A noise outside drew her attention back to the window. She recognized the group of children from the dock—three girls and a boy—giggling and whispering beneath the hanging iron sign of the tailor next door. As one, they all craned their heads, peering at Serilda through the window.

  She waved.

  In unison, they screamed and dashed into a nearby alley.

  Serilda snorted in amusement. It seemed superstitions were bound to follow her everywhere. Of course, she couldn’t just be the girl with the wheel of misfortune in her eyes. Now she also had to be the girl who had emerged from the ruins of a haunted castle the morning after the Hunger Moon.

  She wondered what stories the children were making up about her already.

  She wondered what stories she would tell them, if given the chance.

  If she was going to be the odd stranger who had ventured behind the veil, she wanted to make sure the rumors were worthy of her.

  Chapter 16

  The door to the public house swung open while Serilda was tending to the drude’s scratch, and she was surprised to see one of the children strolling inside with feigned calm. The girl did not look at Serilda, but darted straight to the bar and climbed up on top of one of the stools. She leaned across the wood and hollered through the kitchen door. “Mama, I’m back!”

  Lorraine appeared in the doorway with a bowl in her hand. “So early! Thought I wouldn’t see you back here until nightfall.”

  The girl shrugged. “Wasn’t much to do at the market, and I thought you could use some help.”

  Lorraine chuckled. “Well, I won’t complain about that. Could you take this over to the young lady by the window?”

  The girl hopped off the stool and took the bowl in both hands. As she approached, Serilda could see it was the same girl who had dared to ask if she was alive. And now that she was looking for it, the resemblance to the innkeeper was clear. Her skin was a shade lighter, but she had the same full cheeks and curious brown eyes.

  “Your meal,” said the girl, setting the bowl in front of Serilda.

  Her mouth watered to see a fluffy golden bun marked with a buttery cross and a pastry filled with apples and cinnamon.

  “This looks divine, thank you kindly.” Serilda took the pastry and pulled it in half. As she took her first bite of flaky dough and soft apples, she let out an unashamed moan. It was a far cry tastier that the buttered rye bread she would have had at home.

  The girl stayed at the table, shifting from foot to foot.

  Serilda lifted an eyebrow at her and swallowed. “Go ahead. Ask your question.”

  The girl inhaled a quick breath before blurting, “How long were you in the castle? All night? No one remembers you coming to town. Did the hunt bring you? Did you see the ghosts? How did you get out?”

  “Gods alive, I’m going to need sustenance before I can answer all those,” said Serilda. Once she had gobbled down the first half of the pastry and washed it down with the cider, she glanced back out the window to see the other three children watching them.

  “Your friends seem to be afraid of me,” she said. “How did you get chosen to be the unlucky one to come in and gather all this information?”

  The girl puffed up her chest. “I’m the bravest.”

  Serilda grinned. “I can tell.”

  “Henrietta thinks you’re a nachzehrer,” the girl added. “She thinks you probably died of some tragic accident and your spirit was drawn to Adalheid because of the dark ones, but you’re not trapped behind the veil like the others, and you’re probably going to kill everyone in town as soon as we go to sleep tonight, and eat our flesh, and then turn into a pig and run off to live in the woods.”

  “Henrietta sounds like a good storyteller.”

  “Is it true?”

  “No,” Serilda said with a laugh. “Though if it were, I probably wouldn’t admit it.” She took another bite of pastry, considering. “I’m not sure nachzehrer can talk. Their mouths are so busy eating their burial shrouds.”

  “And their own bodies,” added the girl. “And everyone else.”

  “That, too.”

  The girl pondered. “I don’t think nachzehrer like apple hand pies, either.”

  Serilda shook her head. “Strictly meat pies for the undead, I think. What’s your name?”

  “Leyna,” said the girl. “Leyna De Ven.”

  “Tell me, Leyna De Ven. Did your friends by chance have a bet in place to determine whether or not you would be brave enough to come in and ask me all these questions?”

  Her eyes lit with surprise. “How did you know?”

