She had just begun to tap on the wood when the door opened. Her father greeted her with anxious eyes.
“Do you think you were followed?” he whispered, shutting the door behind her.
“I have no idea,” she said. “Looking around for nachtkrapp seemed like a sure way to make myself appear suspicious.”
He nodded and squeezed her in a brief embrace. “It’s all right. We’ll be safe here.” He said it as if he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince her. Then he shoved a crate full of bricks in front of the door.
Her father had sneaked blankets into what would become the council chamber. He lit a single candle, chasing away the otherwise pitch-black. They said little. There was nothing to discuss that they hadn’t already discussed at length these past weeks. Their preparations, their fears, their plans.
Now there was nothing to do but wait for the Crow Moon to pass.
Serilda did not believe she would sleep at all as she curled up on the hard floor, using the new cloak to cushion her head. She tried to tell herself this would work.
The coachman might again come for her at the mill in Märchenfeld. Or, if the king’s spies had been paying attention, they might come for her at the Mondbrück inn.
But they would not find her. Not here, in this enormous barren hall full of unfinished woodwork and carts laden with bricks and stones.
“Wait, we mustn’t forget,” said her father, pulling the candle from its copper base. He tipped it at an angle, so that the flame melted the wax around the wick. It soon dripped down onto the candlestick in a small pool. Once it had begun to cool, Serilda picked up the soft wax and formed it into balls, before pressing it into her ears. The world closed in around her.
Her father did the same, though he made a face as he squished the wax into his ears. It was not a pleasant sensation, but it was a precaution against the call of the hunt. The silence of the night was complete, but the thoughts in Serilda’s head became aggressively loud as she laid her head back down on the cloak.
Her mother.
The Erlking.
Spun gold and the god of death and moss maidens fleeing from the hounds.
And Gild. The way he looked at her. Like she was a miracle, not a curse.
She closed her eyes and pleaded for sleep.
Sleep must have finally claimed her, for she was awoken by a muffledthumpnot far from her head. Her eyes snapped open. Her ears were full of a dull roar. She was staring at unfamiliar walls lit with shifting candlelight.
She sat up and spotted the candle rolling around on the wooden floorboards. With a gasp, she grabbed the cloak and threw it over the flame, smothering it before it could start a fire.
Darkness engulfed her, but not before she’d caught sight of her father’s figure stumbling away from her.
“Papa?” she whispered, not sure if she was too loud or too quiet. She got to her feet and called to him again. In the night, the moon had risen, and her eyes began to adjust to the light coming in through three small openings that had not yet been filled with leaded glass.
Her father was gone.
Serilda moved to follow him and felt something give beneath her heel. Reaching down, she picked up the glob of wax. Her insides squeezed.
The hunt?
Had they been found? After everything?
No. Perhaps he was only sleepwalking.
Perhaps …
She grabbed her cloak and shoes and hurried out into the massive hall beyond the chamber, in time to see him slip around a distant corner. Serilda followed, calling to him again.
He was not heading toward the small back door. Instead, he shuffled toward the main entrance that opened onto the city square. The massive arched doors were nailed shut with temporary planks of wood to ward off thieves while the building was being constructed. Serilda spied her father in time to see him grab a large hammer left behind by one of the crews.
He swung the hammer, splintering the first board.
She cried out in surprise. “Papa! Stop!” Her voice was still dampened by the wax, but she knew he must be able to hear her. Still, he did not turn around.