by Rachel Aaron
Nico stared at their clasped hands. “No,” she whispered. “Teach me.”
Tesset smiled and released her. “I have already taught you.”
Nico gaped at him. “No,” she said, grabbing his hand again. “You have to teach me how to do it.”
Tesset gripped her fingers so hard they ached. “I taught you as Den taught me,” he said. “It is so simple, yet it has taken me over thirty years to get to where I am now. But it is not a matter of strength or training or anything else won by hard work. It is a matter of understanding. A child could master it in one day if only their mind were free enough. To truly become master of yourself, you must be willing to throw everything else away. Fear, anger, doubt; these things undermine your authority. You must become as an enslaver to your own soul. Once you have achieved that, nothing can control or limit you ever again.”
Nico stared at him, bewildered. But Tesset just smiled, releasing her hand.
“It helps to find a goal,” he said, his gruff voice almost wistful as he leaned back to stare at the fire. “Mastering your soul becomes easier when you’re chasing something greater than yourself. Mine is to meet Den one more time before I die and finally fight him as an equal.”
“But,” Nico said, “he’s had that enormous bounty on his head for twenty-five years now with no news. How do you even know he’s still alive?”
“He’s alive,” Tesset said fiercely. “Wherever he is, I know he’s alive. Men like Den don’t die without the world knowing. One day I will find him, and then I will show him how much I have learned.”
Nico looked at Tesset as though she were seeing him for the first time, his brown hair touched with gray, his brown skin warm and dark in the firelight, his hawk-nosed face set with absolute determination, and she believed him. She licked her dry lips, thinking of what she would ask him next about how she could begin down the road to understanding what he’d told her. But before she could get the words out, she was cut off by the unmistakable sound of a door being kicked down, followed immediately by the sound of a dog snarling and a woman’s surprised scream.
CHAPTER
15
There,” Miranda said, straightening up. “That should do it.”
The house she’d been moved to was smaller than the one she’d shared with Tesset and Sparrow, but far better suited to her purposes. It had been a storage building, and as such it was one large room with a high roof and a pair of double doors wide enough for Gin to squeeze through. He was now lying stretched out against the wall with his head resting on his paws by the front door and his haunches hanging out the back. Next to him, a small wood-burning stove with a roaring fire far larger than it was meant to contain kept out any chill the open back door might have let in. Other than the stove, the building had no furniture. Miranda had made the bandits move it all out to make room for her custom prison.
Everywhere Gin wasn’t, a bed of soft, springy moss covered the plank floor in a thick green carpet. At the center of the moss was what could only be described as a stone barrel. The barrel was filled to the brim with impossibly blue water, and sitting in the water up to his chin was Eli, looking extremely nonplussed.
“I’m getting a cramp,” he announced, shifting in the water, or trying to. “It’s unhealthy to stay still this long. And the water is cold.”
“You’ll live,” Miranda said, leaning against Gin with a smug expression. Eli gave her a pathetic look, and Miranda, after a dramatic eye rolling, waved her hand. All of her rings were glowing like embers, but it was the cloudy emerald taking up the bottom joint of her left thumb that flashed the brightest. A moment later the stone barrel creaked and widened a few inches, giving Eli room to fold his legs.
“Much better,” the thief sighed. “Thank you, Durn.”
The stone spirit rumbled a warning before settling down into his new shape.
Eli arched his eyebrows and leaned forward. Or he tried to, but the water stopped him before he’d gotten more than an inch. He made himself comfortable as best he could, grinning at Miranda as though this half-forward trapped position was what he had intended all along.
“I’ve been in a lot of prisons,” he said. “But this has to be the most elaborate. How long do you intend to keep this up?”
“As long as I have to,” Miranda said. “It’s clear we’re not getting out of here anytime soon, and I know better than to leave you alone. So until I get you to Zarin and hand you over to Banage himself, I’m not taking my eyes off you.”
“What, you’re just going to sit there and stare at me?” Eli said. “I’m flattered, don’t misunderstand, but aren’t you being a bit unreasonable? I mean, I’m just sitting here enjoying the soak while you’re keeping every spirit you have on full burn. That’s got to take it out of you. How long do you honestly think you can keep it up?”
