Cursed, p.25
Cursed, page 25
“Ha!” she cried, pointing. “Pout, shout, and sauerkraut, I see Gerdrut and she is out!”
“No!” cried Gerdrut. “You always catch me first!”
Serilda spun around as Gerdrut emerged from behind an empty wagon cart.
“Wait,” said Serilda, turning back to the water well. “You were … I saw you…” She frowned and started toward the well. Though she knew the figure she’d seen had been smaller, she still called out for the blond-headed twins.
“Did you see us?” said Nickel, as he and Fricz both popped up from two barrels that stood side by side.
“Nah, you didn’t see us!” said Fricz. “You’re cheating!”
Serilda ignored him. Her pace picked up to a jog. Her pulse thundered in her ears.
But when she rounded the well … there was nobody there.
She stumbled back a surprised step, staring at the leaf-littered ground.
“What is it?” asked Hans.
He, the twins, and Gerdrut were making their way to her. Anna, always stubborn, apparently refused to give up her hiding spot.
“I thought I saw someone,” said Serilda. “A little girl…”
A shiver swept over her. Could it have been…?
Perhaps she’d been imagining things. Perhaps it had been a trick of the moonlight.
“Perhaps it was the queen’s ghost,” said Gerdrut.
Everyone looked at her.
“Who?” said Serilda.
Gerdrut shrugged. “That’s what I call her, anyway. Some of the maids and I were told to beat the dust from a bunch of tapestries last week, and there was this one I really liked. It showed a girl who I think was my age? But she was sitting on a throne, surrounded by nachtkrapp. Only, instead of attacking her, I think they might have been her pets.” She tugged on one of her curls. “I guess it sounds scary, but it wasn’t really. It kind of made me think that I’d like to have a pet of my own. Anyway, I figure she must have been queen here once.”
Serilda shook her head. “Gravenstone has never had a queen. Only the Alder King … and well, Perchta. The huntress.”
“Oh.” Gerdrut stuck out her lower lip. “Then I don’t know who she was.”
Serilda looked again at the empty place behind the well, but it offered no answers.
“If anyone sees or hears anything more about little girls or ghosts that didn’t come with us from Adalheid, will you tell me?”
The children promised they would, when Hans gave a curious tilt to his head, peering up at the alder tree. “Is it just me, or does the alder look different now than it did when we first got here?”
They followed his gaze, studying the enormous tree, lit by the moon and torchlight. Serilda could see what he meant. The bark had been ashy gray before, but now had patches of vibrant white, almost like a paper birch. And high above, far past the low-hanging boughs, Serilda spied the first buds of new leaves beginning to unfurl.
Then they heard Anna calling from the far side of the courtyard.
“Serilda! Everyone, come here!”
They traded quick looks, before racing off in search of her. Anna stood in the open doorway of one of the stables, her eyes wide, a stick in one hand.
“I may have done something I wasn’t supposed to do,” she said, stepping aside to let Serilda pass.
Nerves immediately bunching in the pit of her stomach, Serilda stepped into the darkened stable, where just enough moonlight filtered in that she could see the bars of a cage erected within a stall, and inside, the sleeping form of the white unicorn.
She froze.
Strangest of all was not the cage or the unicorn. It was the flowers. The dirt floor of the stable was covered in tiny grasslike leaves and patches of the prettiest, daintiest white blooms.
“Are those snowdrops?” whispered Nickel as the children gathered in around Serilda.
“It appears so,” she said. She crouched to get a better look, careful not to trample any of the buds. Snowdrops were the first flowers to appear at the end of winter, their little drooping heads oftentimes pushing up through the last drifts of snow. They were a small, dainty flower, not ostentatious like the beloved rose or exotic orchids or unique edelweiss, but they had always been one of Serilda’s favorites, as they were the first to herald the coming of sunshine and warmth. “There shouldn’t be snowdrops for months still.”
“It gets stranger,” said Anna, her voice wavering. “They … weren’t here. Before.”
“What do you mean?” asked Serilda.
