“Exactly. Did you come up with it?”
He shook his head. “I don’t remember when I had the idea to start leaving gifts for them. I did it at first to amuse myself, and wasn’t entirely sure anyone would ever find them here on the back side of the castle. Not many people like to venture close to a haunted castle, after all. But when someone discovered a few of the presents, they all started coming back for more. It’s my favorite time of the year, after Eostrig’s Day, when I can stand up here and watch them searching for the gold below. It’s the only time people are close enough for me to hear them, and I remember, a long time ago, hearing them talking about their?…?benefactor. Vergoldetgeist. I figured they had to mean me. And I hope … I mean, I want them to know the ghosts in this castle aren’t cruel.”
“They know,” she said, taking his arm. “It’s largely because of your gifts that Adalheid has flourished all these years. They’re very appreciative, I assure you.”
Gild smiled, but it was suddenly tight as he extricated his arm. Taking the horse figurine, he paced farther down the wall.
Serilda’s heart sank. “What’s wrong?”
His expression was all innocence as he turned back to her. “Nothing’s wrong.” He reeled back his arm and threw the horse toward the lake.
Serilda leaned over the wall, but it was too dark to see much. She heard a quiet plink-plink as the horse hit the rocks, followed by a splash.
“I like to spread them out,” he said. “Some in the water, some on the rocks … makes it kind of a game, you know? Everyone likes games.”
Serilda wanted to mention that the townsfolk probably liked the gold more than the game, but she didn’t want to ruin his fun. And it was sort of fun, she realized, as she took a golden butterfly and a golden fish and tossed them out onto the rocks below. While they “worked,” Serilda told Gild more about Leyna and Lorraine and Frieda, the librarian. Then she told him about Madam Sauer and the schoolhouse and her five favorite children in the world.
She did not tell him about her father. She didn’t trust herself not to start crying.
Gild seemed as eager to hear her stories—real stories for once—as he’d been to hear the tale of the stolen princess, and Serilda realized he was starved for news of the outside world. For human connection, not just physically, but emotionally, too.
It didn’t take long before the crate was empty, but they made no move to leave, content to stand side by side looking out at the calm waters.
“Do you have any friends here?” she asked tentatively. “Surely you must get along with some of the other ghosts?”
He shifted away, idly pressing a finger to the wound on his head. “I suppose. Most are nice enough. But it’s complicated when they’re not?…” He searched for the right word. “When they aren’t exactly their own masters?”
Serilda turned to face him. “Because they’re servants to the Erlking and the dark ones?”
He nodded. “It isn’t just that they’re servants, though. When he takes a spirit for his court, he takes control of them. He can make them do whatever he wants. There’s enough of them now that most of them are more or less left alone, unless someone’s unlucky enough to be one of the king’s favorites. Sometimes I think Manfred would rather stab his other eye than take one more order. But what choice does he have?”
“Manfred? That’s the coachman, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “He’s sort of become the king’s best man, to his endless chagrin, I think, though I’ve never heard him say as much. Capable to a fault.”
“What about you?”
He shook his head. “I’m different. I’ve never had to follow orders, and I don’t know why. And I’m grateful for that, of course. But at the same time—”
“Being different makes you an outcast.”
He fixed a look on her, surprised, but Serilda just smiled. “Exactly. It’s hard to be close to someone when you can’t trust them. If I tell them anything, I risk it being reported back to the king.”
Serilda licked her lips, a motion that caught Gild’s attention before he quickly turned his gaze back toward the lake. Her insides fluttered, and she couldn’t help but think of the last time she’d seen him, when he’d kissed her, quick and desperate, then vanished.
Standing so close to him now, the memory made her dizzy. She cleared her throat and tried to shake it away, reminding herself of the question she’d most wanted to have answered tonight.
“I know all the ghosts here died horrible deaths,” she said carefully. “But … did they all die here? In the castle? Or does the king collect them from … from his hunts, too?”
“Sometimes he brings in other spirits. But it’s been a while. I think maybe the castle was starting to feel a bit crowded for his taste.”
“What about … maybe, sixteen years ago? Do you remember a woman spirit being brought back?”
Gild frowned. “I’m not sure. The years tend to all run together. Why?”
She sighed and told him the story her father had told her about her mother being lured away by the hunt when Serilda was just two years old. When she was finished, Gild looked sympathetic, even as he shook his head.
“Most of the ghosts I know have been here as long as I have. He does occasionally bring spirits that he found on the hunt … but it’s difficult for me to keep track of time. Sixteen years …” He shrugged. “I suppose she could be here. Can you describe her?”
She told him what her father had told her. It wasn’t much, but she thought the chipped tooth would be memorable, at least. When she was done, she could see that he was thinking hard. “I can ask around, I suppose. See if anyone remembers leaving behind a baby girl.”
Her heart lifted. “Would you?”
He nodded, but he looked unsure. “What was her name?”
“Idonia Moller.”
“Idonia,” he repeated, committing it to memory. “But, Serilda, you must know, the king doesn’t bring many spirits back from the hunt. Most of them he just …”
Disappointment scratched at Serilda’s insides. She remembered the vision given to her by the drude of her father lying facedown in a field. “Leaves to die.”
His expression was so forlorn. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be. That would be better. I’d rather she was in Verloren, at peace.” She said it, but she didn’t know if she meant it. “You will try to find her, though? To see if she’s here?”
“If it will make you happy, of course.”
The comment surprised her, along with how simply he said it. She didn’t know if his asking about her mother would make her happy—she supposed that depended on what he did or didn’t learn—and yet. The thought that he might care about her helped warm some of those places that had gone cold inside.
“I know it isn’t the same thing,” he added, “but I don’t remember my mother, either. Or my father for that matter.”