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But she was eager to get to the library. Eager to uncover some of the castle’s secrets.
“I’m so jealous,” said Leyna, her shoulders drooping. “I’ve been wanting to go inside that castle my whole life.”
Serilda stumbled.
“No,” she said, more sharply than she’d meant to. She eased her tone, settling a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “There is good reason that you all stay away. Remember, when I’m there, it’s usually as a prisoner. I’ve been attacked by hellhounds and drudes. I’ve watched ghosts relive their awful, gruesome deaths. That castle is full of misery and violence. You must promise never to go in there. It isn’t safe.”
Leyna’s expression tightened bitterly. “Then why is it all right for you to keep going back?”
“I haven’t been given a choice. The Erlking—”
“You had a choice last night.”
The words evaporated off Serilda’s tongue. She frowned and stopped walking, crouching so that she could grasp Leyna’s shoulders. “He killed my father. He may have killed my mother, too. He means to keep me as a prisoner, a servant—perhaps for the rest of my life. Now listen. I don’t know if I can ever be free of him, but I do know that as things stand now, I have no power, no strength. All I have are questions. Why did the dark ones abandon Gravenstone and claim Adalheid instead? What happened to all those spirits in there? What does the Erlking want with all of this spun gold? Whatisthe Gilded Ghost, and who is he, and what happened to my mother?” Her voice hitched as tears prickled at her eyes. Leyna’s gaze, too, had become glossy. Serilda took in a shaky breath. “He is hiding something in that castle. I don’t know if whatever that is can help me, but I do know that if I do nothing, then someday he will kill me, and I’ll become just one more ghost haunting those walls.” She slid her palms down to take Leyna’s hands into hers. “That’s why I went back to the castle, and why I’ll keep going back. That’s why I need to go to the library and learn all that I can about this place. That’s why Ineedyour help … but also, why I can’t allow you to put yourself in danger. Can you understand that, Leyna?”
Leyna slowly nodded.
Serilda gave her hands a squeeze and stood. They continued walking in silence, and had crossed the next street before Leyna asked, “What is your favorite dessert?”
The question was so unexpected that Serilda had to laugh. She thought about it for a moment. “When I was young, my father would always bring home honey walnut cakes from the markets in Mondbrück. Why do you ask?”
Leyna glanced over toward the castle. “If you do become a ghost,” she said, “I promise to always set out honey walnut cakes during the Feast of Death. Just for you.”
Chapter 35
Serilda had not expected the Adalheid library to be anywhere near as grand as the great library in Verene, which was associated with the capital’s university and heralded for both its ornate architecture and its comprehensive collection. It was a marvel of scholarly achievement. A haven for art and culture. She had known the library in Adalheid would not bethat.
Yet she couldn’t help feeling a tiny twinge of disappointment when she walked in and found that the Adalheid library was only a single room, not much larger than the Märchenfeld schoolhouse.
It was, however, overflowing with books. Shelves and stacks of them. Two large desks piled high with thick tomes, with more piles on the floor, and bins in one corner packed full of old scrolls. Serilda felt immediately comforted by the scent of leather and vellum, parchment and binding glue and ink. She inhaled deeply, ignoring the odd look that Leyna gave her.
It was the scent of stories, after all.
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 ofthat,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?
