  She glanced back at the children on the steps to the keep, her heart in agony over all that had happened.

  Then she froze, finally spotting him.

  Her mouth fell open, and she barely bit back the cry that wanted to escape.

  He was strung up on the outer face of the keep, just beneath the seven stained-glass windows depicting the old gods. Gold chains bound his arms from wrists to elbows, attached to anchors somewhere over the parapets.

  He was not struggling. His head was drooped forward, but his eyes were open. His expression was shattered as he met Serilda’s gaze.

  She didn’t realize that she’d taken a step toward him until the king’s voice startled her back to herself.

  “Leave him be.”

  She froze. “Why—” Then, remembering that she was not supposed to have met Gild before, she cleared the hurt from her brow and faced the king. “Who is he? What has he done to be chained up like that?”

  “Only our resident poltergeist,” the king said mockingly. “He dared to steal something that was mine.”

  “Steal something?”

  “Indeed. A bobbin was missing from your previous night’s work, disappeared before my servants could even collect the gold. I am sure it was the poltergeist, as he has a habit of causing trouble.”

  Serilda’s stomach dropped.

  “But I will not tolerate his mischief on such an occasion. Besides, you see, my lady? Your labors have already served me well. Not many things can hold him, but chains crafted from magicked gold? They have worked just as I’d hoped.”

  She swallowed hard and looked back. Gild’s jaw was locked. Misery mixed with anger across the planes of his face.

  It was too far for her to see the chains clearly, but Serilda had no doubt they were crafted of strands of pure gold, woven into an unbreakable chain.

  Her heart ached.

  He had made his own prison, and he had done it for her.

  But to stare a second longer would lead to suspicions, and the king could not know that it was Gild who had the gift of spinning, not her. If he knew what the cursed prince was truly capable of, he would no doubt find new ways of torturing him until Gild agreed to spin all the gold he wanted.

  And if she knew Gild at all, she knew that he would endure the torture rather than do anything this monster demanded of him.

  For eternity.

  She forced herself to turn away. To face the spinning wheel.

  A story, some sneaky voice whispered as she took a seat on the stool. What she needed was a great lie. Something convincing. Something that would get her out of this predicament and also let her keep her head, and rescue Gerdrut.

  That was a lot to ask of a simple fairy tale, and her mind was blank. She doubted she could have recited a nursery rhyme in that moment, much less spun a story as grand as she needed.

  She gave the wheel a turn with her fingers, as if testing it. She pressed her foot against the treadle. She tried to appear contemplative as her fingers skimmed across the empty, waiting bobbin.

  What a picture she must make. The charming peasant girl at her spinning wheel. She had become a spectacle.

  She reached into the cart for a handful of straw, taking the opportunity to glance around once more. Some of the ghosts were leaning forward, craning their necks to see.

  She pretended to inspect the straw in her hands.

  A lie.

  I need a lie.

  Nothing came.

  Wyrdith, god of stories and fortune, she pleaded silently. I have never asked you for anything, but please hear me now. If my father did help you, if you did give me your blessing, if I am truly your godchild, then please. Spin your fortune’s wheel. Let it land in my favor.

  Serilda’s hand shook as she picked out the longest piece of straw and took in a staggered breath. She had seen Gild do this so many times. Was it at all possible that his magic might have transferred into her? That one could learn to be a gold-spinner?

  She gave the wheel another spin.

  Whir …

  Her foot pressed against the treadle, increasing its speed.

  Whir …

  She moved the straw toward the maiden hole, as she had moved countless knots of fresh-sheared wool since she was a child. The straw scratched at her palms.

  Whir …

  It did not wrap around the bobbin.

  Of course it didn’t.

  She’d forgotten to tie the leader yarn.

  Face heating with embarrassment, she fumbled to secure one end of the straw onto the bobbin. She could hear rustling in the audience, but from the corner of her eye, the Erlking stood perfectly still. He might have been a corpse himself.

  With the leader yarn attached as well as she could get it, and knotted to the next strand of straw, she tried again.

  Whir …

  One only had to feed it through.

  Whir …

  The wheel would twist the wool.

  Whir …

  The yarn would wrap around the bobbin.

  But this was straw, and it quickly frayed and snapped.

  Her heart pounded as she looked down at the remaining strands, dry and worthless in her unmagical grip.

  She could not keep herself from glancing up, though she knew it was a mistake. Gild was watching her, his face full of anguish.

  Funny how that look made so many things pristinely clear. There had remained a number of treacherous doubts these past weeks, after she had given so much to him, and taken so much in return. Everything he did came with a price. A necklace. A ring. A promise.

  But he couldn’t have looked at her like that if she meant nothing to him.

  A spark of courage ignited in her chest.

  She had told Gild that she would stay alive long enough to deliver to him the payment she owed. Her firstborn child.

