She didn’t remember stepping close to him, but suddenly, she was there, near enough to touch. But Gild didn’t glance down at her lips this time. His focus was on her gold-spoked eyes. Unflinching.

  “I don’t think it’s superstition that they’re afraid of,” he said.

  She froze. “What?”

  “All these boys that supposedly aren’t interested in you because they think you’ll bring them bad luck? Well … maybe that’s true, but … it has to be more than that.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  His hand came up to graze her cheek before he tenderly tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

  Serilda nearly dissolved.

  “I know I’ve barely met you,” he said, his voice fighting to not tremble, “but I can tell that you are worth all the bad luck in the world.” Having said it, his shoulders jerked upward in an uncomfortable shrug, and for a moment she thought he wouldn’t go on. When he finally did, she could tell it was a struggle for him, and she realized that he, too, might be realizing how dangerous this conversation had become. How fleeting, how tenuous, how … unfathomable. “I think they pretend not to be interested, because they can tell you’re destined for something else.”

  She took another half step toward him.

  He came a half step closer to her, their bodies almost touching.

  “And what am I destined for?” she whispered.

  His fingers brushed ever so lightly against the back of her hand, sending a current along her nerves. Her breath caught.

  “You’re the storyteller,” he said, with the start of a smile. “You tell me.”

  What was she destined for?

  She wanted to dwell on it, to really consider what might be possible in her future. But she couldn’t think of it now, when all her thoughts were overwhelmed by the present.

  “Well,” she started, “I doubt many girls from Märchenfeld can claim to be friends with a ghost.”

  Gild’s smile slipped. His jaw clenched briefly. “It’s been a long time since I lived in proper society,” he said, “but I suspect that friends don’t often have reason to kiss each other.”

  Warmth rushed up her neck. “Not often, no.”

  His gaze fell to her lips, his pupils dilated. “May I kiss you again anyway?”

  “I certainly wish you would,” she breathed, leaning into him.

  His hand slipped up her arm, cradling her elbow, tugging her closer. His nose brushed against hers.

  When an enraged scream echoed from the base of the tower. “Poltergeist! Where are you?”

  They jumped apart as if the hellhounds themselves were upon them.

  Gild let out a stream of muttered curses.

  “Who is that?” Serilda whispered.

  “Giselle. The master of the hounds,” he said, grimacing. “If she already found it, they must be coming back. We’ve got to hide you.”

  “Found what?”

  Gild gestured at the ladder. “I’ll explain. Go, go!”

  Footsteps echoed below. Heart thundering, Serilda swung her leg onto the ladder and hastened down the rungs. She reached the lower level and spun around, only to nearly crash right into Gild. His hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her startled scream. Then he took her wrist and pressed a finger to his mouth, urging her to be quiet, before tugging her toward the stairs.

  The footsteps below grew louder.

  “I don’t care what you’ve got against those mutts!” hollered Giselle. “I’m responsible for them, and if you keep pulling these stunts, the king will have my head!”

  Where was Gild taking her? There was only this narrow stairway. They would run right into her.

  They came to the alcove containing the statue of the knight and his shield, no longer broken. Gild ducked into it, yanking Serilda in beside him. He pressed her into the corner, where they could both be shrouded in darkness, and craned his head until they were cheek to cheek, perhaps trying to hide his copper-colored hair.

  Serilda reached for her hood and pulled it up. It was large enough that, when they were this close to each other, it swept fully over the back of Gild’s head. Taking the cloak’s sides, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, shrouding them in charcoal gray, the same color as the stone walls, the same color as nothingness.

  Gild moved into her, his body pressed along her length. His fingers spread out across her back. The sensation was enough to make her light-headed, and all she wanted was to close her eyes and turn her face, just the tiniest bit, and place a kiss against his skin. Anywhere that she could reach. His temple, his cheek, his ear, his throat.

  She wanted him to do the same to her.

  But she forced herself to keep her eyes open, watching through the tiny gap in the cloak’s fabric, as the master of the hounds turned the corner, grumbling to herself.

  She and Gild both tensed.

  But the dark one marched right past the alcove without stopping.

