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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 touchanyone.
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.
“I’m hoping that maybe we can be friends. And if a friend ever needed an embrace or to hold my hand for a while or … just to sit and be together, I wouldn’t mind.”
Gild was silent for a long time, staring at their interlaced fingers like he was worried she would pull away.
She didn’t pull away. She didn’t disappear.
Finally, he brought his other hand forward as well, so that her one hand was clasped tight between both of his. Leaning closer, he lightly rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed.
After a moment’s hesitation, Serilda snaked her free arm up around his shoulders. He shifted his body closer, then lowered his head, their temples grazing. Her breath caught, as she half expected his lips to find hers. But instead, he nestled his face into the crook of her neck. A second later and his arms had both come around her, pulling her body to his.
Serilda inhaled deeply, searching for a scent that she would forever tie to this moment. She could still remember dancing with Thomas Lindbeck, two years ago to this very night, and how he had carried the grassy scent of his family’s farm with him. Her father always smelled of wood smoke and flour from the mill.
But if Gild had carried a scent in life, it was gone now.
Still. His arms were strong. The tickle of his hair against her cheek and his linen collar on her throat were real enough.
They stayed that way for what felt like ages and no time at all. Maybe she had taken his hand thinking she was doing him some sort of favor, but once her body melted into his embrace, she realized how much she’d needed this, too. The sense that this boy wanted to be holding her as much as she wanted to be holding him.
For a time she thought she could feel his heartbeat drumming against her, until she realized that it was her own beating for them both. It was this thought that stirred her out of her cocoon. As soon as she started to move, Gild pulled away, and she was startled to see red around his eyes. He’d been so still, she hadn’t realized he’d been crying.
Serilda pressed her palm against his chest. “You don’t have a heartbeat.”
“Maybe I don’t have a heart,” he said, and she could tell he meant it as a joke, and so she allowed herself to smile. At the boy who craved an embrace as much as she did. Who was, literally, weeping at the sensation of being held.
“I doubt that.”
He started to smile, as if she’d given him a compliment. But the look was short-lived as the haunting cry of the Erlking’s hunting horn intruded on their sanctuary. They both tensed, their arms tightening around each other.
“What does that mean?” asked Serilda, checking the sky, but it was still dark, no signs yet of dawn. “Are they coming back?”
