by Rachel Aaron
“And what is that?”
Miranda turned to see Blint leaning out toward her, but though his face was screwed up in its usual glare, his voice was more pleading than angry. “You just told us this was the Shepherdess’s doing,” he said. “Before tonight, I’d heard of her only in the abstract, a spirit so enormous as to be completely separate from the scope of human magic. Now you tell us she’s not only real but she’s turning the world on end, ripping out the largest spirits in creation like weeds and leaving the rest to fend for themselves. A terrible problem, I’ll grant you, but what can we do about it? Every wizard in this room stands by their oaths, but there’s a bit of a jump between defending the spirit world and performing miracles.”
A smattering of nervous laughter went up from the crowd at this, and Blint crossed his arms with a smug smirk. Miranda tightened her grip on the podium’s worn wooden lip.
“We can’t take the place of the lost stars,” she said. “But we can help to calm the panic caused by their disappearance. The floods that devastated Zarin and every other riverside community weren’t caused by the vanishing river star but by the panic of the rivers once they realized their star had gone. That panic is the danger. We can’t stop the stars from vanishing, but if we could calm the spirit’s fear before it became dangerous, if we could have reached out to the rivers before they flooded, we could limit the damage, maybe even prevent it altogether.”
“And how do you mean to manage that?” Blint said. “Catching the panic means reaching the spirit the moment the trouble starts. We can’t be everywhere at once. Do you mean us to only comfort spirits in Zarin? Or is that why he’s here?” Blint’s hand shot out, finger pointed directly at Alric. “The League of Storms are demon hunters, last I heard. Their members are said to have strange powers, a rumor that was just proven by your own flamboyant entrance.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “Have you sold out the Court, Lyonette?”
Miranda clenched her teeth against her growing rage. “Must you see everything I do in the worst light possible?” she snapped. “Whatever you may think of me, this isn’t a power play, Blint. Yes, as you can all see, I went to the League, and yes, I went to make a deal. I saw just as you did that there was no way we could handle a problem this enormous as we are. We move fast, but not that fast. What good is it to go to calm a panic if you arrive days after the panic occurs? It is our duty and our calling to offer our help to the spirits, but for that help to be of any use, we need more than we can muster on our own.” She raised her hand, motioning to Alric. “The League also suffers from this crisis. No one wants this panic, and the League has agreed that we should combine our efforts to fight it.”
“Combine how?” Blint said. “What, do you mean to swear them in? Give them rings and pledge them to service like apprentices?”
“Not quite.”
It was Alric who spoke, his quiet voice booming thanks to his position beside Miranda. He smiled at Blint with the same tight-lipped politeness he showed everyone, but his eyes were burning with banked anger.
“If I may?” he said, looking at Miranda. When she nodded, he addressed the Court. “I am Alric, Deputy Commander of the League of Storms. This morning, Rector Lyonette came to us with an offer of aid. The League exists to prevent the spread of demonseeds. To this end, we have been given certain powers to help in our hunt. However, the current situation prevents our organization from operating as it should, and we find ourselves overwhelmed by the scale of the panic we are facing. With this in mind, the Lord of Storms has offered a deal to your Rector and the Spirit Court she represents.”
He raised his hand, holding it out palm up like he was making the room an offering. “We will grant you temporary use of our gifts, namely the power to open portals through the veil to any location in the world, the ability to hear the ripples of spirit panic so that you can respond to any outbreaks as soon as they occur, and the command to instantly crush any panic deemed dangerous to a spirit or those around it. The League will make these gifts available for as long as this crisis persists, and in return, the Spirit Court will supply the manpower needed to properly deal with the panics. This is the agreement tendered between my commander and your Rector.”
As he finished, the room began to buzz. Miranda let it. This was the crux of all her work, the pinnacle of these last, horrible days. Alric’s words were simple, but the ideas behind them were enormous and so far removed from the day-to-day life of the Court that some pushback was inevitable. She was a polarizing figure, Banage’s protégé, a reminder of the recent strife, but Alric was neutral, and the League of Storms, while mysterious, was highly respected. Better they should whisper over his words without her speaking up and dragging the discussion back to the bitter anger of Blint and those like him.
