by Rachel Aaron
“I need to speak with you,” she said in her best no-nonsense voice.
“Can it wait until this is through?” Martin said without looking at her or dropping the smile he was flashing at the elderly lady who’d reached for his hands.
“No,” Miranda said, grabbing his arm. “It can’t.”
Martin sighed and then smiled indulgently at the crowd. “It seems my future wife has something urgent to tell me,” he said. “Dessert will be served on the terrace; please enjoy yourselves.”
The crowd began to titter at the implications of a soon-to-be bride dragging her husband off, but Miranda ignored the sound just as she ignored her mother, who was trying to get her attention, and her father, who was blatantly grabbing for her arm. She focused on nothing but getting past the crowd as she led Martin through a side door and down a hall to the office he’d shown her earlier during their tour. The band was just striking up as she shoved him inside and locked the double doors. She was dangerously angry, and her spirits were picking up on the feeling, turning in their rings, so Miranda forced herself to stop and take a deep, cleansing breath, letting the calm Master Banage had spent years forcing her to learn wash over her before she turned to face her fiancé.
“I don’t know what kind of rubbish my father’s been feeding you,” she said quite calmly. “But I am not for sale. I am not marrying you.”
Martin leaned on his expansive desk. “Is it because I’m not noble?”
“No,” Miranda said. “I don’t care who your family is. I’m not marrying anyone. My life is being a Spiritualist, not being a wife.”
“I knew that might be a problem,” Martin said. “But all marriages are compromises.” He raised his chin, and his face changed. Suddenly, he was no longer the affable host but a shrewd, hard businessman. “I know women like the fantasy of marrying for love,” he said. “But this is a business transaction, Miss Lyonette. Your family needs money and my business needs a noble connection. You are the link that solves both these problems, and as such, I am willing to be very lenient with you. It’s true I can’t allow my wife to be something as crass as a Spiritualist, but though your father neglected to tell me you’d already taken your oaths, I find I don’t mind much. I like Spiritualists, and I will not ask you to give up those spirits you have already bound or your connections to the Court. Indeed, I look forward to forming closer ties with your Rector, Etmon Banage.”
“Maybe you didn’t hear me,” Miranda said. “I’m not marrying you.”
“You say that now,” Martin replied. “But the truth is you have no choice in the matter. I’m not a cruel man, Miranda. You’ll find me a very easy husband. I will never demand anything from you that you are not willing to give. When we marry, you will be free to keep lovers so long as you are discreet. You’ll have a substantial allowance, the freedom to travel as you like provided you play hostess to at least six major parties a year to further my business ties. And you’ll be able to bring your family to heel, since their well-being will now depend entirely upon your favor. Really, I don’t see how I could sweeten this deal much more.”
“What part of ‘I’m not marrying you’ don’t you understand?” Miranda cried. “I don’t care how sweet a deal you offer. I’m not interested.”
Martin took a deep breath. “You are stubborn, aren’t you?”
“I get that way when I’m being forced into absurd situations,” Miranda snapped, but Martin didn’t seem to be listening. Instead, he reached in his suit pocket and drew out a small velvet bag.
“Your father got this at my request,” he said, walking across the room to where Miranda was standing by the doors. “It’s tradition in noble families to pass down wedding jewelry, and while I got you something much larger for our actual wedding, I thought you’d appreciate the gesture.”
He shook the bag over his hand until something small and glittery fell onto his palm. It was a ring, a small, golden ring set with a polished opal. It was very old and surprisingly delicate, the kind of ring a father would buy for his daughter.
“I didn’t know your size, so I couldn’t have it fit,” Martin said, catching Miranda’s hand before she could dodge him. “Fitting such old jewelry is always a gamble, anyway. Still, it looks appropriate, don’t you think?”
He’d slipped the ring on her pinkie finger while he was talking, and by the time Miranda jerked her hand away, the band was already in place. It looked absurdly tiny beside her large Spiritualist rings, and for a moment, she had the stupid thought that whichever of her noble Lyonette ancestors had worn the ring before her must have had very small hands. But the thought was fleeting, and she went to take the ring off. Martin’s hand caught her halfway there.
