Spirit's Oath

by Rachel Aaron

  Martin’s gardens were as eclectic as everything else, a vibrant mix of plants from all over the Council Kingdoms as well as a hothouse full of tropical plants from the pirate isles in the far south. Miranda would have slowed down for a better look, but Martin hurried her past the flowers toward a building at the garden’s edge.

  “I think you’ll really like this next part,” he said as they left the garden. “The rest of the stuff is just curiosities. I keep my real collection in here.”

  The side building was one story, long and low as it wrapped around the edge of the garden. It was white like the house, but there was no glass in its windows. Instead, they were high off the ground and laced with ironwork so artistic, you almost didn’t notice the bars. The walls were very thick as well, and the doors were heavy wood held closed by bolts set into the stone floor. A servant undid the bolts as Martin approached, holding the doors open for his master, who in turn held out his arm for Miranda. That was a step too far even for politeness, and Miranda walked right past him only to stop at the threshold.

  The first thing that hit her was the strong smell of animal and hay, but this place wasn’t a barn. It wasn’t the docile smell of horse or cow, but the sharper, bloodier smell of creatures that lived on meat. The building was divided into cells with a wide, straw-strewn hallway down the middle. The cells were walled in with stone and the same lovely iron bars from the windows. Low growls drowned out the gentle wind and birdsong from outside, and Miranda caught her breath.

  “Don’t be afraid, Miss Lyonette,” Martin said.

  “Spiritualist,” Miranda corrected, giving him a wary glare. “Spiritualist Lyonette.”

  Martin smiled and started walking down the hall. “As I was saying, the cages are quite strong. It’s perfectly safe. Now”—he smiled at her—“come see my jewels.”

  Against her better judgment, Miranda followed. Not surprisingly, considering the smell, the cages held exotic predators. The first contained a pair of silver foxes panting miserably in the heat, their dark eyes dull and reproachful as they glared at their captor. The moment Miranda and Martin stopped in front of the bars, Martin launched into the grand story of how his hunters had trapped the mated pair. The tale itself wasn’t so different from all the other stories he’d told walking through the house, but here in among the cages, Martin was like a different man. He was animated, his eyes bright with life, especially when he got to his plans for the kits his foxes would produce.

  “Their fur is softer than anything you’ve ever touched,” he said with a wistful sigh. “I could make a fortune if we could get a farm going, but they don’t breed well in the heat this far south. Such a pity, but these two were more of an experiment, anyway. No real harm done, and they make such a nice addition to my collection.”

  Miranda bit her tongue. She didn’t approve of caging anything, but while the foxes looked hot, they had food and water and seemed generally healthy. So she kept her comments to herself as Martin led her to the next cage, which held a pair of black armored pigs. After that there were grass lions, a forest panther, some sort of feathered lizard from the southern rain forest, and an enormous red-golden stripped cat that Martin claimed was some kind of crossbreed that had never been successfully created until now.

  “I’m the only one in the world to own one,” Martin said proudly. “I’m thinking of naming it Hapter’s Cat; what do you think?”

  “It would certainly be a telling name,” Miranda said, not bothering to hide the bite in her voice. She was getting awfully tired of this tour. “Is that all, then?”

  “One more,” Martin said, his smile morphing to a secretive grin. “I’ve saved the best for last.”

  They were at the end of the building, so Miranda didn’t know where this “best” would be until Martin turned down a little hall behind the last cage she hadn’t noticed until that moment. The short hall led into a room that was taller than the rest of the building. It was obviously a new addition, built of much thicker stone. The sides were a foot thick at least, and a great wall of iron bars ran straight across the room’s middle, dividing it neatly in half. On Miranda’s side, the floor was tiled and set with padded benches; on the other side, inside the bars, the floor was covered in a thin layer of straw that had been worn to chaff by the enormous creature pacing the cage’s edge.

