Page 67 of Gilded

But if she didn’t do as the Erlking wanted, she would never leave this castle alive. She would never be allowed to go find him.

She faced the coachman and nodded.

This time they did not descend into the dungeons but ventured into a series of narrow hallways. Servant halls, if she had to guess, with her limited knowledge of castle architecture. After a dizzying number of turns, they arrived at an open barred door. Beyond it, a large table stood at the center of the room. The walls were hung with shields and various pieces of armor, from chain-mail jerkins to bronze gauntlets. There were a number of bare spots on the walls, too, where weapons might be hung.

The weapons weren’t on the walls, though.

Instead, they were hanging, suspended from the tall ceilings. Hundreds of swords and daggers, mallets and axes, javelins and maces, dangling precariously by bits of twine.

Serilda hastily stepped back out into the hall.

“When did he do this?” the Erlking was saying, his voice rough with anger.

The blacksmith shrugged helplessly. “I was in this room just yesterday, my lord. He must have done it since then. Perhaps even after you left on the hunt?” He sounded like he was trying not to be impressed.

“And why wasn’t anyone watching the armory?”

“There was a guard posted. There’s always a guard posted—”

With a snarl, the king struck the blacksmith on the side of his face. The man was thrown to the side, his shoulder hitting the corridor wall.

“Was that guard posted on theoutsideof this gate?” roared the king.

The blacksmith did not answer.

“Fools, all of you.” He jerked a hand toward the hanging weapons. “What are you waiting for? Get one of those useless kobolds to climb up there and start cutting them down.”

“Y-yes, Your Grim. Of course. Right away,” stammered the blacksmith.

The Erlking swept back out of the room, lips peeled back against his sharp teeth. “And if anyone sees that poltergeist, use the new ropes to string him up in the dining hall! He can hang there until next—”

He stopped abruptly when he spotted Serilda.

For a moment, he looked startled. Clearly, he’d forgotten she was there.

Like a curtain dropping over a stage, his composure returned. His eyes iced over; his sneer shifted from furious to respectably irked.

“Right,” he muttered. “Follow me.”

Again, Serilda was sped through the castle, past big-eyed creatures gnawing on candles and a ghost girl weeping in a stairwell and an older gentleman playing a sorrowful tune on a harp. They all went ignored by the Erlking.

Serilda had found some measure of calm since leaving the courtyard. Or, at least, her rage had been tempered by a swell of new fear.

Her voice was meek, almost polite, as she dared to ask, “Your Darkness, might I know what’s become of my father?”

“You no longer need concern yourself with him,” came the abrupt reply.

It was a stab to her heart.

She almost couldn’t stand to ask, but she had to know—

“Is he dead?” she whispered.

The king stopped at a doorway and rounded on her, eyes blazing. “He was thrown from his steed. Whether or not the fall killed him, I neither know nor care.” He gestured for her to enter the room, but Serilda’s heart was trapped in a vise and she didn’t think she could move. She remembered seeing him during the hunt. His exulted smile. His wide-eyed wonder.

Could he really be gone?

The king stepped closer, towering over her. “You have wasted my time and yours this night. Sunrise is mere hours away. Either this straw will be gold come morning or it will be red with your blood. That choice is yours to make.” Grabbing her shoulder, he shoved her through the door.