Brightening, Serilda asked, “I need to be making my way back to Verene today, but I hoped I might find a bite to eat before I go?”
Finally, the elderly woman lifted a hand and pointed down the line of painted houses that curved around the lake. “The Wild Swan is just down the way. Lorraine can add meat to your bones.” She paused, looking past Serilda again, before adding, “You won’t be joined by none others, will you?”
This comment stirred the crowd. Anxious shuffling of feet and tightening of hands.
“No,” said Serilda. “It’s just me. I thank you for the help.”
“Are you alive?”
She faced the children again. They remained huddled in their group, shoulder to shoulder, except the girl who had asked the question. She took a daring step closer to Serilda, even as the boy at her side hissed a warning.
Serilda laughed, pretending the question was in jest. “Very much so. Unless …” She gasped, her eyes widening in horror. “Is this … Verloren?”
The girl broke into a grin. “Nonsense with sauce. This is Adalheid.”
“Oh, what relief.” Serilda placed a hand to her heart. “I daresay, you hardly looked like ghouls and goblins.”
“It isn’t a joking matter,” snarled a man from behind a table lined with wooden clogs and leather boots. “Not around here. And surely not from someone who dared enter that forsaken place.” He gestured angrily toward the castle.
A shadow passed over the crowd, shuttering the expressions that had started to warm to her.
Serilda bowed her head. “My apologies, I did not mean to upset anyone. Thank you again for the recommendation.” She tipped a smile toward the children, then turned and made her way through the crowd. She felt their stares on her back, the silence that persisted in her wake, their curiosity following after her like a hungry cat.
She passed a row of businesses facing the lake’s shore, each hung with a metal sign indicating the owner’s profession. A tailor, an apothecary, a goldsmith. The Wild Swan stood out from them all. It was the prettiest building along the shore, the plaster between its dark timbers painted the exact shade of the sky in June, with windows trimmed in yellow and corbels cut to look like lace. A sign hung over the walkway with a silhouette of a graceful swan, beneath which were painted the most wonderful words Serilda had ever seen.
food-lodging-ale
She could have wept when she smelled the telltale aroma of simmering onions and roasted meats wafting toward her.
The inside of the public house was cozy and simply decorated. Serilda’s eyes were drawn to a proverb whittled into the wooden beam above the fireplace. As one calls into the forest, so it echoes back. Something about the familiar saying made her shiver as she glanced around. The room was mostly empty but for an older man sipping a pint by the fire, and a woman seated at a long bar, bent over a book. She looked to be in her thirties, with a curvy figure, dark brown skin, and hair tied into a bun. She glanced up when Serilda came in and quickly flipped her book over to hold her place as she slipped off the stool.
“Sit anywhere you like,” she said, gesturing at the surplus of empty tables. “Ale? Hot cider?”
“Cider, please.” She chose a table at the window and knocked twice on the wood before sitting down, because supposedly demons didn’t like the feel of oak, a holy tree with ties to Freydon. Serilda couldn’t picture the Erlking being squeamish about a pub table, but it was a way to let people know that she, herself, wasn’t evil. She figured it couldn’t hurt, especially after the morning she’d had. Her seat had a perfect view of the castle ruins, its broken walls and crumbling towers blanketed by snow. More fishing boats had moved out onto the lake—bright spots of red and green on the calm black water.
“Here you are,” said the woman, setting down a pewter mug full of steaming apple cider. “Are you hungry? We’re usually quite slow on market days, so I don’t have a full spread prepared this morning, but can gladly bring you …”
She trailed off, noticing Serilda’s eyes for the first time. Then her gaze skipped down to the cut in Serilda’s cheek.
“Goodness. Have you been in a brawl?”
Serilda pressed a hand to her face. She’d forgotten about the gash from the drude. The blood had dried into a hard crust. No wonder the townsfolk had looked so frightened.
“A brawl with a thornbush,” she said, smiling. “I’m so clumsy sometimes. You must be Lorraine? I was told this is the finest dining in all of Adalheid.”
The woman gave a distracted chuckle. She had a motherly face—plump cheeks and an easy smile, but also keen eyes that weren’t easily swayed by flattery. “That’s me,” she said slowly, gathering her thoughts. “And this is. Where are you coming in from?”
The other side of the veil, she was tempted to say. But instead, she told her, “Verene. I’m visiting ruins all over the realm on behalf of a noted scholar who is interested in the history of this area. Later today I’m intending to visit an abandoned schoolhouse near M?rchenfeld, but I’m afraid I’m in need of transportation. Do you happen to know of anyone heading in that direction?”
The woman bunched her lips to one side, still giving Serilda that contemplative look. “M?rchenfeld? That’d be a quick enough walk through the wood, but I wouldn’t recommend that.” Her gaze turned suspicious. “But how did you get here without a horse or carriage of your own?”
“Oh. I was brought last night by my business associate, but he had to continue on to …” She tried to picture the surrounding area, but she still wasn’t entirely sure where Adalheid was. “Nordenburg. I told him I’d be able to meet him there.”
“You came last night?” said Lorraine. “Where did you stay?”
Serilda tried not to huff. So many questions, when all she wanted was breakfast.
She probably should have started with the truth. She forgot, sometimes, that lies had short legs. They never got you very far. Plus, the truth was usually easier to keep track of.
And so, she answered. With the truth.
“I stayed in the castle.”
“What?” said the woman, a shadow crossing her features. “No one ever goes in that castle. And last night was …” Her eyes rounded in horror, and she took a few hasty steps back. “What are you, really?”
Her reaction startled Serilda. “What am I?”
“A specter? A wight?” She frowned, inspecting Serilda from head to foot. “Don’t much look like a salige …”
Serilda slumped, suddenly exhausted. “I’m a human girl, I swear it.”
“Then why would you tell such a story! To stay in the castle? The monsters in that place would have torn you limb from limb.” She cocked her head. “I don’t care for falsehoods, young miss. What’s your actual story?”
Serilda started to laugh. Her actual story was so far-fetched she was having trouble believing it herself. “All right,” she said. “If you insist. I am no scholar, just a miller’s daughter. I was summoned by the Erlking last night and ordered to spin straw into gold. He threatened to kill me if I failed, but after I fulfilled the task, he let me go.”