by Rachel Aaron
“He’s in this position because of us!” Miranda yelled back. “If it wasn’t for Gregorn, none of this would have happened. We have a duty to make things right!”
“Make things right?” Eli flung out his arms to take in the whole of the ruined throne room. “Miranda, look around! Do you really think the masters of Mellinor are going to be happy if we tell them that everyone in the country has to move? Do you think they’ll even listen? Even if they did, how long would it take to get everyone safely out? A week? A month? What’s Mellinor here going to do while he waits, hang in the air? He’ll evaporate before the masters finish their committee meeting. You know as well as I do that a displaced spirit has two choices: find a home or die. I don’t want the second option any more than you do, but there’s no place for him here, and he won’t take my compromise and go to the sea, so guess where that leaves us.” Eli crossed his arms and glared down at Miranda. “He’s made his choice, so, for once, can you put aside your Spiritualist dogma and just let the spirit be?”
Miranda pushed herself up, her fists shaking with fury. “I won’t let you kill him.”
Eli met her glare head on, and they stood that way for several moments, like children having a staring contest. Finally, when it was clear she wasn’t going to back down, Eli flung up his hands.
“All right,” he said. “If you’re so concerned, you deal with him.”
Miranda blinked; she hadn’t expected him to turn this back on her. “I don’t know what to do.”
Eli made a series of frantic “you see?” gestures, which Miranda ignored. Instead, she looked down at her hands. They seemed so bare and fragile with only the one small ring on her pinky. She blinked hard, then blinked again, and her head shot up. “I could take him as a servant.”
Eli stopped flailing and stared at her blankly.
“He could live with me,” she said, pointing at the small ring. “Then he would have a home but no one would need to be displaced.”
Eli’s eyes flicked skeptically from her to her pinky finger and back again. “It’s an interesting idea, but you can’t keep him in that, you know.”
She looked down at the ring in surprise. “What? Oh, no, not this one. I mean, it’s empty, but there’s no way even a fraction of his spirit would fit. Besides, I’m saving it. Look,” she said and took a deep breath, “forget the ring. I’m not even talking about the ring.” She pointed at her chest. “I could do what you did, with the lava spirit.”
“Karon was an entirely different set of circumstances,” Eli said, glancing up at the hovering water. “He was also much smaller.”
“I’m not saying it would be the best living situation,” Miranda huffed, “but I’m pretty sure it beats the rest of our alternatives.”
Eli stoked his chin, considering. “I can’t lie to you,” he said, “it’s an incredibly stupid, reckless idea that you’ll probably regret. Still, I can’t think of a technical reason it wouldn’t work. Of course, in the end, it’s not really up to us.”
They turned to look at the spirit, who bubbled as he considered the idea. “Servitude to a wizard,” he sloshed thoughtfully. “You’ll forgive me if I’m skeptical about putting myself in a human’s hands again.”
“Well,” Eli said, slapping Miranda hard on the back, “I can’t vouch for her character, but I’d bet money she beats dying here.”
“True enough, wizard,” the spirit rumbled. “I don’t see as I have much choice in the matter.”
“It must be by choice,” Miranda said, ignoring her aching sides and straightening up to her full height. “I can only take servants who follow me willingly. However, it would be nothing like Gregorn’s bond, I can promise you. As my servant, you would be subject to my command, but, in return for your service, I can offer you the Spiritualist’s vow that I will never force you to act against your will or keep you if you wish to leave. I will never cast you aside for any reason, and, so long as I have breath, I will do my best to keep you from harm. I offer you power for service, strength for obedience, and my own body to act as your shore, but that is all I can give.” Clenching her hands at her sides, she looked up at the churning water. “Is it enough, Mellinor?”
The water spun slowly on its axis, his light shifting softly as he thought. “It is enough, Spiritualist,” the water said at last. “Your pledge is accepted.”