“Don’t throw your gifts away just yet,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.
Miranda jerked at the threat in his voice and reached for Durn, but he dropped her hand again before she could do anything.
“It’s late,” he said, all politeness again. “Too late for hasty decisions. Why don’t you sleep on it? It’s not like you can just walk to Zarin from here, anyway. Sleep, I’m sure things will be clearer in the morning.”
“No amount of sleep is going to make me marry you,” Miranda said, but she left the ring on her finger.
Martin smiled. “Good night, Miss Lyonette.”
Miranda didn’t offer the same. She turned on her heel and marched out, snatching the ring off her finger the second she was in the hall and shoving it in her pocket. The party was still going strong, the musicians playing a lively dance, but Miranda didn’t even look at the crowd. She went straight up the stairs to her room and locked herself in. The moment she was alone, she scrambled out of the layered formal dress her mother had insisted she wear to dinner, washed her face in the basin, and flopped into bed.
“Mistress?” Durn’s question was soft in the dark. “Why are you so angry?”
“Because people are idiots,” Miranda answered. “We’re getting out of here tomorrow.”
“Yes, mistress,” Durn said, his voice relieved. “I don’t like this place at all. It makes you angry.”
“The place is fine,” Miranda said. “It’s the people.”
Durn rumbled at that, and Miranda pushed him gently back to sleep. Her own rest was harder to find, however. Tima knocked at her door a few hours later, but Miranda ignored her. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. Eventually, her sister left, but Miranda still couldn’t sleep. The more she thought about this situation, the angrier she became, and not just at her parents for putting her through something like this. She was angry at Martin. She hated his superior looks, his giant house full of dead animals, and especially his smaller house full of living ones. That thought brought her back to the ghosthound. She’d nearly forgotten him in the shock of discovering her parents had sold her out, but now that she’d remembered him, she could think of nothing else. Whatever Martin said, he was abusing that ghosthound. Capturing and keeping such an obviously intelligent animal was wrong no matter how nice the cage. That thought gave her no rest, and when the sky outside her window began to turn gray with the predawn, Miranda put on the simplest dress her mother had packed and snuck into the hall.
This early, the house was still asleep, and Miranda was able to slip out easily. She crossed the gardens, shivering as the dew soaked through the ridiculous cloth slippers her mother had packed instead of sensible boots. The door to the zoo house was locked, but a quick word from Durn had the latch up and out of the way in under a minute. The animals woke as she passed, and Miranda spoke to each of them, but without a spirit to act as mediator, only the enormous red cat was intelligent enough to answer, and it only asked her when food was coming. Satisfied that at least these animals were not being abused, Miranda put them out of her mind and focused on her real objective.
The ghosthound was sleeping when she entered, his patterns moving in sluggish circles. Miranda moved forward very slowly and opened her spirit just a fraction. “Ghosthound,” she whispered.
“Ghosthound,” Miranda said again when she was sure her voice wouldn’t quiver. “Do you understand me?”
The ghosthound’s expression didn’t change.
“I know you can hear me,” Miranda said. “I understand you’re angry about being caged, but if you talk, I can help you.”
The hound’s ears flicked forward, and Miranda smiled, but then the dog began washing its front feet, and Miranda felt her hopes drop. The ghosthound was responding to the sound of her voice like any animal would. Maybe she’d imagined the intelligence she’d seen earlier, or maybe Martin was right. Maybe it was smart, but only smart as a dog, not a sentient creature.
“Please,” Miranda said again. “I’m a Spiritualist. I am sworn to help spirits who are being abused, and I think you are one of them. I’m on your side. Talk to me, if you can. Help me understand how I can help you.”