Anna swallowed and tucked her hands behind her back. “I came in here to hide, and then I saw the unicorn, and it just felt so sad. It still had the Erlking’s arrow in its side, and … and I thought it must be in pain, so I…” She pulled one hand out and Serilda saw what she first thought was a stick before recognizing the Erlking’s black-tipped arrow—the one he had plunged into Pusch-Grohla—forcing her transformation into the unicorn.
Serilda’s eyes widened. “Give that to me before you hurt yourself!”
Irritation passed over Anna’s face, but she handed the arrow over without argument.
Serilda spun back to face the cage, expecting the creature to have turned back into Shrub Grandmother—but no—the unicorn remained, still asleep, its legs tucked beneath its body and its head tipped down serenely toward the earth.
“It didn’t wake up, like I thought it would,” said Anna. “But instead, this happened.” She gestured down to her feet.
Serilda shook her head. “What happened?”
“The flowers. They weren’t here at first, but then they just started popping up everywhere.”
“Uh, Serilda? Anna?” said Fricz, peering out the door. “Those aren’t the only flowers.”
They stepped back out into the courtyard, and Serilda clapped an astonished hand to her mouth. A path was stretching before them from the door of the stable to the base of the alder tree, blanketed with—not snowdrops—but deep amethyst crocuses.
Gerdrut squealed and darted off. “Tulips!” she cried, falling to her knees beside a patch of tulips painted in shades of orange and red. Not far beyond lay another patch of blooms in tones of pale pink.
Then Nickel pointed out a cluster of butter-yellow daffodils.
It began to feel like they were on a scavenger hunt, every step taking them farther away from the unicorn’s prison, and every step revealing more blooms, as if they were sprouting fresh from the earth in response to their approaching steps. Finally, Serilda stood still, letting her gaze sweep around the courtyard, watching the first curl of bright green leaves poke their way from the soil at the base of the tree, or creep up between the jagged stones of the courtyard paths. They transformed in moments. From nothingness to tight little buds to flowers in full bloom, all in a matter of breaths. Their progression did not continue on through the drooping and fading and crumbling into death, though. The flowers stayed vibrant, filling the air with the perfume of springtide.
Beneath the Harvest Moon, the courtyard of Gravenstone transformed from a place of dreary decay to a lush meadow of wildflowers, the alder tree at its center practically shimmering with renewed magic.
“Can we pick some?” Gerdrut asked hopefully.
Serilda hesitated. She glanced back through the stable door, to where the unicorn lay in slumber. Would Pusch-Grohla be angry if they did?
Then she looked at the children, their faces bright with wonder.
She nodded as she tucked the Erlking’s arrow into a pocket of her cloak. “Pick as many as you want. Fill our room with them. The servants’ quarters, too—anywhere in the castle that could use some cheering up.” She grinned. “A bounty like this is not to be wasted.”
Chapter Thirty
All night long, Serilda and the children gathered bouquets of spring flowers beneath the autumn’s Harvest Moon. They raided the kitchens for every bowl and goblet they could find, creating vivid arrangements that they placed in alcoves throughout the castle. Eventually even the ghost servants, caught up in the miracle of it all, abandoned their work to help.
As the hours passed, the courtyard grew increasingly lush, as if every flower they picked sprouted into three more, and soon the entryway and great hall and servants’ quarters and their own chambers were flourishing with flower buds on every shelf and mantel and step, until the castle itself felt transformed. Like a magic spell, the flowers turned the gloomy halls and eerie rooms into spaces that were vibrant and fragrant and almost joyful.
By the time the sky began to glow with the coming sun, Serilda’s back and legs ached in a way she couldn’t recall them ever doing before her curse, Gerdrut had fallen asleep, nestled among a patch of forget-me-nots, and everyone was complaining of hunger.
A plan had just been made to retire to the kitchens for leftover stew and rosemary bread when the thunder of the hunting horn rolled over the castle walls.
Serilda sighed heavily. “All good things come to an end.”
