Cursed, p.13
Cursed, page 13
“Yes!” cheered Gerdrut.
And then—a scream.
It happened so fast, Serilda barely saw Anna’s figure leaning too far out one moment—then toppling over the rail in the next.
She cried out and peered over the edge. Anna lay sprawled on the ground, and for one heart-wrenching moment, Serilda remembered it all over again. Finding her body on the side of the road, just outside the Aschen Wood. Still in her nightgown, mud streaked across her face, a gaping hole in her chest where the nachtkrapp had eaten out her heart.
Horror and despair crashed over her, and Serilda wanted to scream and rail and lash out at anyone who dared cross her path—
But then, a groan.
Anna’s eyes flickered open. “Still … alive,” she said, with a half smile.
Serilda wilted. It wasn’t true, but it was enough to assuage the horrible pain of losing her all over again.
Until Gerdrut shrieked, “Anna! The bärgeist!”
Serilda’s eyes widened. The beast was stampeding through the forest, heading straight for Anna, who looked as though she could barely move.
“It can’t kill her,” Serilda whispered beneath her breath. “It can’t kill her, not again.”
But it could hurt her.
Movement flashed in Serilda’s vision. Agathe planted one hand on the rail and threw herself from the platform. She landed on her feet and sprang forward, grabbing a fallen branch from the ground. She positioned herself between Anna and the bärgeist seconds before the hulking black form crashed into her with a ferocious growl. Limbs and fur and claws and snarling and blood and then—
“Kill it! Now!”
Arrows, from every direction. The bärgeist roaring. Fighting. Clawing.
Finally—the bear released Agathe and faced the hunters. Agathe collapsed beside Anna, covered in blood, gripping the stick. Her other arm appeared mangled and twisted.
The bärgeist gave one last swipe at a hound that dared get too close, but missed. It swayed on its hind legs a moment, then collapsed to its side, heaving with every breath. Blood ran thick from too many wounds to count, dripping slow like molasses, matting its black fur. Its great body shuddered one last time, before falling still.
Chapter Sixteen
Serilda elbowed her way through the dark ones who stood watching. She flew down the rickety steps, her feet hardly touching the boards, and shoved open the protective gate.
“Anna!” she cried. “Lady Agathe!” She fell to her knees between them, not sure who she was more worried for. Anna had not made any attempt to sit up, and Agathe … if Agathe were alive, well … she would be dead already.
“I’m all right,” said Anna, though Serilda could tell she was hurt. “Just … maybe … a broken bone. Or … sixteen. But I’m all right.”
“I shall be as well.” Agathe did a better job of hiding her pain as she held her destroyed limb against her stomach. “It is not the worst wound I’ve experienced.”
Sadly, Serilda knew this to be true.
“What is the matter with you?” yelled the Erlking.
Serilda balked. Her emotions were strung so tightly, she was in no mood to be yelled at. But as she glowered up at her husband, who had appeared like a specter on his black horse, she saw that he was not looking at her, but Agathe.
“She is only a ghost!” he went on, gesturing at Anna. “She cannot be killed! And now, because of your foolishness, we have lost the bärgeist!”
With great pains, Agathe forced herself to her feet. “Forgive me, my lord. But it was not I who gave the order for the bärgeist to be killed.” She met his gaze without flinching. “After all, I am also only a ghost.”
The Erlking snarled. “Any other ghost, I would gladly have let it maul to pieces.” His nostrils flared and it seemed to pain him to add, “But you are worth more to the hunt. At least … you were.” He scowled at her arm with disgust.
“I am honored that you think so,” said Agathe, not sounding honored at all. She bowed her head. “The arm will heal in time, but I would not see the child harmed any more than she has already been. Our queen seems so attached to her attendants. I did not wish to see Her Majesty disappointed.”
The king snarled at Serilda. Then, as if remembering their ruse, he appeared to physically swallow his anger. After a long, steady exhale, he dismounted from his horse. “Of course,” he said bitterly. “We would not wish to disappoint Her Majesty. Though the bärgeist is a great loss for us.”
“Fret not, my lord,” said Serilda, kneeling beside Anna and helping the girl sit up. “I have no doubt you will find another. What is one mythical beast to the wild hunt?”
She smiled, and the king returned a glare. Serilda understood his irritation more now that she knew it had been Perchta, not the Erlking, who had captured the bärgeist in the first place. And now, the Erlking had no more of Perchta’s poisoned arrows, nor enough golden chains to capture anything larger or more ferocious than the tatzelwurm, and one of his most skilled hunters was sorely wounded. Despite her concern for Anna and Agathe, Serilda was pleased at the king’s growing frustration.
“Agathe,” he said, “see that your wounds are tended to. I would have you in good spirits by the Straw Moon.”
Serilda heard a snicker. She glanced over her shoulder to see that the rest of the children had joined them in the arena.
“Good spirits,” said Fricz, elbowing his twin. “I think that was a joke.”
The Erlking took in the hunters and servants and the rest of the court. Then he cast his gaze skyward. The raindrops were fat but scattered, a mild annoyance. But the clouds were so dark it might have been dusk.