She sat there, waiting, but the dog just continued his unhurried washing. After five minutes, Miranda heaved a deep sigh and turned to leave. If the dog weren’t intelligent, maybe it really would get used to life here once it saw that it had regular food. That would make things less complicated, at least, and her life was certainly complicated enough at the moment. But when she reached the entrance to the little hall leading back to the other cages, a deep, growling voice stopped her in her tracks.
“If you break the cage, I promise to let you live.”
Miranda whirled around. The ghosthound was sitting as before, but he was no longer washing his paws. He was staring at her, his orange eyes bright and knowing. Under such intense scrutiny, Miranda had the overwhelming urge to drop her gaze, but she refused to be intimidated. After all, the dog was the one in the cage.
“You’ve got a rock tied to your soul,” the hound continued, his lips creeping up over his yellow teeth as he spoke. “A big one, well big enough to crush this metal wall. Let me out and I promise to spare you. My fight is with the dark-haired man who smells like powder and hidden fear.”
“Martin Hapter?” Miranda said.
The hound flicked his ears in a gesture that made Miranda think of a shrug.
“I don’t mind letting you out,” Miranda said slowly. “But you can’t kill Hapter.”
The hound’s growl made her hair stand on end. “Afraid I’ll kill your mate, human?”
“He’s not my mate!” Miranda snapped. “I don’t care if he lives or dies, but I can’t let you kill him. One, I don’t condone murder as punishment, and two, if you kill him, or even look like you’re going to, they will kill you for sure.”
“That is acceptable,” the hound said. “So long as the man dies, I am ready for the mists.”
“How can you say that?” Miranda cried. “Martin Hapter isn’t worth your death! I understand you want vengeance, but trust me, losing you will be pain enough for that man.”
The hound looked at her a moment longer, and then turned away, sitting with his back to her. “You asked how you could help,” he growled. “I told you. If you are unwilling to help, then we have nothing more to discuss.”
Miranda stared in disbelief. “So you don’t want to go free at all if you can’t kill Hapter?”
The hound didn’t answer, and he didn’t turn around. He just sat there, silent as the icy mist he resembled, until Miranda wanted to scream. Before she could, though, Durn’s spirit quivered in warning.
“Men are coming, mistress,” he whispered.
“Thank you,” Miranda said. She stepped closer to the cage. “I’ll be back,” she promised. “I won’t let him keep you like this.”
When the dog still didn’t look at her, Miranda turned and walked out, slipping through the zoo and fixing the lock on the door again before the servants came in with the animals’ food.
* * *
Miranda spent the rest of the day trying to convince people she wasn’t going to marry Martin Hapter. Unfortunately, no one was listening.
“How is my opinion the only one that doesn’t matter?” she shouted, fending off her mother, who was trying to fit a bridal crown over Miranda’s head. “I’m the one getting married!”
“You’ve had your way for years,” Alma said, slapping Miranda’s warding hands. “It’s time to let someone else have a say. Honestly, are you even capable of thinking of others?”
“I’ve given my life to protecting others!” Miranda cried, retreating toward the corner. “I’m a Spiritualist. Do you even know what we do?”
“Make a spectacle of yourselves, from what I’ve seen,” Alma said, slamming her hands on her hips. “You’re getting married tomorrow and that’s that. Everyone’s already invited.”
“By you!” Miranda said. “All of this was your doing! I refuse to accept any fault, and I absolutely refuse to get married tomorrow or ever.”
Alma threw up her hands and glared at Tima, who was sitting pale-faced in the corner.
“Miranda,” Tima said. “Really, there’s no use fighting it. It’ll go easier for everyone if you just make the best of things.”
“Maybe you can do that, Tima,” Miranda said, glaring at her sister. “But I’m not going to roll over just because she says so.” Her glare shifted to her mother. “Wasn’t that why you left me with the Spiritualists for so long? So I wouldn’t be around to back talk you?”
“You were the one who wanted to be a Spiritualist,” Alma said, crossing her arms over her chest. “From the moment you could talk, all I heard was Spiritualist this and Spiritualist that. And kind fool that I am, I let you be one for years, but it’s time to stop playing, Miranda. It’s a woman’s duty to get married for the good of her family. I did it, Tima did it, and now it’s your turn.”
