by Rachel Aaron
The woman was closer than she’d realized, her bare feet almost touching Nico’s legs. Nico jumped back, and the woman in the chair made a thin, hollow sound, like sand blowing over metal. It took Nico a moment to realize Nivel was chuckling.
“You have good instincts.”
The woman’s voice was a rasp, a mere shaping of breath, as though she’d long since screamed her throat away. Her eyes, bright as lanterns in the unnatural darkness, glittered behind her long, matted hair. Behind them, shapes and shadows flickered in unnatural forms. Even so, meeting the woman eye to eye, Nico felt a strange feeling of kinship and, with it, a strong urge to run away as fast as she could.
“Heinricht gave you the speech, did he?” Nivel said. “He gives it to every demonseed before sending them to me. Still, you are the first I’ve seen in a very long time. I thought maybe he’d finally given up.” She sighed, a cutting, rasping sound. “My poor, faithful bear.”
“Other demonseeds?” Nico said, startled. “He’s sent others here?” It seemed impossible. Surely the League of Storms would shut any operation like that down in an instant.
“A few,” Nivel said, waving her hand. “We’d hoped to learn something, but the demonseeds we could get were too small and weak to be any use. The League never lets them get too big, you see. But you”-her eyes locked with Nico’s-“you’re different.”
Fast as a shadow, Nivel’s hand shot out, grabbing Nico’s wrist and dragging her closer. Nico fought by instinct, but the woman’s grip was filled with a demonic strength even greater than hers, and Nico found herself on her knees beside Nivel, her face inches from the woman’s own. This close, she could smell death and rocks and something else, a sharp, acidic bite that tugged at memories she didn’t want to recall.
Nivel’s eyes glowed brighter as she looked Nico over before releasing the girl with a suddenness that made Nico stumble.
“You’re no usual seed, are you?” Nivel said as Nico picked herself up. “Old, far older than you look, and with a seed that appears to have blossomed many times, yet never freed itself.” She tapped her fingers against her knees and a purely human look of inquisitive interest passed over her face. “Tell me, how did you get that way?”
“I don’t know,” Nico said. “I don’t remember anything before Josef found me.”
Nivel looked supremely disappointed, and the light behind her eyes flickered. “So it told me before I’d even asked the question. I hate it when the bastard is right.”
Nico looked at her, confused. There was no one else in the valley save themselves. Not even a spirit. Nivel caught her surprised look and smiled a pleased smile.
“Well, child,” she said, “if you don’t know what I’m talking about there might be hope yet.”
Nico’s heart beat faster. “Slorn said there was no hope. That was why he brought me up here.”
“Heinricht’s doesn’t believe in false assurances,” Nivel said, smiling. The expression softened her face until she looked almost human again. “He’s always been a realist. But there’s a difference between being a realist and being a defeatist. Just because no one has ever beaten their demon doesn’t mean you’re going to give in, does it?”
Nico shook her head.
“I thought so.” Nivel chuckled, the same dry sound as before. “In that case, strange little demon girl, let me give you some hard-learned advice.” She caught Nico’s eyes with her glowing gaze. “There will come a time when my words mean something to you. I may not have Slorn’s eyes, but even I can see you’ve been using your seed too much of late. It’s quickening, growing like a babe in the womb. Someday, possibly very soon, it will wake. When that happens, if you remember nothing else, remember what I tell you here.”
Nivel leaned forward, lowering her voice to a bare, scraping whisper, and Nico leaned in to listen.
“Demons,” Nivel said, “are predators. Creatures of power and control. But as a human, you are unique among all spirits. Your soul is your own, and you must never give your control over, no matter what. When the voice speaks, do not listen to it, do not take its advice, and do not talk back to it, no matter what it says. Do you understand?”
Nico shook her head.
“You will,” Nivel said. “I’m glad I could tell someone. Though we won’t meet again, I would feel guilty if I never warned you.”
