by Rachel Aaron
Contents
WELCOME
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
EXTRAS
MEET THE AUTHOR
A PREVIEW OF THE GRIFFIN MAGE
BY RACHEL AARON
PRAISE FOR THE ELI MONPRESS SERIES
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For Jeffrey, who has done more for me than words can ever express.
PROLOGUE
At age thirteen, Eliton Banage was the most important thing in the world, and he knew it.
Wherever he went, spirits bowed before him and the White Lady he stood beside, Benehime, beloved Shepherdess of all the world. In the four years since the Lady had found him in the woods, he had wanted for nothing. Anything he asked, no matter how extravagant, Benehime gave him, and he loved her for it.
She took him everywhere: to the wind courts, to the grottoes and trenches of the seafloor, even into the Shaper Mountain itself. All the places Eli had only dreamed about, she took him, and everywhere they went, the spirits paid them homage, kissing Benehime’s feet with an adoration that spilled over onto Eli as well, as it should. He was the favorite, after all.
For four happy years this was how Eli understood the world. And then, the day before his fourteenth birthday, everything changed.
It began innocently. He’d wanted to go to Zarin, and Benehime had obliged. It was market day and the city was packed, but the crowds passed through them like shadows, unseeing, for Eli and the Lady were on the other side of the veil, that silk-thin wall that separated the spirits’ world from Benehime’s. As usual, Eli was walking ahead, showing off by slipping his hand through the veil to snitch a trinket or a pie whenever the shadows of the merchants turned away. He was so fast he could have done it without the veil to hide him, but Benehime had ordered he was never to leave the veil without her explicit permission. It was one of her only rules.
He’d just pulled a really good snatch, a gold-and-enamel necklace. Grinning, he turned to show it to Benehime, but for once she wasn’t behind him. Eli whirled around, necklace dangling from his fingers, and found the Lady several steps back. She was perfectly still, standing with her eyes closed and her head cocked to the side, like she was listening for something. He called her name twice before she answered. He ran to her, giving her the necklace, and she, laughing, admired it a moment before throwing it on the ground and going on her way.
This was how it usually went. Benehime hated everything humans made. She said they were like paintings done by a blind man, interesting for the novelty but never truly worth looking at. Eli had long since given up asking what she meant. Still, she liked when he gave her things, and making her happy was the most important thing in his life.
She stopped twice more before they made it to the main square. By the third time, Eli was getting annoyed. Fortunately, her last pause happened only a dozen feet from his goal—the Council bounty board.
“Look!” Eli shouted, running up to the wall of block-printed posters. “Milo Burch’s bounty is almost a hundred thousand now!” He stared at the enormous number, trying to imagine what that much gold would look like. “He’s like his own kingdom.”
Benehime woke from her trance with a laugh. Come now, she said, stepping up to join him. You saw five times that in the gold veins under the mountains just last week.
“It’s not about the gold,” Eli said, exasperated. “It’s about being someone who’s done things. Big things! Big enough to make someone else want to spend that much gold just to catch you.” He took a huge breath, eyes locked on the swordsman’s stern face glowering out of the inked portrait. “What kind of man must Milo Burch be for his head to be worth that much money?”
Who knows? Benehime said with a bored shrug. Humans have so many laws.
“I’m going to have a wanted poster some day,” Eli said proudly. “And a bounty. The biggest there’s ever been.”
Nonsense, love, Benehime said, taking his hand. Whatever would you do with such a thing? Besides—she kissed his cheek—no one could ever want you more than I do. Now come, it’s time to go home.
“But we just got here!” Eli cried, trying to tug his hand away.
Before he’d finished his sentence, they were back in Benehime’s white nothing.
Now, she said, sitting him on the little white bed she’d ordered the silkworms to spin just for him. Wait here and don’t move. I have to take care of something, but I won’t be long.
Eli glared. “Where are you going? And why can’t I come with—”
Eliton.
Benehime’s voice was sharp, and Eli shut his mouth sulkily. She smiled and folded her hands over his.
I’ll be back soon, she whispered, kissing his forehead. Wait for me.
Eli squirmed away, but the Lady had already vanished, leaving him alone in the endless white. He sat down with a huff, picking at his pillow with his fingernails while he counted down the seconds in his mind. When he’d sat just long enough to be sure she was really gone, Eli reached out and tapped the air. At once, a thin, white line appeared. It fell through the empty space, twisting sideways as it opened into a hole just wide enough for him to wiggle through. Grinning, Eli crawled forward and slipped through the veil after the Shepherdess.
She was easy to follow. Everywhere the Shepherdess went, the world paid attention. All he had to do was follow the trail of bowing spirits. The first few times he’d tried this she’d caught him easily, but Eli had quickly learned that if he was quiet, Benehime didn’t always see him. And so, keeping himself very still and very silent, Eli slipped through the world until he saw the Lady’s light shining through the veil. He stopped a few feet away, lowering himself into the dim shadows of the real world before opening the veil just wide enough to peek through.
