Page 104 of Gilded

“And yet,” added Serilda, “what need does he have for riches?”

Gild shook his head, staring down at the rocks, though it was too dark to see the pieces they’d already tossed down for the divers and fishermen of Adalheid to find.

“I don’t know. He was storing it in the undercroft beneath the keep. I popped in every once in a while to see if it had been moved, but he didn’t seem to be doing anything with it. Then, after the Crow Moon, I went in one day and it was gone. All of it.” He shrugged. “Maybe he was worried I was going to try to steal it. I may have been planning as much.” His eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief, but it was quickly doused. “But I don’t know where he’s moved it to. Or what he wants it for. You’re right, though. I’ve never known him to take an interest in human riches before. Or really, anything other than hounds and weapons and the occasional feast. And servants. He enjoys being waited on.”

“Are all the servants ghosts?”

“No. He also has the kobolds, the goblins, the nachtkrapp …”

She pressed her lips together, wondering if she should tell Gild that the nachtkrapp had been watching her ever since the start of the new year.

Not that it mattered now. She wouldn’t be trying to run away again.

“Areyouone of his servants?” she asked instead.

He glanced at her, eyes glittering. “Of course not. I’m the poltergeist.”

She rolled her eyes. He seemed far too proud of his role as the resident troublemaker. “Do you know what they call you in Adalheid?”

His grin brightened. “The Gilded Ghost.”

“Exactly. Did you come up with it?”

He shook his head. “I don’t remember when I had the idea to start leaving gifts for them. I did it at first to amuse myself, and wasn’t entirely sure anyone would ever find them here on the back side of the castle. Not many people like to venture close to a haunted castle, after all. But when someone discovered a few of the presents, they all started coming back for more. It’s my favorite time of the year, after Eostrig’s Day, when I can stand up here and watch them searching for the gold below. It’s the only time people are close enough for me to hear them, and I remember, a long time ago, hearing them talking about their?…?benefactor. Vergoldetgeist. I figured they had to mean me. And I hope … I mean, I want them to know the ghosts in this castle aren’t cruel.”

“They know,” she said, taking his arm. “It’s largely because of your gifts that Adalheid has flourished all these years. They’re very appreciative, I assure you.”

Gild smiled, but it was suddenly tight as he extricated his arm. Taking the horse figurine, he paced farther down the wall.

Serilda’s heart sank. “What’s wrong?”

His expression was all innocence as he turned back to her. “Nothing’s wrong.” He reeled back his arm and threw the horse toward the lake.

Serilda leaned over the wall, but it was too dark to see much. She heard a quietplink-plinkas the horse hit the rocks, followed by asplash.

“I like to spread them out,” he said. “Some in the water, some on the rocks … makes it kind of a game, you know? Everyone likes games.”

Serilda wanted to mention that the townsfolk probably liked the gold more than the game, but she didn’t want to ruin his fun. And itwassort of fun, she realized, as she took a golden butterfly and a golden fish and tossed them out onto the rocks below. While they “worked,” Serilda told Gild more about Leyna and Lorraine and Frieda, the librarian. Then she told him about Madam Sauer and the schoolhouse and her five favorite children in the world.

She did not tell him about her father. She didn’t trust herself not to start crying.

Gild seemed as eager to hear her stories—real stories for once—as he’d been to hear the tale of the stolen princess, and Serilda realized he was starved for news of the outside world. For human connection, not just physically, but emotionally, too.

It didn’t take long before the crate was empty, but they made no move to leave, content to stand side by side looking out at the calm waters.

“Do you have any friends here?” she asked tentatively. “Surely you must get along with some of the other ghosts?”

He shifted away, idly pressing a finger to the wound on his head. “I suppose. Most are nice enough. But it’s complicated when they’re not?…” He searched for the right word. “When they aren’t exactly their own masters?”

Serilda turned to face him. “Because they’re servants to the Erlking and the dark ones?”

He nodded. “It isn’t just that they’re servants, though. When he takes a spirit for his court, he takes control of them. He can make them do whatever he wants. There’s enough of them now that most of them are more or less left alone, unless someone’s unlucky enough to be one of the king’s favorites. Sometimes I think Manfred would rather stab his other eye than take one more order. But what choice does he have?”

“Manfred? That’s the coachman, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “He’s sort of become the king’s best man, to his endless chagrin, I think, though I’ve never heard him say as much. Capable to a fault.”

“What about you?”