Nico’s eyes widened. “Never again? But I’ve never met someone else like me. I’ve never had-”
Nivel shook her head. “There are no mentors in this life of ours, child. Even now, the demon inside me is trying to find a way to use you to free itself. In a few minutes, I won’t have the strength to keep it back. I have fought this battle of inches for ten years, but it will be over soon. The demon is now as strong as I am. We are perfectly balanced. Yet it can get stronger, and I can’t. All it would take is a bite of a spirit. A wind, a few drops of rain”-Nivel’s glowing eyes ran over Nico’s body-“a little girl, and the demon could shed me like snakeskin and fly free. That’s why I told Slorn to put me in this valley, where all the spirits have withdrawn, leaving nothing to eat. Here, I can keep it in check. But,” Nivel’s rasping voice cracked, “it’s been five years since I sat down on this stone, and I’m tired. So tired.”
“But you’re still alive!” Nico said. “So long as you have that, you can fight.”
Nivel laughed, a sad, empty sound. “No one’s will is strong enough to hold out alone forever. Just staying alive isn’t enough. You need something to live for. A purpose. Mine is Slorn. I left him and Pele alone, and yet he still kills himself trying to find a way to bring me back. I thought that if he was willing to fight for me, to attempt the impossible, then I owed it to stand strong for him. That belief has kept me going far beyond my time. Even so, everything ends.”
As she spoke, the manacles on Nivel’s wrists began to rattle more incessantly, and Nico winced as the cold, dark feeling began to creep over her again. Nivel took a breath and closed her eyes tight. “You should go now,” she said quietly.
Nico clenched her jaw. “I won’t say farewell,” she said, standing up. Her hand shot out, and she grabbed Nivel’s fingers. “We’ll meet again, so don’t give up.”
With that, Nico released her grip and turned around, marching toward the stone wall. When she reached the sheer cliff she began to climb, her impossibly strong fingers finding grips on the most minute cracks and wrinkles in the stone.
Nivel watched her go, cradling the hand Nico had seized, savoring the surprised feeling of the unexpected contact.
I hope you’re happy, a deep, smooth voice said in her head. You just let the death of your world go on her merry way. We should have eaten her when we had the chance. It sighed deeply. You’ll regret this. Mark my words.
Nivel just smiled and ignored the voice, as she always had, watching as Nico pulled herself over the edge of the cliff and vanished into the sunlit world above.
High overhead, Nico spilled herself out onto the dry leaves, panting and letting her eyes adjust to the light. Slorn was waiting where she’d left him, sitting solemnly on the dirt.
“So,” he said slowly, “you have met the truth of demonseeds face to face. Do you still want me to make your coat?”
Nico stood up, brushing the leaves off her clothes. “Yes,” she said. “Nothing has changed.”
Slorn grinned, showing a great wall of sharp yellow teeth. “You have passed the final measure, then. Come,” he said and stood up. “Pele and the rest should have things ready by now.”
Nico nodded and followed him back down the slope and through the strange, black trees, stopping every few steps to look back over her shoulder, even after the valley had long since vanished from view.
CHAPTER 5
Miranda delivered her decision to Master Banage over breakfast. They argued, but it was the same ground they’d covered the night before, and nothing new was resolved. In the end Banage relented, for what could he do? It was her career and her neck Miranda was risking, and he could not fo
rce her to take the easy road. Their parting was short and bitter as Miranda excused herself to prepare for the trial.
Back in her room, she took more care with her preparations than usual. Using Karon’s heat to warm the water in the basin, she washed her face and teeth, taking special care with her eyes, which were red ringed and raw from crying and lack of sleep. Next, she dug out the tin of powder her sister had given her ages ago and brushed the white base over her ruddy cheeks, hiding her dark circles as best she could. When she was as pale and serious as she could make herself, Miranda opened the trunk at the end of her bed and began to dress. She’d picked out her clothes the night before, choosing her favorite pair of worn trousers and a soft, light shirt to go under the heavy silk robes that were mandatory for formal Court functions. She had set out her official set this time, blood-red silk with white and gold designs in long, geometric patterns. It was hideous. The fabric was stiff and musty from being in her trunk for so long, but it marked her status as a vested and sworn Spiritualist of the Court even more than her rings did, and that was exactly the impression she was trying to make.
