Her eyes widened. “What happened to them?”
He gave a soft, resentful laugh. “I have no idea. Maybe nothing. It’s another way I’m different. Most of the others remember something of their life before. Their families, what sort of job they did. Most of them worked here in the castle, some even knew one another. But if I lived here, no one remembers me, and I don’t remember them.”
Serilda started to reach for him, but then, recalling how he had pulled away every time she’d moved near, she clenched her hand into a fist and slumped against the wall instead. “I wish there was some way to help you. To help all of you.”
“I wish that every day.”
A cackling laugh echoed around them. Serilda stiffened and instinctively grabbed Gild’s arm.
“Just a hobgoblin,” he said, his voice low as he gave her hand a squeeze. “They’re supposed to patrol the walls once in a while. Make sure that no one sneaks into the gatehouse and raises the drawbridge while everyone’s in town.”
His tone held some humor in it. Serilda peered at him, skeptical.
“I got away with it two years in a row, once. But I think I did him a favor, encouraging him to give them more responsibility. No one wants an idle hobgoblin around. Their idea of fun is to put out all the fires in the keep, then hide the kindling.”
“You must get along great, then.”
He smirked. “Hiding the kindling might have been my idea.”
The laughter turned to loud whistling—a jaunty tune that split through the night. It seemed to be coming closer.
“Come on,” said Gild, tugging her back toward the tower. “If it sees you, I can’t trust it not to tell Erlk?nig.”
They were halfway down the tower steps when Gild seemed to realize that he was still holding Serilda’s hand. He immediately let go, dragging his fingers along the mortar lines in the wall instead.
She frowned.
“Gild?”
He did not look back at her, but made a small questioning grunt.
She cleared her throat. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but … I can’t help but notice that you’re … that you don’t want to be touched tonight. And that’s … well, that’s your choice, of course. It’s just that, before, you always seemed—”
He paused so fast that Serilda nearly crashed into him.
“What do you mean, I don’t want to be touched?” he said, spinning to face her with a tremulous laugh.
She blinked. “Well, that’s certainly how it seems. You keep pulling away from me. You haven’t wanted to be close to me all night.”
“Because I can’t—!” He stopped himself, inhaling sharply. He grimaced, as if biting back his reaction. “I’m sorry. I owe you an apology. I know I do,” he said, the words like a skittish rabbit darting between them. “But I don’t know how to say it.”
“An apology?”
He squeezed his eyes shut. He looked a little bit like a petulant child who really didn’t want to say he had done wrong, but would under threat of no dessert.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you before,” he said. “It wasn’t … gentlemanly. And it won’t happen again.”
Her breath hitched. “Gentlemanly?” she asked, her brain catching on one of the few words that didn’t sting.
He opened his eyes, clearly irritated. “Despite what you might think, I’m not entirely without honor.” But then he ducked his head away, his expression swinging almost instantly from annoyed to apologetic. “I regretted it the moment I left you. I am sorry.”
Regretted it.
These words alone were enough to curdle every last fantasy Serilda had entertained these past weeks. But rather than let them sadden her, she took hold of the second emotion that cropped up in their wake. Anger.
She crossed her arms and walked down a few more steps so they were at eye level. “Why did you then? I wasn’t encouraging you.”
“No, I know. That’s exactly it.” His hands flailed, though his anger seemed to be matching hers stride for stride.
Which was ridiculous. What did he have to be angry about?
“I don’t expect you to understand. And … I won’t try to make excuses. I’m sorry. That’s all there is to say.”
“I disagree. I think I’m owed some explanation. It was my first kiss, I’ll have you know.”
He groaned, running a hand down his face. “Don’t tell me that.”
“Oh, look at me, Gild. You can’t possibly think I have a bevy of suitors waiting for their chance to sweep me off my feet. I’d gotten rather used to the idea of spinsterhood.”
His face contorted into something almost pained. He opened his mouth, but soon shut it again. Collapsing one shoulder against the wall, he let out a heavy sigh. “It was mine, too.”
It was a quiet confession, one Serilda wasn’t sure that she’d heard correctly. “What?”
“No—I shouldn’t say that. I don’t know if it’s true. But … if I ever did kiss anyone, I have no memory of it, so as far as I’m concerned, it was my first. And until I met you, I was sure I would never …” He glanced at her, then quickly tore his gaze away. “I cannot … to have met you … I thought it was impossible. I thought …”
His voice was flooding with emotion, and Serilda’s pulse hiccupped. Suddenly she understood what he was trying to say.
“You’ve been alone,” she said softly. “You thought you’d always be alone.”
“You asked me if I had any friends here. And I do like some of the other ghosts, care about them even. But I’ve never …” His gaze became searching. “I’ve never felt anything like … like this. I’ve certainly never wanted to kiss anyone before.”
And just like that, the spark of hope in her chest reignited.
Even if, realistically, she knew it wasn’t such a victory, to be compared to a bunch of undead spirits.
“I can imagine how hard this has been for you,” she said, “especially to think there would be no end to it. I can see how you might … feel drawn to the first girl who … to me.” She lifted her chin. “For what it’s worth, I’m not angry about the kiss.”
It was true.
She wasn’t angry.
Though she was still a little hurt.
She had already known it to be true, but now it was confirmed. She could have been anyone. He would have felt desperate to touch anyone.
She couldn’t pretend otherwise.
And though physical affection was not something to be forced, or to ever be stolen, it occurred to her in that moment that it might be a gift she was willing to give. Not as payment. Not as a bargaining chip. Not because she felt guilty.
But because she wanted to.
“Gild,” she said softly. Stretching her hand forward, she slipped her palm against his and threaded their fingers together, one by one. His whole body seemed to tense. “I’m not expecting anything from you. I mean, I hope that if the Erlking continues to threaten me, you might continue to help. But besides that … it isn’t as though I’m in love with you. And I know you won’t ever be in love with me.”
His brow twitched into a furrow, but he didn’t respond.