Wintersong (Wintersong #1)(26)

His brows furrowed. “You know,” he said vaguely. “The others. But they don’t matter to me, Liesl. They’re not the sort of girls you marry.”

I slapped him. I had never raised my hand against anyone in my life, but I hit him with all the strength I had. My palm stung where it struck his cheek.

“And what sort of girl am I?” I asked in a low voice. “What sort of girl do you marry, Hans?”

He sputtered, but did not form a response.

“When you said pure, you meant plain. When you said chaste, you meant ugly.”

My words hit him in all their hideous truth, exposing him for what he truly was. I half expected, half wanted Hans to react, to grab my arm and tell me I was overreaching my bounds. But instead he stumbled back, his hands going limp, submissive.

My lip curled. “I wanted you once,” I said. “I thought you were a worthy man, Hans. And deep down, I think you are. But you are not worthy of me. All you are is a pretty lie.”

Hans reached for me, but I kept my hands to myself.

“Liesl—”

I looked him straight in the eye. “What was it your father used to say?”

Hans said nothing. He turned his head away.

“What’s the use of running, if we are on the wrong road?”





THE UGLY TRUTH




I ran straight to Constanze’s room.

I should have gone to my grandmother before. Gone the moment I returned from the woods, gone the moment I knew K?the was stolen. Instead, I had let my grandmother hover on the edges of my awareness like a ghost, unable or unwilling to face the ugly truth. Guilt crawled up my throat, leaking from my eyes.

The door to her quarters was shut. I raised a hand to knock when a querulous voice called, “Well, come in, girl. You’ve dawdled long enough.”

It was true.

I pushed open the door. Constanze sat in her chair by the window, looking out into the forest beyond.

“How did you know I—”

“Those of us touched by the hand of Der Erlk?nig recognize his own.” She turned to face me, her eyes dark and sharp. “I’ve been expecting you for weeks.”

Weeks. Had it truly been that long? I tried to count the days I had lived in this false reality, but they blurred together, connecting seamlessly without end.

“Then why not come seek me?” I asked.

Constanze shrugged. “It is not for me to meddle in his affairs.”

Angry words beat against my lips. I swallowed them down, but a few emerged as a choked, incredulous laugh.

“And you would have him change the world as you know it?” I asked. “You would let Der Erlk?nig win?”

“Win?” She thumped the floor with her cane. “There is no winning with Der Erlk?nig. Or losing. There is only sacrifice.”

“K?the is not a sacrifice!”

My sister’s name boomed like a thunderclap between us. I felt the seams of this false reality come apart at her name, tearing holes in the fabric of my confusion. K?the. I remembered her sunshine hair and bell-like laugh, her jealousy of Josef and her admiration of me, the way only a little sister could admire me. Grace, she had said. Cleverness and talent. That’s much more enduring than beauty. I thought of her thousand thoughtless hurts and kindnesses and the ache of missing my sister, muffled by misdirection and lies, flared into sharp relief.

I buried my face in my hands.

I heard Constanze stir in her seat, turning to face me. If she were a different sort of grandmother, she might have beckoned me close so that she might place her gnarled hands upon my head, stroking my brow while murmuring comforting words.

But Constanze was not that sort of grandmother.

“Well, girlie, what is it you want from me?” she snapped. “Tell me quickly so you’ll leave me in peace.”

Constanze hardly ever called either K?the or me by our names, given or otherwise; we were always “girl” or “you,” as though we were extraneous, superfluous, or otherwise unimportant.

“I want …” My voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. “I want you to tell me how to gain entrance to the Underground.”

She said nothing.

“Please.” I lifted my head. “Please, Constanze.”

“There is nothing you can do,” she said, and the finality of her words was worse than her contempt. “Haven’t you been listening? Your sister is for the Goblin King now. It is too late.”

Until the next full moon, or your sister is lost forever.

How much time had passed in this fever dream? Had the full moon risen? I tried to count the weeks, but the passage of time had gone unmarked in my halcyon daze.

“It is not too late.” I prayed it was true. “I have until the next full moon.”

This time Constanze’s silence was less scornful than surprised. “Did he … did he speak to you?”

“Yes.” I wrung my hands. “In the Goblin King’s own words, I have until the next full moon to find my way into his realm.”

But she did not seem to hear a word I said. “He spoke … to you?” she repeated. “Why you?”

I frowned. Acid no longer etched her tones with biting distaste, but a lingering vulnerability traced her words. In them, I heard, Why you … and not me?