The great sphere of water splashed to the ground. Mellinor rolled forward, forming a wave as he had before, but this time the water that engulfed Miranda was warm and gentle. It flowed up her body and snaked around her shoulders, pausing just a moment in front of her eyes, as though the spirit was weighing what he saw there one last time. Whatever the test, she must have passed, for the water rippled approvingly and, in one smooth motion, slid into her mouth.
Miranda tensed, eyes wide, as the spirit poured down her throat. From the moment she decided to offer her body as a vessel, she’d tried to ready herself for the feeling, but this was so wildly different from anything she’d ever experienced, all her mental preparations seemed laughable now that she was up against the reality. It wasn’t like her other spirits. Those had felt like gaining a new limb or a close confidant. This was like gaining a new soul.
Mellinor’s power surged through her body as the sea poured into her, filling every hidden nook, every fold of her spirit, even the ones she hadn’t been aware of until that moment. It filled the well of her soul to overflowing, and still the water came. As the spirit’s strength went on and on, she realized at last how small and pathetic her earlier attempts to fight him had been and how much he had been holding back as he tried to batter her into submission. A wave of regret surged through the water, and she instinctively forgave him everything. All that they had done wrong was pooled together now, one great ocean of fears and regrets that threatened to swallow her. Yet Mellinor’s reassurances buoyed her up, and she realized that he was just as much a part of this as she was. They were horse and rider now, servant and master, spirit and human. Unequal, yet the same.
When she opened her eyes at last, she found herself on her back with no memory of how she’d gotten there. Her body ached at every joint, and yet, it all seemed so far away. Time moved in fits and starts. It should have been dawn by now, she was sure, but the throne room was darker than before. She felt a pressure under her shoulders, and she lolled her head back to see Eli crouched over her, his face closed and thoughtful. He had his arms hooked under hers and was dragging her across the floor. Miranda started to wonder where he was taking her, but then her drifting attention was caught by the wonderful sound that filled the air.
“What is that noise?” she whispered, or thought she whispered. It was hard to be sure. She wasn’t quite clear yet where she ended and Mellinor began, but Eli seemed to understand.
“Rain,” he said, laying her down beside Gin. “Not even your belly could hold all that water, so I sent what was left to putter itself out.”
She nodded languidly. It all seemed very sensible. “Where are you going now?”
“If I told you, it would be no fun at all.” Eli smiled. He reached into his jacket and pulled out something white and square, which he tucked into Miranda’s skirt pocket. “Sleep well, little Spiritualist,” he said, standing up with a wink. “I’m sure we’ll meet again.”
Miranda nodded peaceably and closed her eyes. Within seconds, everything but the lovely sound of the rain had fallen far away, and she slipped easily into a deep, dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER 28
Miranda woke slowly, her mind rising like a bubble from her deep sleep. Below her, Mellinor was still sleeping, his currents deep and calm at the bottom of her awareness. She let him be and drifted upward, the dandelion fluff of her thoughts coming and going on their own time. Everything felt wonderful, like she was floating in a warm, lavender-scented cloud while someone played music in the distance. She winced, off-key music. Unbearably off key. Her thoughts began to thicken into consciousness, falling into place while worries filled the crac
ks between them. Suddenly, she wasn’t quite as comfortable. She hovered for a moment on the edge of sleep, fretting, and finally decided that if she was awake enough to fret about waking she might as well go all the way. At least then she could stop the awful music.
She opened her eyes to find herself buried at the center of a large feather bed. An elderly maid dozed in a chair by the bed’s foot, her soft snores stirring the dust motes that hung suspended in the honeyed sunlight pouring down from the high windows. The awful music came from behind a large folding screen, which split the already small room in half. Miranda shifted experimentally, and she jumped as something heavy rolled across her chest. With some effort, she freed one of her hands from the tightly tucked sheets and groped clumsily across the comforter. After a few uncertain moments, her fingers closed around a soft leather pouch filled with the heavy, familiar shapes of her rings. An incredible feeling of relief rushed through her, and she sighed contentedly. At the sound, the sleeping maid leaped from her chair.
“Lady,” she clucked, shuffling across the thick carpet to pull the sheets tighter. “Please do not move.”
