Cursed, p.32
Cursed, page 32
At their helm stood a human girl. A child with vivid blue eyes and curls of golden hair. Serilda would have recognized her anywhere, even though she looked so very different from the portrait inside the locket. This was no coddled princess. The girl before them was a warrior. Dressed in a mishmash of furs and scales herself, her curls pulled back and an expression of dark ferocity on her face, she reminded Serilda of the moss maidens. And like the forest folk, she, too, was heavily armed. Three blades at her hip, another on her thigh, a battle-ax clutched in her fist.
“You are not the dark ones,” said the princess, with a disappointed sneer. “Where is Erlkö—” She broke off abruptly, her eyes widening. “You are the gold-spinner. And you.” She jutted the ax blade toward Serilda. “His bride. What’s happened to your hand?”
Serilda gawked at her. She’d forgotten about the wound, the blood dripping down her wrist. She was still clutching the broken arrow shaft so tightly, her fingers had gone numb.
Without waiting for Serilda’s response, the girl gasped. “Give that to me!” she yelled, grabbing for Serilda’s hand.
“No!” screamed Gild. “If she releases the arrow, she—” He cut off abruptly.
The princess had not taken away the arrow. Instead, she had deftly wrestled the small golden ring from Serilda’s pinkie finger.
“This is mine!” she snapped, glaring at Serilda as if she were a common thief. “Where did you find it?”
“I … in the hall. With the tapestries. I didn’t know—” Serilda’s thoughts spun in every direction. “I-it’s really you. Have you been here this whole time?”
A scream erupted from the staircase, followed by a distressed howl. Velos.
“What is happening down there?” said the princess. “We have been waiting to ambush the dark ones for hours! But it sounds like there’s already a war, and we are missing it! Do you know how long we have been planning this? Come—everyone! Regroup!”
The monsters scrabbled for the tapestry, nearly knocking Serilda and Gild over in their rush to snatch it away. Shouts came from the stairs. Grunts and thundering footsteps.
“Resume your places!” barked the princess.
The monsters backed against the walls so they would not be visible as the dark ones emerged from below, leaving Gild and Serilda standing alone beneath the rotunda glass.
“Move!” said the princess. “They’re coming! And for Hulda’s sake, bandage that wound. You’re bleeding all over the floor!”
Seeing that Gild was still dumbfounded and watching his sister—who, clearly, did not remember him—Serilda grabbed his elbow and dragged him against the wall, dismayed to see that she had, in fact, left a trail of blood behind her.
Mere seconds passed before the first dark ones emerged, racing to stay ahead of the collapsing chamber below.
“Now!” shouted the princess.
The monsters surged forward, as did their leader—ax swinging alongside talons and fangs.
The demons were caught unaware, and Serilda saw six of them fall within seconds, their wounds opening up to black clouds of putrid vapor. But these were immortal beings. These were hunters. And soon, they were fighting back, their numbers growing as more poured into the rotunda from the stairwell.
“They can’t win,” said Gild, his hands shaking as he affixed a torn strip from his shirt around Serilda’s wrist, staunching the bleeding. “The dark ones will slaughter them.”
Perhaps he was right, but it seemed the tenacious princess and her troop of monsters were well matched for the surprised dark ones, at least for now.
Then, in the midst of the fight, a group of dark ones emerged, pulling on golden chains. Their muscles were taut, their faces strained. The hunters gathered around to give them protection from the princess’s monsters as they yanked the black wolf onto the landing.
“Great gods, what is that?” bellowed the princess. “And who…?” She blinked. A dark one swung a sword at her, but the princess blocked it and cut through the dark one’s arm, just above the elbow. The sword and limb fell to the ground. The dark one screamed and stumbled away, but the princess was ignoring him already, gaping at the red-cloaked woman who stood assessing the battle around her.
The princess cocked her head. She looked from Perchta to Serilda. Serilda to Perchta.