“I’ll worry about that,” Miranda said.
There was no reason to tell the thief, but she’d planned out a schedule. Right now, Kirik, her fire spirit in the stove, and Alliana, her moss, were on guard. When they got tired, she’d bring out Eril, her wind spirit, and Allinu, her mountain mist, to take their place. Durn, being stone, could watch forever, and she knew better than to question Mellinor’s resolve. Keeping up all these spirits was difficult, but it wasn’t like she had anything more important to do. When she did need to sleep or empty her bladder, Gin could keep an eye on things. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but since Sparrow was dragging his feet, it would have to do. One thing, however, was certain: She was not going to give the thief a moment of leeway. Not an inch of freedom. She had won; she had him. All she had to do to secure her victory forever was get him back to Zarin. This time, she would make sure that happened, no matter the cost. This time, Eli would not escape.
“Being at the center of so much attention, I feel like I should be more entertaining,” the thief said with a grin. “How about this? Free my hands and I’ll show you a card trick.”
Miranda gave him a stony glare and said nothing.
When he realized this approach wasn’t going to work, Eli let out a long sigh and slumped back against Mellinor’s restraining water.
“You know, I’m actually very impressed,” he said, his voice surprisingly sincere. “That was a neat little trap you pulled off back in the river. Of all the people who’ve chased me over the years, you’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a real rival. There’ve been so many bounty hunters who’ve come after me, so many traps, and yet no one has come quite as close quite as many times as you, Miranda. Back when I first started this whole million-gold-standard bounty thing, I always envisioned a great rival, some famous bounty hunter who would track me all across the Council Kingdoms and give me a real run for my money. But I never in my life thought it would be a Spiritualist.”
Miranda frowned, not sure how to answer. Fortunately, she didn’t need to, for Eli kept going.
“I just don’t see what you’re getting from all this effort,” he said. “You’ve already achieved more than most Spiritualists do in a lifetime. You’ve got nearly two full hands of rings, position, power, a Great Spirit at your beck and call. You don’t seem to care about money or fame, and you’re not the type who enjoys the chase for its own sake, so far as I can tell. I keep waiting for you to give up, go home, get a Tower, write some long-winded treatise on spiritual ethics, but you never do. You keep coming after me. Why is that?”
“Is that a trick question?” Miranda asked, keeping her voice carefully flat.
“No,” Eli said slowly. “It’s a sincere one.”
Miranda leaned back, resting her head on Gin’s ribs. “Because it is my duty.”
“Nonsense,” Eli said. “It’s the Council’s job to catch thieves.”
She gave him a long look. “That may be, but the Spirit Court cannot ignore your actions. You go around using spirits to steal kings without even trying to hide it. Every job you pull is a production, a grand sensation to build your reputation as Eli Monpress, the wizard thief. The
Spirit Court exists to promote two goals: the ethical treatment of spirits and building the public’s faith in wizardry. In case you’ve forgotten, wizards used to be seen as tyrants, hated by spirits and people alike for abusing their power. For the last four centuries, the Spirit Court has worked to change that by taking down those who abuse spirits and by holding all wizards accountable to a moral code, whether they want to be held accountable or not.”
“You can’t force your morals on the whole world,” Eli said.
“We don’t,” Miranda said. “We force them on other wizards, because if we didn’t, the bad times would return faster than you could imagine. Spiritualists swear to uphold the Spirit Court’s code of ethics precisely so that we never go back to those dark days. That is why, when you decided to abandon those morals, to use your power as a wizard to flout the law for personal gain, it became my duty to stop you. Your actions throw a black shadow on all of us and undo the hard work of a great many good people. It’s so much easier to tear down a reputation than to build it, to inspire fear and suspicion rather than trust. That’s why I have to stop you, to protect the work of all the Spiritualists who went before me and save the trust they built, which you now take advantage of.”
Eli heaved a long, hard sigh. “You remind me very much of someone I used to know when you lecture like that,” he said quietly. “How is it Spiritualists can turn anything into a matter of duty?”