  The bargain had been made with magic, binding and unbreakable.

  “You have my word,” she murmured to herself.

  “Is something wrong?” said the Erlking, and though his words were subdued, they had an unmistakable sharpness beneath them.

  Her gaze snapped back to him. She blinked, startled.

  Not so much by the presence of the Erlking, but by the cool shiver traipsing down her spine.

  Her firstborn child.

  She dropped the straw. Both hands went to her stomach.

  The Erlking frowned.

  She and Gild had made love on the night of the Chaste Moon. An entire moon cycle had passed, and she’d been so caught up in her worries and planning that she hadn’t realized until that moment …

  She’d missed her blood cycle.

  “What is the matter?” growled the Erlking.

  But Serilda barely heard him. The words were turning through her mind, a spinning wheel of blurring, impossible things.

  Your condition.

  You should not ride.

  Firstborn child.

  Firstborn child!

  The progeny of a girl cursed by the god of lies and a boy trapped behind the veil. She couldn’t picture such a creature. Would it be a monster? An undead thing? A magicked thing?

  It wouldn’t matter, she tried to tell herself. She had struck a deal with Gild. Though she knew he had accepted the offer with as much dismay as she’d made it, both of them thinking it would never come due, she also knew that Gild had meant it when he’d said their bargain was unbreakable.

  She had no claim to this being inside her. No more than a cask can claim the wine or a bucket can claim the milk.

  And yet.

  A feeling she had never known rose up in her as her fingers pressed softly into her abdomen.

  A child.

  Her child.

  An icy hand snatched her wrist.

  Serilda gasped and looked up into the Erlking’s frosted eyes.

  “You are testing my patience, miller’s daughter.”

  And that was when it came.

  The story. The lie.

  That was not entirely a lie.

  “My lord, forgive me,” she said, not having to feign her breathlessness. “I cannot spin this straw into gold.”

  One lip curled upward, revealing a sharp canine tooth that reminded her too much of the hounds he cherished.

  “And why is that?” he asked, his tone a promise of regret if she dared to defy him.

  “I fear it isn’t proper to say…”

  His eyes flashed murderous.

  Serilda leaned toward him, whispering so that only he could hear. “Your Darkness, the god-given magic that flowed through my veins is gone. I can no longer summon it to my fingers. I am no longer a gold-spinner.”

  Shadows eclipsed his face. “You play a dangerous game.”

  She shook her head. “I swear, this is no game. There is good reason for the loss of my magic. You see … it seems that my body now harbors a gift far more precious than gold.”

  He squeezed her wrist until it hurt, but she didn’t yelp. “Explain.”

  Her other hand had never left her stomach, and now she looked down, knowing that his gaze would follow.

  “I am no longer a gold-spinner, because that magic now belongs to my unborn child.”

  His grip loosened, but he did not let go. She waited a few seconds before daring to meet his gaze again. “I am sorry to have disappointed you, my lord.”

  Skepticism still clung to his porcelain features, but they were quickly overshadowed by a fury unlike anything she’d ever seen.

  Serilda tried to shrink away, but he did not let go.

  Instead, he yanked her to her feet and started toward the castle keep, all but dragging her in his wake. “Redmond!” he bellowed. “You are needed in the throne room. Now.”

  Chapter 53

  The Erlking threw Serilda down into the center of the throne room and marched onto the dais. She pushed back her hair to look up at him.

  Fear thrumming through her, she swallowed hard and rose to her knees. “Your Darkness—”

  “Silence!” he roared. He looked like a different creature altogether, his face contorted into something decidedly unlovely. It hardly looked like him, who was usually so full of elegant composure. “This is a great disappointment, Lady Serilda.” Her name sounded like a snake’s hiss on his tongue.

  “With all due respect, most people see babies as a gift.”

  He snarled at her. “Most people are idiots.”

  She clasped her hands pleadingly. “I could not have foreseen this. It was…” She shrugged. “It was only one night.”

  “You spun the gold not a month ago!”

  She nodded. “I know. This happened … not long after.”

  He glared at her, looking like he wished he could reach straight into her womb and rip the alien creature out with his fist.

  “You summoned, Your Grim?”

  She glanced over her shoulder to see a ghostly man in a long-sleeved tunic. Half his face was bloated, his lips fat and tinged purple. Poison? Drowning? Serilda wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  Removing the hunting crossbow from his back, the Erlking sank onto his throne and used the weapon to gesture carelessly at Serilda, still on her knees. “The wretched girl is with child.”

  Serilda flushed. She knew she shouldn’t have expected the king to respect her privacy, but still—this was her secret to tell. And for now she was only interested in telling it in order to save Gerdrut.

  And, she thought, her child.

  Her child.