What he saw on the other side confused him. When the Lady had left so suddenly, he’d thought for sure she was going to deal with some spirit crisis. A flood maybe, or a volcano. Something interesting. But peeking through the tiny hole in the world, he didn’t see anything of the sort. Benehime was standing in a large, dirty study, her white feet resting on a pile of overturned books. In front of her, a thin, old man sat on a single bed. The sheet was thrown back as though he’d gotten up in a hurry, but his eyes were calm as he faced the Shepherdess, his rings burning like embers on his folded hands.
Eli frowned. Why was Benehime visiting a Spi
ritualist? She disliked the stuffy, meddling wizards even more than he did. Yet the man was almost certainly a Spiritualist; no one else wore jewelry that gaudy, and the study they were standing in was clearly the upper level of a Spiritualist’s Tower. It looked just like his father’s, Eli thought, though Banage would never let his room get so cluttered. He never allowed anything to fall short of his expectations, the old taskmaster. Eli glowered at that, but before he could fall into thinking about all the things his father had done wrong, the old Spiritualist spoke.
“You’re her, aren’t you?” he said, his voice full of wonder. “The greatest of the Great Spirits?”
I am no spirit.
Benehime’s voice was so cold and cruel, it took Eli several seconds to recognize it. She leaned over as she spoke, bending down until her eyes were level with the old man’s. Her presence saturated the air, as cold and heavy as wet snow, but the man didn’t even flinch.
Who told you?
“Doesn’t matter now,” the Spiritualist said, waving his hand, his rings glittering with terror in the Lady’s harsh, white light. “You’re here, and I have questions.”
Typical human arrogance, Benehime said, crossing her arms. To think I would answer your questions.
“If we are arrogant, it is you who made us so, Benehime,” the old man said, his voice growing every bit as sharp and cold as hers. “We are your creation, after all. Or, should I say, your distraction.”
Benehime sneered, her beautiful face twisting into a terrible mask. It seems the whispers of treason were grossly understated. I came here to deal with a spirit who didn’t understand my very simple doctrine of silence and find a full-blown rebellion. Tell me, human, when those spirits who’ve stupidly thrown their lot in with you were spilling my secrets, did they also tell you that the price for such knowledge was death?
“And what do I have to fear from death?” the Spiritualist said. “I am old, my life well lived. I have spent sixty years in duty to the spirits. I consider it an honor to die asking the questions they cannot.”
With that, the old man pushed himself off the bed. He creaked as he stood, rings burning on his fingers as his spirits poured their strength into his fragile, old limbs. When he spoke again, his voice was threaded with the voices of his spirits.
“What is on the other side of the sky, Shepherdess?” he asked. “Why is it forbidden to look at the hands that scrape the edge of the world? Why do the mountains ignore the claws that scrape their roots? What secret horror do the old spirits hide from the young at your order? What are you hiding that is so dangerous that speaking of it, or even just looking its way, is cause for death?”
His voice rose as he spoke. By the time he finished, he was nearly shouting, and yet his calm never broke. The Spiritualist’s soul filled the room, its heavy power steady and tightly controlled. His spirits clung to it, cowering in their master’s shadow from the Shepherdess’s growing rage. Eli could feel the Lady’s cold fury seeping through the veil itself, but when she spoke at last, it was a question.
Why do you care? she asked. Even if I told you, you couldn’t do anything. Why waste your life on knowledge that means nothing?
Eli held his breath. Benehime wasn’t talking to the man but to the trembling spirits on his fingers. Even so, it was the Spiritualist who answered.
“I ask because they deserve to know,” he said, raising his rings to his lips. “And while you may control my spirits utterly, you cannot control me, and you cannot control the truth.”
The Shepherdess bowed her head, and Eli clenched his fists. If this man had made his Lady cry, he’d… He was still figuring out what he would do when a sound rang out through the still room. It was musical and cold, colder than anything he’d ever felt, and Eli realized the Shepherdess was laughing.
Do you know how many times I’ve been told that? She giggled, raising her head with a smile that made Eli’s blood stop. You think that you’re the first to demand answers? Please. I’ve been Shepherdess for nearly five thousand years now. I can’t even remember how many times I’ve been asked those same questions, but I’ve never once answered. And do you know why, little wizard?
For the first time since she’d arrived, the Spiritualist was speechless.
Let me tell you something about spirits, Benehime whispered, reaching out to trace the old man’s jaw. Spirits are panicky, stupid, and willfully ignorant. They knew what was on the other side of the sky, and they chose to look away and say nothing, to let the truth be lost under the press of time. They chose safety. They chose ignorance. The only one who didn’t get a choice was me.
