by Rachel Aaron
The woman herself was dressed in the same plain white coat and trousers as the other workers, but any plainness ended there. Her hair was pale ginger streaked with gray, tied up in a coil of braids at the top of her head. Her face was lined, especially between her eyebrows where she scowled, but otherwise she didn’t look very old. She mostly looked serious, harried, and already out of patience. A long pipe dangled from her lips, which accounted for the spicy reek of smoke that permeated the room, and a pair of spectacles hung on a gold chain around her neck. Otherwise she wore no decoration, not even rings. However, from the way Miranda’s spirits were buzzing, she knew without a doubt that this woman was a wizard, and powerful one.
The woman looked Miranda over, starting with the feet and working her way up. Next, she switched her gaze to Gin, who had somehow managed to squeeze himself through the door and was now sitting nearly doubled over behind Miranda, his eyes narrow and sharp despite the indignity of his cramped position, and ended on Sparrow, who was pushing Gin’s tail out of the way in an attempt to shut the door.
“You must be Miranda Lyonette,” she said when she’d finished her inspection. “You’re not as pretty as I’d thought you’d be, considering your family. Nice hair, though, and strong spirits. I can see why Banage made you his favorite.”
Miranda bristled. “I assure you, madam,” she said through gritted teeth, “neither my looks nor my family has anything to do with my position.”
Sara rolled her eyes. “Don’t get your hackles up, girl. I was only making an observation.” She took a drag off her pipe and blew a long line of smoke into the air. “This is why I don’t usually work with Spiritualists. You’re all so prickly and bound in. Terrible waste of wizards. Though I suppose the world must have you.”
Miranda’s rage must have been clear on her face for Sara laughed. “Feel free to disagree all you like. I welcome constructive argument. But if you’re just going to be miffish, you’d better get over it quickly. Those who can’t take an honest opinion don’t last long down here. Right, Sparrow?”
Sparrow, who’d given up on Gin’s tail and taken a seat on the couch, merely smiled. “No one lasts long with you, Sara.”
“Not so,” Sara said curtly. “You’ve been with me five years.”
“That’s because I care more for your money than my ego,” Sparrow said. “Get to the point before the Spiritualist girl becomes terminally insulted and my trip becomes a waste.”
Sara turned to Miranda. “Right. Then let’s see it.”
Miranda stared at her. “See what?”
“Your Great Spirit,” Sara said, giving her a look that said this should have been obvious. “If you’re going to be working for me, I have to see what I’m dealing with.”
Miranda started to object, but stopped. It wasn’t actually an unreasonable request. Swallowing her temper, she closed her eyes and gave Mellinor a little mental nudge. A nudge was all it took. With that curious, skin-crawling feeling of being a faucet, the water spirit poured out of her. When Miranda opened her eyes again, Mellinor was floating beside her, a ball of pure, blue, strangely smug-looking water, spinning slowly before Sara’s obviously rapt attention.
“A Great Spirit,” she whispered, stepping forward, smiling and as bright eyed as a child. “I’ve met several, but I’ve never seen one come out of a person.”
“Nor will you,” Mellinor said. “So far as I know, my circumstances are unique.”
Sara reached out, tracing her fingers across the water’s surface. “Absolutely marvelous.”
Mellinor puffed up a little at that, and Miranda covertly rolled her eyes. Her sea could be as bad as her dog sometimes.
Sara didn’t notice. She was busy walking around Mellinor, stepping high over Gin’s paws where there wasn’t room. “Do you still have tides?” she asked. “Currents? What about your salinity?”
“No tides,” Mellinor said. “Not enough water. My currents were always my own. I changed my salinity to match Miranda’s blood. It seemed the easiest thing to do, and I don’t care for much salt, anyway.”
There was something dark in his voice as he spoke that last bit, but Sara just nodded and jotted several notes on a pad that she fished from her pocket. Miranda, however, was busy staring at her water spirit. She’d never even thought to ask questions like that, and she was starting to feel ashamed. Mellinor was her spirit. She should know all there was to know about him, not leave it to some stranger.
