“You look uncommonly tired, Seregil,” Thero noted. “Don’t tell me your roistering life is starting to catch up with you?”

“I didn’t sleep well.”

“He had a nightmare,” Alec added, earning himself an annoyed look from Seregil.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Thero. “You used to have them quite often, as I recall.”

“Everyone has one now and then,” said Seregil, brushing it aside. “So, what brings you here?”

Thero helped himself to more tea. “What’s your opinion on ghosts?”

“I’m not fond of them.” Seregil took a sip of tea and glanced at Alec. There were only three things Seregil knew of that the younger man actually feared: losing Seregil, heights, and—since feeling their cold touch the day Alec had killed the dyrmagnos on a distant Plenimaran shore—ghosts. “Why do you ask?”

The wizard smiled. “I was just wondering if you two would like to take a little journey with me. Word arrived that ghosts may have killed the governor of Kouros and his mistress last week.”

“Kouros? Sacred Kouros?” Alec looked suddenly less concerned about ghosts.

“The same. You’ve never been there, have you, Seregil?” asked Thero.

“No, though I’ve always wanted to,” Seregil replied. “Nysander promised to take me when I was his apprentice, but things went wrong before we could.”

Gold-rich Kouros, the historical and spiritual heart of the Three Lands, was home to the oldest oracular site in the Three Lands. It had come back into Skalan possession for the first time in decades at the end of the war. Klia and a large force had gone there the previous summer to sort out the populace. Plenimaran loyalists were driven out—though most had already fled before she arrived—and those left were required to swear fealty to Queen Elani and Skala.

“Why do people think that ghosts might have killed them?” asked Alec.

“Because several people claimed to have seen ghosts near the room where they died, for one thing. Apparently at least one was seen by reliable witnesses: the shade of a very tall man.”

“Assuming these ‘reliable witnesses’ are telling the truth.”

“Yes,” the wizard replied, “but there had been other reports of mysterious deaths and disappearances recently, as well—mostly shepherds and travelers.”

“Hmmm.” Seregil swirled the tea in his mug.

Thero raised an eyebrow. “You really do seem to have already made up your mind.”

“No, but I refuse to have it colored by secondhand tales. Otherwise we’ll be jumping at every shadow and calling it a spirit.”

“And if I tell you that the room was locked and barred from the inside?”

Seregil sniffed at that. “That’s hardly proof of supernatural doings. Has anyone ruled out magic?”

“I’ll be looking for signs of that, of course,” Thero replied.

“Where exactly did this happen?” asked Seregil.

“In the Hierophant’s palace in the old capital city of Menosi. The late governor, Archduke Toneus, was rebuilding the palace precinct and refurbishing the oracular site, with the intent of presenting it all to Queen Elani as a tribute when she visits this summer.”