Serilda paused and craned her neck, trying to see any place where she might safely land and be able to climb out, but it was so dark that all she could make out were glistening wet rocks, nearly indistinguishable from one another.
After a number of attempts to run the boat ashore, Serilda was finally able to grab hold of a sharp-tipped boulder and loop the rope around it. She tied the best knot she could and hoped that the boat would still be here for her when she returned for it … then she hoped that she would return for it at all.
Tying her skirts to keep them from tangling underfoot, she scrambled inelegantly from the boat and started to climb. The rocks were slick, many covered with slimy moss. She tried not to think about what creatures might be hiding under the jagged stones, claws and scales and sharp little teeth waiting for a vulnerable hand to slip by.
She was doing a poor job not thinking about it.
Finally, she made it to the lowered drawbridge. The bridge was empty, but she couldn’t see much of the courtyard beyond the gate, and had no way of knowing if it was inhabited or not.
“Oh well,” she said, with a bracing nod. “I’ve come this far.”
With a series of grunts and groans, she hauled herself up onto the bridge. She collapsed atop the planks in a heap, but quickly pushed herself up to all fours and glanced around.
She saw no one.
She sprang to her feet and dashed through the castle gates, before throwing herself against the inside of the castle wall.
She scanned the bailey, taking in the stables, the kennels, the collection of storage and outbuildings around its edges. She saw no one, and could hear nothing beyond her own breathing, her own heartbeat, the distant thunking of arrows and the cheers and hollers that followed, and much-closer snuffles and snorts from the bahkauv in the stables.
According to Leyna’s story about Vergoldetgeist, Gild would most likely be on the outer wall of the castle, perhaps in one of the towers facing the other side of the lake. She figured it would take a bit of guesswork to figure out how, exactly, to get up there. She had never been around to the back side of the castle or on the outer walls at all, but she was starting to get a feel for how everything was laid out.
She took a moment to scan the tops of the castle walls, but while there were flickering torches along the parapets, she saw no movement, and no Gild.
She wanted to see him. Was almost aching to see him, and she told herself it was because she needed to ask if he knew whether or not her mother might be among the king’s court. It was a mystery that wouldn’t stop gnawing at her.
But there was another mystery gnawing at her, too. It hadn’t been a part of her plan, but now, standing in the courtyard, with those shimmering stained-glass windows looking down at her from the castle keep, she wondered if she would ever have another chance to explore this castle while the veil was down and the court was absent.
Perhaps a quick look, she told herself. She only wanted to peek behind that door, to see the tapestry that had caught her attention.
Then she would find Gild.
It wouldn’t take long, and she had all night.
With another glance around, she scurried across the bailey and into the keep.
Chapter 31
Somehow, the castle was even eerier on this side of the veil, with its tapestries and paintings and furniture all tidy and clean, fires burning in the hearths and torches lit in every corridor and chandelier, and yet—not a soul to be found. As if there had been life a moment ago, but that life had been snuffed out like a candle flame.
By now, she knew enough of the passages to find her way easily to the stairwell that led up to the hall of gods, as she’d taken to calling the room with the stained-glass windows. She had only ever been in that hall during the day, when bits of glass were shattered, the leading broken, the decor made of fat, dusty cobwebs.
It was different at night. The light came from the standing candelabras, not the sun, and while still lovely, the windows did not sparkle and gleam.
Her steps were quick as she rounded the corner. The narrow hall stood before her, windows to one side, shut doors on the other. Chandeliers dripping with wax instead of spiders.
The door at the far end was shut, but she could see a hint of light spilling out from the gap onto the floor.
Even knowing the castle was empty, she moved cautiously, her feet padding into the soft carpet.
Her pulse was a drumbeat in her ears when she reached the door, afraid that it would be locked. But when she pulled on the latch, it opened easily.
She held her breath as it swung backward. The light she’d seen came from a single candle set onto a stone ledge just inside the door. She stepped into the room, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness.
Her gaze fell on a curtain of sheer lace hung from the ceiling, draped around a cage in the center of the room.
She froze. Cages were for animals. What kind of creature would be kept in such a room? She squinted, but could barely make out a lumpy form behind the bars, unmoving.
Asleep?
Dead?
Holding completely still, she shifted her gaze to the wall where she had seen the tapestry.
She frowned.
The tapestry was there, but in a reversal of the mortal world, it was not pristine as it had appeared on the other side of the veil. Here, it hung in shreds. She could make out a bit of the background scenery, a lush garden at nighttime, lit by a silver moon and dozens of lanterns. In the garden stood the figure of a bearded man wearing an ornate doublet and a golden crown. But something was off about him. His eyes too large, his smile a toothy grimace.
Serilda inched closer, even as quiet dread began to gnaw at her.
Once her eyes adjusted to the dim candlelight, she froze. The tapestry did not depict the face of an honored king. It depicted a skull. A corpse dressed in fine regalia.
The man was dead.
Shaking now, she reached for one of the shreds of woven fabric and caught sight of a second figure, smaller and ripped in two, but clearly a girl by her poufed skirt and ballooned sleeves and?…
Thick ringlet curls.
Her heart thundered.
Could it be the girl from the locket?
Serilda reached for the next scrap, when, from the corner of her eye, a dark shadow lunged toward her.
Her scream collided with its shrill cry. Serilda barely had time to raise her arms. The monster sank its talons into her shoulder, its shriek flooding her thoughts.
And she was no longer in the castle.
She was standing in front of the schoolhouse in M?rchenfeld, or—what had been the schoolhouse, recognizable for its yellow-painted shutters. But it was on fire. Black smoke filled the air. Serilda started to cough, trying to cover her mouth, when she heard their screams.
The children.
They were inside.
They were trapped.
Serilda started to rush forward, ignoring the stinging in her eyes, but a hand grabbed her shoulder, holding her back.
“Do not be a fool,” came the voice of the Erlking, preternaturally calm. “You cannot save them. I told you, Lady Serilda. You should have done as I asked.”