  They listened as the footsteps stomped upward toward the tower.

  “She’ll come back down in a second,” Gild said, so quiet she almost couldn’t hear him, despite his breath dancing across her ear. “Best we wait until she’s gone.”

  Serilda nodded, happy for the chance to catch her breath, though it was difficult with Gild’s hands on her waist, sending waves of heat through her body. Her entire being was humming, tingling, caught between Gild and the stone walls. She wanted desperately to thread her fingers into his hair. To pull his mouth to hers.

  But while her blood simmered inside, outside she was motionless. As still as the statue that half hid them from view.

  “What did you do?” she whispered.

  He made a guilty face. “Before you got here, I may have mixed up some crushed holly berries with the hounds’ bedding.”

  She stared. “What does that mean?”

  “Hellhounds don’t do well with holly. Even just the smell of it can upset their stomachs. And … they just ate a lot of meat.”

  She winced. “That’s disgusting.”

  They heard footsteps again, and Serilda shut her eyes, for fear they might catch the light.

  A second later, Giselle stormed back down the steps, muttering to herself about that damned poltergeist.

  Once the tower was quiet again, they released mutual exhales.

  “Do you think…,” Serilda started, barely a whisper, hoping he wouldn’t detect the aching behind the words, “it might be safest for me to just wait here, and sneak out after sunrise? When the veil is in place again?”

  He pulled away, enough to meet her gaze. His fingers squeezed gently, bunching the fabric at her waist.

  “I just feel it would be very dangerous for me to be seen,” she said.

  “Yes,” said Gild, a little breathless. “I think that would be for the best. The night is almost over anyway.” His gaze dipped again to her mouth.

  Serilda crumbled. She finally allowed her hands the freedom they’d been craving, letting her fingers trail up his neck until they were buried in his hair. She pulled him to her, their mouths meeting. There was a moment in which Serilda overflowed with needs she didn’t know what to do with. The need to be closer, when such a thing was not possible. The need to feel his hands at her waist, her back, her neck, her hair, everywhere, all at once.

  But that first wave of craving ebbed, and something gentler replaced it. A kiss that was tender and unhurried. Her own fingers abandoned his hair to splay out across his shoulders and trail down his chest, even as his hands traced poetry across her spine. She sighed against him.

  She didn’t know how long they had, but she did not want to waste a moment of it. She wanted to live inside this alcove, in the surround of his arms, in these new sensations that made her feel weightless and hopeful and terrified all at once.

  It felt like making a promise. That this would not be the last kiss. That she would return. That he would be waiting.

  And then—

  It was over.

  Her hands closed around empty air. The arms supporting her vanished, and she would have collapsed if she hadn’t had the wall at her back. Her eyes snapped open, and she was alone in the alcove.

  The statue’s shield was broken. The pedestal sported a collection of chipped corners and a blanket of cobwebs.

  She shivered.

  The equinox was over.

  Was Gild still there? Invisible, untouchable, just out of her reach?

  Could he still see her?

  Swallowing hard, she stretched her fingers out into the nothingness, searching for a chill, a shock, a warm breeze. Some sign to know she wasn’t alone after all.

  She felt nothing.

  With a heavy sigh, she wrapped the cloak around her shoulders and stepped out of the alcove. She was just about to descend the steps when her gaze caught on the broken shield, and the words scribbled into the thick layer of dust.

  Will you come back?

  Chapter 34

  Lorraine’s expression was dark when Serilda entered the Wild Swan, her lips pinched in disapproval. All she said as she handed Serilda a key to one of the upstairs rooms was “I had your things brought in from the stables.”

  The room wasn’t luxurious like those inside the castle, but it was comfortable and warm, with soft quilts on the mattress and a little desk with writing parchment and ink by the window. Her items from the saddlebags had been set neatly onto a cushioned bench.

  Serilda sighed with quiet gratitude, then promptly climbed into bed.

  It was well past noon by the time she managed to peel her eyes open again. The sounds of the city rumbled up from the streets below. Wagon wheels, braying mules, children singing a rhyming song to welcome the spring. Oh, if only it were warm and green, with birdsong evermore. Just give us this, dear Eostrig, and we will not ask for more.

