The couch stood between them, and she stopped just behind it. Seregil was no longer there; Alec didn’t dare take his eyes off the woman to look for him.

The hand she raised to point at him dripped with mud, spattering the fine carved wood and upholstery. She pointed first at the bed. The bed curtains were gone, and something hung by a thick string from one of the posts: a dead owl, hanged by the neck.

More mud dribbled over her chin as she gagged out, “Only the dead can walk with the dead.”

Terrified, he found she was pointing at him now, as if she could see with those blind shell eyes. “Only the dead can walk with the dead.”

Alec jumped up from the couch and twisted around toward the window, expecting the woman to be standing there, dripping. But the window was still closed and there was no one there but Seregil, looking up at him with concern. The bed curtains hung in neat folds; no dead owls there.

“What’s wrong, talí?”

Alec shuddered, overcome with dread. “The woman—she was back. Right there behind you. There was a dead owl hanging from the bedpost, and she told me that only the dead can walk with the dead, just like that madman said to you!”

“Interesting. And an owl, you say?” Seregil frowned and made a sign against ill fortune. “Come back, Alec, and sit down before your knees give out. I can see you shaking from here.”

Instead, Alec went to the bed and felt the sheets. They were dry. “I’d rather sleep here.”

It was farther from the window.

BETWEEN the night’s terrors and the unforgiving mattress, Alec woke tired and out of sorts. Seregil didn’t ask any questions, just gave him his space.

By the time they entered the dining room Micum was already at breakfast, waited on by a very cheerful Willow and her son. Dorin was there as well, a dour presence in dark livery as he oversaw the breakfast.

Morning light slanted in through diamond-paned windows. Bands of colored glass at the top of the casements cast rainbow hues over the silver chargers and delicate porcelain on the table. The previous night’s events seemed even more impossible to Alec in daylight.

“I’m afraid we didn’t sleep very well,” Seregil said, stifling a yawn. “Dorin, our room was very damp. Is it always like that?”

“I’m so sorry, my lord,” the steward replied. “I’ll have your things moved to the purple suite at once.”

“There was someone making a racket, too, knocking on doors,” said Micum, and Alec saw Willow exchange an uneasy look with Vhadä.

“A ghost?” Seregil suggested.

“She’s—” Vhadä began, but Dorin cut the boy off with a dark look.

“Who?” asked Alec. “Please, continue.”

“There is a ghost here, my lord—”

“Please, just Alec.”

Willow nodded. “It’s just that the ghost is most likely what you heard.”

“What sort of ghost?” asked Micum.