He held her gaze for a long time, while Serilda’s heart thumped erratically and her breaths threatened to choke her.

  “How do you know,” he said slowly, “that your gift of spinning will not return once the parasite is removed?”

  Parasite.

  Serilda shivered at the word, but tried not to let her disgust show.

  She spread her palms, a sign of open honesty that she knew well. “I felt it,” she lied. “The moment I conceived, I felt the magic leaving my fingers, pooling in my womb, cradling this child. I cannot say for certain that he or she will be born with the same gift as I’ve had, but I do know that Hulda’s magic now resides in them. If you kill this child, this blessing will be gone forever.”

  “Your eyes have not changed.” He said this as if it were proof that she was lying.

  Serilda merely shrugged. “I do not spin with my eyes.”

  The king leaned to one side, pressing a finger against his temple, massaging it in slow circles. His gaze slid to the barber, waiting with his tools wrapped again in their pouch. After a long moment, the Erlking lifted his chin and asked, “Who is the father?”

  She stilled.

  It had not occurred to her he might ask this, that he might care. She doubted that he did care, but what purpose might he have to wonder?

  “No one,” she said. “A boy from my village. A farmer, my lord.”

  “And does this farmer know that you carry his offspring?”

  She slowly shook her head.

  “Good. Does anyone else know?”

  “No, my lord.”

  Again he leaned forward, mindlessly tracing his fingers along the edges of his mouth. Serilda held her breath, trying not to shake beneath his scrutiny. If she could only buy herself some time … If she could only persuade him to let her live long enough to …

  To do what?

  She didn’t know. But she knew she needed more time.

  “All right,” said the king suddenly. He reached down to the side of his throne and took hold of the crossbow. His other hand took out one arrow—one not tipped in gold, but black.

  Serilda’s eyes widened. “Wait!” she cried, lifting her hands even as she fell again to her knees. Pleading. “Don’t. I can be useful to you … I know there’s some way…”

  The bow clicked loudly as he loaded the arrow into it.

  “Please! Please don’t—”

  The trigger snapped. The arrow whistled and struck hard.

  Chapter 54

  A grunt. A gurgle. A wheeze.

  Mouth hanging open, Serilda slowly turned her head.

  The arrow had gone straight into the barber’s heart. The blood trickling down the front of his tunic was not red, but black like oil, and reeking of decay.

  He collapsed to the ground, his body convulsing as his hands gripped the arrow’s shaft.

  It seemed to go on forever, before the barber gave one last gasping exhale, then fell still. His hands dropped to his sides, palms open to the ceiling.

  As Serilda stared, shocked, he melted away. His entire body succumbed to the black oil, his features dripping down into the rugs. Soon there was nothing left of him but a ghastly, greasy pool and the arrow left behind.

  “Wh-what…? You just…,” she stammered. “You can kill them?”

  “When it pleases me to do so.” The rustle of leather drew Serilda’s gaze back to the Erlking. He lifted himself from the throne and paced over to retrieve his arrow. He still held the crossbow loosely at his side, and when he faced Serilda, she instinctively backed away from him.

  “But he was a ghost,” she said. “He was already dead.”

  “And now he has been released,” he said in a decidedly bored tone. He tucked the arrow back into its quiver. “His spirit is free to follow the candlelight into Verloren. And you call me a villain.”

  Her lips were trembling—with shock. With disbelief. With utter confusion.

  “But why?”

  “He was the only one who knew that I was not the father. Now there will be no one to question it.”

  Her lashes fluttered, slow and hesitant. “Pardon?”

  “You are right, Lady Serilda.” He started pacing before her. “I had not contemplated what this child might mean for me and my court. A newborn, blessed by Hulda. It is a gift not to be wasted. I am grateful you’ve opened my eyes to the possibilities.”

  Her jaw worked, but no sounds came out.