She sighed deeply, trailing her fingers down the old man’s neck to his sunken chest, tapping each rib beneath his threadbare nightshirt. You want the truth, Spiritualist? she said, her white eyes sliding up to lock on his dark ones. I’ll tell it to you. The truth is your precious spirits don’t want to know what’s out there, because if they did, their panic would tear them apart.
“I don’t believe you,” the Spiritualist said, though his voice was far less sure than before. “The spirits deserve—”
The spirits deserve exactly what they have, Benehime snapped back, anger cutting through her voice like an icy wire. This is their world, created for them, and its rules, my rules, are for their protection.
As she finished, her hand slid into the old man’s chest. Her white fingers parted his skin like a blade, and the old Spiritualist gasped in pain. He would have fallen to his knees had Benehime’s hand not been in his ribs, lifting him up until his face was an inch from hers.
That may not have been the answer you thought you were dying for, she whispered. But that’s the problem with demanding the truth, Spiritualist. It doesn’t always come out as you’d like.
With that, she slid her hand out of his chest, and the old Spiritualist fell. His body changed as he plummeted, growing thinner, the skin shriveling. Eli pressed his hand over his mouth to keep from screaming as the old man, now little more than a skeleton, hit the ground and crumbled to dust. His rings hit a second later, the gold and jewels landing on the wooden floor with hollow clinks.
Benehime flicked her hand in disgust, and the Spiritualist’s blood fled from her skin, leaving her fingers clean and white. When her hand was purified to her satisfaction, she reached down to pick up the largest of the Spiritualist’s rings, a great onyx band the size of Eli’s thumb. The spirit began to sob the second Benehime touched it, and she silenced its blubbering with a sharp shake.
You, she said. See what you’ve done? This is your fault, you know. Why did you tell him?
The ring did not speak. Benehime scowled, and her light grew brighter. Even through the veil, the pressure of her anger was enough to make Eli’s ears pop. He clung to the veil, watching in horror as the ring trembled. Just when he was sure it was about to shake itself apart, the ring spoke one word.
“No.”
Benehime arched a thin, white eyebrow. No?
“I’m not afraid of you, Shepherdess,” the black stone whispered. “No, not Shepherdess. Jailor, for that’s what you really are. You say you’re our Shepherd, our provider, but our wizard gave us more than you ever have. He fought for us, fought to learn the truth, and you killed him for it.”
Benehime’s white eyes narrowed. You want to share his fate? she said. You’re a strong stone, Durenei. Bow and beg forgiveness, and I may yet overlook this transgression.
The ring trembled in her hand, but its voice was stone when it spoke at last. “I hold true to my oaths and my master,” it whispered. “And I will never bow to you again.”
Benehime’s face closed like a trap. She clenched her hand in a fist, crushing the ring with a snap of cracking stone. The spirit gave one final cry, and then Benehime opened her hand to pour a thin stream of sand onto the floor.
After that, the Shepherdess didn’t offer her forgiveness again. She stepped forward, stomping her bare, white foot on the Spiritualist’s rings one by one. Each one died with a soft cry, and w
hen her foot lifted, nothing was left of the old man’s spirits but dust. When they were all destroyed, the Shepherdess snapped her fingers.
The veil rippled, and Eli tensed, ready to run, but she wasn’t calling him. Instead, the Lord of Storms stepped through the hole in the world to stand at the Shepherdess’s side. He looked around the Tower as he entered, and his face settled into an even deeper scowl when he saw the piles of dust on the floor.
Erase this man and his spirits from the world’s memory, the Shepherdess said, waving at the dust. I don’t know his name, and I never want to.
The Lord of Storms folded his arms over his chest. “That’s not my job.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when the Shepherdess’s arm shot out, her white fingers grabbing his throat.
I’ve had enough insurrection for today, she whispered. You are my sword. I made you, and you will do whatever I ask. Do I make myself clear?
“Yes, Shepherdess,” the Lord of Storms whispered around her hold.
She released him with a disgusted sound and turned away, walking toward the center of the tower. The world was silent around her, holding its breath. When she reached the middle of the room, she stopped and held out her arms. When she brought them down again, the tower fell with a sigh. Great stone blocks crumbled to sand as Eli watched. Books fell to dust. Wood splintered to nothing. The spirits died without a sound, too terrified even to cry out, until Benehime and the Lord of Storms were floating alone in the empty air above a dusty clearing, all that was left of the Spiritualist’s two-story tower.
I’ll leave the rest to you.
“Yes, Shepherdess,” the Lord of Storms said, but the Lady was already gone. She vanished like the moon behind a cloud, leaving the night darker than ever. The second she was gone, Eli fled as well, scrambling through the veil to beat her back home.
He barely made it, winking into place on his pillow just as she appeared. She looked for him at once, and he beamed back at her, but his heart was thudding in his chest. She looked like she always did, white and beautiful, but when Eli gazed up at her now, all he could see was her foot coming down, her hand leaving the dead man’s chest.