Gilded by Marissa Meyer

Gilded by Marissa Meyer

Author:Marissa Meyer [Meyer, Marissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-11-14T18:30:00+00:00


Chapter 27

Lorraine had let Serilda borrow a saddle, despite her admonishments that to try to ride home in this weather was ludicrous. Serilda insisted that she had to go, though she couldn’t bring herself to explain why.

Images of the hunt kept returning to her in flashes. One moment her father was there, and the next he was gone. She didn’t even know where they had been when it happened. She didn’t know where the hunt had taken her, how far they had traveled.

But she knew that if Papa was all right, he would have gone home. He might be waiting for her even now.

She pulled on Zelig’s reins, pausing beneath the shelter of Adalheid’s city gate. The rain had let up somewhat, but she had already lost the warmth from the inn’s fire. She knew it wouldn’t be long before she was shivering, dampness seeping into her skin.

Father would chastise her. Warn that she would catch her death.

Oh, how she hoped he would be there to chastise her.

She peered out toward the dirt road stretching past the town. The rain had turned much of it to mud, battering down the thick brush on either side. Straight ahead, the road disappeared into the Aschen Wood, the gray line of trees mostly hidden behind a shroud of fog.

Home lay in that direction. She would not hurry Zelig, knowing he must still be sore from the hard ride the night before. But even at his slow pace, they could reach home in a couple of hours at most.

But it would mean going through the forest.

Or they could keep to the main roads that traversed the edges of the woods, meandering west through flat fields and farmlands, before eventually turning south for a straight path toward Nordenburg. It was the route that the chicken cart had taken, and she knew it would take much longer. She might not make it home before nightfall. She didn’t even know if Zelig had the strength to carry her all that way.

Zelig snorted and thumped his hoof impatiently against the ground while Serilda considered.

The forest was not welcoming to humans. Yes, they might pass through on occasion—generally without harm, even—but that was under the relative protection of an enclosed carriage. With just Zelig, slow as he was, she would be vulnerable, a temptation to the creatures that lurked in the shadows. The dark ones might be hidden behind the veil, but the forest folk were not always known for kindness, either. For every tale of a headless ghost stalking the night, there were twenty of mischievous land wights and curmudgeonly imps wreaking havoc.

Thunder crooned overhead. Serilda did not see the lightning, but she felt the charge on the air. Her skin prickled.

A moment passed before the skies opened and another downpour ravished the countryside.

Serilda scowled at the sky. “Honestly, Solvilde,” she muttered. “What a time to water your garden. You couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

The sky did not respond. Nor, for that matter, did the god.

It was an old myth, one of countless tales that blamed the gods for everything.



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