  Miranda had never seen anything like it. At first glance, it looked like a dog, but no dog was ever that huge. The creature was enormous, fifteen feet at least from the tip of its broad, black nose to the point of its tail. Its eyes were orange as pumpkins and nearly as large, and they followed her with murderous intent, but most amazing of all was the creature’s coat. Its fur was as long as her index finger, and for the most part, it was a cloudy silver, but streaking across its pelt in curling patterns was a lighter, pure silver that moved as Miranda watched, the color drifting across the animal’s fur like dappled moonlight. The moving patterns sped up as she got closer, the silver marks flashing so quickly they reminded Miranda of a snowstorm, an impression that was only heightened by the beast’s swift, graceful movements as it stalked back and forth along the bars of its cage, its head down, ready to strike. When its orange eyes met Miranda’s, the creature lifted its lip, showing a wall of foot-long yellow teeth.

  She took a step back on instinct and ran straight into Martin.

  “No need to be afraid,” he said, catching her shoulders. “The bars are reinforced. I had them specially made so that even the ghosthound’s famous strength couldn’t break them.”

  “Ghosthound?” Miranda whispered. That was a ghosthound? She’d heard of them, the enormous monsters that ruled the snowy continent at the top of the world. In the stories they were slavering beasts, huge and ugly, all claws and teeth for eating bad children, but the creature in front of her was beautiful. Beautiful, graceful, and deadly as the blizzard it resembled. Looking again at the swirling patterns, she understood for the first time why they were called ghosthounds. The shifting silver-gray made the dog look otherworldly.

  “No other man in the world boasts a living ghosthound,” Martin said, his voice quivering with pride. “I have a few skins in the gallery upstairs, but it’s not the same. Their patterns stop moving when they die, so you don’t get the full effect. The only way to truly appreciate a ghosthound is to see one yourself. Took me almost three years to get a live one. Isn’t he magnificent?”

  “He is,” Miranda said, though not for the reasons Martin mentioned. The ghosthound’s eyes were on Martin now, and they shone with such hatred it took her breath away. Unlike the other animals, which had looked hot or uncomfortable or simply bored in their cages, this animal looked furious. Usually, a spirit’s intelligence and power were directly related to its size. Animals were different, though. With the exception of humans, animals tended to be relatively less intelligent than their size said they should be. Spiritualist scholars postulated this was because they had to use some of their power maintaining a living body. It was a trade–off—a horse tended to be markedly less intelligent than a rock of the same size, but where the rock was stuck in one place and spent most of its time asleep, the horse stayed awake and could go where it pleased. Looking at the ghosthound’s eyes, though, Miranda couldn’t help but see the intelligence shining behind them. Whatever this ghosthound was, he was no simple animal like the others. The deep hatred in his eyes could only grow in a thinking mind.

  Martin must have seen it, too, because he grabbed Miranda’s arm and pulled her back a step. “Best not to get too close to the cage,” he said, his voice slightly less smug than before. “I haven’t broken him to human company yet, and even trapped behind the bars, his reach would surprise you. That, and he’s very, very fast.”

  As though to prove him right, the ghosthound chose that moment to throw himself against the bars. He moved so quickly Miranda’s eyes couldn’t follow. One moment he was pacing, the next the bars crashed as he slammed into them, his front claws slicing out into the air several feet in front of
the cage.

  The noise made them both jump. Martin recovered first, straightening his jacket with a glare. “I’m going to tighten those bars in a few days so he can’t fit his paw through,” he said. “Come, Miss Lyonette. I believe it’s time for dinner, and you don’t want to see that creature eat.”

  Shaken by the ghosthound’s speed, Miranda let Martin lead her back past the other cages. But as they stepped out into the gardens, the fresh air cleared her head, and she turned on her host with new fury. “You shouldn’t keep that ghosthound caged,” she said. “He’s intelligent.”

  Martin laughed. “No more intelligent than my hunting dogs, I assure you. He’s an animal, and a very well treated one. I take exquisite care of all my treasures. Once he calms down a little, I’ll move him to a larger enclosure.”

  “He’s not going to calm down,” Miranda said, glaring at him as they walked across the lawn toward the house. “He hates you.”

