What had he meant by it?
There was a small, quiet, practical voice that kept reminding her how much she should be dreading this return to Adalheid and its haunted castle. But the truth was, she wasn’t dreading it.
She wasn’t dreading it at all.
Because this time, she was returning of her own volition. She was Serilda Moller, godchild of Wyrdith, and she would be controlled by the Erlking no longer.
At least, that was what she tried to tell herself as her ancient steed clomped slowly, steadily along the road.
Chapter 29
She had barely passed through the gates of Adalheid when it became clear that the springtide celebrations here were quite different from those in Märchenfeld. There were no banners dyed in pink and green hung over the windows and doors. Instead, the doors she passed were decorated with garlands made of bones. At first the sight made her shudder, but she could tell these were not human bones. Chickens and goats, she guessed, or perhaps even wild hares or swans from the lake, all strung with twine and left to dangle from pegs. When a strong breeze came through, they rattled musically against one another, a sorrowful chime.
As the lake came into view, she saw a crowd gathered near the docks, but there was no cheerful music or robust laughter. Back home, the festivities would have been well underway by now, but the air here felt somber, almost oppressive.
The only similarities were the tantalizing aromas of roasting meats and fresh bread.
Serilda dismounted and walked Zelig the rest of the way toward the docks, where a number of tables had been set up on the street beside the lakeshore. The townsfolk bustled about, focused on their tasks as they set out a proper feast. Plates of sausages and salted pork, rhubarb tarts drizzled with honey and fresh strawberries, hard cheeses and shelled chestnuts, sweet cakes and steaming hand pies, platters of roasted carrots, ramps, and buttered radishes. There was drink, too; kegs of ale, barrels of wine.
It was lovely, and Serilda’s stomach gurgled at the tempting aromas.
But none of the townsfolk helping to prepare the feast looked at all excited about it. This feast was not for them. As Leyna had described, as the sun set, the castle’s residents would emerge and the streets of Adalheid would be overtaken by dark ones and spirits.
Her attention went to the castle ruins, somehow still looking gloomy and gray despite the sunlight that glistened off the water’s surface.
Though at first the townsfolk were too busy to notice Serilda in their midst, eventually her presence started to draw attention. Murmurs followed. People paused in their work to stare at her, curious and suspicious.
But not outright hostile. At least, not yet.
“Pardon,” hollered a voice, startling Serilda. She turned to see a young man pushing a cart toward her. She apologized and hastened out of his path. The cart was making an awful lot of racket, and as he pushed past her, Serilda peeked over the edge to see an assortment of live animals crowded inside. Hares and weasels and two small foxes, plus a cage full of pheasants and grouse.
The man pushed the cart toward the bridge, where a group of men and women stepped forward to help him unload, leaving the birds inside their cage and tying the rest of the animals to a post.
“Miss Serilda!” Leyna ran up to her, a basket of sugared strudel in her arms. “You came!”
“Hello again,” she said, her stomach grumbling as the smell of sweet custard wafted toward her. “My, those look good. May I?”
A look of horror crossed Leyna’s face and she pulled the basket out of reach before Serilda had even lifted her hand. “It’s for the feast!” she hissed, lowering her voice.
“Well, yes, I figured,” said Serilda, glancing at the overflowing tables. Bending forward, she whispered, “I doubt anyone will notice?”
Leyna gave a hasty shake of her head. “Better not. It isn’t for us, you know.”
“But do the hunters really have such impressive appetites?”
Leyna made a sour face. “Seems a waste to me, too.” She approached the table and Serilda shifted a few trays so Leyna had a place to set the basket.
“It must be vexing to work so hard, only to give it away to the tyrants who lurk in that castle.”
“It can be,” said Leyna with a shrug. “But once everything is ready, we’ll head home and Mama always has some extras set aside for us. Then we’ll spend the night reading ghost stories by the fire and sneaking glimpses of the Feast of Death through the curtains. It’s positively horrifying, but also one of my favorite nights of the year.”
“You aren’t afraid to spy on them?”
“I don’t think they care much about us, so long as we provide the feast, and the game. Though last year, I swear one of the ghosts looked up at me the exact moment I peeked through the curtains, like they’d been waiting for it. I shrieked, nearly gave Mama a heart attack. I was sent to bed after that.” She shuddered. “Didn’t get much sleep though.”
Serilda grinned. “What about Vergoldetgeist? Have you ever seen him during your spying?”
“Oh no. All the gold shows up on the north side of the castle. We can’t see it from the town. They say he’s the only one who doesn’t come out to the party, and maybe he’s bitter about not being invited.”