by Rachel Aaron
The captains were dividing the crowd into crews when a carriage pulled onto the storm wall. A few minutes later, a guard poked his head into the watchtower and announced that Eli’s Spiritualist had arrived.
“Excellent,” Eli said. “Show him in.”
The guard opened the door for an elderly man whose elegant jacket was cut short at the sleeves to show off his four large, jeweled rings. He stepped into the tower and stopped, casting disdainful looks at the soldiers huddled around the maps, particularly Josef.
“Spiritualist,” Eli said, shaking his hand. “How nice to meet you.”
“It’s Tower Keeper,” the old man said with a sniff, snatching his hand back. “Who are you? I was told the king wanted me.”
“The king doesn’t deal with ‘wizard things,’ ” Eli said with a smile. “He leaves those to me.”
He glanced pointedly down at Eli’s empty fingers. “And again I say, who are you?”
“We have a bit of a crisis on our hands here,” Eli said, ignoring the question. “I need you to send a message to Zarin.”
“Why?” the Tower Keeper said suspiciously. “What’s wrong with the Relay?”
“I’ve heard that Spiritualists have their own way of communicating with Zarin,” Eli said. “Outside the Relay.”
“Yes,” the old man said testily. “They’re called letters.”
“I’m not talking about letters,” Eli said. “I’m talking about emergency messages.” He stopped and looked around pointedly, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Look, chum, the Relay’s down and the Empress is about to fall on us like a hammer. We need to call for reinforcements immediately.”
“The Relay, down…” The Tower Keeper’s lined face turned ashy. “Powers, man, why didn’t you call the Council earlier?”
“If we could have, we would have,” Eli said. “If you Spiritualists have something up your sleeves, now’s the time to show it.”
“And I’m telling you we use letters!” the Tower Keeper cried. “An express courier switching horses can get a letter to Zarin in a day.”
Eli stared at him. “You’re kidding. The great and mighty Spirit Court uses couriers? That’s it? What about wind spirits?”
“Wind spirits?” the Tower Keeper said, aghast. “Do you know anything about wizardry? There aren’t five Spiritualists in the Court who’ve bound wind spirits. It’s not like I’m just keeping one in my pocket.”
Eli leaned back with a groan. “Please don’t tell me I had it good with Miranda.”
“Miranda?” The Tower Keeper jerked as though he’d stepped in something. “Lyonette? How do you know Banage’s favorite?”
“I can hardly seem to avoid her,” Eli said, ears perking up. “But why so bitter, Mr. Tower Keeper?”
“Bitter?” The man drew himself up to his full height. “Hardly, sir. Say what you like about our letters, but you’re the one out of touch if you haven’t heard that Banage’s turned traitor. He refused to help the Council fight the Empress and shut himself up in the Tower. I imagine Lyonette is in there with him, along with all the other traitors.”
Eli paused for a moment. “That is actually very interesting,” he said finally. “And not entirely surprising.” He sighed loudly. “Well, Mr. Tower Keeper, I’m afraid I’ve wasted your time. Thank you very much for coming. I’m sure someone will show you out.”
The Tower Keeper looked at Eli with utter confusion, but Eli just turned him around by the shoulder and pushed him toward the soldiers. “See he gets home safely!”
The soldiers saluted and began to escort the Tower Keeper down the stairs. The old man recovered his wits about three steps in and began protesting loudly that the prince had sent for him personally. That was all Eli heard before the door slammed shut.
He caught Josef’s eye and motioned him over.
Josef nodded to the admiral and stepped away from the map, joining Eli by the window. “Well?”
“No dice,” Eli said. “I keep forgetting what a gulf in power there can be between Spiritualists.”
“What about a broker?” Josef said. “They talk to each other, right?”
“Actually, that’s a phenomenal idea,” Eli said. “I never thought of using a broker to send information instead of finding it.” He thought for a few seconds and then shook his head. “If we had more time I’d try it, but brokers go to ground when trouble comes, and I’m not about to waste the few hours we have trying to root one out now.”
