Now it was just her fingers, going numb with cold.
She rubbed her hands together, blowing on them with her breath. She wanted to believe the kiss had meant something, if only because it had been her first. She would not admit it to anyone, but she had spent hours dreaming about just such a moment. She had spun countless fantasies of being swept away by everyone from princes to well-intentioned scoundrels. She had imagined a romance in which the hero would find her wit, her charm, her bravery all so painfully irresistible, he would have no choice but to gather her in his arms and kiss her until she was dizzy and breathless.
Gild’s kiss had been as quick and sudden as a lightning strike.
And left her dizzy and breathless nonetheless.
But why? Much as she yearned to think he did find her irresistible, a practical voice warned her it was probably not so romantic as all that.
He was a prisoner. A young man—trapped and alone inside this castle for only the gods knew how long. Without company, without even the slightest hope for physical tenderness.
Until now.
Until her.
She could have been anyone.
Be that as it may, Gild was trapped here, and she wanted to help him. She wanted to help all of them.
She knew it was naive. What could she, a simple miller’s daughter, possibly do to defy the Erlking? She needed to be worrying about her own life, her own freedom, not anyone else’s.
But she’d had too many fantasies of heroism to ignore the spark of excitement when she thought of rescuing her mother—if she needed rescuing.
Rescuing Gild.
Rescuing … everyone.
And, if anything had happened to her father, she would make sure the Erlking paid for it.
She paused suddenly, her thoughts of vengeance scattering as she looked around. She’d been sure she was nearly to the great hall, but the corridor that should have turned to the left was turning to the right, and she found herself questioning every turn she’d taken.
She ducked into a room where a wall of bookshelves displayed nothing but spiderwebs. She peered through the window, trying to orient herself.
The rain was smashing into the water below, the wind causing drifts of fog to scatter across the lake’s surface, obscuring the distant shore. From what little she could see, she determined that she was somewhere near the northwest corner of the keep. She was surprised to see a second courtyard below, between the keep and the outer wall. It was so overrun with weeds and rooted saplings that it looked almost like a wild garden.
Then her gaze fell on a tower, and a piece of her conversation with Gild scratched at her thoughts. He had mentioned the southwest tower. It had sounded like his favorite place, where he liked to watch the city, the people.
Curiosity had always been a difficult thing for Serilda to resist.
If Gild was some sort of ghost, could his spirit be lingering in this castle even now? Could he see her? The thought was mostly eerie, but also a tiny bit comforting.
She thought of the drude that had attacked her.
The candelabra that had attacked it.
Could it have been?…?
She returned to the hall, moving faster now, focusing on every turn to keep herself from getting lost again. At every corner, she paused to be sure there were no malevolent spirits or raging birds. She tried to picture the keep and its numerous spires. A map was beginning to form in her mind. She passed another door open to a spiraling staircase and guessed it was the shorter tower on the western wall.
Still, no sign of life—or death, for that matter. No screams. No nachtkrapp watching her with empty eyes.
She seemed alone. Just her and the quiet thumping of her boots on the threadbare carpet as she continued.
Questions nagged at her with every door she passed. She spied a harp still standing amid yellowed music pages that had been scattered across the floor. A storeroom full of dust-covered wine casks. Wooden chests rotting away and cushioned benches turned into homes for the local rodents.
Until one doorway revealed another spiraling staircase.
She held her skirt aloft as she made her way up into the tower, passing a series of alcoves, empty pedestals, and the statue of an armored knight holding a large shield, though the bottom half of the shield had broken off. On the fourth full turn around the twisting steps, the staircase ended—not at a door, but at a ladder disappearing into an overhead hatch.
Serilda eyed it suspiciously, knowing that while the wood might look sturdy, everything in this castle was suspect. Any one of those wooden rungs might have rot on the inside.
She craned her head, trying to see what was above, but all she could make out were more stone walls and grayish daylight. The noise of the storm was louder here, the rain pounding the rooftop directly overhead.
Serilda reached for the ladder and checked that it was secure before starting to climb, hand over hand. The wood groaned from her weight, but the rungs held. As soon as her head was above the floor hatch, she looked around, afraid that some vengeful spirit might be waiting to throw her out a window, or whatever vengeful spirits did.
But all she saw was one more abandoned room in this dismal castle.
Serilda climbed to the top and stepped off the ladder. Not so much a watchtower intended for defense—those were on the outer walls—but a room designed for beauty. For watching the stars, the lake, the sunrise. The room was circular, with massive clear-glass windows looking out in every direction. She could see it all. The lake. The courtyard. The bridge, shrouded in fog. The mountains—or she was sure she would be able to, when the thick cloud cover had burned off. She could even see the row of stained-glass windows she’d walked past in her explorations before.
And there, the sparkling city of Adalheid.
Except it wasn’t so sparkling today. It was actually a sorry sight, under siege by the rain. But Serilda had a good imagination, and it didn’t take much effort to picture it as it might be in the sunshine, especially as winter gave way to spring. She pictured the golden light breaking through the clouds. How the painted buildings would shine like seashells, how the tiled roofs would look like little plates of gold. Marigolds and geraniums would overtake the window boxes, and patches of dark earth would be lush with fat cabbages and cucumbers and pole beans.
It was a lovely town. She could see why Gild liked to look at it, especially when he was surrounded by relative gloom all the time. But it also made her sad to think of him here, entirely alone. Craving more.
Something soft and warm, as light as a breath, tickled the back of Serilda’s neck.
She gasped and spun around.
The room was empty, as abandoned as it had been the moment she’d climbed the ladder.
Her eyes darted to every corner. Her ears strained to hear above the sound of the storm.
“Gild?” she whispered.
The only response was a shiver that shook her spine.
Serilda dared to shut her eyes. She tentatively lifted one hand, fingers stretching toward nothingness.