Page 121 of Gilded

As he had done a thousand times before, he fed the straw through the maiden hole. But it did not emerge a sleek, glistening thread of gold.

It emerged as straw. Brittle and frayed.

He kept trying. His brow pinched. His eyes determined. Gathering another handful. Forcing it through. Trying to wind it around the bobbin when it continually broke. When it continually, stubbornly refused to be turned to gold.

“I don’t understand,” whispered Serilda.

Gild grabbed the wheel, stopping it mid-spin, and heaved a defeated sigh. “Hulda is the god of labor and hard work. Not just for spinning, but farming, woodworking, weaving … all of it. I’ve thought maybe they don’t like their gifts to be given away for free because … hard work deserves compensation.” He shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I could be wrong. I don’t even know for sure if what I haveisa gift from Hulda. But I do know that I can’t do this as a favor, no matter how much I want to. It doesn’t work that way.”

“But I have nothing more to give.”

She looked at the necklace, its chain visible behind his collar. At the engraved ring on his finger, the seal the same that she’d seen in the cemetery.

Then, with a flash of inspiration, she beamed and gestured at his chest. “How about a lock of hair?”

His brows drew together and he glanced down, noticing the knot of hair that had been left behind, still tangled around the shirt’s button.

His lips twisted to one side as he peered back up at her.

“What?” she asked. “Sweethearts give each other locks of hair all the time. It must be a coveted treasure.”

Surprise, and a hint of hope, flashed across his face. “Are we sweethearts?”

“Well …” She hesitated. She wasn’t sure what else they could be after their kiss in the stairway alcove on Eostrig’s Day, but it wasn’t a question she’d ever had to answer before. She wanted to answer honestly, tell him what she truly wanted to say. But it felt safer to tease. So instead, she responded, “You did just take me for a tumble in the hay, didn’t you?”

She watched him closely, delighted to see his face shift from confused to mortified, pink blotches darkening his freckled cheeks.

Laughter exploded out of her.

“Yes, yes, you’re very clever,” he muttered. “I don’t think a lock of hair will sufficiently pay for pounds and pounds of spun gold.”

She pouted. Considering. Then—another thought. “I will give you a kiss!”

He grinned, but it was pained. “I would accept it in a heartbeat.”

“Are you sure you have a heartbeat? I’ve tried to listen for it before and was unconvinced.”

He chuckled, but the sound was hollow, and Serilda felt a jolt of guilt to be teasing him. He looked truly sorry as he opened his palms to her. “I cannot take a kiss, though I wish I could. It must be gold for … well, something with tangible value. Not a story. Not a kiss.”

“Then name your price,” she said. “You can see everything I have in my possession. Will you take my cloak? There are some holes from the drude, but it’s in decent shape. Or maybe my boots?”

He groaned, casting his gaze skyward. “Are they worth anything?”

“They’re worth something to me.”

She was irritated at the anger rising inside her. She could tell that Gild was being honest—she knew enough about lies to know the difference. He didn’t want to be having this conversation any more than she did.

Yet here they were. Discussing payment, when her life would be forfeit if this wasn’t done.

“Please, Gild. I have nothing of value and you know it. It was sheer luck that I had the locket and the ring to begin with.”

“I know that.”

Serilda chewed on her lower lip for a moment, considering. “What if I promised to give you something in the future?”

He shot her a disgruntled look.

“No, truly. I don’t have anything of value now, but I’ll promise to give you something of value when I can.”