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Serilda reached for the ladder and checked that it was secure before starting to climb, hand over hand. The wood groaned from her weight, but the rungs held. As soon as her head was above the floor hatch, she looked around, afraid that some vengeful spirit might be waiting to throw her out a window, or whatever vengeful spirits did.
But all she saw was one more abandoned room in this dismal castle.
Serilda climbed to the top and stepped off the ladder. Not so much a watchtower intended for defense—those were on the outer walls—but a room designed for beauty. For watching the stars, the lake, the sunrise. The room was circular, with massive clear-glass windows looking out in every direction. She could see it all. The lake. The courtyard. The bridge, shrouded in fog. The mountains—or she was sure she would be able to, when the thick cloud cover had burned off. She could even see the row of stained-glass windows she’d walked past in her explorations before.
And there, the sparkling city of Adalheid.
Except it wasn’t so sparkling today. It was actually a sorry sight, under siege by the rain. But Serilda had a good imagination, and it didn’t take much effort to picture it as it might be in the sunshine, especially as winter gave way to spring. She pictured the golden light breaking through the clouds. How the painted buildings would shine like seashells, how the tiled roofs would look like little plates of gold. Marigolds and geraniums would overtake the window boxes, and patches of dark earth would be lush with fat cabbages and cucumbers and pole beans.
It was a lovely town. She could see why Gild liked to look at it, especially when he was surrounded by relative gloom all the time. But it also made her sad to think of him here, entirely alone. Craving more.
Something soft and warm, as light as a breath, tickled the back of Serilda’s neck.
She gasped and spun around.
The room was empty, as abandoned as it had been the moment she’d climbed the ladder.
Her eyes darted to every corner. Her ears strained to hear above the sound of the storm.
“Gild?” she whispered.
The only response was a shiver that shook her spine.
Serilda dared to shut her eyes. She tentatively lifted one hand, fingers stretching toward nothingness.
“Gild … if you’re here …”
A brush of skin against her palm. Fingers lacing with hers.
Her eyes flew open.
The sensation vanished.
No one was there.
She might have imagined it.
And then—
A scream.
Serilda whirled toward the nearest window and looked down at the castle’s exterior wall. She spotted the figure of a man running along the wall-walk, his chain-mail armor glinting silver. He was nearly to the tower when he jerked to a stop. For a moment he was still, his back arched and his face turned toward the sky.
Toward Serilda.
She pressed a hand against the window, her breath steaming the glass.
The man fell to his knees. Blood burbled up from his mouth.
Before he could fall face-first to the stone, he vanished.
And another scream came, from the opposite side of the tower. From the main courtyard.
A child’s scream. A child’s cry. And another man, pleading,No! Please!
Serilda backed away from the window, covering her ears. Afraid to look. Afraid of what she might see, and knowing that she could do nothing to stop it.
What hadhappenedin this castle?
