Frieda, or Madam Professor as Leyna called her, was ecstatic to see them, and became more delighted still when Serilda tried to explain what she was looking for—even though she wasn’t entirely sure what that was herself.
“Well, let’s see,” said Frieda, picking her way around an overflowing desk to one of the floor-to-ceiling shelves. She tugged over a ladder and climbed up to the top, scanning the spines of the books. “That book I gave you before was the most generalized account of the area. I don’t know that there has been a lot of scholarly attention given to our city, specifically, but … here I have ledgers from our city council dating back at least five generations.” She started pulling out the books and flipping through them, then handed a few down to Serilda. “Treasury holdings, trade agreements, taxes, laws … does this interest you?” She handed Serilda a codex so frail that Serilda thought it might disintegrate in her hands. “A written account of work orders and payments made on public buildings during the last century? We’ve had some truly remarkable artisans receive their start in Adalheid. A number of them went on to work on some of the prominent structures in Verene and—”
“I’m not sure,” interrupted Serilda. “I’ll take a look. Anything else?”
Frieda pursed her lips and returned her focus to the shelf. “These here are ledgers. Accountings of merchant holdings, employee earnings, taxes paid. Ah, here’s a historical account of the town’s agricultural expansion?”
Serilda tried to look hopeful, but Frieda must have been able to tell that this was not what she was looking for, either.
“Don’t you have anything about the castle? Or the royal family who used to live there? They must have been a prominent part of this community to have built such an incredible fortress. There must be some records of them?”
Frieda gave her a long, strange look, then slowly climbed down from the ladder.
“To be perfectly honest,” she said, pressing a finger to her lips, “I’m not sure there ever was a royal family inhabiting that castle.”
“But then who was it built for?”
Frieda shrugged. “Perhaps as a summer house for a duke or an earl? Or it may have been for military use.”
“If that was the case, surely there would be records of that, then.”
Frieda’s expression shifted, as if a light were coming over her. Her gaze traveled back up to the tomes on the top shelf. “Yes,” she said slowly. “One would think so. I … I suppose I never considered it.”
Serilda tried to tame her irritation, but how could a town’s librarian never have considered the history of its most notable landmark? And one with such a terrifying reputation, at that?
“What about the Erlking and the wild hunt?” she asked. “When did he abandon Gravenstone and come to reside in Adalheid Castle?”
“Well, now, that is an interesting question,” said Frieda. “But we have to consider that the existence of Gravenstone might be nothing more than folklore. It may never have existed at all.”
Serilda shook her head. “No, the Erlking himself told me that he had left Gravenstone because it held painful memories for him, and had come here to Adalheid instead. And he mentioned a royal family. He said they weren’t using it anymore.”
The color slowly drained from Frieda’s face. “You … you really have?…?met him?”
“Yes, I really have. And I’ll almost certainly be meeting him again on the next full moon, which is not that far away, and I would love to know something more about that castle and the ghosts who occupy it before I do.” She set down the books that Frieda had already given her, though nothing yet had struck her as particularly helpful. “Isn’t there any documentation about who built the castle? What methods they used? What quarry the stone came from? You mentioned artisans before. The keep has incredible stained-glass windows and iron chandeliers as big as this room, and in the entry hall the columns are carved with the most ornate imagery. It would have been an ambitious undertaking. Someone must have commissioned all of that, probably hired the most accomplished craftworkers from all over the realm. How can there not be any record of it?”
Frieda’s eyes were shining, awestruck. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “No one alive has ever seen the things you’re talking about. No one other than you, that is. All we see are ruins. But judging from the architectural style, I would estimate the castle was built … perhaps five hundred, six hundred years ago?” Her brows pinched as she looked around at the books surrounding them. “I don’t disagree with you. You’re right. One would expect there to be some records. But I can’t think of anything I’ve ever seen that gave insight into our local history beyond … maybe two or three centuries ago.”
“And nothing at all about a royal family?” Serilda persisted, feeling desperate. There must be something. “Birth or death records, family names, coat of arms?”
Frieda’s mouth opened and closed. She looked a little lost, and Serilda had the impression that it was rare for her to be stymied.
“Maybe there were records,” said Leyna, “but they were destroyed?”
“That does happen,” said Frieda. “Fires and floods and the sort. Books are fragile.”
“There was a fire?” said Serilda. “Or … a flood?”
“Well … no. Not that I know of.”
Sighing, Serilda scanned the piles of books. How could a town so successful and wealthy, situated on the edge of the Aschen Wood to one side, along a well-traveled trade route to the other, have no concept of its own history? And why was it that she seemed to be the only one who had ever noticed how peculiar that was?
She gasped. “What about a cemetery?”
Frieda blinked at her. “Pardon?”
“You must have one.”
“Well, yes, of course. The cemetery is right outside the city wall, just a short walk from the gate.” Frieda’s eyes widened with understanding. “Right. That’s where we’ve buried our dead since the city was founded. Which would mean—”
“Since the castle was built,” said Serilda. “Or even earlier.”
Frieda gasped and gave a snap of her fingers. “There are even gravestones there that are something of a local mystery. They’re quite prominent, intricately carved, mostly of marble, if I remember correctly. They’re works of art, really.”
“And who is buried there?” asked Serilda.
“That’s the mystery. No one knows.”
“You think it could be royalty?” asked Leyna, bouncing with excitement.
“It seems odd that it wouldn’t be marked as such,” said Frieda. “And we can’t discount the possibility that there could be tombs beneath the castle itself, so it isn’t guaranteed that whoever lived there would be buried with the rest of the townsfolk.”
“But there’s a chance,” said Serilda. “Will you take me to see them?”