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“The Gilded Ghost.” Leyna’s face pinched with guilt. “Mama wouldn’t want me telling you this. It’s something of a town secret, and we aren’t meant to talk about it with strangers.”
“I’m not a stranger,” said Serilda, her heart fluttering. “What exactly is the Gilded Ghost?”
“He’s the one that leaves the gold.” Leyna glanced toward the kitchen, ensuring that her mother was out of sight, and lowered her voice. “After the Feast of Death, there are gifts of gold left all over the rocks on the north side of the castle. Sometimes they fall into the lake. Most of it gets picked up by the fishermen after the feast, but you can sometimes still find pieces they missed. We like to go diving for them in the summer. I’ve never found anything, but my friend Henrietta once found a golden cuff that was stuck between two rocks. And Mama has a small figurine that her grandpa pulled out of the water when he was young. Of course, we don’t keep most of it. A lot of it gets sold or traded. But I’d say just about everyone in town has one or two trinkets from Vergoldetgeist.”
Serilda stared at her, picturing Gild’s quick fingers, the fast-spinning wheel. Straw transformed into gold.
Not just straw. He could turn almost anything into gold. He’d told her as much.
And that’s what he did. And every year, he gave the gifts he’d made, crafted from his spun gold, to the people of Adalheid.
The Gilded Ghost.
You may call me Gild.
“That’s why the town has prospered,” Serilda whispered.
Leyna chewed on her lower lip. “You won’t tell anyone, will you? Ma says, if word ever got out, we’d be overrun with treasure hunters. Or Queen Agnette would hear about it and raise all our taxes, or send the military to collect the gold.” Her eyes grew wider by the moment as she began to realize what a betrayal of her own town she might have committed.
“I won’t tell a soul,” said Serilda, grateful that, here at least, she didn’t yet have a reputation for being an unforgivable liar. “I can’t wait to tell him that you thought he was a troll.” At least, she hoped she’d have a chance to tell him, even if that did mean being stolen away by the Erlking yet again.
Or did it?
“Why do you think he leaves the gold on the equinox?”
Leyna shrugged. “Maybe he doesn’t want the Erlking to know? And that’s the only night of the year when everyone else comes out to enjoy the feast. I figure it’s likely the only night when Vergoldetgeist is left alone in the castle.”
Chapter 27
Lorraine had let Serilda borrow a saddle, despite her admonishments that to try to ride home in this weather was ludicrous. Serilda insisted that she had to go, though she couldn’t bring herself to explain why.
Images of the hunt kept returning to her in flashes. One moment her father was there, and the next he was gone. She didn’t even know where they had been when it happened. She didn’t know where the hunt had taken her, how far they had traveled.
But she knew that if Papa was all right, he would have gone home. He might be waiting for her even now.
She pulled on Zelig’s reins, pausing beneath the shelter of Adalheid’s city gate. The rain had let up somewhat, but she had already lost the warmth from the inn’s fire. She knew it wouldn’t be long before she was shivering, dampness seeping into her skin.
Father would chastise her. Warn that she would catch her death.
Oh, how she hoped he would be there to chastise her.
She peered out toward the dirt road stretching past the town. Therain had turned much of it to mud, battering down the thick brush on either side. Straight ahead, the road disappeared into the Aschen Wood, the gray line of trees mostly hidden behind a shroud of fog.
Home lay in that direction. She would not hurry Zelig, knowing he must still be sore from the hard ride the night before. But even at his slow pace, they could reach home in a couple of hours at most.
But it would mean going through the forest.
Or they could keep to the main roads that traversed the edges of the woods, meandering west through flat fields and farmlands, before eventually turning south for a straight path toward Nordenburg. It was the route that the chicken cart had taken, and she knew it would take much longer. She might not make it home before nightfall. She didn’t even know if Zelig had the strength to carry her all that way.
Zelig snorted and thumped his hoof impatiently against the ground while Serilda considered.
The forest was not welcoming to humans. Yes, they might pass through on occasion—generally without harm, even—but that was under the relative protection of an enclosed carriage. With just Zelig, slow as he was, she would be vulnerable, a temptation to the creatures that lurked in the shadows. The dark ones might be hidden behind the veil, but the forest folk were not always known for kindness, either. For every tale of a headless ghost stalking the night, there were twenty of mischievous land wights and curmudgeonly imps wreaking havoc.
Thunder crooned overhead. Serilda did not see the lightning, but she felt the charge on the air. Her skin prickled.
A moment passed before the skies opened and another downpour ravished the countryside.
Serilda scowled at the sky. “Honestly, Solvilde,” she muttered. “What a time to water your garden. You couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”
