“Your opinion was not solicited,” said the king.
The man’s jaw tensed, and Serilda couldn’t help the smug tilt of her chin as she brushed past him.
She had not gone a dozen steps when a deafening noise, like metal on metal, made her stop. Serilda grimaced and pressed her hands to her ears.
The dark ones all around her laughed. Even the Erlking seemed momentarily amused, before turning proudly back to the source of the sound.
Through another gate on the far side of the lawn, a number of hunters and servants were leading a gigantic beast forward. Each was gripping the end of a long rope that had been looped around the creature’s neck and body. There were two dozen captors, at least, yet Serilda could tell by their straining muscles and grunts that it was taking all their efforts to drag the animal forward.
Her stomach dropped. “It’s a tatzelwurm,” she whispered in disbelief. “You’ve captured a tatzelwurm.”
“Found roaming the foothills in Ottelien,” said the Erlking. “Precisely as you said it would be.”
Chapter 40
The creature was three times as long as Serilda was tall, most of its body consisting of a long serpentine tail covered in shimmering silver scales that whipped and writhed as the hunters yanked on the ropes. It had no hind legs, but two front arms, each with thick corded muscles and three claws that looked like daggers in the torchlight as it scraped at the earth, trying to get purchase against its captors. Its head was distinctly feline, like an enormous lynx, with fierce, slitted yellow eyes, long silken whiskers, and tufts of black hair sprouting from its wide pointed ears. Its mouth and nose had been muzzled, but it could still emit that grating screech and deep, throaty growls. A wound on one side of its body was steaming and oozing blood that, in this light, appeared to be as green as the grass.
“Prepare the cage!” shouted a woman, and Serilda recognized Giselle, the master of the hounds. One of the hunters heaved open the door to the enormous empty cage.
Serilda stepped back, not wanting to be anywhere near the tatzelwurm if it managed to break free—and it seemed to have a good chance.
“Breathtaking, isn’t it?” said the Erlking. She glanced up at him, speechless. His eyes were fixed on the capture, his expression glowing. He appeared almost gleeful, his pointed teeth revealed behind upturned lips, his blue-gray eyes mesmerized by the beast.
Serilda realized that she had been wrong to think he was being kind to her before. He’d merely wanted to gloat about his new trophy. And who better to admire its awe-inspiring nature than a mortal peasant?
As the hunters hauled the tatzelwurm into the cage, the Erlking turned his smile toward Serilda. “We owe you our gratitude.”
She nodded dully. “Because I told you where to find it.” She tried not to let on how this baffled her. She’d made it up. She’d been lying.
But evidently, she’d also been right.
“Yes,” said the Erlking, “but also because without your gift, we would have had to leave the creature paralyzed. As my wyvern, if you’ve seen it. A fine decoration this would make, but … I prefer to enjoy my captures in a more spirited state. Full of vigor. But we could not have transported it so far without your precious gift.”
“What gift?” she said, having no earthly idea what he was talking about.
He laughed merrily.
The tatzelwurm was dragged into the cage. The hunters slipped back out, locking the beast in, leaving only the master of the hounds inside. She set about undoing the ropes that were still tied around the creature’s body.
Ropes that glittered when they caught the light of the torches.
Serilda clamped her teeth together to hold back a cry.
They were not ropes, but chains.
Slender golden chains.
“The thread you made was barely enough to braid together into these ropes,” said the king, confirming her suspicions. “But what you provided us with tonight should be enough to capture and hold even the greatest of beasts. This was a test, to see if the chains would serve their purpose. As you can see, they worked magnificently.”
“But … why gold?” she said. “Why not steel or rope?”
“Notgold,” he said, a lilt in his voice. “Spun gold. Did you not know the worth of such a god-gift? It is perhaps the only material that can bind a creature of magic. Steel or rope would have no chance on a creature such as this.” He chuckled. “Magnificent, isn’t it? And finally mine.”
She swallowed hard. “What are you planning to do with it?”
“That remains to be seen,” he said. “But I have some grand ideas.” His voice had darkened, and Serilda pictured the tatzelwurm stuffed and mounted, another piece in the king’s collection.
“Come,” he said, offering Serilda his elbow. “These gardens are not easily navigated on the other side of the veil, and sunrise draws near.”