Serilda tried not to fidget under his stare and the curious silence around her, though her insides were roiling. She signaled to the children to wait on the steps and approached the king, trying not to let him see how she was trembling.
“Please, Your Grim,” she whispered, angling her face away from the crowd. “I have never spun before an audience. I am not accustomed to such attentions, and would far prefer—”
“Your preferences mean little here,” said the Erlking. One slender eyebrow arched. “Dare I say, they mean nothing at all.”
One of the ravens squawked, as if laughing at her.
She exhaled slowly. “And yet, I am sure that I will be more efficient if I could just have some peace and solitude.”
“I should think you would be adequately motivated to impress me.”
She held his gaze, searching for another excuse. Any excuse.
“I’m not sure my magic will work if people are watching.”
He looked as though he were tempted to laugh. Leaning toward her, he whispered, with careful enunciation, “You will persuade it to work, or the child will be mine.”
She shuddered.
Her brain turned, grasping at anything. But she could see that the king would not be moved.
Panic set in as she faced the spinning wheel. She thought of that first night beneath the Snow Moon, and how she had managed, at least temporarily, to persuade the Erlking that she could spin straw into gold. She thought of the first night in the castle, when Gild had appeared so suddenly, as if summoned by her very desperation.
She wondered how many miracles one girl was allowed.
Her footsteps felt leaden as she cast another look around the bailey, silently pleading for anyone, anything that could help her. But who could help her but Gild? WherewasGild?
It didn’t matter, she told herself. He could do nothing here, not before all these witnesses.
No help was coming. She knew that.
But it didn’t keep her from hoping. Maybe he had some prank planned. Maybe she’d lied before. Maybe she did want to be rescued. Maybe she was never meant to be the hero at all.
She glanced back at the children on the steps to the keep, her heart in agony over all that had happened.
Then she froze, finally spotting him.
Her mouth fell open, and she barely bit back the cry that wanted to escape.
He was strung up on the outer face of the keep, just beneath the seven stained-glass windows depicting the old gods. Gold chains bound his arms from wrists to elbows, attached to anchors somewhere over the parapets.
He was not struggling. His head was drooped forward, but his eyes were open. His expression was shattered as he met Serilda’s gaze.
She didn’t realize that she’d taken a step toward him until the king’s voice startled her back to herself.
“Leave him be.”
She froze. “Why—” Then, remembering that she was not supposed to have met Gild before, she cleared the hurt from her brow and faced the king. “Who is he? What has he done to be chained up like that?”
“Only our resident poltergeist,” the king said mockingly. “He dared to steal something that was mine.”
“Steal something?”
“Indeed. A bobbin was missing from your previous night’s work, disappeared before my servants could even collect the gold. I am sure it was the poltergeist, as he has a habit of causing trouble.”
Serilda’s stomach dropped.
“But I will not tolerate his mischief on such an occasion. Besides, you see, my lady? Your labors have already served me well. Not many things can hold him, but chains crafted from magicked gold? They have worked just as I’d hoped.”