Page 105 of Gilded

He shook his head. “I’m different. I’ve never had to follow orders, and I don’t know why. And I’m grateful for that, of course. But at the same time—”

“Being different makes you an outcast.”

He fixed a look on her, surprised, but Serilda just smiled. “Exactly. It’s hard to be close to someone when you can’t trust them. If I tell them anything, I risk it being reported back to the king.”

Serilda licked her lips, a motion that caught Gild’s attention before he quickly turned his gaze back toward the lake. Her insides fluttered, and she couldn’t help but think of the last time she’d seen him, when he’d kissed her, quick and desperate, then vanished.

Standing so close to him now, the memory made her dizzy. She cleared her throat and tried to shake it away, reminding herself of the question she’d most wanted to have answered tonight.

“I know all the ghosts here died horrible deaths,” she said carefully. “But … did they all die here? In the castle? Or does the king collect them from … from his hunts, too?”

“Sometimes he brings in other spirits. But it’s been a while. I think maybe the castle was starting to feel a bit crowded for his taste.”

“What about … maybe, sixteen years ago? Do you remember a woman spirit being brought back?”

Gild frowned. “I’m not sure. The years tend to all run together. Why?”

She sighed and told him the story her father had told her about her mother being lured away by the hunt when Serilda was just two years old. When she was finished, Gild looked sympathetic, even as he shook his head.

“Most of the ghosts I know have been here as long as I have. He does occasionally bring spirits that he found on the hunt … but it’s difficult for me to keep track of time. Sixteen years …” He shrugged. “I suppose she could be here. Can you describe her?”

She told him what her father had told her. It wasn’t much, but she thought the chipped tooth would be memorable, at least. When she was done, she could see that he was thinking hard. “I can ask around, I suppose. See if anyone remembers leaving behind a baby girl.”

Her heart lifted. “Would you?”

He nodded, but he looked unsure. “What was her name?”

“Idonia Moller.”

“Idonia,” he repeated, committing it to memory. “But, Serilda, you must know, the king doesn’t bring many spirits back from the hunt. Most of them he just …”

Disappointment scratched at Serilda’s insides. She remembered the vision given to her by the drude of her father lying facedown in a field. “Leaves to die.”

His expression was so forlorn. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be. That would be better. I’d rather she was in Verloren, at peace.” She said it, but she didn’t know if she meant it. “You will try to find her, though? To see if she’s here?”

“If it will make you happy, of course.”

The comment surprised her, along with how simply he said it. She didn’t know if his asking about her mother would make her happy—she supposed that depended on what he did or didn’t learn—and yet. The thought that he might care about her helped warm some of those places that had gone cold inside.

“I know it isn’t the same thing,” he added, “but I don’t remember my mother, either. Or my father for that matter.”

Her eyes widened. “What happened to them?”

He gave a soft, resentful laugh. “I have no idea. Maybe nothing. It’s another way I’m different. Most of the others remembersomethingof their life before. Their families, what sort of job they did. Most of them worked here in the castle, some even knew one another. But if I lived here, no one remembers me, and I don’t remember them.”

Serilda started to reach for him, but then, recalling how he had pulled away every time she’d moved near, she clenched her hand into a fist and slumped against the wall instead. “I wish there was some way to help you. To help all of you.”

“I wish that every day.”

A cackling laugh echoed around them. Serilda stiffened and instinctively grabbed Gild’s arm.

“Just a hobgoblin,” he said, his voice low as he gave her hand a squeeze. “They’re supposed to patrol the walls once in a while. Make sure that no one sneaks into the gatehouse and raises the drawbridge while everyone’s in town.”

His tone held some humor in it. Serilda peered at him, skeptical.

“I got away with it two years in a row, once. But I think I did him a favor, encouraging him to give them more responsibility. No one wants an idle hobgoblin around. Their idea of fun is to put out all the fires in the keep, then hide the kindling.”