“I care little for the wills of gods.”
“Be that as it may,” she said, taking a step forward, “you and I both know that they can be powerful allies. If it wasn’t for the gift of Hulda, I never could have spun that gold for you.” She paused before continuing, “What might the blessing be for my child? What power might be growing inside me, even now? And yes—I know I am asking for your patience, for not just the next nine—eight months, but for years, potentially, before we know what gift this child carries. But you are eternal. What is a few years, a decade? If you kill me, if you kill this baby, then you are squandering a great opportunity. You told me the young princess was also blessed by Hulda. That her death was a waste. But you are not a wasteful king. Don’t make that mistake again.”
He held her gaze for a long time, while Serilda’s heart thumped erratically and her breaths threatened to choke her.
“How do you know,” he said slowly, “that your gift of spinning will not return once the parasite is removed?”
Parasite.
Serilda shivered at the word, but tried not to let her disgust show.
She spread her palms, a sign of open honesty that she knew well. “I felt it,” she lied. “The moment I conceived, I felt the magic leaving my fingers, pooling in my womb, cradling this child. I cannot say for certain that he or she will be born with the same gift as I’ve had, but I do know that Hulda’s magic now resides in them. If you kill this child, this blessing will be gone forever.”
“Your eyes have not changed.” He said this as if it were proof that she was lying.
Serilda merely shrugged. “I do not spin with my eyes.”
The king leaned to one side, pressing a finger against his temple, massaging it in slow circles. His gaze slid to the barber, waiting with his tools wrapped again in their pouch. After a long moment, the Erlking lifted his chin and asked, “Who is the father?”
She stilled.
It had not occurred to her he might ask this, that he might care. She doubted that he did care, but what purpose might he have to wonder?
“No one,” she said. “A boy from my village. A farmer, my lord.”
“And does this farmer know that you carry his offspring?”
She slowly shook her head.
“Good. Does anyone else know?”
“No, my lord.”
Again he leaned forward, mindlessly tracing his fingers along the edges of his mouth. Serilda held her breath, trying not to shake beneath his scrutiny. If she could only buy herself some time … If she could only persuade him to let her live long enough to?…
To do what?
She didn’t know. But she knew she needed more time.
“All right,” said the king suddenly. He reached down to the side of his throne and took hold of the crossbow. His other hand took out one arrow—one not tipped in gold, but black.
Serilda’s eyes widened. “Wait!” she cried, lifting her hands even as she fell again to her knees. Pleading. “Don’t. I can be useful to you … I know there’s some way …”
The bow clicked loudly as he loaded the arrow into it.
“Please! Please don’t—”
The trigger snapped. The arrow whistled and struck hard.
Chapter 54
A grunt. A gurgle. A wheeze.
Mouth hanging open, Serilda slowly turned her head.
The arrow had gone straight into the barber’s heart. The blood trickling down the front of his tunic was not red, but black like oil, and reeking of decay.
He collapsed to the ground, his body convulsing as his hands gripped the arrow’s shaft.
It seemed to go on forever, before the barber gave one last gasping exhale, then fell still. His hands dropped to his sides, palms open to the ceiling.
As Serilda stared, shocked, he melted away. His entire body succumbed to the black oil, his features dripping down into the rugs. Soon there was nothing left of him but a ghastly, greasy pool and the arrow left behind.
“Wh-what …? You just …,” she stammered. “You can kill them?”
“When it pleases me to do so.” The rustle of leather drew Serilda’s gaze back to the Erlking. He lifted himself from the throne and paced over to retrieve his arrow. He still held the crossbow loosely at his side, and when he faced Serilda, she instinctively backed away from him.
“But he was a ghost,” she said. “He was already dead.”
“And now he has been released,” he said in a decidedly bored tone. He tucked the arrow back into its quiver. “His spirit is free to follow the candlelight into Verloren. And you call me a villain.”
Her lips were trembling—with shock. With disbelief. With utter confusion.
“But why?”
“He was the only one who knew that I was not the father. Now there will be no one to question it.”
Her lashes fluttered, slow and hesitant. “Pardon?”
“You are right, Lady Serilda.” He started pacing before her. “I had not contemplated what this child might mean for me and my court. A newborn, blessed by Hulda. It is a gift not to be wasted. I am grateful you’ve opened my eyes to the possibilities.”
Her jaw worked, but no sounds came out.
The king neared her. He looked pleased, almost smug, as he took her in. Her strange eyes, her filthy peasant clothes. His attention lingered on her stomach, and Serilda wrapped her arms in front of herself. The movement made his lips twitch with amusement.
“You and I will be wed.”
She gaped at him. “What?”
“And when the child is born,” he went on, as if she’d said nothing, “it will belong to me. No one will doubt that it is mine. Its human father will not care to claim it, and you”—he lowered his voice into a clear threat—“will know better than to tell anyone the truth.”
Her eyes were wide, but unseeing. The world was a cyclone, all the walls and torches blurring into nothing.
“B-but I—I can’t,” she started. “I can’t marry you. I am nothing. A mortal, a human, a—”
“A peasant girl, a miller’s daughter …” The Erlking gave an exaggerated sigh. “I know what you are. Do not give yourself false pretenses. I have no interest in romance, if that’s what you fear. I will not touch you.” He said this as if the idea were beyond repulsive, but Serilda was too flummoxed to be offended. “There is no need. The child grows in you already. And when she returns, I—” He stopped, catching himself. His face shuttered and he glared at Serilda as if she’d been trying to trick him into giving up his secrets. “Eight months you say. The timing is most convenient. That is?…?if we have enough gold. No. It will have to be enough. I will not wait any longer.”
He moved around her, a vulture around his prey, but he was no longer studying her. His gaze had turned thoughtful and distant. “I cannot let you leave, of course. I will not risk you running away or spreading rumors that this child belongs to someone else. But to kill you would be to kill the child. That leaves me with few options.”