Cursed, p.7
Cursed, page 7
Serilda squeezed her hands into fists. She had to order her feet not to go a step farther, lest her curse transport her straight to the throne room. She could not risk vanishing into the castle now and wasting precious moments rushing back out here. But it was agony to stay put when her murderous, child-stealing husband was approaching one of the few people alive that she still cared about.
In the distance, she could see them conversing, but though she strained to hear, none of their words came to her. She glanced around and noticed Manfred not far away, that look of stoic indifference on his face. Beyond him, she spotted Hans and Nickel, and she could assume the other children were nearby. Hans was watching her, concerned. He had never met Leyna, but he must have been able to tell how upset Serilda was at her unexpected appearance.
Serilda swallowed hard and attempted to replace the horror in her expression with something like pleasant surprise. She looked back across the bridge and felt her gaze harden into brittle ice.
The Erlking had taken Leyna by the hand, an oddly paternal gesture, and was leading her toward the castle.
Leyna’s eyes were round as full moons, and though she stood with her head high, she was trembling. Serilda wished she could smile encouragingly at her. But with every step drawing Leyna closer to this castle, this nightmare that lured in lost children and never let them go, thick bile was filling her mouth.
“Behold,” said the Erlking, “this small mortal has chosen to meet us on this solstice night in order to deliver a special gift to none other than my new wife.”
At this, Leyna stumbled a bit. “W-wife?” she stammered, her voice dry and quiet.
The Erlking beamed down at her, and if he intended any harm to the child, it was impossible to tell from his doting face.
Serilda had heard many tales of the Erlking taking children away from their homes, or enchanting them as they wandered through the forest; yet in all her imaginings she’d pictured these as traumatic events. He would grin evilly, the child would scream and try to get away, only to be chased down by his warrior horse and swept, kicking and flailing, up onto the saddle.
But that impression was almost erased by the gentleness with which the Erlking held Leyna’s hand. Leyna, who was perhaps trusting to a fault. Serilda wanted to holler at her not to give in to the Erlking’s charms. He was wicked, through and through. She had heard enough stories. Surely Leyna must know that.
“Indeed,” said the king. “The Lady Serilda has only this afternoon taken the vows to become my queen.”
Leyna blinked. She returned her searching attention to Serilda.
Serilda had no choice.
She pressed her lips tight and nodded.
To her horror, Leyna seemed to relax, a trusting lamb being led toward the waiting demons and ghouls. Though her fear was palpable, so was her wonder as she began to take it in. The castle in its true glory—no longer the ruins she had seen from the shore every day of her life. On the dark side of the veil, it was a masterpiece of architecture. Elegant towers, tall spires, stonework that shimmered beneath the silver moon, the stained-glass windows depicting the seven old gods glowing on the upper floor of the keep.
All the splendor was offset by the monsters lurking everywhere. The ghosts with their fatal wounds that never stopped bleeding. Goblins perched on the roofs of nearby stables, gnawing on chicken bones and watching the newcomer with glowing green eyes. At this very moment, a bazaloshtsh was screeching from the upper floor of one of the watchtowers, its foul cry sending goose bumps over Serilda’s skin. She’d become rather used to the assortment of horrible creatures that lived within these walls, but she suspected it all was a shock to little Leyna, as it had been to her when she’d first arrived.
The Erlking paused once his and Leyna’s feet touched the wooden planks of the drawbridge.
Leyna was studying the fine hunting gear Serilda wore. The girl appeared confused, perhaps slightly enraptured to be promenaded to the gates of the castle on the arm of none other than the Erlking himself.
She and Serilda stared at each other a long moment.
Then Leyna detached herself from the king and held up the basket. With a shy smile, she said, “Remember? I told you that if you died and became a ghost of the castle, I would bring you honey walnut cakes. Your favorite.”
Only then did Serilda catch the familiar scent wafting from the basket, sweet and nutty.
A sob caught in her throat.
Throwing herself at the girl, Serilda scooped Leyna into her arms and lifted her off the ground.