  “Ghosthounds hate everyone,” Martin said with a shrug. “He’ll come around once he realizes how good he has it here. As I said, he’s as smart as my hunting dogs, and animals are much better at recognizing a good deal than humans. In a month he’ll be docile as a puppy. You won’t even recognize him.”

  Miranda doubted that very much, but they were entering the ballroom, so she was forced to hold her anger for the moment.

  Martin delivered her to her family and took his leave. Miranda was surprised to see her mother smiling as he left. She’d been bracing for a lecture about running around unchaperoned with a man, especially one who didn’t come from a good family, but Lady Lyonette looked almost pleased as she laced her arm through Miranda’s and led the way up the stairs to dress for dinner.

  As to be expected for such a large party, dinner was a grand affair. The dining room was as large as a normal mansion’s ballroom, and the long white-cloth-covered tables filled every inch. Miranda wasn’t sure what her family had done to deserve it, but the Lyonettes were seated in places of honor beside their host at the very first table at the front. Miranda was sandwiched between her mother and her elder sister with Alyssa thankfully confined to the far end. Her father and Martin sat together at the table’s head, and they spent most of dinner deep in a conversation that must have pleased Lord Lyonette very much, judging by his uncharacteristic smile. The servants brought out seven lovely courses, but Miranda was so worried she didn’t taste a bite. Her eyes never left her father, and the more she watched, the more anxious she became. Anything that made her father that happy couldn’t be good.

  She was on the verge of giving in and asking Tima what she thought was going on when Martin stood, tapping his spoon against his crystal glass. When the room fell silent, he smiled out at the crowd. “Thank you all for coming,” he said. “I called this party in part to celebrate my company’s new alliance with the Council of Thrones to provide construction services for its new forts along the coast, but tonight I wish to make an announcement of a more personal nature.”

  He glanced at Lord Lyonette, and Miranda’s father stood with a smug smile that sent Miranda’s stomach straight through the floor.

  “With Lord Simon Lyonette’s blessings,” Martin continued, “I am hereby pleased to announce my engagement to his second daughter, the lady Miranda Lyonette.”

  The room broke into polite applause. Miranda heard none of it. All she could hear was the thundering of her heart in her ears as the rage washed through her. She grabbed her chair and shot up, ready to scream at the top of her lungs that there would be a marriage over her dead body, only to find she couldn’t move. Her mother and Tima were holding her down. Her mother’s face was furious, but Miranda couldn’t have cared less. It was Tima’s look that stopped her. Her elder sister’s face was stricken, and she gave her head a tiny shake when her eyes met Miranda’s. Miranda might not have cared about embarrassing her family in front of everyone—they deserved no less after this stunt—but Tima was another matter. Angry as she was, Miranda respected her older sister, and so she bit her lip and forced herself to stay silent. When the rest of the room stood up to go congratulate their host, Miranda stood as well and, flanked by her mother and elder sister, quietly walked out of the hall.

  It was a testament to the love and respect she had for her sister that Miranda made it all the way back to their rooms before exploding.

  “What was that?” she roared, turning on her mother.

  Alma Lyonette blinked innocently. “I’d have thought you’d be happy, dearest. It is an excellent match. Martin Hapter might be low born, but he’s very rich, and it’s not like you had any other offers waiting.”

  “And you never thought to ask me?” Miranda cried, stepping up until she was right in her mother’s face.

  “Of course not,” Alma said, all innocence gone. “You’ve proven time and time again that you care nothing for the standing of your family or the proprieties of society. If I left the matter in your hands, you’d die an old maid. You should be on your knees thanking your father for finding someone willing to take you.”

  “This was why you dragged me out of the Court?” Miranda said. “To marry me off?” She stopped and thought for a moment, gritting her teeth as the pieces clicked into place. The new house, her mother’s sudden willingness to associate with someone who wasn’t from a noble family, her father’s unexpected appearance. It was just the sort of nicely tied-up little deal that her mother excelled at, and Miranda couldn’t keep the growl out of her voice as she met her mother’s eyes. “How much is he paying you?”