“Before we end the day’s pageantry,” said the king, fixing his calculating attention on Serilda, “my queen and I have a most fortuitous announcement. As we are all gathered, I see no reason to withhold our happy news.”
Serilda froze. “Happy news?”
The Erlking held a hand toward her.
Serilda hesitated, but seeing that she had no real choice, she deserted Anna and went to him, taking his hand as dread hardened in her gut. “My lord, everyone wants out of the rain—”
“They can wait,” said the Erlking. “They will all want to share in our joy.”
She swallowed, knowing with utter certainty what happy news he planned to share.
She wasn’t ready. She’d thought she would have more time to prepare herself. She’d thought, somehow, she might even be able to prepare Gild. But all she’d done was avoid the inevitable and hope that maybe it would never come to pass.
And now here she was, hand in hand with the Erlking, facing the entirety of their court.
Not ready, not ready, I’m not ready …
Silence had fallen over the arena but for the gloomy droplets smacking the ground, the plants, the canopy over the stands. The hunters were restless, still weary from the fight with the bärgeist. The children watched with curious, expectant faces.
“It is with greatest delight,” started the Erlking, lifting Serilda’s hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckle, “that I share with you the most glorious news.” His eyes glittered as he watched Serilda squirm. “My queen, gem of my heart, has informed me that we are with child.”
Even expecting them, the words struck Serilda like a bolt to the chest.
We are with child.
She wanted to pull away from him. To tell them it wasn’t true. The child wasn’t his. The child would never be his.
But she kept her expression placid.
God of lies, help me see this through, she thought. And then, to even her surprise, a tiny smile dared to creep across the corners of her lips.
She could do this. She had to do this.
“By the grace of Eostrig,” said the Erlking, with a clever twist to his mouth making it clear that he meant this as a taunt, “we shall have a new prince or princess to celebrate by the new year.” He lifted their entwined hands into the air. “Raise a cheer for our Alder Queen!”
A cry went up among the gardens, though it was unclear how many of the dark ones were truly rejoicing at the news. After ages without a royal heir, they must think that such an addition was frivolous. They were immortal. They needed no progeny to pass on their legacies.
As the cheers died down, the king dismissed their audience. While hunters began gathering their weapons and chains and the servants started tearing down the stands, Serilda tried to extricate her hand from his grip, but the Erlking held fast.
“Was there more?” she said, not hiding her irritation.
“You are not pleased? But you so enjoy being the center of attention.”
“Whatever gave you that impression?”
He considered her. “One does not barge into a haunted castle and demand a bargain with the Alder King unless they have some appreciation for the dramatic.”
Serilda glared at him. “It might have been nice to have some warning.” She again tried to pull away. He again refused to loosen his grip. “I wish to retire,” she said through her teeth. Then she leaned closer to him, lowering her voice to a growl. “You would not keep your pregnant wife from her rest, would you?”
“Of course not. I just think there is something you are forgetting.”
“And what is that?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “How much we adore each other.”
With his free hand, he cupped Serilda’s ear and neck, tipped her back, and claimed her mouth with his.
Serilda went rigid.
The moment he attempted to deepen the kiss, she bit him.
The Erlking pulled back with a hiss, though he managed to hide it from anyone who might be watching.
Then, as if brought on by the Erlking’s anger, a bolt of lightning shot from the sky, striking the keep with a boom of thunder so loud it rumbled the castle grounds. Serilda jumped from the king’s arms and clapped her hands to her ears.
The rain became a torrent. Thick, heavy drops that struck like pebbles. It had been too warm lately for Serilda to require her dutiful wool cloak—the one Gild had once mended for her after a horrific drude attack—but as the storm began in earnest, she wished she had it with her.
“The children and I will retire now,” said Serilda, yelling to be heard over the storm.
But the Erlking was not paying any attention to her. His focus was on the sky, drawn with suspicion as the rain soaked his clothes. “It can’t be…,” he murmured.
More lightning streaked from the clouds, making the hairs on Serilda’s arm lift from her chilled skin. One bolt hit the Erlking’s statue in the gardens, sending it toppling to the ground.
“Hunters!” bellowed the Erlking, reaching for his crossbow. “Gather the chains and follow me! Quickly!”
Serilda did not know what he thought they were going to be hunting in this storm, and with the veil down no less, but she was more concerned with herself and the children and poor Anna. She found them huddled in what shelter they could find beneath a plum tree. Anna had managed to get to her feet, and had her arms slung around Hans’s and Nickel’s shoulders.
“Anna, can you walk?”
“Y-yes,” she said. “I think so.”
“Good. Let’s get inside for some warm cider.”
There was no point trying to maintain her regal dignity with her gown already drenched, so they hurried as fast as they could into the keep, dodging the hunters, who were running about as if they were preparing for a war, not trying to get out of the rain.
As soon as they had ducked into the shelter of the keep, Fricz shook his head like a puppy, sending raindrops scattering across the carpets. “Have you ever seen a storm like this before? One that came on so quick like that?”
“Not in memory, no,” said Serilda. “But we are in the season of the Thunder Moon.”