Leyna squeaked and laughed. “I brought you something else, too,” she said, as soon as Serilda had set her down. “A book of fairy tales that’s been very popular at Madam Professor’s library lately. Written by some famous Verenese scholar, I guess. Frieda says she can’t hardly keep it on the shelves. She’ll probably be mad when she finds out I took her last copy, but … I thought you would enjoy the stories.”
With tears in her eyes, Serilda peered into the basket. The small cakes were wrapped in a linen towel, and a finely crafted book was nestled in beside them. “Thank you,” she breathed. “To you and Frieda both, even if she didn’t know you were bringing it. I can’t tell you what it means to me … to see your face again. Have you been well? How is your mother?”
“Fine, fine,” said Leyna, glancing uncomfortably at the Erlking, then around at the court of dark ones and ghosts. “She and Frieda started courting officially a few weeks ago, at long last. But it’s been dull without you at the inn. We miss your stories.” She gulped. “I thought for sure, if the Erlking kept you, he’d have made you the court’s bard or something. And now you’re telling me you’ve gone and married the villain? I thought you planned to kill him!”
At this, the Erlking barked a rare laugh, and the rest of the court followed suit.
“It’s a very long story,” said Serilda, squeezing Leyna’s shoulders. “My goodness. Mortals really do feel lovely, don’t they?”
Leyna frowned. “What do you mean?”
Serilda grinned, a moment’s joy at seeing her old friend eclipsing her horror. The first night she’d met Gild, he had been speechless when he touched her. He’d never touched a mortal before; he’d known only the eerie wrongness of the ghosts. He hadn’t imagined that a person could feel so soft, so warm.
After only a couple of months inside this castle, she understood now what he meant. Embracing Leyna was a bit like being wrapped in a soft-worn quilt on a winter’s night.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “You should not be here, you foolish girl.”
“I know.” Leyna beamed impishly. “Mama will kill me when she finds out.”
And though she was joking, the words opened up that same hollow dread in Serilda’s gut.
Oh—she desperately hoped that Lorraine would have the opportunity to scold and rail and mete out as many repercussions as she could dream up for this blatant disregard for Adalheid’s most important rule.
Never cross that bridge. Never go into the castle.
“In that case,” said the Erlking, laying a hand on Serilda’s elbow, “we will do everything we can to make your visit worthwhile.”
He drew Serilda against him and lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing the base of her wrist, right beside the pale scar from his arrow.
She shivered. “Don’t be silly. She has to go back, before she’s missed.” She took the basket from Leyna. “Thank you for this thoughtful gift. Please send my regards to—”
“Don’t be rash, my love,” interrupted the Erlking, plucking the basket out of Serilda’s hand. “The child is our guest. She must stay and enjoy our hospitality.” His grin grew sharp. “I will hear of nothing else. Boy!”
Serilda did not know who he was summoning until Fricz stepped forward and the king set the basket into his hands. “Take this to the queen’s chambers.”
Fricz instantly turned and trotted away, though his sour expression told Serilda he much rather would have stayed and seen what was to become of the courageous girl from Adalheid.
As soon as he had gone, the Erlking again took Leyna’s arm and paraded both her and Serilda across the courtyard. “Let us celebrate.”
Dark ones and monsters and ghosts followed them back toward the gardens. “What a lovely night you chose to visit us,” the Erlking went on. “My wife has told me little of her acquaintances in Adalheid. I had not realized there was someone so special left behind.”
Serilda’s jaw clenched. She could easily imagine how the Erlking might use Leyna against her. He thought he had already taken away everyone she loved. Her mother, her father, her beloved schoolchildren, all killed on the hunt. There was a reason she had never mentioned Leyna to him, or Leyna’s mother, or Frieda, the librarian.
“Are you truly married?” Leyna said in dismay. “To each other?”
Serilda smiled thinly, wishing she could explain everything.
“Truly,” answered the king. “How would you describe our romance, my sweet? Something like a fairy tale?”
“Oh yes,” said Serilda. “It’s been precisely like one of those fairy stories in which the children get their hearts eaten by monsters and the heroine is trapped inside a dismal castle until the end of her years.” She fluttered her lashes. “A fairy tale come true.”
