There, caught in one gnarly branch—a shiny black feather.

Darri caught her breath. No falcon would fol ow prey into the bush; someone must have been standing here and carried it in. She swung of her horse, hobbled it swiftly, and, with a grimace, pushed her way into the thicket.

Several scratches and torn-out hairs later, she found herself at the mouth of a cave, an irregular crack in the hil side that slanted down into the earth. A prickle of foreboding added to the itch from the bristles clinging to her clothes. She stepped into the cave and let out a low whistle. Nothing happened.

Something cold touched the back of her neck. Darri shrieked and looked up just in time to catch the next drop of water in her eyes. Dripping fingers of stone hung from the ceiling.

She hissed between her teeth, stil looking up. In the faint glow from the bush-covered entrance, the stalactites looked like eerie wax candles, and her skin felt dirty where the water had touched it. She whispered, “Cal ie?”

Her sister stepped out from behind a thick column of rock. Darri’s falcon was perched on Cal ie’s ungloved wrist, a hood drawn over its eyes; its claws pierced deep into her skin without drawing blood or eliciting any sign of pain. Darri shuddered. Her sister’s eyes fol owed hers and widened. For a moment she looked embarrassed. Then her face went blank, with no expression on it at al .

Darri wasn’t sure what her own face revealed. The last time she had seen her sister, Cal ie had been translucent, the stones of the wal showing clearly through her body. But Cal ie looked solid now—solid and familiar and alive. Darri was grateful to her for that.

Darri took another step into the cave and said, “How did you know my falcon would be the first to come here?”

“You were always first, on every hunt,” Cal ie said. She moved closer to the mouth of the cave, and Darri saw that she was holding a lure, which she must have used to draw the falcon toward the mouth of the cave. “I haven’t forgot en. And I think anyone else might have hesitated before walking into such an obvious trap.”

haven’t forgot en. And I think anyone else might have hesitated before walking into such an obvious trap.”

“I did hesitate,” Darri said with dignity.

Cal ie laughed, but it wasn’t the laugh Darri had been waiting to hear; it was joyless and tired. “I’m sure.

Anyhow, even the living here don’t like open sunlit spaces; and Varis, I assume, stil thinks hunting without arrows is an inef icient waste of time. I knew you would be the first to ride in this direction. Did any of them fol ow you?”

“No.”

“Good. We have some time.” Cal ie moved even closer. Darri managed not to flinch away from her, until she noticed how careful Cal ie was to avoid the few smal patches of sunlight. Then she couldn’t help herself. She stepped back.

Cal ie acted as if she hadn’t noticed. She took the lure from the falcon and flung it out through the cave mouth. Deftly, she unhooded the bird and let it loose. The falcon let out a cry that sounded eerily like a human scream and flew out into the sunlight.

“They’l come eventual y,” Cal ie said. “Varis, if no one else. We should go deeper into the cave.”

Darri glanced once at the thick darkness swal owing up the faint light, and then at the ghost who wanted to lead her into it. “You arranged al this just to talk to me?”

“And so you could see where it happened.”

“Where it—”

Cal ie gave her a tired smile. “The lake you’re picnicking at is where I died.”

The words fel like rocks. Darri swal owed hard and said, inadequately, “I’m sorry.”

“That I’m dead?” Her sister’s voice held a chal enge.

“Yes.”

“And that I’m stil here?”

She had never lied to Cal ie. Even if this wasn’t real y Cal ie. “Yes.”

Cal ie made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “You can barely stand to look at me, can you?”

Except it was Cal ie. She sounded exactly the same. Darri thought of Kestin in the lit er, swal owing his grief, and wil ed herself to do the same. She looked straight at her sister, consciously imitating Kestin’s forced composure. She kept looking as the seconds stretched into a thick silence, until her skin had almost stopped crawling.

Cal ie wrapped her arms around herself. “Thank you. But you don’t have to pretend. I know how you feel. I was hoping you could bear it long enough to help me.”

No need to ask with what. Warmth rose in Darri’s throat. Despite everything, Cal ie stil needed her; Darri could stil take care of her, stil save her. Even if they would never ride out of this country together the way she had planned.

The warmth turned into an ache, and she breathed around it, forcing back her sense of loss. There would be time to mourn later, when things were simpler. She drew in the next breath, waited for the knot in her chest to loosen, and said, “How did it happen?”

“I was at the lake.” Cal ie rubbed her forehead. “I used to go there often, just to look across the water. To see a stretch of sky. I didn’t tel anyone; they wouldn’t have understood. I didn’t think anyone knew.”

Darri reached for her, almost involuntarily, but Cal ie stepped away. Darri drew her hand back. “What happened?” She stopped, flushed. “I mean—”

“I know what you mean. I don’t remember. One second I was standing there, and the next thing I knew I was floating above the lake’s surface.” Cal ie hesitated. “I . . . I don’t want to remember that. It was several nights after my death, and it was dark; I wondered why so much time had passed, but not why I was floating.

That part felt normal. I dove into the water, and it didn’t feel cold to me. I had no trouble breathing. Because I wasn’t breathing at al . Then—” Her voice wavered, and Darri’s heart cracked. “Then I saw my body.”

