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“Manfred will meet you in the courtyard. He will take you to the spinning wheel.” Then a hint of a smile, and not a nice one, touched his mouth. “I do hope you will continue to impress me, Lady Serilda.”
She smiled wryly. “I trust you’ll be taking the hunt into the Rückgrat foothills tonight?”
The Erlking paused, on the verge of dismissing her. “And why is that?”
She tilted her head to one side, the picture of innocence. “There have been rumors that a great beast has been seen prowling around the mountains, beyond the Ottelien border, I believe. You hadn’t heard?”
He held her gaze with the barest spark of intrigue. “I had not.”
“Ah. Well. I thought a new conquest might make a fine addition to your decor, but perhaps that distance is too far to travel in one night. Nevertheless, I hope you’ll enjoy hunting your … foxes and deer and little woodland creatures. My lord.” She curtsied and turned away.
She was nearly to the bridge when she heard the snap of reins and thunder of hooves. Only when the king had vanished did she let her smile overtake her.
Let him enjoy his wild goose hunt tonight—and with a touch of luck, be kept far away from this castle until sunrise.
The coachman was in the courtyard, waiting patiently while the stable boy latched the two bahkauv to the carriage. They both glanced up with bewildered looks as she made her way across the stones, and Serilda wondered if she was the first human to ever dare intrude upon them when the moon was full, especially as the hunt had departed only moments before.
She hoped her eagerness didn’t show. She knew that she should be terrified. She knew her life was in danger, and her lies could be discovered with hardly a slip of her tongue.
But she also knew that Gild was inside these walls, and that gave her more comfort—and impatience—than was likely warranted.
She was trying to ignore the frightening possibility that she might be falling in love with a ghost, one who was trapped inside the castle of the Erlking himself. She had mostly succeeded in not thinking about all the practical dilemmas that would cause. There was no hope of a future, she told herself again and again. There was no hope for happiness.
And again and again, her brittle heart responded that it didn’t quite care.
Though she thought it probably should.
Nevertheless, as the coachman told the stable boy that the beasts would not be necessary this night, and tried to hide how pleased he was about it, Serilda felt a flush of exhilaration.
Again she was led into the castle keep, through corridors that were becoming more familiar with every passing visit. She was beginning to be able to connect them with the ruins she saw during the day. Which chandeliers still hung, now draped with cobwebs and dust. Which pillars had collapsed. Which rooms were full of brambles and weeds. Which pieces of furniture, so stately and ornate in this realm, were toppled and broken on the other side of the veil.
When they passed the staircase that led up to the hall with the stained-glass gods and the mysterious room with the tapestry, Serilda’s steps slowed. There was nothing to be seen from down here, and yet she couldn’t keep from craning her head.
When she faced forward again, the coachman was watching her with his good eye. “Looking for something?” he drawled.
Serilda tested a smile. “It’s such a labyrinth here. Don’t you ever get lost?”
“Never,” he said mildly, then gestured to an open doorway.
Serilda expected another hall, or perhaps a staircase.
Instead, she saw straw. Mounds and mounds andmoundsof straw.
She gasped, amazed at the sheer amount of it. Enough to fill an entire hayloft. Enough to fill the gristmill, wall to wall, floor to ceiling, and have yet more spurting out the chimney.
All right, that might have been a slight exaggeration.
But onlyslight.
And, again, there was the spinning wheel and the mountain of empty bobbins and the sickly sweet smell that choked her.
Impossible.
“He can’t … I can’t possibly do all this!” she said. “It’s too much.”
The coachman cocked his head to one side. “Then you will risk his disappointment.”
She frowned, knowing that to argue was pointless. This man—this ghost—wasn’t the one setting these tasks, and the Erlking had just ridden off for a night of sport.