Miranda pulled herself up with an angry breath. “My duty lies with my oaths, not this sham of a family that sells out its own flesh and blood for a big house!”
Alma’s lovely green eyes narrowed to slits. “You ungrateful child,” she growled. “But say whatever you like, you are getting married to Martin Hapter tomorrow, and you will behave yourself like a lady. Now”—she thrust the bridal crown at Tima—“I have to go check with Mr. Hapter on the preparations for the engagement ball tonight. I expect you to be dressed and ready by sundown.”
“You can expect whatever you want,” Miranda cried. “I’m not going to that, either!”
But Alma was already out the door, locking it behind her with an angry click. Miranda stared at the door for a moment and then threw herself down on the bed with a frustrated scream.
“Miranda,” Tima said, settling beside her and reaching over to rub her sister’s back. “I know it seems unfair. I reacted much the same way when they told me I’d be marrying Javier.”
“Tima,” Miranda said into the pillows, “I’ve never heard you raise your voice, not even when you broke your finger. I cannot believe you pitched a fit when you heard you were getting married.”
“Maybe I wasn’t as dramatic as you,” Tima admitted. “But I certainly thought of running away. Now, though, I’m glad I saw it through. I don’t think I’ll ever love Javier like the opera heroines love their heroes, but he treats me well, and I’m able to help my family. You’ve always been the cleverest of us. I’m sure you’ll see that this isn’t so bad. Mr. Hapter’s a decent man; he’ll take care of you.”
Miranda had her own thoughts on what kind of man Martin Hapter was, but she kept them to herself. “I won’t marry him, Tima. I don’t care what kind of man he is; I made an oath to the Court. Any path where I can’t be a Spiritualist is a path I will not take, no matter what it does for my family.”
“Then do it for yourself,�
� Tima said, gently pulling Miranda up off the bed. “Father has the law on his side, and he will take this to the Council if he has to. The Merchant Prince can make you marry Mr. Hapter if it comes down to it, though by that point Mr. Hapter may not want you anymore. Best do it now with the minimum amount of pain.”
Miranda didn’t answer, and she looked away when Tima tried to turn her head. Her elder sister sighed and stood, setting the flower-woven marriage crown on the bed. “I have to go to lunch,” she said. “I’ll tell them you are unwell and get someone to send up a tray for you.”
“Thank you,” Miranda said, gazing out the window.
Tima’s soft steps crossed the floor, and then the door closed with a whisper. Miranda waited for the click of the lock, but all she heard was Tima’s footfalls on the carpet as her sister walked to the stairs. Miranda smiled, shaking her head. Sweet Tima wasn’t one to forget things, but she also wasn’t the sort who could lock up her sister like a criminal. Not that a locked door could have kept Miranda in had she really wanted to get out, but she appreciated her sister’s gesture. Tima had left her an escape. Too bad Miranda couldn’t take it.
Last night, she’d been seriously ready to walk back to Zarin. If her father wanted to drag her before the Council, he was free to try. Personally, Miranda was willing to bet he wouldn’t have the stomach for it, but this was no longer totally about her. She stood and walked to the window, staring out across the garden toward the roof she could just barely see over the tall bushes at the edge of the grounds. She was not the only one trapped here, and she couldn’t leave, not without taking the ghosthound with her.
But that was easier said than done. Durn could keep the ghosthound pinned, but he couldn’t move him, and she dared not let him out if the ghosthound’s first act in freedom would be to go for Martin Hapter’s throat. The ghosthound might be willing to give his life for Hapter’s, but Miranda wasn’t about to let something as beautiful and rare as a ghosthound die for someone as stupid as Hapter. But that left her in a bind. The ghosthound was clearly an abused spirit held against his will. As a Spiritualist, she couldn’t leave without freeing him, but she couldn’t free the ghosthound unless she could convince him not to go for Hapter, and she was running out of time.