“Hello again, good Sir Raven,” Serilda called. “Found any plump mice this morning?”
The nachtkrapp turned its head away, and Serilda wondered whether she was just imagining the haughty snub.
“No? Well. Just be sure to leave the hearts of the local children alone. I’m rather fond of them.”
It ruffled its feathers in response.
Sighing, Serilda let her gaze linger on the house a moment longer. She didn’t have to feign her sorrow. It was easy enough to pretend this was the last time she would be seeing it.
Turning away, she passed through the little gate and, barefoot, made her way down to the river, to her favorite spot, where a little pool of calm water split off from the shallower rapids. As a child, she had spent hours here building castles out of mud and rocks, catching frogs, lying in the shade of a whispering willow tree and pretending to see sprites dancing among its boughs. Now, she questioned if it had all been pretend. There were times when she’d been convinced that she really had seen magic. Papa would laugh when she told him, swinging her up into his arms.My little storyteller. Tell me what else you saw.
She sat down on a rock that jutted from the side of the shallow bank, where she could dip her toes into the water. It was refreshingly cool. Silver minnows darted in and out of the dappled sunlight, and a cloud of tadpoles gathered between two moss-covered rocks. Soon there would be a chorus of toads every night, which usually lulled her to sleep, though her father had liked to complain about the racket.
She took in everything. The clusters of spiny quillwort sprouting up from the shallow water. The ruffled mushrooms that had sprung up against a fallen tree trunk.
She waited until she could feel their presence. She was becoming good at spotting them now, and with a glance around she spied three nachtkrapp tucked into the shadows around her.
She rested her palms behind her on the sun-warmed stone. “You can come out. I’m not afraid of you. I know you’re here to keep track of me, to make sure I don’t try to run away. Well, I’m not running away. I’m not going anywhere.”
One of the nachtkrapp cawed softly, its wings bristling.
But they did not come closer.
“How does it work? I’ve wondered all year. Can he see me through your eyes? Or, your eye sockets … as it may be. Or are you always having to fly back to the castle and report to him, like carrier pigeons?”
This time, a louder, unruly cry from the bird highest up in the tree.
Serilda smirked. Sitting up, she slipped one hand into her pocket, feeling the smooth sides of the vial, how it fit perfectly into her palm.
“Whichever it is, I have a message for Erlkönig. I hope you’ll pass it along.”
Silence.
Serilda licked her lips and tried to sound rebellious.
No—shefeltrebellious.
And she meant every word.
“Your Darkness—I am not your servant. I am not a possession for you to claim. You have stolen from me my father and my mother. I will not let you have my freedom, too. This ismychoice.”
She pulled the vial from her pocket. She was not afraid. She’d been preparing for this all month.
Acaw, almost a shriek, echoed through the trees, so loud it startled a flock of woodlarks farther down the river. They took to the sky in a frantic escape.
Serilda uncorked the vial. Inside shimmered a liquid the color of ruby wine. It gave her hope that it might even taste good.
It did not.
As the potion hit her tongue, she tasted rot and rust, decay and death.
A night raven dove for her, knocking the vial from her hand, its talons leaving three deep scratches across her palm.
Too late.
Serilda stared at the blood rising on her hand, but already her vision was starting to blur.
Her pulse slowed.