“Cal ie—”

“Don’t,” Cal ie said.

Darri turned away, so Cal ie wouldn’t see her face. Shadows shifted on the rocky ground as an outside breeze ruf led the bushes, but the breath of air didn’t reach inside the cave.

When Darri spoke, she was surprised at how even her voice was. “Someone must have hit you on the head from behind and then thrown you into the water. Who was it?” She said it a second before realizing it was a stupid question. If Cal ie knew who had kil ed her, she wouldn’t stil be here.

Cal ie drew in a breath. When she let it out, it sounded like a sob. “It must have been one of the living, because it was daylight. But I don’t know who. I don’t even know if they intended for me to rise afterward.

Many people didn’t think a foreigner could come back as a ghost.” She hesitated, then said in a flat voice, “I hoped they were right. That if I died, I would stay dead.”

Darri faced her sister. Cal ie’s round face was very stil , her eyes large and dark in the dimness. She looked so alive. “Who would have wanted to kil you?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think it was because of anything I did.” Cal ie lifted her chin. “I think it was because of whatever Father’s planning. The reason you’re here.”

“I don’t know what Father is planning,” Darri said. “But I’m here for you.”

“It’s too late,” Cal ie whispered. “I’m sorry, Darri.”

“It’s too late,” Cal ie whispered. “I’m sorry, Darri.”

Darri dragged her feet forward, pushed her hand through the stil air, and closed her fingers around her sister’s hand. Cal ie made a tiny jerking motion, but didn’t pul away. She looked down at their linked hands, so that al Darri could see was the top of her head, the unruly frizz of her blond hair.

“It’s not your fault,” Darri said fiercely. “And it’s not too late. I can stil save you from this.”

Cal ie lifted her face, blue eyes wet. So ghosts can cry, Darri thought, and al at once it was impossible not to think about what she was holding. Her sister’s dead hand.

She pul ed away; she couldn’t help it. Cal ie’s lips parted, but before she could speak, they were interrupted.

A loud rushing sound fil ed the cavern, as if an invisible waterfal was crashing down around them. At the same time, cascades of white misty forms shot down from the stalactites on the cave’s ceiling, fal ing in endless gentle sprays.

Ghosts, landing al around them.

For an awful moment, Darri thought her sister had led her into a trap. Cal ie’s form shimmered like the lake surface, her face as white as the gleam of sunlight on water. The ghosts swooped around them, but—to Darri’s intense relief—came nowhere near them. One and al , they landed behind the larger stalagmites, or in the shadows cast by the irregular rock formations. When the air was clear again, the cavern looked as it had before.

Darri stared at her sister. Cal ie, who had gone solid again, looked nearly as spooked as Darri did.

Of course, she also looked as alive as Darri did. Everywhere in this country, appearances deceived. The cavern was silent as a grave, but Darri’s skin crawled at the thought of al those dead eyes upon them. Her fingers itched for her silver dagger, but she thought of how her father’s honor guard preceded him everywhere, and then stood like statues awaiting his arrival. These ghosts, invisible and silent, were preparing the way for someone else. She forced herself to stand stil .

Clarisse slid down the longest stalactite and flew through the air in a graceful arc, landing lightly at the far end of the cave. She moved toward them in a smooth, seamless motion that made Darri think of waves of grass rippling in the wind. The edges of her body were blurred and slightly whitish, and her hair floated behind her in a streaming cloud of gold, even though there wasn’t a breath of wind in the cold damp air.

“What are you doing here?” Clarisse demanded, and there was something too smooth about her voice as wel . “This is our place. You don’t belong.”

In the shadows of the cavern, things stirred and mut ered in what sounded like agreement.

Darri’s hands shook. She was seeing the dead for real now, stripped of the guises and pretenses they put on for the living. Clarisse, despite her familiar face and form, looked less human than when she had been at acking Jano with fangs and claws. And the murmuring al around them sounded more like howling wind than like human voices.

I knew, Darri thought helplessly. I knew they were worse than they appeared.

“We were not aware of that,” Cal ie said, and Darri looked at her sister with a sensation like glass breaking.

Was Cal ie, too, worse than she appeared? She looked the same, smal and brave despite the ridiculous clothes and bright makeup. Even the expression on her face, fear trying to hide behind defiance, was familiar.

“Yet here you are,” Clarisse said. “I’m afraid we can’t al ow it.”

The murmur swel ed in hideous anticipation. Clarisse smiled, and Darri got the impression that her teeth were filed into points. When she looked closely, they weren’t, but she stepped back al the same.

“What makes this place yours?” she asked, needing to say something chal enging.

Clarisse’s eyes fixed on her. “That’s a stupid question, Princess. Our bodies are buried beneath the earth; beneath the earth is where we belong. Here we can be truly dead, can discover the powers our minds possess when they have no bodies to concern themselves with. Even the Ghostland living are not ready to discover what we can do. The older dead al come here eventual y, to stand guard.” Her lips snapped shut, but words kept coming through. “And now you are here. Alive. Foreign. We do not permit it . . . unless you’ve come to join us?”

The nonexistent wind ricocheted among the rocks, harsh and eager. Darri couldn’t speak. She could barely breathe.