  The king neared her. He looked pleased, almost smug, as he took her in. Her strange eyes, her filthy peasant clothes. His attention lingered on her stomach, and Serilda wrapped her arms in front of herself. The movement made his lips twitch with amusement.

  “You and I will be wed.”

  She gaped at him. “What?”

  “And when the child is born,” he went on, as if she’d said nothing, “it will belong to me. No one will doubt that it is mine. Its human father will not care to claim it, and you”—he lowered his voice into a clear threat—“will know better than to tell anyone the truth.”

  Her eyes were wide, but unseeing. The world was a cyclone, all the walls and torches blurring into nothing.

  “B-but I—I can’t,” she started. “I can’t marry you. I am nothing. A mortal, a human, a—”

  “A peasant girl, a miller’s daughter…” The Erlking gave an exaggerated sigh. “I know what you are. Do not give yourself false pretenses. I have no interest in romance, if that’s what you fear. I will not touch you.” He said this as if the idea were beyond repulsive, but Serilda was too flummoxed to be offended. “There is no need. The child grows in you already. And when she returns, I—” He stopped, catching himself. His face shuttered and he glared at Serilda as if she’d been trying to trick him into giving up his secrets. “Eight months you say. The timing is most convenient. That is … if we have enough gold. No. It will have to be enough. I will not wait any longer.”

  He moved around her, a vulture around his prey, but he was no longer studying her. His gaze had turned thoughtful and distant. “I cannot let you leave, of course. I will not risk you running away or spreading rumors that this child belongs to someone else. But to kill you would be to kill the child. That leaves me with few options.”

  She shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing. Unable to comprehend how the Erlking could have gone from intending to cut the child from her womb to intending to raise it as his own in so short a time.

  But then she thought of what he had said, that little hint that had slipped through.

  When she returns.

  Approximately eight months until the baby would be born.

  Eight months would take them nearly to the end of the year.

  Nearly to … the winter solstice. The Endless Moon. When he intended to capture a god and make his wish. Was it true then? Did he mean to wish for Perchta, the huntress, to be returned from Verloren? Did he mean to use Serilda’s unborn child as a gift for her, as one might bestow a bouquet of forget-me-nots or a basket of apple strudel?

  She frowned. “But I thought the dark ones could not have children?”

  “With each other, we cannot. The creation of a child requires the spark of life, and we are born of death. But with a mortal…” He shrugged. “It is rare. Mortals are beneath us, and few would abase themselves to lie with one.”

  “Of course,” Serilda said, with a snarl that went ignored.

  “The ceremony can take place on the summer solstice. That should be adequate time to prepare, though I hope you aren’t one of those brides who fancies elaborate festivities and ridiculous pomp.”

  She gasped. “I have agreed to nothing! I have not agreed to be your prisoner, or to tell anyone that you are the father of this child!”

  “Wife,” he snapped. His eyes brightened, as if this were a shared joke between them. “You will be my wife, Lady Serilda. Let us not tarnish the union with talk of imprisonment.”

  “Whatever words you attach to it, I will be a prisoner, and we both know it.”

  He approached her again, graceful as a snake, and took her hands into his. The touch almost affectionate, if it hadn’t been so very cold.

  “You will do as I say,” he said, “because I still have something that you want.”

  Tears prickled at her eyes. Gerdrut.

  “In exchange for the little one’s freedom,” he continued, “you will be my doting bride. I will expect you to be very, very convincing. The child is mine. No one is to suspect otherwise.”

  She swallowed.

  She couldn’t do this.

  She couldn’t.

  But she pictured Gerdrut’s smile, missing her first milk tooth. Her squeals when Fricz tickled her. Her pouts when she tried to braid Anna’s hair and couldn’t quite figure out how.

  “All right,” she whispered, a tear escaping her eye. She did not bother to wipe it away. “I will do what you ask, if you promise to let Gerdrut go.”

  “You have my word.”

  He beamed and lifted a hand, revealing a gold-tipped arrow in his fist.