Sara looked as though she had more questions, but a whistle outside made her put away her pad.
“Well,” she said, “if the sea’s on your side, the tide may wait, but time never will.” She gestured at Miranda as she went back to her chair. “You can pull him back now. You’ve made the team.”
“Team?” Miranda said, stretching out her arm. “What do you mean?”
Mellinor took his time coming back, obviously appreciating the attention from Sara. Miranda resisted the urge to nudge him along.
“I’m the Head Wizard for the Council of Thrones,” Sara said, sitting back down at her desk. “Officially, I’m in charge of all wizards working for the Council, though I don’t bother with most of them. They’re dull dropouts from the Spirit Court mostly, with no will to speak of. They’re better left in the copy rooms ordering ink spirits around. But you,” she said, grinning. “You, Miranda, with your shining sea and your dog and whatever else you’ve got on your fingers, are different. I thought you would be. That’s why I had Phillipe Whitefall send you that letter.”
Miranda frowned. “I thought I was appointed as head of the Eli Monpress investigation on account of my experience with the thief.”
“Yes, well, that was the reason I fed the bounty office.” Sara took a long splinter from a box on her desk and held it near her lamp. At once, a spark jumped from the lamp flame to the splinter’s end. “Only way I could get you away from Banage, really. He doesn’t have much patience for me,” she said, touching the burning splinter to her pipe. “It wasn’t hard. Phillipe jumped at the chance to make the thief someone else’s problem. Of course,” she said between puffs, “it would be wonderful if you could catch Eli for me. I’m even more keen to meet him than I was to meet you. I’m very interested in the way this world works, you see, the different aspects of wizardry and spirits and how they interact. Things like how a Great Spirit could shrink himself down small enough to fit into a human while maintaining his essence as a Great Spirit. These are the curiosities I love to surround myself with. It keeps the mind young. But Eli’s the greatest mystery of them all. A wizard whom every spirit obeys.” Her voice grew almost wistful. “Now that is something I’d love to examine for myself.”
“You’d have to get in line,” Miranda said, crossing her arms over her chest. “There are a lot of people who want a piece of Eli Monpress.” Sara gave her a sharp look, and Miranda glared right back. “Perhaps I haven’t made this clear, but I am a Spiritualist first, foremost, and forever. I agreed to work for the Council to get support and information in my hunt for Monpress. With all due respect, Lady Sara, that doesn’t include being one of your ‘curiosities.’ If I’m only here so you could have a look at Mellinor, I’ll be on my way.”
Sara gave her a smoky smile. “Direct,” she said. “I like that. Very well, Spiritualist Lyonette, I will answer in kind. I pulled the strings to bring you here because we have a delicate matter on our hands. One of my dear friends, a Shaper and a great scholar of wizardry, has vanished. Though he’s not formally involved with the Council, it would be a great loss for all of us if Heinricht Slorn were to remain missing. Therefore, I am putting a group together to find him and bring him safely back to Zarin under the Council’s protection.”
“Slorn?” Miranda frowned. The name was desperately familiar, but it wasn’t the one she’d been waiting for. “I’m sorry to hear about your missing friend,” she said. “But I don’t have time to—”
“Slorn has many friends from all walks of life.” Sara’s voice rolled right over
her. “Including a certain thief.”
She paused, and Miranda had to swallow her words, motioning for the woman to get on with it. Sara did no such thing. She merely sat there and smoked, watching Miranda squirm. Finally, when she obviously felt Miranda had stewed enough, Sara continued.
“We have a good tip that Slorn has asked for Eli’s help as well as mine. However, Eli doesn’t know where Slorn is.” Sara smiled. “I do.”
Miranda’s eyes widened as Sara’s implications hit her. The idea of getting somewhere before Eli did was almost intoxicating. “Where?”
Sara arched her eyebrows at Miranda’s abandoned aloofness. “You’ll go on the mission then?”
