Page 103 of Gilded

“The Erlking has his secrets,” he said, “but whatever is in that room, it isn’t worth risking your life. Please. Please don’t try to go there again.”

Her shoulders fell. “I … I won’t go there again …”

Relief stole across his features.

“… unprepared.”

He tensed. “Serilda—no. You can’t—”

“Where did you get a sword anyway?”

Gild glowered at the change of subject, then huffed and pushed himself to standing. “The armory. Erlkönig keeps enough sharp, deadly things to arm an entire militia.”

“I’ve never seen a golden sword before.”

Gild started to drag a hand through his hair, then paused and pulled it away, looking down at the smear of blood on his fingers.

“Here.” Standing beside him, her legs no longer threatening to collapse, she lifted the corner of her cloak and reached for his brow. Gild flinched away.

“Hold still. It won’t hurt.”

His gaze flashed to hers, as if insulted. But he didn’t move again as she dabbed at the blood, already drying on his brow.

“Gold is a terrible choice for a weapon,” he said as she worked, his voice strangely distant, his gaze glued to her face. “It’s a very soft metal. Dulls easily. But a lot of magic creatures are averse to gold, including drudes.”

“There,” she said, letting the edge of her cloak fall. “That’s a bit better, though we’ll need water to wash off the rest.”

“Thank you,” he murmured. “Your shoulder?”

“It will be all right.” She glanced down to see the tears that the drude’s talons had left in the fabric. “I’m more worried about my cloak. It’s my favorite. And I’m not the best at patchwork.”

His smile was hesitant. Then, as if suddenly realizing how close they were, he took a step back.

Serilda felt a prickle of hurt. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been so eager to hold her hand, to embrace her while she cried, even to give her that frantic kiss.

What had changed?

“I didn’t just come here to see that room,” she said. “I did come to find you. As soon as I heard about the Feast of Death, and that the king and his court would not be in the castle, I thought … I don’t know what I thought. I just wanted to see you again. Without being locked up with a pile of straw for once.”

He looked almost hopeful when she said this, even as he wrung his hands and took yet another step away from her. “Believe it or not, this is an important night for me.”

“Oh?”

He smiled, the first real smile she’d seen on him all night. That impish, dimpled look again. “In fact, maybe you’d like to help.”

Chapter 32

You spend all year making these?” said Serilda, crouched over the crate full of small golden trinkets. She picked up a figurine shaped like a horse, crafted entirely of braided gold wire, similar to the golden strands she’d seen him spin from straw.

“That, and saving your life,” said Gild, leaning against the parapet. “I like to keep busy.”

She sent him a good-natured glare. Standing, she peered over the wall’s edge, down at the rocks far below and the lake reflecting a path of moonlight.

“What do you suppose the Erlking wants the gold for?” she asked. “Somehow I doubt his motives are as benevolent as yours.”

Gild scoffed. “Indeed. I suspect a few of these pieces will go toward paying off the feast he’s enjoying right now.”

He did not try to hide his resentment.