Better still, with this, her role was over. The truth has been told. Alric had laid out the deal and the Court knew enough to make a decision. It was done. She’d fulfilled her promise to Banage and her pledge to Mellinor. Maybe now she could rest.
Miranda closed her eyes. The weariness went all the way to her bones, but though the Rector’s chair was right behind her, she dared not sit. First, it was Master Banage’s chair and she had no right to take it. Second, if she did sit down, she had no real conviction she’d ever be able to make herself get up again.
As a compromise, she let herself slump against the podium. The gold mantle of the Rector was heavier than she’d ever imagined, but the gold and gems were dull on her shoulders. There was no sign of the light she’d seen when Master Banage wore it, and somehow that was a relief. Rectors served for life. If it had flared up for her, it would have been a sign that Master Banage really was never coming back.
Better the mantle stayed dull, she thought, fingers clenching. Better if everyone saw her for what she was—a stand-in who was going back to her real duty as soon as the Lord of Storms came to take their pledge. The second he did, she’d throw the mantle at Krigel and use her new abilities to find and free her true Rector from wherever Sara had hidden him. She would bring him back to the Court in triumph, and then they would both work to settle the panic before the world tore itself to pieces. After that, she would rest. She would stuff herself full and sleep for a year. She deserved it after the last few weeks. Powers, she’d been fighting looming disaster for so long now she almost missed eating Eli’s dust.
It would all be over soon enough, though. Already, the conversation in the room was dying down. As the Spiritualists stilled, she could see their resolve solidifying. Thank the Powers, she was almost done. She was almost free.
“Rector,” Alric whispered. She looked over to see the Deputy Commander had leaned down so his head was even with hers. “How long?”
“I can call the vote at any time,” Miranda whispered back. She would have liked to wait a little longer to let the Court come around completely, but Alric’s expression was tense.
“Do it,” he ordered. “He’s nearly here.”
As though in answer, a flash of lightning lit up the windows, followed immediately by a peal of thunder so strong it rocked the Tower beneath their feet. That was warning enough, and Miranda pushed herself straight. But as she opened her mouth to call the question to order, a flash of lightning so bright it sent her hands flying to shield her eyes filled the Court chamber.
For a second, Miranda could see nothing but white. The smell of ozone burned her nostrils, but all she could feel were her rings as they vibrated against her fingers, the warning trilling up every connection. She dropped her hands with effort as the thunder crash came and turned to face the man who now stood at the center of the Court.
The Lord of Storms was standing in the witness stand, the same stand where Miranda had made her case what felt like years ago. Though he looked no larger than usual, leaning casually against the stand’s railing with his arms crossed as his silver eyes raked over the crowd, his presence filled the room to bursting. The Spiritualists cowered before him. Even Blint pulled back, his skin gray with fear. Th
is reaction seemed to please the Lord of Storms, for his face broke into a smug smile as his gaze moved to Miranda.
She took a deep breath and banished her fear, pulling herself to her full height. “Welcome, Lord of Storms,” she said, her voice stiff and formal. “The Spirit Court extends its friendship to you and yours in good faith.”
The Lord of Storms shrugged and pushed himself up. He walked across the floor toward the Rector’s stand, the click of his boots on the polished stone the only sound in the deep, terrified silence. When he reached the stand’s base, he vanished. There was no white line this time, no lightning; he simply vanished in a swirl of cloud only to reappear instantly right beside Miranda.
A gasp went up from the crowd, but Miranda barely heard it. She was too concerned with not falling over as she scrambled to give the commander room in the narrow space. This close, he towered over her, and it took every ounce of her pride not to flee down the stair at the back of the platform. As Miranda held her ground, the Lord of Storms’ smile grew, and he sat down in the Rector’s chair like it had been set out just for him.