  Serilda pulled herself out of bed and went to change out of her clothes, only to find her shoulder throbbing in agony. She hissed and pulled down the sleeve to see the gouges left by the drude, now caked over with dried blood.

  She debated asking Lorraine for help cleaning and bandaging the wound, but the mayor already seemed anxious enough over Serilda’s comings and goings from the castle, and she didn’t think adding an attack from a nightmarish beast would help matters.

  More careful this time, she wriggled out of her dress and chemise and used the provided washcloth and basin to clean the wounds as well as she could. After inspecting the wounds, she determined that they were not as deep as she’d thought, and as the bleeding had already stopped, she figured that a bandage wouldn’t be necessary.

  When she was done, she sat down at the little vanity to comb out her hair. There was a small mirror and Serilda paused, catching sight of her own eyes. Mirrors were a rare luxury in Märchenfeld, and she’d only seen her reflection a handful of times over the course of her life. It always startled her, to see the gold-spoked wheels looking back at her. It always gave some clarity to why no one ever wished to look her in the eye.

  But she did not shy away. She peered at the girl gazing back, thinking not of the countless people who had turned away from her, but of the one boy who hadn’t. These were the eyes that Gild had peered into with such open intensity. These were the cheeks his fingers had caressed. These were the lips …

  Pink blossomed across her face. But she wasn’t embarrassed. She was smiling. And that smile—she thought, somewhat bewilderingly—was beautiful.

  * * *

  Leyna was waiting for Serilda by the fireplace when she left her rooms.

  “Finally!” she cried, bouncing to her feet. “Mama forbade me to bother you. I’ve been waiting for hours. Was beginning to worry you’d died up there.”

  “I desperately needed the rest,” said Serilda. “And now I desperately need nourishment.”

  “I’ll bring you something.” She dashed away into the kitchen while Serilda slumped in a chair. She had brought the library book with her, and she settled it on her lap and flipped it open to the title page.

  The Geography, History, and Customs of the Great Northern Provinces of Tulvask.

  Serilda made a face. It was precisely the sort of scholarly text that Madam Sauer adored, and she despised.

  But if it helped her understand anything of that castle, it would be worth suffering through.

  She started flipping through pages. Slowly at first, then quicker, once she saw that the first chapters were all an in-depth analysis of the unique geographical details of these provinces, starting with how the basalt cliffs had impacted early trade routes and led to the port city of Vinter-Cort becoming a hub of merchant activity. There was talk of shifting borders. The rise and fall of early mining towns in the Rückgrat Mountains. But only one mention of the Aschen Wood, and the authors had not even called it by name. The mountain foothills are largely forested and home to a wide array of natural beasts. Since the earliest recordings of civilization in the area, the forests have been considered inhospitable and have remained largely unsettled.

  She came to a series of chapters on prominent settlements and the resources that had encouraged their growth. Serilda yawned, turning past sections on Gerst, Nordenburg, Mondbrück. Even Märchenfeld was given a small mention for its thriving agricultural community.

  She scanned the pages of dense text. Occasionally there were splatters of ink where the author’s quill tip had snapped. Occasionally there were words crossed out, a small error fixed. Occasionally there were illustrations. Of the plants. The wildlife. The landmark buildings.

  Then she turned a page and her heart snagged.

  An illustration of Adalheid Castle filled up half a page. The colored dye was still vibrant, despite the book’s age. The image did not show the castle in ruins, but as it had once been. As it was on the other side of the veil.

  Dignified and glorious.

  She began to read.

  The origins of Adalheid Castle, presented here in its original state, have been lost to time and remain unknown to contemporary historians. As of the turn of the century, however, the city of Adalheid had become a prosperous community along the routes connecting Vinter-Cort and Dagna on the coast with—

  Serilda shook her head, her hopes sagging. She turned back to the previous page. No other mention of Adalheid.

  Frustrated, she finished reading the page, but the author made no further mention of the city’s mysterious past. If they cared at all that no one knew about the castle and city’s origins, it did not show in their writing. A few pages later, and the book’s focus shifted to Engberg in the north.