  It happened so quickly. She barely had time to gasp before he plunged it down through her wrist.

  Pain tore through her.

  Serilda fell to her knees, her vision going white at the edges. All she could see was the shaft that jutted from her arm. Her blood dripped along its length, down the gilded tip, splattering drop by drop onto the floor.

  Still gripping her hand, the king began to speak, and Serilda heard the words from two places at once. The Erlking, devoid of emotion as he recited the curse. And her own story, told in the empty throne room, echoing back to her.

  That arrow now tethers you to this castle. Your spirit no longer belongs to the confines of your mortal body, but will be forever trapped within these walls. From this day into eternity, your soul belongs to me.

  The agony was like nothing she’d ever known before, as though poison were leaching into her, devouring her from the inside. She felt her bones, her muscles, her very heart crumbling to ash. Left behind was just a shell of a girl. Skin and fingernails and a golden arrow.

  She heard a quiet thump as something fell behind her.

  And—the pain vanished.

  Serilda sucked in a breath of air, but there was no satisfaction to it. Her lungs did not expand. The air itself tasted stale and dry.

  She felt empty, wrung out. Abandoned.

  The Erlking released her hand and her arm dropped into her lap.

  The arrow was gone. In its place, a gaping hole.

  She was almost too afraid to look back. But she had to. She had to see it, she had to know.

  And when her eyes fell on her own body sprawled out behind her, Serilda surprised herself. She did not cry or scream. She merely observed, as a strange calm overtook her.

  The body on the floor was still breathing. Her body. The blood around the arrow shaft had begun to clot. The eyes were open, unblinking and unseeing—but not lifeless. The golden wheels on her irises glimmered knowingly with the light of a thousand stars.

  She had seen this once before, when her spirit had floated up over her own corpse on the riverbank. It would have kept floating away if she hadn’t held tight to the ash branch.

  But now there was something else tethering her here.

  To this castle. This throne room. These walls.

  She was trapped.

  Forever.

  The pain she’d felt had not been death. It had been the sensation of her spirit being torn from her body.

  Not letting go so much as being ripped away.

  She was not dead.

  She was not a ghost.

  She was merely … cursed.

  She rose to her feet, no longer trembling, and met the Erlking’s gaze. “That,” she said through gritted teeth, “was not very romantic.”

  “My sweet,” he said, and she could tell that he took pleasure in this act, this mimicry of human affection, “were you hoping for a kiss?”

  She exhaled sharply through her nostrils, glad that she could still breathe, even if she didn’t need to. Her hands patted down the sides of her body, testing the sensation. She felt different. Incomplete, but still solid. She could feel the weight of her dress, the path of tears on her face. And yet, her actual body was lying on the floor at her feet.

  Her hands made their way to her stomach. Was her baby still growing inside of her?

  Or was it now growing inside of …

  She glanced down at her body, lying there still and stunned. Not dead. Not quite alive.

  She wanted to believe that the Erlking would not have used this curse if it would hurt the child. What would have been the point? But she also wasn’t sure how much thought he was giving to any of this.

  That was when she realized what felt so distinctly different. When it finally came to her, it was obvious, and she wondered how she hadn’t noticed before.

  She could no longer feel her heart beating in her chest.

  Chapter 55

  “Now then,” said the Erlking, taking her fingers and tucking them into the crook of his elbow, “let us announce our good fortune.”

  Serilda still felt dazed as he marched her out of the throne room, through the great hall, beneath the overhang of the massive entry doors that overlooked the courtyard, where all his hunters and ghosts continued to mill about, confused as to what their king expected of them.

  The children were gathered right where she’d left them, clutching one another, Hans trying to defend them from a curious goblin who had hopped closer and was trying to sniff their knees.

  Serilda crouched down, arms wide. The children hurried into her embrace—

  And passed right through her.

  It felt like a blast of icy wind cutting through her core.

