Page 82 of Gilded

Gild’s kiss had been as quick and sudden as a lightning strike.

And left her dizzy and breathless nonetheless.

But why? Much as she yearned to think he did find her irresistible, a practical voice warned her it was probably not so romantic as all that.

He was a prisoner. A young man—trapped and alone inside this castle for only the gods knew how long. Without company, without even the slightest hope for physical tenderness.

Until now.

Untilher.

She could have been anyone.

Be that as it may, Gild was trapped here, and she wanted to help him. She wanted to help all of them.

She knew it was naive. What could she, a simple miller’s daughter, possibly do to defy the Erlking? She needed to be worrying about her own life, her own freedom, not anyone else’s.

But she’d had too many fantasies of heroism to ignore the spark of excitement when she thought of rescuing her mother—if she needed rescuing.

Rescuing Gild.

Rescuing … everyone.

And, if anything had happened to her father, she would make sure the Erlking paid for it.

She paused suddenly, her thoughts of vengeance scattering as she looked around. She’d been sure she was nearly to the great hall, but the corridor that should have turned to the left was turning to the right, and she found herself questioning every turn she’d taken.

She ducked into a room where a wall of bookshelves displayed nothing but spiderwebs. She peered through the window, trying to orient herself.

The rain was smashing into the water below, the wind causing drifts of fog to scatter across the lake’s surface, obscuring the distant shore. From what little she could see, she determined that she was somewhere near the northwest corner of the keep. She was surprised to see a second courtyard below, between the keep and the outer wall. It was so overrun with weeds and rooted saplings that it looked almost like a wild garden.

Then her gaze fell on a tower, and a piece of her conversation with Gild scratched at her thoughts. He had mentioned the southwest tower. It had sounded like his favorite place, where he liked to watch the city, the people.

Curiosity had always been a difficult thing for Serilda to resist.

If Gild was some sort of ghost, could his spirit be lingering in this castle even now? Could he see her? The thought was mostly eerie, but also a tiny bit comforting.

She thought of the drude that had attacked her.

The candelabra that had attackedit.

Could it have been?…?

She returned to the hall, moving faster now, focusing on every turn to keep herself from getting lost again. At every corner, she paused to be sure there were no malevolent spirits or raging birds. She tried to picture the keep and its numerous spires. A map was beginning to form in her mind. She passed another door open to a spiraling staircase and guessed it was the shorter tower on the western wall.

Still, no sign of life—or death, for that matter. No screams. No nachtkrapp watching her with empty eyes.

She seemed alone. Just her and the quiet thumping of her boots on the threadbare carpet as she continued.

Questions nagged at her with every door she passed. She spied a harp still standing amid yellowed music pages that had been scattered across the floor. A storeroom full of dust-covered wine casks. Wooden chests rotting away and cushioned benches turned into homes for the local rodents.

Until one doorway revealed another spiraling staircase.

She held her skirt aloft as she made her way up into the tower, passing a series of alcoves, empty pedestals, and the statue of an armored knight holding a large shield, though the bottom half of the shield had broken off. On the fourth full turn around the twisting steps, the staircase ended—not at a door, but at a ladder disappearing into an overhead hatch.

Serilda eyed it suspiciously, knowing that while the wood might look sturdy, everything in this castle was suspect. Any one of those wooden rungs might have rot on the inside.

She craned her head, trying to see what was above, but all she could make out were more stone walls and grayish daylight. The noise of the storm was louder here, the rain pounding the rooftop directly overhead.