Don’t be an idiot, I told myself. You have much larger things to fear than ghosts.

I lifted the first garment from the chest. A lambswool long-sleeved tunic, dyed hunter green. Warm. I set it aside. Chamois leggings; leather breeches; soft, wool undershirts; and thick stockings. A winter wardrobe, and at the bottom, beneath the sweaters and the folded cloak, two dresses.

I pulled them out, Aspen’s voice in my head as the wool ran through my fingers. The first was dyed a deep dark green, the bodice picked out in pale gold thread. Deer and foxes were embroidered along the sleeves, and the fabric was softer than anything I’d touched since we left the city.

The second dress was red.

Color flashed across my mind. Roses in my mother’s garden, blood spilled across snow, and last, absurdly, the Huntress’s lips, her smile mocking my father as he raised his sword against her.

I folded it up hastily and shoved both gowns back to the bottom of the trunk, piling more garments on top of them. My hands paused over the wool tunic, leggings, and breeches. My own clothes were not suited to this cold. Feeling the stranger’s eyes on me, I slipped out of my red skirt and folded it carefully, thinking about the red dress at the bottom of the chest.

I pulled on the wool stockings, leggings, and breeches, relief rushing in to fill the absence of my old clothes, which had smelled strongly of bear. In the city, women wore what they wanted, not like the cloying, backwater village I’d just left. My legs felt free without the skirt. I laced my boots up over the pants, wishing I had found a pair of sturdier boots in the chest as well. The green tunic fit, as did the soft, clean undershirt, and the sweater had a heavy collar that rested comfortably against my neck, promising to block out drafts of icy air.

Once on, the stranger’s clothes made me feel a little better. Perhaps this was why knights made such a fuss about their armor. It wasn’t just the physical protection it offered, but the act of girding oneself up for battle that made the difference. These new clothes felt braver than my old ones.

The door was unlocked, I knew. The tray of food I had retrieved was proof of that. All I had to do was open it, and then . . .

Then what?

Find someone.

The urgency in the thought had another cause. I had to use the latrine, and I had no desire to test the limits of the chamber pot I had found in my search of the tower room. I lifted the latch on the door, pushing past the panicked voice that warned the door would now be locked and I would be trapped here until I starved to death or froze.

It opened.