  Serilda gasped. The children backed away, gawking at her wide-eyed.

  “I-it’s all right,” she croaked. Gild had told her that he could pass through ghosts. He had tried to pass through her when they’d first met. Squaring her shoulders, Serilda tried to be more conscious of the physical limits of her body. She reached out to them again. They were more hesitant, but as Serilda’s hands found their arms, their cheeks, their hair, they again pressed into her.

  It was awful touching them. The sensation was a bit like handling dead fish—cold and flimsy and slippery. But she would never tell them that, and she would never shy away from their embraces or from doing all she could to comfort and care for them.

  “I am sorry,” she whispered. “I am so sorry. For everything.”

  “What did he do to you?” whispered Nickel, tenderly placing a hand over Serilda’s wrist, where the hole from the arrow had stopped bleeding.

  “Don’t worry about me. And try not to be afraid. I’m here, and I won’t leave you.”

  “We’re already dead,” said Fricz. “Not much more he can do.”

  Serilda wished that were true.

  “That is enough, children,” said the Erlking, his shadow falling over them. As if he’d heard Fricz’s comment and was eager to prove just how wrong the child was, the Erlking flicked his fingers. As one, the children backed out of Serilda’s embrace, their spines stiff, their expressions dulled.

  “Emotional creatures,” the Erlking muttered with disgust. “Come.” He beckoned for Serilda to follow as he descended the steps toward the spinning wheel in the bailey’s center.

  Stomach in knots, she stooped to place a kiss on each of their heads. They seemed to relax, whether from her touch or the Erlking’s losing interest in controlling them, she didn’t know.

  With a ruffle of Nickel’s hair, she turned and followed the Erlking, daring to glance up toward the wall of the keep. Gild was still there. There was pain on his face, and the hollow place in her chest yawned open.

  “Hunters and guests, courtiers and attendants, servants and friends,” bellowed the king, drawing their attention. “There has been a change of fortune tonight, and one that pleases me greatly. Lady Serilda will no longer be presenting a demonstration of her gold-spinning magic. After much contemplation, I have determined that such an act is beneath that of our future queen.”

  Silence greeted them. Furrowed brows and twisted mouths.

  Overhead, a puzzled look intruded into Gild’s agony. Serilda’s hands itched with the desire to run to the top of the keep’s steps and tear down those chains, but she remained where she was. She forced herself to look away, to face the demons, the specters, the beasts gathered before her.

  As Serilda stared, she realized that while this might be an audience of the dead, there were few elderly among them. These ghosts had met traumatic ends. Their bodies bloated with poisons, scarred with wounds, many still bearing evidence of the very weapons that had ended them. Some were sickly and covered in welts, some swollen and puffy, and others gaunt from starvation. No one here had died peacefully in their sleep.

  Everyone here knew what it was to hold fear and pain inside them.

  For the first time, Serilda felt how sad it all was, to live an eternity with the suffering of your own death.

  And she was to be queen of it all.

  At least, until this baby was born.

  Then she would probably be killed.

  “Lady Serilda has agreed to take my hand,” said the Erlking, “and I am most honored.”

  Confusion reigned over the courtyard. Serilda held perfectly still, afraid that if she moved, it would only be to lunge at the king and try to strangle him. Surely no one would be fooled by such a preposterous notion. That she was in love with him? That he was honored to be her husband?

  But he was their king. Perhaps it didn’t matter if anyone believed it or not. Perhaps they’d all been trained to accept his word without question.

  “We will begin preparations for the ceremony posthaste,” said the Erlking. “I expect you will all bestow on my beloved the fealty and adoration due to the one I have chosen for my bride.”

  He intertwined his fingers with Serilda’s and lifted their hands, showing off the gaping hole in her arm.

  “Behold our new queen. Long reign Queen Serilda!”

  There was laughter in his voice, and she wondered if any of these ghosts could sense it as their voices rose, still uncertain, to repeat the chant.