“What about Nico?” Josef said. “She can jump there.”
“Who’d believe the Daughter of the Dead Mountain?” Eli said, biting his lip. “There’s nothing for it. I’m just going to have to send a message myself.”
“You?” Josef snorted. “If people won’t believe Nico, they’ll never believe you.”
Eli held up his hands. “I admit, aside from you and Nico, there are very few people who know me well enough to know when I’m being sincere, and of those people, only one has the power to bring the kind of help we need. Fortunately, thanks to our guest, I have a pretty good idea where she is.”
Josef gave him a horrified look. “You can’t be serious.”
“Normally I’d agree,” Eli said. “But today is a serious sort of day. You worry about all that king nonsense. I’ll take care of this.”
Josef shook his head. “Just don’t mess it up.”
“Do I ever?” Eli said, but Josef was already walking back to his map.
Eli arched an eyebrow at the king’s back and went to look for Nico. He found her deep in conversation with Tesset, of all people. He approached silently, hoping to catch a snatch of whatever it was they were talking about, but his efforts were fruitless. Both of them fell silent before he was close enough to hear anything.
She walked over when he beckoned. “Spiritualist didn’t work?”
“Not at all,” Eli said, glancing over her shoulder at Tesset, who was watching them. “What were you and the Council man talking about?”
“I was thanking him,” Nico said. “His advice was very useful.”
“Advice?” Eli said curiously. “What kind of advice?”
“Good advice,” Nico said in a tone that signaled the end of that part of the conversation.
For once, Eli took the hint. “Glad to hear it. Now, I was hoping you could do a little repeat of our exercise earlier today. I need another wind.”
“That’s easy,” Nico said. “They’ve been swarming ever since you talked to the first one. I think they want a wizard indebted to them as well.”
“Really?” Eli grimaced. He hated owing favors, and winds were impossible to escape, but he had little choice at the moment. “Can you pick me out a fast one?”
Nico stared up at the afternoon sky for a moment before her hand shot out, pointing at something just above the horizon. “There.”
Eli popped the latch on the window, opening it just enough to stick his hand out. He opened his spirit a crack as well, sending out a beckoning tendril of power. A few seconds later, a strong breeze rushed over his face.
“My,” the wind whispered. “Aren’t you a bright one? Are you the wizard making deals?”
“I am,” Eli said. “And do I have a deal for you. How fast can you fly to Zarin?”
“Where?” the wind said.
“Large city,” Eli said. “West of here on the mainland, white buildings, river through the middle?”
“Oh, there.” The wind circled around them. “Fast enough, if I have reason to hurry. Why?”
“I need you to take a message to the Spirit Court.”
“That’ll cost you,” the wind huffed. “Spiritualists can be pompous.”
“That they can,” Eli said. “But a powerful, clever wind can make them listen, I’m sure.”
“Of course,” the wind said. “If the price is right.”
“Friend,” Eli said, leaning into the breeze. “Today’s your lucky day.”
The wind rushed away from the watchtower feeling extr
emely pleased with itself. For being a gullible sap, the bright wizard certainly knew how to sweeten a deal. The promise of a personal debt from the human who’d freed Mellinor was a prize indeed, and all for passing on a few words. Plus, he’d been so nice looking, so bright. The wind spun in a circle. It wasn’t every day you met a wizard like that.
By this point, the wind had cleared the strip of ocean between the island and the mainland. It dipped on the warm air, readying itself for the straight push overland to the white city with the tall towers. But as the wind turned west, it jerked to a stop, frozen in the air. For five long seconds the wind hovered, completely unable to move, and then it curled in a deep bow.
“All hail the lord of the west.”
The air flickered as the West Wind suddenly filled the sky, his breezes reaching as far as the wind could see. “Where are you off to in such a hurry, little wind?”
“Zarin,” the wind answered, trembling against the West Wind’s hold. “I promised a wizard I would bring a message to Spiritualist Miranda Lyonette.”