When every one of the robe’s impossible buttons was finally fastened, Miranda sat down on her bed and took off each of her rings in turn. With great care, she rubbed each one with a soft cloth, waking and soothing the spirit inside before sliding them back onto her fingers. When the rings were done, she fished Erol’s silver-wrapped pearl from his place next to her skin and, after a cleaning coupled with a firm reminder of the dire repercussions of acting out, laid him on top of her robes. Finally, she brushed out her hair as straight as it would go and bound the red mass back in a severe braid so that her face was not obscured from any angle.
Ready as she could make herself, Miranda locked her room and walked down the stairs to the street where Gin was sitting beside the door, waiting for her.
“You know,” Miranda said, scratching his head, “since you’re not technically a bound spirit, you don’t have to come with me today.”
Gin gave an undignified snort and trotted off down the narrow walk between the buildings, leaving her to follow.
A group of Krigel’s red-robed guards met them at the side entrance to the tower. Miranda let them lead her and Gin up the low stairs and through the broad side hallways to the back door of the long, opulent room that served as the Court’s waiting chamber.
Like all rooms in the tower, the waiting chamber was built on a grand scale, which was good, considering she was there with a fifteen-foot-long ghosthound. Even with Gin, however, Miranda felt as though the room would swallow her up if she let it. It was austere, designed to impress the age and power of the Spirit Court on its occupants, usually minor nobles and representatives from the Council who needed help with flooding river spirits or petulant winds that tore up their crops. Since it was only her this morning, the lamps were dark, and the dim, gray light from the high windows made the room’s otherwise luxurious ambiance feel gloomy and cold.
Her guards, who hadn’t spoken a word since she’d met them, took their places at the many doors that led into the room, and Miranda, after looking around lost for a bit, took a seat on one of the cushioned benches across from the largest door, which led into the Court itself. She knew from experience that that was where they would come for her. She had waited here once before, the day she took her oaths. Sitting there, she felt the same nervous weight in her stomach. Back then it had felt exciting; now it just made her feel ill.
Through the heavy wood she could hear the shuffling as the gathered Tower Keepers took their places. Muted conversations washed in and out, and over them all rang a smug, laughing voice she’d heard only a few times in her life but recognized instantly. How could anyone forget Hern’s superior sneer?
Gin twitched beside her, lowering his head to whisper in her ear. “It’s not too late. You can still take the out.”
“No,” Miranda said. “I need only a majority vote to have all charges against me thrown out. Every person in that room is a Spiritualist, which means every single one of them, even Hern, has taken an oath to protect the Spirit World.” She folded her hands tightly in her lap. “What I did in Mellinor was not wrong or abusive, and I have the spirit inside me to prove it. For every ring in that Court, I have a measure of hope that their masters will see the truth and make the right choice.”
Gin shook his head as the muted conversations vanished and the room beyond the heavy doors fell into silence as the Court convened. “I hope you’re right.”
“So do I,” Miranda whispered, clutching her rings tighter than ever.
They sat in nervous silence until, at last, the great door opened and the bright light of the Court shone in. Even though she knew it was coming, the shock of the brilliant Court chamber after the dim waiting room threw Miranda off balance for a moment. Then she was in control again, and she marched through the doors and up the steep steps with her head high and Gin right behind her.
The Spirit Court’s hearing chamber was a circular room that took up the entirety of the tower’s second floor. High overhead, hanging from the tall, arched ceiling, white fires burned in silver sconces without fuel or heat, their sharp light blending with the sunlight that filtered through the tall, milky glass windows. Enormous rings of wooden benches ran along the outer edge of the room, spiraling down from the walls in a series of interlocking tiers, but only the bottom rings were filled. Tower Keepers sat primly in their formal robes, their ringed hands draped over the high wall that separated them from the open floor and the raised stand at its center, where Miranda would make her case.