Miranda stopped cold. Powers, she’d stepped right into that one. She took a moment to think, keeping her eyes away from Sara’s cool, sure expression. If she left Zarin and Sara was wrong about Eli going after Slorn, she could miss his next theft altogether. Besides, one look at Sara and the company she kept was enough to set off a whole tower full of warning bells. Miranda’s eyes slid over to the couch where Sparrow was sitting with his legs crossed, watching her. Just being in the same room with him put her on edge. But if Sara was right…
She felt a warmth against her back as Gin leaned in behind her. “You should take it,” he growled low in his throat. “Even if Eli robbed Lord Whitefall’s mansion tomorrow, we’d still be eating his dust. A trap is always better than a chase.”
Miranda nodded. You could always trust a predator about these things. Still, she decided as she glanced at Sara, no need for the old lady to know her intentions just yet.
“If I went,” she said slowly, “where would I be going?”
“No, no, no,” Sara said, shaking her head. “That’s not how this works. You don’t get confidential information for free. I asked you, are you joining us? Answer, yes or no, and I’ll decide what to tell you after.”
Miranda took an angry breath and nearly marched out right then and there. It was her need to catch Eli that kept her in place. Could she really throw her chance at catching him away over rankled pride? After all, she had no other leads, and just the thought of going back to paperwork nearly made her ill. Miranda grimaced and looked over her shoulder at Gin, who flicked his ears as if to say it was her choice. Miranda bit her lip. Well, she’d already come this far. She might as well go in all the way.
“All right,” she said, looking Sara directly in the eyes. “I’m in.”
Sara grinned in triumph. “Are you familiar with Izo the Bandit King?”
Miranda nodded.
Sara waved her pipe in a grand gesture. “That’s your answer.”
Miranda stared at her. “What?”
“Be here tomorrow at dawn, packed for a long journey,” Sara said, sticking her pipe back in her mouth. “I’ll give you the rest when I explain the plan to everyone.”
“Everyone?” Miranda said.
“Yes,” Sara said, looking at her as though she were stupid. “Dawn tomorrow, don’t be late.”
And that was all the answer Miranda could get.
Hours later, Sara was still in her office. She sat at her least cluttered desk, reading through the day’s stack of observations while distractedly eating a bowl of fish soup that one of her assistants had brought down hours ago. The soup was congealed and cold, but Sara didn’t seem to notice, shoving a spoonful around her pipe and into her mouth whenever the thought of eating could get past the dozen other issues demanding her attention. She was just scraping the bottom of the bowl when the door to her office slammed open.
She dropped her spoon with a frustrated huff. “If this is about tank seven,” she said, spinning around in her chair, “I already know. There’s no reason…”
Her words trailed to a stop as she got a look at the man who’d barged into her room. He stood in the doorway, tall and impossibly imposing in his severe red robes. His black hair was touched with gray at the temples while his clenched fingers, wrists, and neck were laden with enough gems to make a king jealous. He looked angry enough to spit nails, and his blue eyes were flashing murder, but Sara couldn’t help smiling as she leaned back to take him in.
“Hello, Etmon,” she said, blowing a thin line of blue pipe smoke into the air between them. “It’s been too long.”
If possible, his fists clenched tighter still. “Not long enough.”
Sara’s smile widened. The sight of him was nostalgic enough, but the sound of Etmon Banage’s furious voice made her feel twenty years younger. “This seems to be my week for unexpected visitors,” she said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“You never change, do you?” Banage said. “Still asking questions you already know the answers to just to make me say it. I’m here to tell you that my apprentice will not be accompanying your goons on whatever scheme you’re plotting. I lent her to the Council at the request of Lord Whitefall to assist in the capture of Eli Monpress, not so that you could use her as spiritual muscle whenever you had a problem your undertrained, impotent Council wizards couldn’t handle.”
Sara bit down on her pipe. “Don’t get angry, Etmon. It’s bad enough seeing you in those ridiculous red bed-sheets your little social club requires without your face changing to match. And for your information,” she added quickly, cutting off Banage’s furious retort, “I am doing nothing improper. Your little Miranda is going to help my people set a trap for the thief, among other things.”