“Well?” he said, his voice as loud and deep as the thunder that rolled outside. “Are you ready for the binding? Because I don’t have all day.”
“Almost,” Miranda said, trying to keep the anger out of her voice. “I was just about to take the vote.”
He waved for her to go ahead. Miranda glowered and turned back to the Court. But as she lifted her voice to call the vote, a throat cleared right below her. Miranda jumped at the unexpected sound and looked down to see Krigel trying to catch her eye.
“A point of procedure, Rector,” he said, his quiet voice clear in the terrified hush.
Miranda frowned, confused, but Krigel’s stare was unwavering. When she nodded, he turned sideways so that his face could be seen by both her and the Court beyond. “By rules of the Conclave as stated in the Court’s founding pledge, this is not actually a voting matter.”
Miranda clamped her mouth closed right before the question It isn’t? popped out. Breathing a silent breath of relief at avoiding looking like an idiot, she clenched her teeth and waited for Krigel to continue.
“Were this a standard hearing, we would now vote on the matter of whether or not we should offer our aid to the League,” Krigel said, his voice dry and formal. “But this is not a standard hearing. It is a Conclave. Conclaves are held only in emergencies, and are thus governed by emergency rules. Since a Conclave has not been called in fifty years, however, I feel it is timely to refresh the Court’s memory that all proclamations made by the Rector Spiritualis during a Conclave become law immediately.”
For a moment, Miranda could only gape. “What?”
“Conclaves exist to galvanize the Court in times of crisis,” Krigel continued. “At such times, our founders felt it imperative that we be united in purpose and speak with one voice, that of the Rector. Therefore, as this is Conclave and you are Rector, all you have to do to ally us with the League is say so. Speak the decree and it becomes law. Well”—he tilted his head—“for five weeks anyway, at which point the matter returns to debate among the Tower Keepers who can either—”
Miranda closed her eyes, unable to follow Krigel’s legal lecture any further. She’d never paid much attention to the finer points of Conclave procedure because it had never seemed important before. How stupid, she realized with a flush, going into Conclave without even reading the rules. If the Rector got to just make laws during a Conclave, it was no wonder Blint had reacted so badly to the news. Of course, part of her argued that this made things easier since she wouldn’t have to worry about a vote, but a much louder part argued back that this was actually much, much worse. She probably would have won a vote, but no one was going to take her decrees for law because she wasn’t even—
“The girl’s not even properly Rector!” Blint shouted, finishing for her. “Conclave or no, you think this Court will obey anything she spits out?”
“That is a valid point, Tower Keeper Blint,” Krigel said gravely. “And that is exactly why all Conclaves must, by law, begin with a ratification of the sitting Rector or an election if the position of Rector is unfilled. A step, I might add, that has been overlooked in the current proceedings.” He turned and gazed up at Miranda, his face curiously blank. “Seeing this, I must demand that we vote at once on the office of Rector to prevent any future dispute on the legitimacy of Conclave decrees.”
Miranda had to bite down hard to keep from screaming. Why was Krigel pushing this now? The Lord of Storms was practically standing on her toes. If they’d called a vote, this would already be done. Now what should have been a simple decision to make both the Court and the League’s jobs easier was going to get lost in the massive crash of politics and ego surrounding the office of Rector. The exact same crash that had torn the Court apart in the last crisis with the Empress. Powers, what was Krigel doing?
As though in answer to her question, Krigel’s voice rang out. “Who wishes to serve the Court as Rector?”
Blint’s answer was immediate. “I do.”
A murmur of approval rose from his half of the room, and Miranda fought the urge to bang her head against the podium.
“Anyone else?” Krigel asked.
The question hung in the air. Benches creaked as the Spiritualists shifted, but no one said a word. No one was stupid enough to stand against Blint, Miranda realized. She glared at the crowd, noting that the men around Blint were grinning like schoolboys. Miranda gritted her teeth. If there was a way the situation could get worse, she couldn’t see it.