  Again her fingers went to her stomach. She knew it was far too early to feel anything. There was no rounding of her belly, and certainly no movement within. She longed to run home, to talk to her father and ask him everything he could remember about her mother’s pregnancy—until she remembered that he was not there, and unspeakable sorrow crashed over her.

  Papa would have been a wonderful grandfather.

  But she couldn’t think of that now, even if the man responsible for her father’s death was standing before her. Even if she despised him with every bone of her body. Right now, she needed to think only of saving herself. If she could survive this, then someday she would have a beautiful child to dote on, to love, to raise. She would be a mother. She’d always loved children, and now, to be able to care for this innocent baby. To rock them to sleep and tell bedtime stories long into the night.

  But—no, she reminded herself.

  The child would have to be given to Gild.

  What would he think when she told him? It was all so surreal, so impossible.

  What would he do with a baby?

  She almost laughed. The idea was simply too preposterous.

  “Lady Serilda!”

  She snapped her head up, lurching back into the throne room. “Yes?”

  To her surprise, the Erlking’s cheeks were actually flushed. Not pink so much as a subtle grayish blue against his silvery skin, but still, it was more emotion than she would have thought he was capable of. His right hand was gripping the arm of the throne. His left held the crossbow, its tip rested against the floor.

  Unloaded. Thankfully.

  “How long, exactly,” he said slowly, as if speaking to a simpleton, “have you been in this condition?”

  Her lips parted with, finally, an actual lie. “Three weeks.”

  His sharp gaze darted to the man. “What can be done?”

  The man, Redmond, inspected her with arms crossed. He pondered for a moment, before offering the king a shrug. “This early, should be but a tiny thing. Maybe the size of a pea.”

  “Good,” said the Erlking. With a long, annoyed breath, he sat back against the throne. “Remove it.”

  “What?” Serilda launched herself to her feet. “You can’t!”

  “Surely I can. Well … he can.” The Erlking’s fingers danced in the man’s direction. “Can’t you, Redmond?”

  Redmond grumbled to himself for a moment as he opened a brown sack at his waist and pulled out a small bundle of fabric. “Never have before, but I don’t see why I couldn’t.”

  “Redmond was a barber by trade,” said the Erlking, “and a surgeon as required.”

  Serilda shook her head. “It will kill me.”

  “We have very good healers,” said the Erlking. “I will ensure that it doesn’t.”

  “Probably won’t ever carry a babe again,” added Redmond. He looked at the king, not Serilda. “Suppose that’s all right?”

  “Yes, fine,” said the Erlking.

  Serilda let out a dismayed cry. “No! That is not fine!”

  Ignoring her, Redmond paced to a nearby table and unspooled the fabric, revealing a series of sharp tools. Scissors. Scalpels. Wrenches and pliers and terrifying things that Serilda didn’t know the names for. Her knees quaked as she stepped back. Her eyes darted around and for the first time she realized that the bloodied gateway was gone. Her path to the other side of the veil.

  Surely it was still there. She had opened it once, she could open it again. But how?

  Then, another sobering thought.

  Gerdrut.

  She still hadn’t saved Gerdrut.

  Where was he keeping the child? She couldn’t leave her, not even to save herself, not even to save her baby.

  “It’s been a while,” mused Redmond, holding up a tiny blade. “But this should do it.” He glanced at the king. “Is it to be done here?”

  “No!” Serilda screeched.

  The Erlking looked irritated with her outburst. “Of course not. You can use one of the rooms in the north wing.”

  With a nod, the man started gathering up his tools again.

  “No!” she shouted again, louder this time. “You can’t do this.”

  “You are not at liberty to tell me what I can and can’t do. This is my kingdom. You and the gifts of Hulda belong to me now.”

  The words might have been a slap for how they left her speechless.

  She drew herself up, solidifying her legs beneath her. She had one chance to persuade him. One chance to save this unborn life inside of her.

  “No, my lord. You can’t do this because it won’t work. It won’t bring my magic back.”

  His eyes narrowed. “If that is true, then best slit your throat and be done with the both of you.”

  She tried to hide her shudder. “If that is your will, I cannot stop you. But do you not think that Hulda might have an intention for this child? To take its life so soon, you are interfering with the will of a god.”

  “I care little for the wills of gods.”

  “Be that as it may,” she said, taking a step forward, “you and I both know that they can be powerful allies. If it wasn’t for the gift of Hulda, I never could have spun that gold for you.” She paused before continuing, “What might the blessing be for my child? What power might be growing inside me, even now? And yes—I know I am asking for your patience, for not just the next nine—eight months, but for years, potentially, before we know what gift this child carries. But you are eternal. What is a few years, a decade? If you kill me, if you kill this baby, then you are squandering a great opportunity. You told me the young princess was also blessed by Hulda. That her death was a waste. But you are not a wasteful king. Don’t make that mistake again.”