“Is she awake?” an excited voice called from behind the screen. There was a shuffle, and then King Henrith came bounding into view, a handsome but sloppily tuned tenor vikken dangling from his left hand. His cheeks and neck were wrapped in white bandages and there was an angry gouge across the bridge of his nose, but otherwise he looked quite well compared to the last time she’d seen him. The maid backed away reverently as he approached, and Miranda sank a little deeper into the bed.
“I was hoping you’d wake up during one of my visits,” the king said, grinning. “Of course, I haven’t been able to visit very often. Things have been busy, but I did think you’d enjoy some music.” He held up the poor vikken by its strings. “How did you like my—”
“It was lovely,” Miranda cut in. “How long have I been like this?”
“Well,” the king said and scratched the top of his chin, which was the only section of his beard that wasn’t covered in bandages. “Three days, I think. Really, it feels longer.”
“Three days?” She clutched her ring bag. “Eli is gone, I take it?”
“Yes,” Henrith said, sounding annoyed, “and all the loose gold with him, what wasn’t melted to slag, anyway. Honestly, I don’t think we could have expected better. I was more distracted by the state of the room and, of course, you and my brother. We thought you were dead as well, but your beast told us that you were merely suffering from exhaustion, so I asked one of the girls—”
“Gin told you?” Miranda sat up in a rush, but the pain that shot through her skull at the movement sent her right back down again.
“Well, he didn’t tell us exactly.” The king sat down on the nightstand. “One of the other wizard chaps spoke with him.”
“Other wizards…” Miranda closed her eyes. This conversation was veering rapidly in directions she didn’t think her battered mind could handle right now. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “Could you start over? From the beginning, please.”
“There’s not much to it,” the king said. “They arrived right after I did. That night, when the shaking started and your dog ran off, I just couldn’t stay put. I kept hearing these awful sounds. It was like the forest itself was trying to get away from something.”
Miranda remembered the terrifying aura of Nico’s uninhibited powers and shuddered. The king didn’t seem to notice.
“I decided it was time to stop hiding, so I made my way back to the castle only to find everyone out in the yard because of a fire in the kitchens or some such. The kitchen staff had it well in hand, but with all the noises from the throne room and the stories the wounded soldiers were telling, no one wanted to go back in.” The king chuckled. “Nobody believed I was who I said at first. It took me a good hour to convince them I really was their king, and then it was another two hours after the water stopped pouring out of the castle before I could get together a group bold enough to go inside and see what all the fuss was about.
“I’m still not quite clear on what happened,” Henrith said, frowning. “But the wizards showed up about half an hour after we found you and just sort of took charge.” He gave her an amused look. “It’s funny, after four hundred years without them, Mellinor’s suddenly up to its neck with wizards.”
“These wizards,” Miranda said, reaching into her leather bag, pulling out the thick, gold loop of her Spirit Court signet, “do they wear rings like me? Are they Spiritualists? How many are there?”
“That’s the strangest thing,” Henrith said, adjusting his bandages. “They wore no rings, and they didn’t say anything about the Spirit Court. The serious fellow who leads them said he was with the League of Something or Other.”
Miranda froze. “The League of Storms?”
“Yes! That’s the one!” Henrith grinned. “There were more than fifty at the beginning—seemed to pop right out of thin air, gave us quite a fright, I can tell you—but most vanished again after an hour or so. Now there are maybe eight or nine. Still, they’re doing a great job fixing the damage Renaud did to my throne room, and at no expense to us, so I’m inclined to let them be. Though I would like to ask you for your version of what happened that night. The doctors demanded we take it slowly so as not to risk your… Where are you going?”
Miranda had swung her feet over the edge of the bed and was shoving her rings back onto her fingers. “Thank you for your hospitality, my lord,” she said in a rush. “The Spirit Court will not forget such kindness, and I will of course be happy to relate what happened in the throne room, but I can’t afford to waste any more time in bed.”
