“Yes,” said Gild, a little breathless. “I think that would be for the best. The night is almost over anyway.” His gaze dipped again to her mouth.
Serilda crumbled. She finally allowed her hands the freedom they’d been craving, letting her fingers trail up his neck until they were buried in his hair. She pulled him to her, their mouths meeting. There was a moment in which Serilda overflowed with needs she didn’t know what to do with. The need to be closer, when such a thing was not possible. The need to feel his hands at her waist, her back, her neck, her hair, everywhere, all at once.
But that first wave of craving ebbed, and something gentler replaced it. A kiss that was tender and unhurried. Her own fingers abandoned his hair to splay out across his shoulders and trail down his chest, even as his hands traced poetry across her spine. She sighed against him.
She didn’t know how long they had, but she did not want to waste a moment of it. She wanted to live inside this alcove, in the surround of his arms, in these new sensations that made her feel weightless and hopeful and terrified all at once.
It felt like making a promise. That this would not be the last kiss. That she would return. That he would be waiting.
And then—
It was over.
Her hands closed around empty air. The arms supporting her vanished, and she would have collapsed if she hadn’t had the wall at her back. Her eyes snapped open, and she was alone in the alcove.
The statue’s shield was broken. The pedestal sported a collection of chipped corners and a blanket of cobwebs.
She shivered.
The equinox was over.
Was Gild still there? Invisible, untouchable, just out of her reach?
Could he still see her?
Swallowing hard, she stretched her fingers out into the nothingness, searching for a chill, a shock, a warm breeze. Some sign to know she wasn’t alone after all.
She felt nothing.
With a heavy sigh, she wrapped the cloak around her shoulders and stepped out of the alcove. She was just about to descend the steps when her gaze caught on the broken shield, and the words scribbled into the thick layer of dust.
Will you come back?
Chapter 34
Lorraine’s expression was dark when Serilda entered the Wild Swan, her lips pinched in disapproval. All she said as she handed Serilda a key to one of the upstairs rooms was “I had your things brought in from the stables.”
The room wasn’t luxurious like those inside the castle, but it was comfortable and warm, with soft quilts on the mattress and a little desk with writing parchment and ink by the window. Her items from the saddlebags had been set neatly onto a cushioned bench.
Serilda sighed with quiet gratitude, then promptly climbed into bed.
It was well past noon by the time she managed to peel her eyes open again. The sounds of the city rumbled up from the streets below. Wagon wheels, braying mules, children singing a rhyming song to welcome the spring. Oh, if only it were warm and green, with birdsong evermore. Just give us this, dear Eostrig, and we will not ask for more.
Serilda pulled herself out of bed and went to change out of her clothes, only to find her shoulder throbbing in agony. She hissed and pulled down the sleeve to see the gouges left by the drude, now caked over with dried blood.
She debated asking Lorraine for help cleaning and bandaging the wound, but the mayor already seemed anxious enough over Serilda’s comings and goings from the castle, and she didn’t think adding an attack from a nightmarish beast would help matters.
More careful this time, she wriggled out of her dress and chemise and used the provided washcloth and basin to clean the wounds as well as she could. After inspecting the wounds, she determined that they were not as deep as she’d thought, and as the bleeding had already stopped, she figured that a bandage wouldn’t be necessary.
When she was done, she sat down at the little vanity to comb out her hair. There was a small mirror and Serilda paused, catching sight of her own eyes. Mirrors were a rare luxury in M?rchenfeld, and she’d only seen her reflection a handful of times over the course of her life. It always startled her, to see the gold-spoked wheels looking back at her. It always gave some clarity to why no one ever wished to look her in the eye.
But she did not shy away. She peered at the girl gazing back, thinking not of the countless people who had turned away from her, but of the one boy who hadn’t. These were the eyes that Gild had peered into with such open intensity. These were the cheeks his fingers had caressed. These were the lips …
Pink blossomed across her face. But she wasn’t embarrassed. She was smiling. And that smile—she thought, somewhat bewilderingly—was beautiful.
Leyna was waiting for Serilda by the fireplace when she left her rooms.
“Finally!” she cried, bouncing to her feet. “Mama forbade me to bother you. I’ve been waiting for hours. Was beginning to worry you’d died up there.”
“I desperately needed the rest,” said Serilda. “And now I desperately need nourishment.”
“I’ll bring you something.” She dashed away into the kitchen while Serilda slumped in a chair. She had brought the library book with her, and she settled it on her lap and flipped it open to the title page.
The Geography, History, and Customs of the Great Northern Provinces of Tulvask.
Serilda made a face. It was precisely the sort of scholarly text that Madam Sauer adored, and she despised.
But if it helped her understand anything of that castle, it would be worth suffering through.
She started flipping through pages. Slowly at first, then quicker, once she saw that the first chapters were all an in-depth analysis of the unique geographical details of these provinces, starting with how the basalt cliffs had impacted early trade routes and led to the port city of Vinter-Cort becoming a hub of merchant activity. There was talk of shifting borders. The rise and fall of early mining towns in the Rückgrat Mountains. But only one mention of the Aschen Wood, and the authors had not even called it by name. The mountain foothills are largely forested and home to a wide array of natural beasts. Since the earliest recordings of civilization in the area, the forests have been considered inhospitable and have remained largely unsettled.
She came to a series of chapters on prominent settlements and the resources that had encouraged their growth. Serilda yawned, turning past sections on Gerst, Nordenburg, Mondbrück. Even M?rchenfeld was given a small mention for its thriving agricultural community.
She scanned the pages of dense text. Occasionally there were splatters of ink where the author’s quill tip had snapped. Occasionally there were words crossed out, a small error fixed. Occasionally there were illustrations. Of the plants. The wildlife. The landmark buildings.
Then she turned a page and her heart snagged.
An illustration of Adalheid Castle filled up half a page. The colored dye was still vibrant, despite the book’s age. The image did not show the castle in ruins, but as it had once been. As it was on the other side of the veil.
Dignified and glorious.