“I see,” Illir said. “And the wizard who gave you this message, he was a bright wizard, was he not?”
“The brightest I have ever seen, my lord,” the wind whispered.
“Thought so,” Illir said. “Very well, give me the message. I will deliver it.”
The wind hesitated. “But,” it whispered. “My deal—”
“Nothing that wizard promises ever comes out as you would like,” Illir said. “I’m taking the message. Give it to me and you will have my high regard.”
“Yes, Lord Illir,” the wind whispered, trembling as it repeated the bright wizard’s words.
“Thank you,” Illir said, freeing the little wind with a toss of his gale. “You may go.”
“Yes, my lord,” the wind whispered, bowing. “Thank you, my lord.”
But Illir was already gone, flying across the sky with the impossible speed only the greatest winds could dream of. With a great sigh, the little wind sped away to brag to its brothers about how Illir himself had stopped just for it, the wizard’s deal already forgotten.
CHAPTER
19
After ten hours of sleep, a bath, and an enormous breakfast, Miranda was a new woman, and the first thing she’d done with her newfound energy was attack the restricted shelves of the Spirit Court archives. She’d spent all morning reading spectacular stories of Spiritualists doing the impossible—talking down erupting volcanoes, brokering peace between warring rivers, even ending a five-year drought by freeing a wind spirit whose capture by an Enslaver had so angered the wind courts that they’d held off the rain in retaliation. There was even a description of the meeting four hundred years ago between the first Rector of the Spirit Court and the Shaper Mountain that had led to the raising of the Spirit Court’s Tower in a single day. The actual deed the Tower was in thanks for had been carefully omitted, but Miranda’s frustration was soothed by the dozens of secrets that hadn’t been crossed out.
For someone who’d given her life to the Court, it was breathtaking reading. It was also infuriating. All of the restricted reports dealt in one way or another with a star. Of course, they were never called stars, but now that Miranda knew what she was looking for, it was easy enough to read through the sometimes excruciatingly vague language and find the truth. The Spirit Court had encountered stars numerous times over centuries of enforcing the good treatment of spirits, but every time the real nature of these greater than Great Spirits had been hushed up and locked away in the archives. It was enough to make Miranda grind her teeth to stubs.
“I don’t understand,” she said, yet again. “What’s the point of hiding this? If we were only taught about stars, told these stories… Look here, the great river Ell that runs through the southern kingdoms is a star. All that time we spent two years ago badgering the Felltris River to flood the fields and not the houses? Wasted. We could have solved the whole thing with one trip down to the southern delta to chat with the river all the others have to listen to.”
Gin flattened his ears against his head with a whine. “Can you please stop talking about stars? You’re going to get us all in trouble.”
“In trouble with whom?” Miranda said, slamming down the report and spinning around in her chair.
Gin looked away.
“You mean the Shep—”
“Stop,” Gin growled, lashing his tail. “Don’t say her name. It attracts her attention.”
“Fine with me,” Miranda said, crossing her arms. “There are several things I want to ask her.”
“Get in line,” Mellinor rumbled bitterly. “But if the Shepherdess could be appealed to, I wouldn’t have spent four centuries locked in a pillar of salt.”
“Mellinor,” Gin said in a warning tone.
“No,” Mellinor said. “I don’t care if it’s forbidden to speak of the Shepherdess’s business with humans. The Shaper Mountain already broke the edicts. Why should we bother keeping them?”
“The Shaper Mountain is one of the oldest spirits in the world,” Gin said. “He’s also the biggest. He can afford to take risks.”
“So can we,” Miranda said firmly. “Slorn said the Shaper Mountain showed us the truth for a reason.”
Gin snorted. “Yes, because the mountain knows you’re ignorant. The old rock pile wants you to take the fall for asking questions spirits shouldn’t ask.”
“What do you mean?”
The ghosthound sighed. “There are things that it’s better not to know, Miranda. And just because some great mountain and his pet bear man are fed up with the Shepherdess’s antics doesn’t mean you should go putting yourself in danger.”