  “I have some talent for mind-reading,” said Serilda. In fact, she was very good at knowing what was in the minds of bored, mischievous children, having spent so much time with them.

  Leyna looked properly impressed.

  “How much was the bet for?”

  “Two coppers,” said Leyna.

  “Then I will make you a deal. I will tell you the story of how I came to be in that castle this morning, in exchange for breakfast.”

  Beaming, the girl slid into the chair opposite Serilda. “Done!” She cast a winning smile out at her friends, who were bug-eyed to see that Leyna was not only talking to Serilda, but had even sat with her. “They thought I wouldn’t do it,” she said. “Even the adults down at the market are afraid of you. It’s all anyone was talking about once you walked away. Said you had cursed eyes.” She studied Serilda’s face. “They are strange.”

  “All magical things are strange.”

  Leyna’s eyes widened. “Is that how you read minds? Can you … see things?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Leyna! What are you doing, bothering our guest?”

  Leyna stiffened. “Sorry, Mama. I was just—”

  “I invited her to join me,” said Serilda, with a sheepish smile. “I may not be a scholar’s assistant, but I am truly curious about this city. I’ve never been to Adalheid before and I thought she could tell me more about it. I’m sorry if I’m keeping her from her work.”

  Lorraine tutted and set another plate of food in front of Serilda—pickled fish and boiled ham, dried plums, a tiny dish full of winter berries. “Not much work to be done today. She’s all right.” But she said this with a warning look at her daughter, and the meaning was clear. She was not to overstay her welcome at this table. “I’ve sent word off to Roland. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear.”

  “Thank you. This town is lovely, I’m sad to not visit for longer. I hadn’t heard much about Adalheid, but it seems so … prosperous.”

  “Oh,” said Leyna. “That’s because of the—”

  “Fantastic leadership,” interrupted Lorraine. “If I do say so myself.”

  Leyna rolled her eyes. “Ma’s the mayor.”

  “For seven years now,” said Lorraine proudly. “Ever since Burnard over there decided to retire.” She nodded her head toward the man by the fireplace, who was lazily finishing his pint of ale.

  “The mayor!” said Serilda. “You seem so young.”

  “Oh, I am,” she said, with a bit of a preen. “But you won’t find anyone who loves this town more than I do.”

  “Have you lived here long?”

  “My whole life.”

  “Then you must know everything there is to know about this place.”

  “Of course I do,” said Lorraine. Face growing serious, she lifted a finger. “But I’ll tell you now, I’m no gossip.”

  Leyna laughed, but tried to cover it up with a cough.

  Her mother glowered at her. “I won’t suffer my daughter to gossip about the people around here, either. You understand me?”

  Leyna quickly sobered under the intense look. “Of course, Mama.”

  Lorraine nodded. “You did say you were heading toward Märchenfeld, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Just making sure. I’ll let you know what I hear.” She bustled back toward the kitchen.

  “No gossip,” Leyna muttered as soon as her mother was gone. “The thing is, I think she might actually believe it.” She leaned across the table, dropping her voice to a whisper. “But I guarantee she and my father started this inn because she loves to gossip, and everyone knows a public house is the best place for it.”

  The door opened, bringing with it a crisp breeze and the smell of fresh-baked bread. Leyna perked up, eyes brightening. “And look at that. Here comes the best gossip in town right now. Good morning, Madam Professor!”

  A petite woman with fair skin and auburn hair paused a few feet past the door. “Oh, Leyna, when are you going to start calling me Frieda?” She hoisted a basket up higher on her hip. “Is your ma around?”

  “She’s just gone to the back,” said Leyna. “She’ll be right back.”

  As if on cue, Lorraine reappeared behind the bar, already beaming.

  “Watch this,” Leyna whispered, and it took Serilda a moment to realize she was talking to her.

  “Frieda! What good timing,” said Lorraine, strangely breathless, when she’d seemed fine a moment ago.

  “Is it?” said Frieda, setting the basket down on the bar.