Outside, another boom of thunder made the torches on the walls flicker.
“It’s all right,” said Serilda, picking up Gerdrut, who was terrified of lightning storms. “We’ll feel better when we’re dry and warm. Nothing to be frightened of.”
“Is it true?” asked Hans, who seemed less bothered by the storm than the others. “Are you really going to have a baby?”
Gerdrut pulled her face out of the crook of Serilda’s shoulder. “With him?”
Serilda sighed heavily. “It’s true enough. But I don’t wish to speak any more about it.”
“But, Serilda—” started Hans.
“Not a word,” she said. “This is the way things have to be, and that’s all there is to it.”
A silence fell over them, likely due more to her abruptness than anything else. She hardly ever snapped at them.
Until, just as they had passed back into the castle corridors, Gerdrut cleared her throat. “I can rub your feet, if it helps? Mama’s feet were always hurting her.”
At this gentle suggestion, a sudden, unspeakable sadness welled up inside Serilda. Gerdrut’s mother was even now pregnant with her second child—Gerdrut’s first sibling. That child would be born soon, and Gerdrut would never meet them. Would never get to be the big sister she had so longed to be.
“When Mama was carrying Alvie,” said Anna, referring to her two-year-old brother, “her back hurt her a lot. She was always asking me to plump up her pillows and make up some chamomile tea. I can bring you some, once we get to your room.”
“And we’ll make offerings to Eostrig,” said Hans. “Praying for an easy childbirth. The Erlking probably won’t like us getting the old gods involved, but that’s all the more reason to do it, if you ask me.”
“And you know, I’m supposed to be your messenger,” said Fricz, “but you never use me to run messages. You’ll have to start, though. Can’t have you overexerting yourself, walking about the castle just to tell the cooks that you’d like squab for supper or what have you.”
“Squab?” said Nickel. “When has our Serilda ever requested squab?”
Fricz shrugged. “You know how ladies get when they’re with child. Always wanting things they never wanted before. Ma said all she wanted when she was pregnant with us was rye flour. Not bread, not pastries—just the flour, straight from the mill.”
“Well, that explains some things,” muttered Hans.
“Is there a midwife here at the castle?” asked Nickel. “We can’t let you give birth without one.”
“I’ll ask around to the maidservants,” said Anna. “I’m sure someone must have experience birthing babies.”
“I don’t know,” said Fricz. “Don’t think there’s been much birthing of anything around here for a long time.”
They carried on, but Serilda was hardly listening. She placed her hand on her stomach, wishing she could sense the baby inside of her. But her stomach remained stubbornly flat. She had been so focused on breaking the curse and avoiding her lord husband as much as possible that she had given little thought to the passing of time, but surely she should be feeling different by now. Shouldn’t she? A swell, a bump, some sign of the life inside her?
But she felt nothing.
Her feet were not swollen. Her back did not ache. She’d never once craved squab or rye flour or anything other than copious amounts of sweets, but there was nothing unusual about that.
“Serilda?” asked Gerdrut. “Are you feeling all right?”
The worry was so evident in her voice that Serilda stopped walking and stared at them. The children stared back, eyes full of concern.
“What’s the matter?” said Hans. “Are you in pain? Should I fetch someone, or—”
“No, I’ll fetch someone!” barked Fricz. “I’m the messenger!”
“That isn’t it,” said Serilda, trying to cover her anxiety for her baby with a laugh, which turned into a sniffle as tears pricked at her eyes. “It’s only … I love you all so very much.” Dropping to her knees, she pulled them toward her, careful to be gentle with Anna and her wounds. She ignored how her skin crawled at their touch and pressed her cheek against Gerdrut’s hair. “Never in the world has a queen been so fortunate in her attendants.”
A quiet descended on them, as Gerdrut snuggled her face into Serilda’s neck.
Until Fricz groaned loudly and complained, “I think the baby is making her emotional.”
Serilda grinned and pulled away, ruffling his hair.
“What baby?”
Her laugh hiccupped.
“Gild!” cried Gerdrut, throwing herself into his arms. Of all the children, she had become especially fond of the poltergeist. “You missed so much excitement!”
“Yes,” said Gild, returning the embrace but not the smile. “I overheard some of the cooks talking about the bärgeist and the storm. And one of the queen’s attendants fell into the arena?”
“That was me,” said Anna, leaning on Nickel for support. “I’m all right. Not dead. Well … not deader.”
Gild flashed a distracted smile at her. “It must have been terrifying.”
“Not so bad,” said Anna. “Agathe was there. She protected me from the bärgeist.”
“She’s the weapons master,” added Fricz. “We’d never met her before, but she sat with us in the stands, and when Anna fell, she jumped down and fought back the bear. It was fantastic!”
“Do you know her?” asked Serilda.
“A little, but not well,” said Gild. “She’s always been quiet, solitary. Wicked fast with a sword, though. I’ve seen her in practice, and training with the dark ones. Wouldn’t want to cross her, I know that much. I’m glad she was there, Anna.”
Serilda wanted to tell him that Agathe might have been the person who had trained him in weaponry, so long ago, but the look he was giving her made the words die out on her tongue.