“It’s the ‘other things’ that concern me,” Banage said through gritted teeth. “I knew I was taking a risk letting Miranda get anywhere near the Council, but Whitefall assured me you would keep your claws out of her affairs. Miranda is a strong wizard and a fine Spiritualist who’s been through a great deal in the last year. I won’t have you abusing her sense of duty to trick her into doing your dirty work.”
“As if I could,” Sara snapped, her anger rising to meet his. “She’s as moral and dutiful and closed-minded as any of your flock. You don’t have to worry about her.”
“Don’t tell me what to do with my own people!” Banage roared. “You’re sending her to the edge of the Council to make some kind of deal with Izo the Bandit King. Have you finally lost what little grip on reality you ever possessed?”
“You’re one to talk about reality,” Sara said. “Seeing as you live in some black-and-white fantasy where we catch thieves without dealing with the underworld.”
Banage sneered, and Sara blew out a long huff of bitter smoke. “Anyway,” she said, “the deal is done. The girl already agreed to go, and as a servant of the Council, she’s legally obligated to see the job through. So if that was the only reason you had for honoring me with your presence this evening, I’m afraid you’re out of luck, old man. Run on home to your tower and let me get back to my work. You know, the stuff that’s actually important.”
“Oh, yes,” Banage scoffed. “I forgot. Your work is more important than anything else.” He thrust a jeweled finger at her. “I’m taking this to Merchant Prince Whitefall.”
“Go ahead,” Sara said. “He’ll just side with me. Council matters are my playground, Etmon. Go back to your tower and your fawning, self-righteous Spiritualists. Tell you what, when we catch Eli, I’ll bring him by and you can preach him to death.”
Banage whirled around, his fists clenching in rage, and Sara heaved a frustrated sigh.
“Why did you even come?” she muttered. “You knew it would be like this.”
Banage didn’t look at her. “Because,” he said quietly. “Fool that I am, I still believe that, someday, you will remember your oaths.”
“What, to the Spirit Court?” Sara’s eyes narrowed. “Or to you?”
Banage didn’t answer. He walked out of her office without another word, slamming the door behind him with a crash that made Sara wince. She glared at the closed door for a long time, furiously puffing on her pipe until the bowl was nothing but dead ash. Shaking her head at the wasted time, she emptied her pipe into the dregs of her cold soup and got back to work.
CHAPTER
7
Nico gasped at the thin, cold air and pulled her coat tighter across her shoulders. She walked with her face down, her boots crunching over the crust of ice on the rocky slope. They were far north, beyond the Council Borders, farther even than Slorn’s Awakened Wood, on the cold, high slopes of the Sleeping Mountains. An impressive distance, considering it had been only three weeks since Eli had driven them out of Home before dawn. That much wasn’t unusual. Eli was always in a rush when he had a job in mind, but this time keeping up had been much harder.
It doesn’t have to be.
Nico grimaced. The farther north they went, the stronger the voice became.
Why do you do this to yourself? The voice echoed loud and clear through her head, as though the speaker were standing behind her eyeballs. All I ask is honesty, Nico. Embrace what you are and you can have everything back, your strength, your senses, everything.
Nico stomped her aching legs down and focused on the sound of frozen pine needles as they crunched under her boots. “How much farther?”
“Not far,” Eli said. He was well ahead of her, walking lightly between the scrubby evergreens like he didn’t know what tiredness was.
“So you keep saying,” Josef grumbled, keeping pace with Nico. “Is this another of your moving houses?”
“No,” Eli said. “Or I don’t think so. I’ve never actually been here before.”
Josef stopped and stared at him. “Then how do you know where we’re going?”
“I don’t,” Eli said cheerfully. “Not many do, past this point. It’s not exactly on a map.”
Josef sneered up at the mountains surrounding them. “Fantastic. Three weeks on a death march just to get lost in the mountains.”