Directly across from the doors where she had entered, an enormous bench loomed over everything else. It towered above the polished marble floor, carved from wood so old it had lost all its color and was now solid black beneath the layers of polish. Sitting behind the great bench on a chair as regal as any throne was Master Banage. He was dressed in a coat of pure white with a high collar that framed his face like a snowdrift, making him look ancient and distant, an infallible king of judges. Around his neck he wore the Mantle of the Tower, the regalia of the Rector Spiritualis. It was styled as a chain. Each link was a knot of heavy gold holding a great stone, and each stone held one of the spirits bound, not to any one Spiritualist, but to the Court itself, passed down from rector to rector, the living symbol of the Spirit Court’s pledge of protection, justice, and equality to the Spirit World.
It was an awe-inspiring sight that was as much a part of the Spirit Court as the tower itself, and with every step she took toward the stand, Miranda felt the weight fall heavier on her shoulders. The age, the power, the majesty of the Spirit Court threatened to crush her, and no matter how many times she told herself that this was exactly the intended effect, the impact was not lessened. By the time she reached the stand, climbing the three little steps so that she stood at the apex of the court’s scrutiny, even Gin’s presence couldn’t stop her hands from shaking.
“Spiritualist Miranda Lyonette.” Banage’s voice boomed down from the high bench, warped into a fearsome specter of itself by the room’s strange acoustics. “The Spirit Court has gathered to hear the charges brought against you by your peer, Spiritualist Grenith Hern, Master of the Towers, concerning the incidents that occurred in the kingdom of Mellinor.”
Banage looked down at the man who was sitting front and foremost in the first ring of seats. There, dressed in a well-tailored robe of expensive crimson silk embroidered with gold flourishes, was Grenith Hern himself. He was young for a Tower Keeper, scarcely into his forties, and clearly he had been very handsome at one point. His hair, though graying, was still a flaxen blond, and he wore it long and braided down his back like a dandy. However, any appearance of youthful inexperience was banished by the immense collection of rings that glistened on his hands, which he draped casually over the bench that separated him from the open floor. He had necklaces as well, jeweled chains nearly as ornate as Master Banage’s, and bracelets glittering beneath the cuffs of his robe.
Banage looked down. “Speak your complaint, Spiritualist Hern.”
Hern stood up with a gracious nod and turned to face Miranda, meeting her glare with a warm, confident smile.
“My complaint is one of a most serious nature.” His smooth voice rang out through the great room. “I charge that Miranda Lyonette, in violation of her duty and her oaths, did conspire with the noted criminal Eli Monpress to gain access to the spirit known as Mellinor, a Great Spirit overpowered and imprisoned by the dreaded Enslaver Gregorn, and thought destroyed more than four hundred years ago. Despite her orders to apprehend Monpress, Spiritualist Lyonette instead worked with him to win over Mellinor, already weakened and confused from the long Enslavement and imprisonment, with threats and guile. Furthermore, in payment for this assistance, Spiritualist Lyonette bought Monpress time to escape by destroying the throne room of Mellinor, putting countless lives in danger.”
Banage gave him a cold look. “This is your charge?”
Hern nodded. “It is.”
“And what punishment do you seek?”
Hern turned to look down at Miranda, and his smile became a cruel smirk. “Banishment,” he said, low and cold. “Banishment from the Spirit Court by stripping of rings, rank, and privileges, including entry to Zarin or any other safe haven maintained by the Court.”
A great murmur went up among the crowd. Miranda let the sound wash over her, keeping her eyes straight ahead. She had expected this, she told herself, but still, hearing the actual words turned her spine to water. When the noise quieted down, Banage leaned forward from his high seat to look down at Miranda and spoke as gently as the acoustics of the room allowed. “How do you answer these charges, Spiritualist Lyonette?”
Miranda met his eyes one last time, and took the plunge.