Leyna’s brows pinched in confusion, but the king merely chuckled. “Those are my favorite tales, to be sure. Musicians!”
Serilda jumped, even though he hadn’t shouted loudly. Her nerves were humming, her insides roiling. Would he let Leyna go?
Or would he keep her here—to punish Serilda, or as one more threat against her if she did not live up to their bargain? She wanted to grab Leyna and shove her back toward the barbican gates. Tell her to run. Run as fast as she could and never come back.
But to do it would be to risk the Erlking’s wrath—against her. Against the children.
And so, feeling helpless, all she did was nod in appreciation as the ghost musicians struck up a waltz.
“Now we shall celebrate,” said the Erlking. Releasing Leyna’s arm, he flicked a wrist at the children who had followed. Hans immediately stepped forward. “Our guest requires a dancing partner.”
Hans gaped. “I don’t know how—”
Before he could finish, his body bent into a stiff bow, and then he was stepping forward and taking Leyna’s hands. Leyna, under no such spell, tried to back away, her wide-eyed gaze drawn to the gaping wound in Hans’s chest. But whether she was frightened or repulsed, she put up no resistance as Hans whisked her off around a large fountain, leading her as if he’d been taught by one of the great Verenese masters himself. It wasn’t long before Leyna’s surprised giggles floated above the trees.
With a snap of the king’s fingers, a gaggle of ghosts followed after them, waltzing in majestic unison. Puppets on strings. Smiling through their teeth, their open wounds leaving drops of blood scattered across the torchlit paths.
“Who is the child?” asked the Erlking. He maintained his air of tranquil curiosity, though Serilda could see the way he was scrutinizing Leyna. Trying to determine how attached she was to Serilda, and Serilda to her. Whether or not the girl could be useful to him.
“Just a girl I met in Adalheid. Her mother owns the local inn. I was ordered to stay there for a time. By you, if you recall.”
“I believe you mentioned that the innkeeper was accommodating.”
“She was.”
“The child must adore you, and I daresay, the feeling appears mutual.” His teeth glinted. “Would you like to keep her? She could be my wedding gift to you.”
She tried to hide her terror beneath a throaty scoff. “Gods alive, no. You have given me enough children. I’m beginning to feel more like a governess than a queen.”
The king grinned, and she doubted very much that she had fooled him. “We should give her a tour of the grounds. Perhaps she would like to see the menagerie.”
Serilda suspected that Leyna would very much like to see the menagerie: the wild hunt’s collection of magical creatures. Leyna had been one of Serilda’s most attentive listeners during her stay in Adalheid, when she would spend hours spinning stories beside the fire at the Wild Swan. Over time, she had amassed a reputation, and the townsfolk began to gather nightly to hear her stories, but it was Leyna who was always seated right beside her. Chin cupped and eyes bright, eager to hear more. More about witches and trolls and punishments doled out to naughty little children. More about knights and fairy folk and castles among the stars. Just more.
She had reminded Serilda a little of herself that way.
She started to shake her head—even considered pleading with the king to send Leyna back home. But she stopped herself. Her pleas would be in vain. He was toying with her, and to show distress would only please him more. She could not help feeling that this was a punishment for allowing herself to be kidnapped by the poltergeist and embarrassing the king on this most important occasion.
Besides. Leyna really would enjoy seeing the creatures.
She did her best not to look alarmed. “What a thoughtful idea, my lord.”
Chapter Nine
Serilda had lost count of how many waltzes the children had endured. Fricz had returned some time ago, pouting to have missed the fun, even though his companions were clearly annoyed to be under the king’s control when usually they were allowed a fair bit of freedom as Serilda’s personal attendants. No one liked being ordered around, even if it was just being told to dance. Only Leyna seemed giddy and breathless as she was twirled around the gardens.
The musicians offered to play a song of her choosing, but they did not know any of the songs Leyna suggested—their knowledge of popular music being somewhat dated. Leyna finally assured them she was delighted with anything they cared to play.