“Home, sweet home,” Perchta mused. Then she reached up an arm and snatched a flying drude out of the air. In half a second she had snapped the creature’s neck.
The princess screamed. “Günther!”
Her cry drew Perchta’s attention. “Why, if it isn’t the darling little Adalheid girl. Who would have thought you’d cause so much trouble?”
The princess backed away, bewildered.
Perchta picked up a mace that had fallen in the midst of the battle and joined the fight with revelry. She swung the weapon at anyone who came too close—taking down the flurry of monsters as fast as Serilda could take in every shaky new breath. It was a moment before Serilda realized the Erlking had emerged, too, and was standing over Velos’s prone form, watching his love parry and strike, graceful as a dancer onstage.
“Hide,” said Gild, pushing Serilda toward a corridor. “Get out of here!”
“What? What are you—?”
Gild ran into the fray with his sword aloft, cutting through the demons. At first, Serilda thought he was going after the huntress, and terror again seized her to think of her unborn child, so vulnerable inside the body of that vicious, bloodthirsty woman. But no, Gild was running for the princess, who had rejoined the fight. Gild drove his sword through the back of her nearest opponent and shoved the demon to the side, startling the princess, who had both her ax and a short sword raised to attack.
“You again!”
“Come with me! Quick!”
He grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her toward the alcove that Serilda had ducked into, and Serilda was certain that if the princess hadn’t been so confused by everything that was happening, she would have taken off his arm as easily as she’d taken off that demon’s.
“What are you doing?” asked the princess. “Hiding like cowards?”
“You cannot win this battle! They’re immortal!” Gild gestured at a dark one who was even now getting back to his feet, despite the smoking hole in his chest. “And what do you think the Erlking will do when he captures you? Come on, we have to get out of here!”
He grabbed the princess by the arm and gestured for Serilda to start running. But even though he towered over the girl, as soon as he started to drag her away, she leaned back and kicked her heel right into his knee.
Gild cried out and collapsed.
“I will not leave my soldiers in the heat of battle!” she bellowed.
Gild gaped up at her, then gestured around. “Your soldiers are a bunch of monsters that are going to get themselves killed!”
The princess snarled. “We will drive out the intruders,” she spat. “This is my castle! My plan!”
“And it’s their lives!” he yelled back. “Look around. You’ve lost half of them already. How many dark ones have you killed?”
The princess drew herself up to full height with a stubborn clench to her jaw. But she did look around. The floor of the rotunda was littered with fallen beasts, big and small. And yes, there were wounded dark ones. Some with missing limbs, others hissing in pain and barely able to walk. But they would recover. They would go on fighting.
She swallowed hard, eyes suddenly shining—not with fury, but defeat. Her nostrils flared as she glowered at Perchta, who was whooping in an ecstatic frenzy as she cut down one monster after another.
“Who is that?” she breathed, glancing at Serilda. “You are the storyteller, the king’s bride. So, who is that?”
Serilda swallowed. “Perchta, the huntress. The Erlking traded all the ghosts for her soul, and used … He is using my body as a vessel to hold her.”
The princess paled. But her horror was short-lived. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her ax toward the main corridor. “Retreat!” she shouted, stepping from the alcove. “My monsters—we must fall back! Flee this place! Escape while you can. That is an order from your queen!”
The monsters nearest her looked momentarily perplexed, but they did not disobey. Soon, the cries of battle were replaced with the chaos of retreat—dozens of monsters rushing for the halls, some crashing through windows and letting broken glass rain down through the castle as they fled toward the forest.
“Good. Come with us,” said Gild.
But this time, the princess snatched her arm away from him before he could catch hold of her. Looking past him to Perchta, she snarled and lifted the ax.
“What are you doing?”
“I am defending my castle. I cannot leave it, and so I will keep fighting for as long as I am able.” She cut a glare toward Gild as well. “They are not the only ones who are immortal.”
Chapter Forty
The girl growled and prepared to charge at the huntress.
“We can break your curse!” Gild cried.
