He had made his own prison, and he had done it for her.
But to stare a second longer would lead to suspicions, and the king could not know that it was Gild who had the gift of spinning, not her. If he knew what the cursed prince was truly capable of, he would no doubt find new ways of torturing him until Gild agreed to spin all the gold he wanted.
And if she knew Gild at all, she knew that he would endure the torture rather than do anything this monster demanded of him.
For eternity.
She forced herself to turn away. To face the spinning wheel.
A story, some sneaky voice whispered as she took a seat on the stool. What she needed was a great lie. Something convincing. Something that would get her out of this predicament and also let her keep her head, and rescue Gerdrut.
That was a lot to ask of a simple fairy tale, and her mind was blank. She doubted she could have recited a nursery rhyme in that moment, much less spun a story as grand as she needed.
She gave the wheel a turn with her fingers, as if testing it. She pressed her foot against the treadle. She tried to appear contemplative as her fingers skimmed across the empty, waiting bobbin.
What a picture she must make. The charming peasant girl at her spinning wheel. She had become a spectacle.
She reached into the cart for a handful of straw, taking the opportunity to glance around once more. Some of the ghosts were leaning forward, craning their necks to see.
She pretended to inspect the straw in her hands.
A lie.
I need a lie.
Nothing came.
Wyrdith, god of stories and fortune, she pleaded silently. I have never asked you for anything, but please hear me now. If my father did help you, if you did give me your blessing, if I am truly your godchild, then please. Spin your fortune’s wheel. Let it land in my favor.
Serilda’s hand shook as she picked out the longest piece of straw and took in a staggered breath. She had seen Gild do this so many times. Was it at all possible that his magic might have transferred into her? That one could learn to be a gold-spinner?
She gave the wheel another spin.
Whir?…
Her foot pressed against the treadle, increasing its speed.
Whir?…
She moved the straw toward the maiden hole, as she had moved countless knots of fresh-sheared wool since she was a child. The straw scratched at her palms.
Whir?…
It did not wrap around the bobbin.
Of course it didn’t.
She’d forgotten to tie the leader yarn.
Face heating with embarrassment, she fumbled to secure one end of the straw onto the bobbin. She could hear rustling in the audience, but from the corner of her eye, the Erlking stood perfectly still. He might have been a corpse himself.
With the leader yarn attached as well as she could get it, and knotted to the next strand of straw, she tried again.
Whir?…
One only had to feed it through.
Whir?…
The wheel would twist the wool.
Whir?…
The yarn would wrap around the bobbin.
But this was straw, and it quickly frayed and snapped.
Her heart pounded as she looked down at the remaining strands, dry and worthless in her unmagical grip.
She could not keep herself from glancing up, though she knew it was a mistake. Gild was watching her, his face full of anguish.
Funny how that look made so many things pristinely clear. There had remained a number of treacherous doubts these past weeks, after she had given so much to him, and taken so much in return. Everything he did came with a price. A necklace. A ring. A promise.
But he couldn’t have looked at her like that if she meant nothing to him.
A spark of courage ignited in her chest.
She had told Gild that she would stay alive long enough to deliver to him the payment she owed. Her firstborn child.
The bargain had been made with magic, binding and unbreakable.
“You have my word,” she murmured to herself.
“Is something wrong?” said the Erlking, and though his words were subdued, they had an unmistakable sharpness beneath them.
Her gaze snapped back to him. She blinked, startled.
Not so much by the presence of the Erlking, but by the cool shiver traipsing down her spine.
Her firstborn child.
She dropped the straw. Both hands went to her stomach.
The Erlking frowned.
She and Gild had made love on the night of the Chaste Moon. An entire moon cycle had passed, and she’d been so caught up in her worries and planning that she hadn’t realized until that moment?…
She’d missed her blood cycle.
“What is the matter?” growled the Erlking.
But Serilda barely heard him. The words were turning through her mind, a spinning wheel of blurring, impossible things.
Your condition.
You should not ride.
Firstborn child.
Firstborn child!
The progeny of a girl cursed by the god of lies and a boy trapped behind the veil. She couldn’t picture such a creature. Would it be a monster? An undead thing? A magicked thing?
It wouldn’t matter, she tried to tell herself. She had struck a deal with Gild. Though she knew he had accepted the offer with as much dismay as she’d made it, both of them thinking it would never come due, she also knew that Gild had meant it when he’d said their bargain was unbreakable.
She had no claim to this being inside her. No more than a cask can claim the wine or a bucket can claim the milk.
And yet.
A feeling she had never known rose up in her as her fingers pressed softly into her abdomen.
A child.
Her child.
An icy hand snatched her wrist.
Serilda gasped and looked up into the Erlking’s frosted eyes.
“You are testing my patience, miller’s daughter.”
And that was when it came.
The story. The lie.
That was not entirely a lie.
“My lord, forgive me,” she said, not having to feign her breathlessness. “I cannot spin this straw into gold.”
One lip curled upward, revealing a sharp canine tooth that reminded her too much of the hounds he cherished.
“And why is that?” he asked, his tone a promise of regret if she dared to defy him.
“I fear it isn’t proper to say …”
His eyes flashed murderous.
Serilda leaned toward him, whispering so that only he could hear. “Your Darkness, the god-given magic that flowed through my veins is gone. I can no longer summon it to my fingers. I am no longer a gold-spinner.”
Shadows eclipsed his face. “You play a dangerous game.”
She shook her head. “I swear, this is no game. There is good reason for the loss of my magic. You see … it seems that my body now harbors a gift far more precious than gold.”
He squeezed her wrist until it hurt, but she didn’t yelp. “Explain.”
Her other hand had never left her stomach, and now she looked down, knowing that his gaze would follow.
“I am no longer a gold-spinner, because that magic now belongs to my unborn child.”
His grip loosened, but he did not let go. She waited a few seconds before daring to meet his gaze again. “I am sorry to have disappointed you, my lord.”