“If the Shepherdess isn’t doing what she should, then I have to take action, danger or no,” Miranda snapped. “I’m sworn to protect the spirits.”
“Good,” Gin snapped back. “So do that. Kill Enslavers, stop abusive wizards, but don’t go poking your nose where it’ll get bitten off.”
Miranda turned away with a huff. Gin crouched low, his swirling fur moving in quick little patterns, and Mellinor began to rumble.
“Listen,” she said, calmly now. “Whatever happens from here out, I’m always going to choose the path that leads to a better, fairer world for all of us. That’s my job. That’s why I became a Spiritualist. And if that path leads me off a cliff, then so be it, but I will not turn back. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to follow.”
Gin bared his teeth. “Don’t even try,” he growled. “I go where you go, no matter how reckless or stupid. But that doesn’t mean I have to keep my mouth shut about it.”
Miranda couldn’t help grinning at that. “Nothing could make you keep your mouth shut, mutt.”
Gin snorted and put his head on his paws. “Better put away your reading. Someone’s coming.”
Miranda glanced at the door a split second before the knock sounded. Gin gave her a superior look, and Miranda rolled her eyes. She stood up, carefully marking her place before closing the record book, and walked to the reading room door. A young man in apprentice robes was standing on the other side. His face lit up when he saw her.
“Spiritualist Lyonette? Master Banage wants to see you at the top of the Tower. He says it’s urgent.”
“The top of the Tower?” Miranda said, wrinkling her nose. “You mean his office?”
“No, ma’am,” the apprentice said, shaking his head. “He said the top.”
“The top?” Gin said, suddenly behind her. He grinned, showing a wall of teeth. “I’ve never been to the top.”
“Neither have I,” Miranda said, elbowing her dog. The apprentice was staring at Gin’s teeth like he might faint. “Take us there.”
“Yes, Spiritualist,” the boy said, starting down the hall sideways so he wouldn’t have to put his back to Gin. “This way.”
Miranda shook her head and followed. Behind her, Gin crawled through the door, slipping his long body through the small opening with practiced ease. They climbed up and up, past
floors of meeting rooms, guest rooms, and storerooms, until they reached the landing outside the Rector’s office. This was where the stairs usually ended, but now there was a new opening in the wall beside the Rector’s office door, a set of stairs Miranda had never seen before, leading up.
“We can make it from here,” she said, smiling at the apprentice. “Thank you for your service.”
“It is an honor to serve, Spiritualist,” the boy said with a halfhearted bow. After a final, terrified glance at Gin, he vanished down the stairs like a frightened rabbit.
“That one knows his place,” Gin said, flipping his tail smugly.
“Stop it,” Miranda muttered, starting up the new stairwell. “You’d better stay here.”
Gin growled and sat, ears turned forward so he wouldn’t miss anything.
The new stairs wound up for a dozen feet before stopping at a little stone door barely larger than she was. It opened when Miranda touched it, and a blast of wind nearly blew her back down the stairs. The door let out on the very top of the Tower’s spire. Below, she could see all of Zarin and the plains beyond. The white buildings were almost blinding in the afternoon sun, and the Whitefall River was little more than a glittering thread between the dark shapes of the bridges and barges. The wind roared around her, and for a moment Miranda was afraid it would blow her off altogether. Thankfully, the door was set back in the Tower’s spire, and the tiny alcove provided just enough shelter to keep the wind from ripping her off the Tower. Master Banage was already here, standing with his back pressed against the stone and his head tilted up toward the sky.
“Miranda,” he said in a voice that carried over the wind. “Glad you could join us.”
The moment he said it, Miranda felt the truth. The wind howling around them wasn’t the usual gusts found this high up. There was a familiar heaviness to it, a great spiritual pressure that made her ears pop, and she didn’t need Eril’s frantic clamor to know who, or what, she was facing.
“Lord Illir,” she said, clutching her wind spirit’s shaking pendant against her chest. “It is a pleasure to meet you again.”