“Are you sure you should be getting up?” Henrith said, eyeing her suspiciously. “The doctors still aren’t sure what’s been wrong with you.”
For a moment, Miranda considered trying to explain the dangers of opening one’s spirit for prolonged lengths of time, especially to such an extreme degree as she had, and then accepting a new spirit on top of that. However, seeing the concerned look on Henrith’s face, she opted for something less explanatory and more understandable.
“It’s just exhaustion,” she said, sliding to the edge of the fluffy mattress while ignoring the increasingly urgent calls from her muscles that standing would be a very bad idea. “I was a bit overzealous with my abilities. Luckily, I recover quickly.”
Henrith arched an eyebrow at her but didn’t say anything as she took a deep breath and, gripping the heavy bed frame like a lifeline, hauled herself to her feet. It hurt every bit as much as she’d expected, but she firmly ignored the pain and set about looking for something more substantial than a woolen nightgown. Fortunately, some thoughtful servant must have anticipated this, and a delighted smile spread over Miranda’s face when she saw her riding suit, freshly laundered and mended, laid out on the dresser under the window. Using the heavy furniture to support her sleep-weakened legs, she hobbled along the wall to the dresser. When she picked up her jacket, something white tumbled out of the pocket and landed on the thick carpet by her feet.
“Ah,” the king said. “We found that with you, in the pocket of the librarian’s uniform you, um, borrowed. It looked important, so I told them to keep it here for you.”
Miranda bent down and picked up the rectangular object. It was an envelope. She turned it over. Stamped at the center of a large glob of green sealing wax was a fanciful, calligraphic M that she recognized all too well. However, what caught her breath was the name written across the fold in neat, precise capitals.
“Etmon Banage,” she read, frowning in confusion. What in the world could that thief have to say to her master? She slid her thumbnail under the wax, but, right before it cracked, she thought better of it. No matter the source, opening the Rector Spiritualis’s private mail was not a wise career move. Squishing her curiosity, she tucked the unopened letter back into her coat pocket and reached instead for her freshly pressed shirt. She draped it over her arm and turned around, lookin
g at the king expectantly.
He looked back at her, smiling pleasantly, and showed no signs of leaving.
“Thank you for your concern, Majesty,” she said pointedly. “I really do appreciate it, but I’ve had my time to lie about. I must do my duty.”
“Fine, have it your way.” The king sighed sullenly, tucking the vikken under his arm. “Just don’t blame us when you get sick again. I’ll wait for you in the garden.”
She dropped a half curtsy as he walked back behind the screen. She heard the footman greet him, and then the scrape of the door as he left. When it closed, she gave herself a little shake and, with the maid’s stony assistance, began the painful work of getting dressed.
Fifteen minutes later, Miranda was dressed and on her way to the throne room. She probably should have gone to meet Henrith in the garden first, but the League of Storms took priority over just about everything, even courtesy. She felt ten times herself again back in pants with her rings and Eril’s pendant in their rightful places. Her spirits were in an uproar, both at being left behind and at the new interloper they could feel through Miranda’s skin. She sent a warning thread of energy down her arms, and the ruckus quieted instantly. Miranda felt guilty forcing them down after everything that had happened, but dealing with the League of Storms was not an activity that bore distraction.
She paused at the end of the corridor and smoothed over her hair with her fingers one more time. When she was satisfied that she looked as collected and competent as she could make herself without a mirror, she turned the corner into the promenade hall and stopped dead in her tracks.
The throne room looked nothing at all as it had when she’d last seen it. The marble floor was smooth again, with no sign that it had ever been scoured by the acidic soul of a dead enslaver. The colored-glass windows were unbroken, filtering the sunlight into colorful streams that played across the gracious golden fixtures and delicate ornamental stonework, all of which was back in its proper place. The roof had been restored to its original graceful arch, and the walls were smooth and straight again, as though they’d never been broken. Only the great golden doors were immune to this miraculous repair. They hung sadly from their hinges in a cascade of melted gold and iron slag, just as Eli’s lava spirit had left them.