A couple of hunters enchanted Leyna with a contest of knife throwing, which left Serilda practically gasping in terror for fear one of those daggers would plant itself into Leyna’s heart at any moment. But the demons behaved themselves, making merriment without maiming or killing anyone for once.
Platters of spiced buns and fruit-filled pastries were brought around. Glasses of wine were continuously filled. The dancing went on and on and on.
It seemed ages before Leyna was brought back before Serilda and the king, her elbows linked between Hans and Gerdrut.
“Goodness,” she said through a twinkling laugh. “We don’t throw parties like this in Adalheid. Serilda—is the food safe to eat? I’ve been avoiding it, but I’m famished!”
Nearby, a silver-skinned man chuckled dryly. “The human child must think we live on poison and the blood of little girls.”
Beside him, a woman cackled. “She is not entirely wrong.”
Leyna shrank away. She must have forgotten that the dark ones were still the villains of too many warning tales to count. They were as ephemeral and pretty as they were vicious and frightening. They had mostly lingered in the background since her arrival, but now Serilda could see them creeping closer, their curiosity spurred on by the king’s interest. Or perhaps they merely scented new prey.
Serilda wished her mind would stop conjuring things like that. It was making it very difficult to maintain a semblance of calm.
“I meant no offense,” said Leyna, her mood deflating. “It’s only … Serilda once told a story of an enchanted castle that was all manners of wonderful, but if one were to eat even one morsel of food they would”—she hesitated, glancing at Serilda as if checking to see if she had the details correct. As if the place might actually have existed and not been merely a silly story made up to entertain—“turn into a bird,” she said. “And be forced to fetch seeds and nuts for the fairy queen until the day they died.”
The dark ones let out peals of laughter.
Leyna pouted.
“What a darling child,” said a woman with hair like burning embers. “We should keep her.”
“I am considering it,” said the Erlking, beaming, as if bringing Leyna here had been his idea to begin with. “Come, mortal girl. Would you care to see the menagerie?”
“Menagerie?” asked Leyna, eyes widening. “Of … animals?”
“Like none you have ever seen.” The Erlking glanced at Serilda, a hint of smugness on his bruise-dark mouth. “Why don’t you lead the way, my queen?”
Serilda gave a tight smile, a tighter curtsy. “With pleasure.” Taking Leyna’s hand, she headed down the path toward the far wall of the castle.
The Erlking signaled to the musicians to keep playing. “I trust the festivities will not suffer for our absence.”
“Is it very far?” Leyna whispered, a hint of fear overtaking her. The gardens, though lit by torches interspersed throughout the trees, grew darker as they moved away from the keep with its glowing windows.
“It’s all right,” Serilda said, hoping it was not a lie. “The king is only trying to impress you.”
Leyna tucked her head closer to Serilda and whispered, “When last I saw you on the Awakening Moon, you were downright murderous. You said he’d kidnapped a child from your village, and you were going to try to bring her back. Serilda—I thought for sure I would never see you again. Not alive, at least. But … you don’t look exactly like the other ghosts that are here. And now you’ve gone ahead and married the Erlking?”
“It’s complicated,” said Serilda. “I wish I could explain everything to you, but know that I would have returned if I’d had any choice. Leyna—this place, it is dangerous. The dark ones can be charming, but don’t be fooled. The first chance you have to leave, I want you to go and never come back. Do you understand me?”
Leyna peered up at her, a hint of stubborn refusal on her face, but Serilda gave her hand a tight squeeze. “Those children you danced with? They were from Märchenfeld, and he kidnapped and killed them all. They can never leave here, never go home to their families. I couldn’t stand it if he hurt you, too. And think what that would do to your mother.”
Leyna’s frown eased into something like guilt. “I hadn’t planned on coming into the castle. I was just going to leave the basket for you and run, but then the sun set and the gates opened and … and I really did wonder whether you were here. I wanted to see you again. I never imagined I would get to come inside and see…” She followed the line of the pathway as they came to another sharp-tipped gate, and froze. “What is that?”