  “Here you are,” said Leyna, using her toe to drag a small table a bit closer and setting down a platter of dried fruits and salted meats. “You missed the midday meal, so it isn’t warm. Hope you don’t mind.”

  Serilda slammed the book shut, scowling.

  Leyna blinked at her. “Or … I could see if we have any meat pies left over?”

  “This is lovely, thank you, Leyna. I’d only hoped that this book might have a bit more useful information on this city.” She tapped her fingers against the cover. “For so many towns, it presented a well-researched and incredibly dull account, stretching back multiple centuries. Not so with Adalheid.”

  She met Leyna’s gaze. The girl looked like she was trying hard to share in Serilda’s frustration, but that she didn’t entirely understand what she was talking about.

  “It’s all right,” said Serilda, picking up a dried apricot from the plate. “I’ll just have to make a visit to the library today. Would you care to join me?”

  Leyna’s face brightened. “Really? I’ll go ask Mama!”

  * * *

  “See the fishing boats?” said Leyna, pointing as they walked along the cobbled roads off the shore of the lake.

  Serilda’s gaze had latched on to the castle—specifically, on the southwest tower, wondering whether Gild might be up there, watching, even now. Dragging her thoughts back, she followed Leyna’s gesture. Normally the boats were spread throughout the lake, but now a number of them could be seen clustered near the far end of the castle.

  “Searching for gold,” said Leyna. She side-eyed Serilda. “Did you see him again? Vergoldetgeist?”

  The question, so innocently asked, brought back a wave of feelings that made Serilda’s insides flutter. “I did,” she said. “In fact, I helped him toss some of his gifts down to the rocks and the lake.” She beamed to see Leyna’s eyes widening in disbelief. “There will be many treasures to be found.”

  Adalheid was radiant in the sunlight. Flower boxes overflowed with geraniums, and vegetable patches were rich with cabbages and gourds and new seedlings for the summer.

  Ahead of them, near the docks, many of the townspeople were cleaning up after the festivities of the night before. Serilda felt a tug of guilt. She and Leyna should probably offer to help. It might help to ingratiate her to the townspeople who still saw her as a bad omen.

  But she was eager to get to the library. Eager to uncover some of the castle’s secrets.

  “I’m so jealous,” said Leyna, her shoulders drooping. “I’ve been wanting to go inside that castle my whole life.”

  Serilda stumbled.

  “No,” she said, more sharply than she’d meant to. She eased her tone, settling a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “There is good reason that you all stay away. Remember, when I’m there, it’s usually as a prisoner. I’ve been attacked by hellhounds and drudes. I’ve watched ghosts relive their awful, gruesome deaths. That castle is full of misery and violence. You must promise never to go in there. It isn’t safe.”

  Leyna’s expression tightened bitterly. “Then why is it all right for you to keep going back?”

  “I haven’t been given a choice. The Erlking—”

  “You had a choice last night.”

  The words evaporated off Serilda’s tongue. She frowned and stopped walking, crouching so that she could grasp Leyna’s shoulders. “He killed my father. He may have killed my mother, too. He means to keep me as a prisoner, a servant—perhaps for the rest of my life. Now listen. I don’t know if I can ever be free of him, but I do know that as things stand now, I have no power, no strength. All I have are questions. Why did the dark ones abandon Gravenstone and claim Adalheid instead? What happened to all those spirits in there? What does the Erlking want with all of this spun gold? What is the Gilded Ghost, and who is he, and what happened to my mother?” Her voice hitched as tears prickled at her eyes. Leyna’s gaze, too, had become glossy. Serilda took in a shaky breath. “He is hiding something in that castle. I don’t know if whatever that is can help me, but I do know that if I do nothing, then someday he will kill me, and I’ll become just one more ghost haunting those walls.” She slid her palms down to take Leyna’s hands into hers. “That’s why I went back to the castle, and why I’ll keep going back. That’s why I need to go to the library and learn all that I can about this place. That’s why I need your help … but also, why I can’t allow you to put yourself in danger. Can you understand that, Leyna?”