The hunt came storming through the colonnade, the king at their fore. Upon seeing the alder tree and the field of colorful spring flowers, surprise flashed across his face and he pulled his horse to an abrupt halt.
Serilda folded her hands demurely in front of her skirt and went to greet him, her slippers squishing against the bed of clover that had taken over the path. “Welcome back, my lord,” she said, as the hunters gathered in bewilderment around the tree. “We have had quite an enchanting night.”
A shadow fell across the Erlking’s face. Without acknowledging Serilda, he leaped from his steed and charged toward the stable where the unicorn was caged.
Serilda ran to keep up with him. “I hope you won’t mind that we had some of the servants place a few bouquets in your chambers. I wasn’t sure what you might like, so we went with snowdrops and white irises, for a muted color palette. But there are lots of other choices, as you can see, so if you’d prefer—”
The door crashed open so loud, Serilda jumped.
The Erlking did not enter, but stood glowering at the unicorn.
It had not moved from its resting place on the floor of the cage, but its eyes were now open and staring balefully at the king.
He spun around, glowering at Serilda. “Where is my arrow?”
Serilda lifted her chin. “What arrow?”
“The one that had paralyzed the unicorn,” he growled.
“Oh. That arrow. It was taken.”
He drew closer, using his impressive height to intimidate her. But that tactic had stopped working a long time ago. “By whom?”
“The monsters.”
Her voice did not falter. Her gaze was unwavering.
Suspicion pressed against his ire. “Explain.”
“The children and I were playing not long after the hunt departed, when we heard a noise inside this stable. We came to check, just in time to see an alp pulling the arrow from the unicorn’s side. It ran past us, and a second later, a nachtkrapp flew down from the alder tree’s branches, grabbed the arrow, and took off, disappearing over the castle wall.” She pointed to an arbitrary place, where her made-up night raven had gone. “The alp flew after it, but they seemed to be working together.” She shrugged. “After that, the flowers began to grow.”
His jaw worked. A muscle twitched at the corner of his eye.
Serilda did not fidget.
Then the Erlking looked past her shoulder. “Where is the arrow?”
She turned back and grimaced to see the five children standing there. She could see it in their faces—that moment of biting their tongues, trying so hard not be compelled by the Erlking’s magic to give him what he asked for.
But little Gerdrut gave in first. “Anna took it out of the unicorn!”
“I didn’t know what would happen. I just felt so bad for it!” added Anna.
“Then Anna gave it to Serilda,” admitted Nickel, looking crestfallen.
“And Serilda put it in her pocket,” said Fricz, looking angry.
The Erlking fixed his gaze on Hans, who only shrugged. “Your Grim.”
With a glower, the Erlking held out his palm to Serilda.
She heaved a sigh, took the arrow from her pocket, and gave it to him. He dropped it into his quiver and turned away, gesturing toward one of the hunters. “Have the metalworkers construct a harness for the unicorn. Luckily, we now have enough gold that we can spare some.”
“Must you?” asked Serilda. “The flowers aren’t harming anything.”
He snorted. “Flowers are only the beginning of that hag’s bothersome magic.”
Serilda was about to point out that this bothersome magic had revived the alder tree, when an earsplitting screech halted her tongue.
“What is that?”
The king’s irritation quickly changed to a smug grin. “Our newest acquisition.”
The rest of the hunters finally appeared as the whisper of sunshine touched the alder tree’s boughs. The horses nickered and pawed at the ground, their eyes darting toward the beast in their midst, even as they attempted to shy away. The stable boy, for once, did not move forward to take the steeds from their riders, for he, along with all the rest of the court who had gathered to greet the hunters, stared with loose jaws at their prize.
“Is that,” whispered Hans, “a gryphon?”
Serilda’s mouth ran dry as she took it in. The beast was twice the size of the bärgeist, with sinuous muscles covered in golden fur, two immense paws on its hind legs, and daggerlike talons in the front. The regal head of a silver eagle stood taller than even the Erlking’s steed, and Serilda could imagine that the wings, when spread, would cast a shadow like a storm cloud when it took flight.