She stumbled and hesitated as, across the rotunda, Perchta spotted them in their alcove. With no more monsters to fight, the huntress started in their direction.
“What did you say?” asked the princess, not taking her eyes from the huntress.
“Your body is in Adalheid,” said Gild. “If I can get to it, I can break your curse. Untether you from Gravenstone. But I need time. Please, don’t challenge her. Not now. You have to hide!”
The princess slowly shook her head, still facing the huntress as she prowled ever closer.
“What do you care?” said the princess, knuckles tightening around the handle of her ax. “These demons … they come and they want to take everything from me. I will not allow it. Not again!” She raised her voice, speaking to Perchta and the Erlking, who stood by watching as if the battle were a great show performed for his amusement. “You might be the huntress, but your body looks very fragile, if you ask me.”
Perchta grinned and smoothed one hand down the side of her belly. “It suits me more than I expected. Makes it all feel a bit more … dangerous.” She swiped a dagger from a fallen dark one and lifted it over her shoulder. “I suppose you probably can’t die, but there are other ways to punish such disrespect.”
She cackled and flung the dagger. Gild launched himself at the princess. He knocked her to the ground, his body bracing for the impact of the knife.
In the same instant, a shape dropped from the sky with a shrieking caw. A nachtkrapp split the air between Gild and the huntress, catching the blade in its wing. It shrieked in pain and fell, skidding across the tile floor.
“Lovis!” cried the princess, struggling underneath Gild’s weight. “No! Get off me!”
Perchta placed a hand to her cheek in mockery. “Oh, my darling beastie! How tragic!”
The princess roared, shoving at Gild. “I’m going to kill her! I’ll kill her!”
“Oh, please do try,” said Perchta.
Gild staggered to his feet and grabbed the princess, thrusting her behind him. He raised his sword.
Perchta snarled. “Even better. I have been waiting a long time to have my revenge against you, princeling.”
“If you want him,” called a new voice, “you will have to fight me first.”
Agathe appeared with a short sword in each hand, cutting easily through any dark one who dared to enter her path, until she had placed herself as a shield in front of Gild and the princess.
Perchta lifted an unimpressed eyebrow. “And who are you?”
“A huntress and a warrior, like yourself. One who owes a great debt to the prince of Adalheid.”
Perchta studied her. “You look like a sad little ghost to me. Why weren’t you taken with the others?”
“I requested to stay. I had other business to attend to. Agathe’s gaze darted toward the Erlking, who was leaning against the black wolf’s shoulder as comfortably as one would lean against a wingback chair. “And yes, His Grim could force me to my knees. He could insist that I relinquish my weapons and put up no fight while you demons cut the head from my shoulders a second time. But I don’t think he will.” She fixed a wolfish smile on the huntress. “We wouldn’t want to ruin the fun, would we?”
Agathe lunged.
Perchta cackled, weaving in and out of Agathe’s attacks until she managed to grab a javelin off the ground. Weapon in hand, she met Agathe blow for blow, like two dancers in a choreographed match.
Agathe deflected the javelin’s point, pushing back the huntress. “Your Highness, run! Get out of here, you fools!”
“Yes, run!” said Perchta. “But don’t go far. I am not finished with you yet!”
Serilda tore her focus from the battle and saw that the princess was crouched over the nachtkrapp that had taken the dagger for her, tears streaming down her dust-covered cheeks. The night raven was an eyeless, soulless thing that had, somehow, come to love this girl. Or at least admire her enough to sacrifice itself to protect her. Serilda could hardly believe it was possible.
“Princess,” said Serilda. “This might be our only chance. You’ve been hiding all this time. If you can just hide a little longer, we will go to Adalheid and break your curse.”
“I am not a princess,” she said, but much of the fire had gone from her voice. “I am the queen of Gravenstone. The only queen it has had for a very long time.”
She took the blade from the bird’s wing. It was still breathing, but barely. Its body twitched in pain.