  “More than you’re worth,” her mother growled back. “The world is changing. These last few years have been very hard on your father. The Council’s expansion hasn’t been as good to the Zarin nobility as it has to opportunists like Mr. Hapter. But Hapter’s still low born; he needs a noble to get in to the kind of society he thinks he’s fit to run with.”

  “And I’m his ticket in?” Miranda said. “You sold your own daughter for what? A big house?”

  “Don’t you dare speak to me that way, young lady,” Alma snapped. “I have to think of the family. Think of your sister. Unlike you, Alyssa is ready and willing to make a good match. The Merchant Prince’s nephew is her age, and with the sort of money Hapter can throw around, even the main Whitefall family isn’t out of reach. I’ve let you run wild for years, and now I’m asking you for one sacrifice to make all our lives better.”

  “You sold me like a horse!” Miranda screamed.

  “You should be happy we could sell you at all!” Alma screamed back.

  Things might have gone very badly then had Tima not pushed herself between them. “Mother,” she said softly. “Enough. Let me talk to her.”

  Alma closed her eyes. “Yes, Trintima, you talk some sense into this ungrateful girl.” She took a deep breath and turned to the door, but as her white-gloved hand closed on the handle, she glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t you dare ruin this for us, Miranda. You’ve ruined enough, and I will not see this family suffer for your indulgences any longer.”

  “I don’t want to hear it!” Miranda shouted, but Tima held her firmly as their mother left, shutting the door behind her with a slam that rocked the paintings. When she was gone, Miranda slumped against her sister. Tima helped her to the padded chair by the window, and then sat on the footstool beside her, taking Miranda’s hand between her own soft, delicate fingers.

  “You knew,” Miranda said. It wasn’t a question.

  “I did,” Tima confessed. “But Miranda, it really is for the best. They handled it terribly, I’ll admit, but Father really is in a bind. You have to understand it from his point of view. The Lyonette family has been one of the richest in Zarin for years, but then the Council came and the bar for who was rich got higher and higher. There were appearances to keep up, and Father’s money couldn’t support them. He’s deeply in debt to Mr. Hapter.”

  “And I’m his way out,” Miranda said, grabbing the arm of the chair so tightly it creaked.

  “If Fathe
r goes bankrupt, it will ruin Alyssa’s chances at a good marriage,” Tima said, her voice calm and matter-of-fact. “We don’t always get to choose our fortunes, Miranda, and honestly, it’s not a bad match. You’ve never cared for noble birth anyway, and with Hapter’s money, you’ll be the richest of all of us. He’s very progressively minded; he doesn’t even care that you were a Spiritualist.”

  “Am,” Miranda said, sitting forward so fast that Tima jumped. “I am a Spiritualist. I took an oath, Tima. An oath I will never, ever foreswear.” She thrust out her hand, and the rings on her fingers glowed like lanterns in the dark room. “I’m already bound. Bound to my spirits and bound to the Court, and I will never, ever give up those ties, not for Mother, not for Father, and certainly not for Alyssa.”

  Tima dropped her head to kiss her sister’s hand. “I know you’re angry,” she said. “But it will be better for everyone if you just accept it. What Father did is within his rights. The law is on his side, Miranda. If you throw a fit, it will only make things worse.”

  Miranda slumped into the chair. Hating the rest of her family came easily, but she couldn’t bring herself to hate Tima. Even so, she couldn’t do as her sister asked, either.

  “I’m not marrying Martin Hapter,” she said, standing up. “Father might have the law on his side, but Hapter’s not stupid. He doesn’t want a bride he’ll have to drag into marriage. I’ll just go tell him it’s not happening.”

  “Miranda,” Tima said, but Miranda was already marching out of the room. Everyone else was still in the dining room downstairs. Lots of people tried to congratulate Miranda when she came in, but Miranda just pushed by them, her eyes on the man at the crowd’s center. Usually, moving through such a press would be difficult, but these were nobles, and they weren’t used to being shoved aside, so she made it to the front without much trouble. Her father gave her a killing look as she approached. Miranda ignored it, pushing her way forward until she was standing at Martin’s side.