“It’s called having principles,” Miranda said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Some of us don’t have morals as flexible as yours.”
“Well, no one could ever accuse you of flexibility,” Eli said dryly. “Unfortunately, I fear we will never come to an agreement. Your world is far too black-and-white for me.”
“There’s no agreement to come to,” Miranda said fiercely. “Don’t forget who’s up to his neck in water.”
Eli smirked and started to answer, but he never got a chance. At that moment, the door exploded.
Miranda screamed in surprise, throwing up her arms to shield her face as bits of wood shot across the room. She fell to the ground as Gin slid out from under her, leaping to his feet with a snarl, his patterns swirling madly as he turned to face the door, ears flat back against his skull. For a moment, she couldn’t even see what he was growling at through the dust and debris. Then the man stepped into the room, and Miranda felt her skin grow cold.
Sted stood in the doorway. He was shirtless, and his cape was gone. For a moment, Miranda could only stare in horror at the hideous thing growing out of his shoulder. The black skin, as hard and polished as scorched glass, was so alien, so beyond what she expected, that Sted had walked almost all the way to where Eli was trapped in the water before she realized it was his arm. With that realization, everything else fell into place, and she flung out her hand. At once, Durn threw himself back, sliding along Allinora’s mossy bed to rest beside Miranda, Eli safely squeezed between the layers of rock and water. The thief started to protest, but Mellinor’s water covered his head before he could speak. Never taking her eyes off the intruder, Miranda nodded in thanks. Now was not the time for distractions.
“I knew something was wrong with you,” she said, stepping between Sted and Eli, who was bubbling furiously under Mellinor’s water. “But I never thought Izo’d actually be stupid enough to employ a demonseed. It must be an idiocy common within the criminal element.”
Behind her, Eli made a sound that was half burble, half scoff, and she flicked Durn’s ring. There was a loud scrape as the rock closed over Eli’s head, trapping him inside a cocoon of stone as well as water. Miranda nodded. Mellinor could give him enough oxygen to keep him from drowning for ten minutes at least, and she was taking no chances.
Sted stood where Durn had been, glaring at her with eyes that were far too bright for the dim room. “I serve no man but myself,” he sneered. “I’m here for the thief. Hand him over.”
“Never,” Miranda said, pulling Allinora’s moss back into her ring, away from the monster at the door. “Eli Monpress is under arrest by the authority of the Spirit Court and the Council of Thrones.”
“Really?” Sted’s voice was slow and sharp, like a knife working through frozen flesh. “And are you ready to die to keep him?”
Gin snarled beside her, and Miranda couldn’t help baring her teeth as well. “I couldn’t do my duty if I wasn’t,” she said. “Leave now or I’ll call the whole deal off and Izo will never be king.”
Sted threw back his head and laughed, a horrible, hollow sound that rattled up from deep in his chest. “Izo?” he cried. “Who cares about Izo? Weren’t you listening, girl? I’m here for the thief, preferably alive, but I’ll take what I can get. Your fate I’m far less picky about. Move.” He took a menacing step forward, heavy boots creaking on the bare plank floor. “Now.”
Miranda held her ground, hands clenched in sweaty fists around her rings. Spiritualists didn’t fight demonseeds; it was too risky. But she could not back down. Not now, not when she had Eli. Her resolve was set, and Gin must have felt it, for before she could open her mouth to answer Sted’s threat, the ghosthound lunged forward.
It was a tight jump. The little room wasn’t large enough for Gin to turn around in let alone get any momentum for a flying attack, but Miranda would never have known it. Gin sprang from a standstill, a shifting blur of claws and teeth aimed straight for Sted’s neck. Sted had nowhere to dodge and no time to duck before the dog’s teeth sank into his neck and shoulders.
They fell backward, Sted stumbling into the splintered remains of the door with Gin on top of him, the ghosthound’s teeth lodged in his torso. Miranda felt like cheering. Gin knew as well as she did that the only way to win this was to take Sted down in one blow, before he could eat them or terrify her spirits into submission. From where she stood, it looked like the hound had done just that. Even demonseeds went down when you ripped them in half. But then, just when it looked like Sted was done for, Gin yelped and jumped back, slamming against the rear wall of the house in a scramble of legs and wild shifting fur.