  “We have a guest from out of town who is interested in the history of Adalheid and its castle,” said Lorraine, gesturing toward Serilda.

  “Oh! Well. Perhaps I can … um.” Frieda glanced from Serilda to her basket. Back to Serilda. Back to the basket. Up to Lorraine. She seemed flustered, her cheeks pinkening, before she gave herself a little shake and lifted a napkin from the basket. “First, I … I brought some cinnamon-pear cakes for you and Leyna.” She pulled out two small cakes wrapped in cloth. “I know they’re your favorites this time of year. And I received a delivery from Vinter-Cort yesterday.” She started pulling leather-bound books from the basket. “Two new volumes of poetry, a translation of folktales from Ottelien … the history of various trade routes, an updated bestiary, the theology of Freydon—oh! Look how lovely this is.” She produced a codex with thick vellum pages. “The Tales of Orlantha, an epic adventure written in verse hundreds of years ago. I’m told there are sea monsters and battles and romance and”—she paused to visibly temper her enthusiasm—“I’ve been wanting to read it since I was a little girl. But … I thought I would let you choose first? If there’s something you wanted to borrow?”

  “I’m still reading the book you brought last week!” said Lorraine, though she did pick up one of the volumes of poetry and flip through it. “But I’ll come to the library to choose something new as soon as I’m finished with it.”

  “Are you enjoying it?”

  “Very much so.”

  Their eyes met, both filled with mutual smiles.

  Leyna shot Serilda a knowing look.

  “Good. Wonderful,” said Frieda, starting to pack the books back into the basket. “I hope to see you at the library soon, then.”

  “You will. You’re a gift to Adalheid, Frieda.”

  Frieda’s cheeks went scarlet. “I’m sure you say that to everyone, Madam Mayor.”

  “No,” piped up Leyna. “She really doesn’t.”

  Lorraine shot her an annoyed look.

  Clearing her throat, Frieda returned the napkin to the top of the basket and backed away from the bar. She turned to Serilda, a bit of a bounce in her step. “You’re interested in learning more about Adalheid?”

  “Before you get her to talking,” interrupted Lorraine, “I’ll warn you, I’ve heard that Roland will be waiting for you at the south gate in twenty minutes’ time.”

  “Oh, thank you,” said Serilda. She shot an apologetic look to Frieda. “You must be the town librarian?”

  “That’s me. Oh! I know just the thing. I’ll be right back.”

  Without an explanation, Frieda bustled out of the public house.

  Leyna settled her chin into her palms and waited for the door to shut to say, “Mama, I thought you didn’t like poetry.”

  Lorraine stiffened. “That’s not true! I have many varied interests, daughter of mine.”

  “Mm-hmm. Like … the history of ancient agriculture?”

  With a glower, Lorraine picked up one of the cakes. “It was fascinating. And it doesn’t hurt to read something other than fairy tales once in a while.”

  Leyna snorted. “It was four hundred pages long and you fell asleep every time you picked it up.”

  “That is not true.”

  “You know,” said Leyna, drawing out the words, “you could just invite her over for evening bread. She’s complimented your sauerkraut about a thousand times, and no one likes sauerkraut that much.”

  “Now, don’t you get smart,” said Lorraine. “Frieda is a friend, and the library provides a great service to this town.”

  Leyna shrugged. “I’m only saying, if you were to marry her, you’d eventually have to find something to talk about other than the latest shipment of library books.”

  “Marry!” said Lorraine. “Why—nonsense with sauce. Whatever makes you think … silly…” She let out a flustered huff, then turned and carried the cakes to the kitchen.

  The man by the fireplace, the former mayor, clicked his tongue. “Funny how it can be so obvious to everyone else, innit?” He glanced up from his pint and sent a mischievous wink at Leyna, who laughed.

  “They’re hopeless, aren’t they?”

  The man shook his head. “Wouldn’t say that. Some things just take time.”

  “I hope you don’t mind my asking,” Serilda said, “but … didn’t you mention a father?”