But those wings were currently bound. The gryphon’s body—powerful and magnificent—had been tied from beak to tail with layer upon layer of golden chains.
It was injured, too. Serilda could see a dozen arrows lodged in its back and wings, and a mottle of dried blood on its tawny fur. Even still, she knew that these alone would never have brought it down had the hunters not also managed to get the golden ropes around it. Despite its wounds and the smears of dirt caked across them—suggesting it had been dragged here over a vast distance—the gryphon continued to struggle. It frothed at the beak as it fought against its bindings, the chains cutting deeper into its flesh.
“Well?” said the Erlking. “What do you think?” The question was posed lightly, as if they had brought home a common stag. Pride illuminated his face. He swept an arm around Serilda’s waist, drawing her closer, and she was so stunned by the sight of the gryphon she hardly noticed the way his touch left faint tinges of frost on her dirt-smeared gown. “Once again, I owe you my gratitude.” Bowing his head, he placed his lips against her temple.
Serilda shuddered and jerked away. Her entire being roiled at his touch. At seeing this fantastic beast, broken and tormented. Another sickening prize for His Darkness to gloat over.
“What are you talking about?” she said. “I’ve never told a story about a gryphon.”
“Are you so sure?” he said with a mild chuckle.
Serilda glared. Yes, she was sure.
But something about his tone gave her pause.
Never had she made up any lies or hints about a gryphon. Never.
“Your Grim,” said a hunter, “it will take time to construct a cage that can hold it. What shall we do with the beast in the meantime?”
“Throw it in with the unicorn.” His eyes twinkled, amusement in his tone. “They can help protect our castle from malevolent spirits.”
“No!” cried Serilda. “The gryphon will eat it alive!”
At this, the Erlking broke into laughter, as did a number of dark ones.
Furious, Serilda swung an arm toward the beast, still screeching and pulling at its chains. “Look at it! Look at those claws! The unicorn won’t survive a night with that thing!”
“Oh, how I would enjoy seeing them fight to the death,” said the Erlking. “Though I am not sure I agree with your assessment as to whom would be the victor.”
He started shouting orders to the hunters and servants. Soon, the great beast was being dragged through the lush flora covering the ground, its shrill screams making the hairs stand up on the back of Serilda’s neck.
She glanced back at the unicorn. Its dark eyes met hers and flashed, and she wished she could guess at what it was thinking, and whether it was still Pusch-Grohla looking out through those dark eyes. Was this beast still intelligent, feisty, determined? Or was it just a magical horse with a broken horn?
Before she could feel certain one way or the other, the unicorn curved its head away from her, and she felt abysmally dismissed.
Chapter Thirty-One
Serilda picked at the knot of warm bread in front of her. It steamed when she pulled it apart, emitting the most heavenly aroma. But she had little appetite. She was beginning to feel like life with the dark ones was just one huge celebration after another … always in honor of another grotesque event.
It’s the vernal equinox! Let us hunt the game and devour the banquet provided by this quaint lakeside village, while its residents cower in fear inside their homes!
A mortal bride has been cursed and coerced into marrying our Alder King—let us feast!
One of the most magnificent magical creatures of all time has been locked up for our viewing pleasure—huzzah!
The shadows deepened while Serilda picked at her food and listened to the melodies strummed on an old mandolin and a waldzither by a pair of ghosts who both had gaping wounds in their stomachs. Conversations mingled around her. The air in the castle remained stubbornly cool, despite the fires that had been blazing in multiple hearths for weeks. At least now the air carried a faint floral perfume down every corridor.
“You are not enjoying our hospitality?” murmured the Erlking, his breath gliding over her temple as he leaned close.
Serilda’s jaw tightened. She looked down at her plate, where her fingers had pulled the roll into a pile of fluffy crumbs.
She flicked her fingers toward the pots of honeyed butter and platters of roasted goose. “I am accustomed to simpler fare.”