When the silence had stretched long enough, Krigel shook his head. “By law, there must be a contest for the position of Rector,” he said. “As assistant to the office of Rector, I claim the privilege of nominating the second candidate.”
Without warning, he turned his back to the crowd and looked up at Miranda with an expression of smug pride. “I nominate Miranda Lyonette, friend of the West Wind, Savior of Gaol, Master of the Great Spirit of the Inland Sea and Deep Current Mellinor, War Hero of the Second Battle of Osera, apprentice and chosen successor of our former Rector, Etmon Banage, and, as Rector Banage often said in this very room, the pride of this Court.”
A cheer erupted at this, causing both Miranda and Blint to jump. They turned in unison, staring at the surprisingly large group of clapping Spiritualists standing across the hall from Blint’s entourage. Miranda’s brain didn’t get much further than that, however. She was too busy fighting the terrible clenching in her stomach.
“Why?” she said, her voice cracking. “I don’t want—”
“That is why we chose you,” Krigel said, his voice rising to fill the room. “The Rector gives her life in service to the Court. It is a position that demands absolute dedication to the ideals of Spiritualists’ oaths. The Rector must never be swayed by human politics and never abandon the spirits for landed power. The office of Rector must be above reproach, or we risk losing the faith of those spirits we are sworn to serve.”
He turned away from her then, sweeping his arms out as he faced the crowd. “With this in mind, I ask the Court, who is more suited? A man who has coveted the Rector’s power all his life, who colluded with Hern, the traitor who helped Enslave all of Gaol? Or the woman who has never once violated her oaths? Who, in fact, continued her duty to the spirits even after the Court kicked her out? Who would serve our ideals better? A Tower Keeper who has spent the time since his Rector’s arrest plotting his own ascension, or the Spiritualist who has used her emergency powers as Interim Rector to work without rest to find a solution to what may be the greatest threat to the spirit world since the Enslaver kings this Court was founded to fight?”
Krigel pulled himself straight, his voice so full of pride it trembled. “It was Spiritualist Lyonette who went to the League of Storms, Spiritualist Lyonette who forged the very bargain before us that may well be our only salvation in this crisis. Therefore I ask you, Spiritualists, who but Miranda Lyonette is fit
to lead us through it?”
Blint began to shout then, but Krigel’s voice rolled over him. “It is time the Spirit Court remembered its purpose!” he cried. “We have allowed ourselves to be swept up in Whitefall’s Council for too long, and I say it is time to prove that we are beholden to none save the spirits who depend on us. If you would be worthy of the oaths you swore, if you would have a Spirit Court that truly serves the spirits, and not the Council of Thrones, then do as I do.” He thrust his hand in the air, his rings glowing like lanterns on his bony fingers. “Raise your hand for Miranda Lyonette, and let this Court be what it should again.”
“Krigel!” Miranda hissed, leaning over to grab the old man’s hand out of the air. “Powers, man, stop…”
Her voice trailed off as she faced the Court. In the packed benches of the hearing room, nearly every hand was up. Hundreds of rings glittered in the white light of the lanterns overhead, and every face mirrored Krigel’s determination. Even on Blint’s side, hands were raised. Blint himself looked ready to explode, and Miranda didn’t blame him. That had hardly been a fair election, and if the Court’s will had been less clear, she would have made Krigel do a formal vote. But the Spirit Court had spoken, loudly, and even though Miranda was ostensibly at the heart of it, she could no more deny its will than she could send a wave back to sea. Defeated, she slumped down, her elbows cracking on the Rector’s podium. Below her, Krigel lowered his hand with a look of pure triumph.
“I believe that settles it,” he said. “If anyone objects, it is their right to speak now.”
With a great clatter, Blint shot up from his bench and marched out. A few of the men who’d been sitting beside him scrambled to follow, but it was nowhere near the crowd that had been whispering with him at the beginning. Most of those men were now doing their best not to look at the Tower Keeper as he vanished through a side door, his formal robes swirling behind him in an angry riot of red silk.