  Leyna nodded. “He died of consumption when I was four. I don’t remember him much. Mama says he’ll always be the first great love of her life, but the way she and Frieda have been flirting with each other the last few months, it’s got me thinking it might be time for the second great love.” She hesitated, becoming suddenly bashful. “Is that strange?”

  “No,” said Serilda. “I think it’s very mature. My father is alone, too. I don’t think he’s found anyone yet to be that second love, but it would make me happy if he did.”

  “Your mother died?”

  Serilda opened her mouth, but hesitated. Instead of an answer to the question, what came out was “I still owe you a story for the marvelous breakfast.” They both looked down at her plate. Somehow, over the course of the librarian’s visit, the food had magically disappeared.

  Leyna sat up straighter, fidgeting excitedly in her seat. “Best be quick. Roland can be impatient.”

  “This is not a long tale. You see, my mother left when I was barely two years old.” That part was true, or at least, it was what her father had told her. But he never gave many details, and Serilda—holding together the fragile heart of a little girl whose mother had not loved her enough to stay—never asked for them. Over the years, she had made up all sorts of tales to soften the blow of that truth.

  Her mother was a moss maiden, who could not survive outside the woods for long, and though it pained her to leave her only child, she’d been forced to return to the wild.

  Or her mother was a princess from a distant land, and she had to go back to assume responsibility for her kingdom, but she never wanted to subject her family to that life of politics and court drama.

  Her mother was a military general, off fighting a distant war.

  Her mother was the mistress of the god of death, and had been taken back to Verloren.

  Her mother had loved her. She never would have left if she’d had a choice.

  “In fact,” Serilda said, her mind spinning a new tale, “that’s why I really came here. For revenge.”

  Leyna’s eyebrows shot upward.

  “My mother was taken by the Erlking. Lured away by the wild hunt, all those years ago. I came here to face him. To find out whether she was left for dead somewhere or kept as a ghost in his retinue.” She paused, before adding, “I came here to kill him.”

  Serilda didn’t really mean it, yet as the words left her, a chill slipped down her spine. She reached for her cider, but like her plate, the mug was empty.

  Leyna eyed her like she was seated across from the great huntress herself. “How does one kill the Erlking?”

  Serilda stared back at the girl. Her mind turned and turned and gave her no help at all.

  So she answered, entirely truthful, “I have no idea.”

  The door swung open and a breathless Frieda returned. Instead of her heavy basket, she now held only a single book, which she presented to Serilda as one would present the crown jewels.

  “What’s this?” asked Serilda, taking it gingerly into her hands. The book was delicate and old. The spine worn, the pages brittle and yellowed with time.

  “A history of this region. It spans from the sea to the mountains and goes into depth on some of the earliest settlers, political designations, architectural styles … There are some truly beautiful maps. Adalheid isn’t the focus of the book, but it is referenced on occasion. I thought you might find it useful?”

  “Oh, thank you,” said Serilda, simultaneously touched by her thoughtfulness and a little guilty that her interest in the history of Adalheid was really more about the undead presence in the castle ruins. “But I’m afraid I’m leaving today. I don’t know when, or if, I’ll be able to return this.”

  She tried to hand it back, but Frieda brushed it away. “Books are to be shared. Besides, this copy is a little outdated. I should order a new one for our collection.”

  “If you’re sure … then, a thousand thank-yous.”

  Frieda beamed and clasped her hands together. “Speaking of your leaving, I passed Roland Haas on my way, heading toward the gate. If he’s still giving you a ride, I think you’d best hurry.”

  Chapter 17

  Serilda had hoped that during the trip, she might be able to peruse some of the book the librarian had given her, but instead, she spent the ride in the back of Roland Haas’s wagon sitting on a damp horse blanket and clinging as best she could to its high sides so the constant bumps in the road didn’t launch her out. Simultaneously, she tried to fend off the curious pecks of the twenty-three chickens he was taking to the market in Mondbrück. The laces on her boots must have looked like the juiciest of worms, because the fowl hardly left her alone, no matter how many times she kicked to shoo them away.