“Bastard!” the dog roared.
Gin’s muzzle was slick with blood, which wasn’t surprising, considering he’d just bitten a man through to the ribs, but this was too much. Gin coughed, bringing up more blood as he circled to face Sted again, his head low and cautious, as though he were the one who’d just taken a blow instead of dealt one. Across the room, Sted stood up, a superior grin on his face. Gin’s bite draped across his neck and shoulders like a bloody shawl, but the holes were closing as Miranda watched.
“Not fast enough?” she asked quietly.
“No, I got him,” Gin snarled, sending blood across the floor. “Bastard let me get him. Let me get in good before he started to eat.”
He coughed again, adding more blood to the pool on the floor. “I don’t get it,” he panted. “I could feel him eating me. It was just like before, with Monpress’s girl. But there’s no fear.”
Gin was right, she realized. Other than her spirits, the room was calm. There was no panic, no overwhelming fear like she’d felt in Mellinor. If Sted wasn’t standing there with his monstrous arm, healing right in front of her, she wouldn’t have even known he was a demonseed.
Gin growled. Sted was coming forward, a feral grin on his scarred face.
“Is that all?” His voice was thick with laughter. “Is that all you have to throw against me? A pet dog?”
“Miranda,” Gin said softly, never taking his orange eyes off Sted. “Take the thief out the back. I’ll hold this bastard here while—”
A whoosh of flame cut off his words. The fire in the stove blazed up to the ceiling, and Sted burst into flames. He screamed in pain and began to flail wildly. Gin turned to look at Miranda, who was lowering her hand, Kirik’s enormous ruby burning like a bonfire on her thumb.
“No playing hero tonight, mutt,” she said, pressing her fingers against the pendant on her chest. A great wind rose up, and the fire on Sted grew white-hot as Eril, her wind spi
rit, blasted it like a forge bellow. Sted screamed again, beating the flames, but Kirik clung tight. The blast of heat was enough to blister Miranda’s skin, but she didn’t step back. Triumph surged up Kirik’s connection, and the ring on Miranda’s thumb began to almost vibrate with the fire’s victorious joy as Sted sank to his knees.
Then, in the space between breaths, the tide turned. The flames were still blazing bright, the smell of burned flesh thick in the air, but Miranda could feel something pulling on the connection that tied her to Kirik. It felt as though the fire spirit was going further and further away from her, fading into the distance. The feeling was so alien that, for a moment, she could only stand dumbly. Then, like a splash of cold water, she realized what was happening.
“Kirik!” Her voice throbbed with power. “Come back now!”
“No!” the fire roared. “I’ve almost got him!”
“Kirik!” she cried again. She could feel it clearly now, vibrating up their connection. Sted was eating the fire even as it burned him, devouring the spirit’s soul. Through the flames, she could see his charred skin mending, growing whole again as he sucked in the fire’s essence. But Kirik wasn’t stopping. He burned brighter than ever, the heat roaring until the wooden roof began to smoke, but Sted was standing up, his black, clawed hand clutching the fire, drawing it in, and Miranda decided enough was enough.
With a wrench of her spirit she’d never had to use before, she grabbed Kirik and pulled him back. It hurt. The fire burned her control, fighting her, screaming that he had almost won, but Miranda slammed her will down like a forge hammer. Roaring with defeat, the fire fled back to its ring and the ruby’s light went out. Dumbstruck by what had just happened, Miranda stared at her ring, her vision wavering as her heart thudded in fear. The red stone was now the color of charred coal, and she could barely feel Kirik at all.
A gust of wind hit her as Eril returned to his pendant, and Miranda forced her attention back to the fight. Sted was on his feet again, standing in a circle of black char. Smoke filled the air, but most of it came from what was left of the roof and the floor. Sted’s clothes had been reduced to blackened rags, but his skin was nearly untouched, and what bits of it were still charred were healing before Miranda’s eyes.