There was a face there, and it wasn’t his reflection; a haggard woman gazed back at him, her image carved into diamond-shaped puzzle pieces through the leaded glass. Frozen with fear, Alec stared back at her. Her eyes were lost in shadow, long hair hanging limp and dripping over bare shoulders. She wore an ornate necklace of antique design at her throat—a person of rank rather than a servant or slave. Her pale lips moved as she tried to tell him something. He couldn’t hear the words, but a wave of crushing sadness rolled over him, pushing aside the fear. He couldn’t move, but felt the tickle of tears rolling down his cheeks.

He had no idea how long he stood there like that, lost in grief, before Seregil whispered behind him, “Artha dom alika, sala.”

She bowed her head, then slowly faded away, taking the deeper chill with her.

“That—That was—” Alec stammered, wiping his cheeks with shaking fingers.

“Our first ghost, yes. Are you all right?”

Alec looked down at the sill, where the wet handprints still showed. “I don’t know.”

Seregil touched the handprints and licked his finger. “Salty. Seawater, probably. Our sad lady must have drowned.”

Delayed shock was setting in, and Alec began to tremble in earnest. Seregil pushed the couch closer to the fire and made Alec sit down, then put his cloak around him.

“What did you say to her? What language was that?” Alec asked through chattering teeth.

“Middle Konic. I told her ‘Go to your rest, my lady. Be at peace.’ It’s the language that would have been spoken when the house was new.”

Seregil latched the window, lit fresh candles on the mantelpiece, and settled down beside Alec with an arm around his shoulders.

“Did you feel the sadness?”

“No, but you did, didn’t you?”

Alec let out a shaky breath. “It was like she was making me feel what she felt.”

“Anything beyond the sadness?”

“No. Well, fear, but I don’t think that was her doing. Do you think she’ll come back, after what you said to her?”

“I doubt a few kind words will lay her to rest after all these years. I’ll speak to Dorin about shifting rooms.”

As Alec gradually calmed down, he noticed that the fire was burning brighter than it had before, spreading more warmth. The damp was gone. Whoever their night visitor had been, she seemed to be gone, too.

Despite that, his dreams were uneasy.

The room was cold again, and stank of seaweed and mud. Despite Seregil’s arm around him, Alec felt the short hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Someone was standing behind him.

Seregil didn’t wake as Alec slipped from his embrace and stood. The woman was standing by the window, looking as solid as the wall behind her. Her ragged gown was sodden, and as Alec watched a crab scuttled out from under the hem of it and scrabbled away into a shadowed corner. As she slowly walked toward him, Alec could see that her eyes were moon snail shells and that her tangled, dripping hair was crawling with sea lice and tiny crabs. A spiny green urchin clung to the bodice of her gown like a brooch.