“My dear Lovis, I am sorry,” she whispered, before plunging the dagger into its heart.
Serilda flinched, though she knew this quick death was a mercy.
“Your sacrifice will not be forgotten,” said the princess, her voice wavering. “Nor shall it go to waste.” Inhaling deeply, she stood and looked around at so many fallen creatures. The floor was thick with blood, some red, but other splatters and pools made of sticky black or even shimmering gold. The monsters’ blood. “None of these sacrifices shall go to waste.” She faced Gild and Serilda with a fierce nod. “You’re sure you can free me from these walls?”
“Sure, no,” said Gild. “But I think I can.”
“Then I would have you try. I know a back way out. Let’s go.” Without waiting for a response, the girl ran past them into the corridor.
Serilda glanced back at the battle one last time.
Perchta, wearing Serilda’s skin as her own, moved with a grace and strength Serilda had never possessed. Though Agathe was a worthy opponent, Serilda knew she would not win this fight.
What would happen to her?
She had chosen to stay, to help them, when she could have gone on to Verloren with the other spirits. What would the Erlking do to her for this betrayal?
Then she saw the Erlking. Staring not at Perchta and Agathe—but at her. Intrigued. Curious.
He reached for the quiver on his back, pulling out an arrow tipped in black. Twice she had seen gods trapped by those black arrows—the basilisk and the unicorn. But she had seen the Erlking use a black-tipped arrow for something else, too. She had watched him kill a ghost. Free his spirit.
The Erlking loaded the arrow into his crossbow and leveled it at Serilda.
With a cry, she grabbed Gild and pulled him behind the corridor wall.
She heard the thunk of the crossbow firing, and ducked instinctively.
But he had not fired at her or Gild. Through the doorway they saw the arrow lodge itself into Agathe’s side. She gasped in pain. The blood that leaked from the wound was not red like that coating her tunic, but oily and black.
Perchta, who had been prepared to thrust the javelin down through Agathe’s calf, looked up with a snarl.
“Forgive the interference,” came the Erlking’s honeyed voice, “but I fear your prince is getting away.”
“What are you two waiting for?” hissed the princess, reappearing down the corridor.
Beneath the lunar rotunda, Agathe’s eyes met Gild’s one last time. “Your Highness. Forgive me. I wanted to save the ghosts. I did not know … my loyalty to your family … my debt repaid…”
Gild shook his head, speechless.
“Go,” breathed Agathe. “Run!” It was the last word she managed before her body convulsed and she went still. The black blood crawled along her body, devouring her whole.
Serilda grabbed Gild’s arm and they ran.
Despite her short legs, the princess was quick on her feet, practically flying through the halls of the castle. Gild and Serilda panted after her, the red cloak billowing like a sail. Behind her, she could still hear Perchta laughing. Cruel and cold, in Serilda’s own voice.
The princess led them into a series of narrow servants’ passageways, down a flight of steps, past the kitchens, and finally outside.
They darted beneath the exterior colonnade and flattened themselves against a series of columns, listening for signs that they were being pursued. All Serilda could hear were the sounds of the surrounding forest. Wind knocking wooden branches and the thrum of insects and toads.
And a deeper sound. More distant, yet seeming to come from far beneath them. A groaning deep in the earth.
“Look!” cried Gild, pointing up.
The branches of the alder tree that formed a canopy over the whole castle were changing. The leaves were falling around them like a blizzard. It was autumn, made clear by the vibrant reds and oranges in the surrounding forest, but Serilda knew this was not the natural progression of an alder preparing itself for winter. She had seen it brought back to life by the unicorn, and now it was once again withering away into a hasty death.
“The alder tree grew from Verloren,” said Serilda. “If Verloren is dying—”
The princess snapped around. “What do you mean, if Verloren is dying?”
Gild shook his head. “I don’t think we have time to explain.”
“Wait,” said Serilda, watching as the alder’s roots shriveled and blackened. “Eostrig and Freydon!”
