He barked a laugh. “Drudes don’t go to parties.”
“And now I know that,” she snapped, then tried to temper her irritation. If she could only make him understand. “There’s something in there. A … a tapestry.”
His expression became more bewildered. “There are hundreds of tapestries in this castle.”
“This one is different. On my side of the veil, it isn’t destroyed like everything else. And when I went in tonight … there was a cage. Did you see it?” She leaned forward. “What would the Erlking be keeping that needs a cage?”
“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “More drudes?”
She rolled her eyes. “You don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t. You could have been killed. Doesn’t that matter to you?”
Something in his tone gave her pause. Something bordering on panic.
“Of course I care,” she said, quieter now. “But I also feel there’s something … important. You said you can go anywhere in this castle. Don’t you ever go in there?”
“No,” he said. “Because, again—and I cannot stress this enough—that is where the drudes are. And it is a terrible idea to cross paths with a drude. I avoid them whenever I can, and you should, too.”
She crossed her arms and pouted. She wanted to tell him she would, but the frustration from not having any questions answered, no mysteries solved, was nagging at her. “What if they’re protecting something? Something the Erlking doesn’t want anyone to find?”
Gild opened his mouth, readying another glib retort, but then he hesitated. Frowning, he closed his mouth again, considering her. Then he sighed, his gaze falling to Serilda’s hands. He shifted forward and she thought he was going to reach for her hands, take them into his. Instead, he settled his palms on the lounge cushions on either side of her knees.
Careful not to touch her.
“The Erlking has his secrets,” he said, “but whatever is in that room, it isn’t worth risking your life. Please. Please don’t try to go there again.”
Her shoulders fell. “I … I won’t go there again …”
Relief stole across his features.
“… unprepared.”
He tensed. “Serilda—no. You can’t—”
“Where did you get a sword anyway?”
Gild glowered at the change of subject, then huffed and pushed himself to standing. “The armory. Erlk?nig keeps enough sharp, deadly things to arm an entire militia.”
“I’ve never seen a golden sword before.”
Gild started to drag a hand through his hair, then paused and pulled it away, looking down at the smear of blood on his fingers.
“Here.” Standing beside him, her legs no longer threatening to collapse, she lifted the corner of her cloak and reached for his brow. Gild flinched away.
“Hold still. It won’t hurt.”
His gaze flashed to hers, as if insulted. But he didn’t move again as she dabbed at the blood, already drying on his brow.
“Gold is a terrible choice for a weapon,” he said as she worked, his voice strangely distant, his gaze glued to her face. “It’s a very soft metal. Dulls easily. But a lot of magic creatures are averse to gold, including drudes.”
“There,” she said, letting the edge of her cloak fall. “That’s a bit better, though we’ll need water to wash off the rest.”
“Thank you,” he murmured. “Your shoulder?”
“It will be all right.” She glanced down to see the tears that the drude’s talons had left in the fabric. “I’m more worried about my cloak. It’s my favorite. And I’m not the best at patchwork.”
His smile was hesitant. Then, as if suddenly realizing how close they were, he took a step back.
Serilda felt a prickle of hurt. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been so eager to hold her hand, to embrace her while she cried, even to give her that frantic kiss.
What had changed?
“I didn’t just come here to see that room,” she said. “I did come to find you. As soon as I heard about the Feast of Death, and that the king and his court would not be in the castle, I thought … I don’t know what I thought. I just wanted to see you again. Without being locked up with a pile of straw for once.”
He looked almost hopeful when she said this, even as he wrung his hands and took yet another step away from her. “Believe it or not, this is an important night for me.”
“Oh?”
He smiled, the first real smile she’d seen on him all night. That impish, dimpled look again. “In fact, maybe you’d like to help.”
Chapter 32
You spend all year making these?” said Serilda, crouched over the crate full of small golden trinkets. She picked up a figurine shaped like a horse, crafted entirely of braided gold wire, similar to the golden strands she’d seen him spin from straw.
“That, and saving your life,” said Gild, leaning against the parapet. “I like to keep busy.”
She sent him a good-natured glare. Standing, she peered over the wall’s edge, down at the rocks far below and the lake reflecting a path of moonlight.
“What do you suppose the Erlking wants the gold for?” she asked. “Somehow I doubt his motives are as benevolent as yours.”
Gild scoffed. “Indeed. I suspect a few of these pieces will go toward paying off the feast he’s enjoying right now.”
He did not try to hide his resentment.
“And yet,” added Serilda, “what need does he have for riches?”
Gild shook his head, staring down at the rocks, though it was too dark to see the pieces they’d already tossed down for the divers and fishermen of Adalheid to find.
“I don’t know. He was storing it in the undercroft beneath the keep. I popped in every once in a while to see if it had been moved, but he didn’t seem to be doing anything with it. Then, after the Crow Moon, I went in one day and it was gone. All of it.” He shrugged. “Maybe he was worried I was going to try to steal it. I may have been planning as much.” His eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief, but it was quickly doused. “But I don’t know where he’s moved it to. Or what he wants it for. You’re right, though. I’ve never known him to take an interest in human riches before. Or really, anything other than hounds and weapons and the occasional feast. And servants. He enjoys being waited on.”
“Are all the servants ghosts?”
“No. He also has the kobolds, the goblins, the nachtkrapp …”
She pressed her lips together, wondering if she should tell Gild that the nachtkrapp had been watching her ever since the start of the new year.
Not that it mattered now. She wouldn’t be trying to run away again.
“Are you one of his servants?” she asked instead.
He glanced at her, eyes glittering. “Of course not. I’m the poltergeist.”
She rolled her eyes. He seemed far too proud of his role as the resident troublemaker. “Do you know what they call you in Adalheid?”
His grin brightened. “The Gilded Ghost.”