by Rachel Aaron
“I didn’t,” Eli said, leaning in to examine the stone’s face.
The boulder itself looked worse for wear. Long, sharp-edged gashes pitted the stone’s surface. When Eli brushed his hand over them, a shower of glass dislodged and toppled to the ground, raising a sparkling cloud that sent them all into painful coughing fits.
When he could speak again, Josef asked, “What was that thing, anyway?”
“A sandstorm spirit,” Eli wheezed.
“I’ve never seen a sandstorm that could do this.”
“Normally, it couldn’t,” Eli said, covering his mouth with his hand. “But this one wasn’t in its right mind. Did you see that Ronald guy drop the sphere?”
“Renaud,” Nico corrected, casually pulling glass splinters out of her coat.
“Whatever,” Eli said. “That ball wasn’t a gem or anything you normally store a spirit in. It was the spirit. He used his will to overpower the sandstorm, like a bully crushing ants together. He forced it to press itself down into that tiny ball, and what do you get when you put sand under high pressure?”
Nico held up one of the dark glass shards.
“Exactly,” Eli said and nodded. “Compressing it into a size he could carry around completely altered the spirit’s form. Considering the color, he’s probably had it like that for a very long time.” He frowned, and his next words were uncharacteristically gentle. “It must have been very painful for the storm.”
“Well, if it hurt so much, why didn’t the spirit just escape?” Josef said, leaning over to knock the glass dust out of his hair. “I’ve never been clear on all this wizard talk, but a sandstorm’s a lot bigger than he is. Couldn’t it have just up and run?”
“It’s not that simple,” Eli said. “A sandstorm isn’t a whole spirit to start with, not like other spirits. A rock, for example, has been a rock for a long time. It may have been part of a mountain in the past, but it’s always been stone. The rock’s spirit has a strong sense of identity. It’s fully developed. Sandstorms are different. They’re born when air spirits and sand spirits rub each other the wrong way, kind of like a spirit brawl. As the sand is thrown up into the air, both spirits merge into one violent storm. Eventually, they blow their anger out and the sand falls back down, separating the spirits again, but while they’re fighting, the sand and air spirits together are a sandstorm spirit. Believe me, neither side is very happy about it. Storms like that are impossible to talk to.
“Unfortunately,” Eli continued, “storms like that are also very stupid. Both spirits are battling for control of the storm, so there’s a lot of raw spirit power, but no control. That’s probably why Renaud was able to dominate it so completely. It didn’t have the presence of mind to resist.”
“So where is the storm now?” Josef said. “Did he roll it back into a ball and take it with him?”
“No,” Eli said, shaking his head. “If there’s anything left, we’re standing on it.” He nudged the sand gently with his foot, stirring up a small cloud of glitter. “Once a spirit degrades that far, it’s only good for one last blow. Renaud knew that, so he used the last of its self-control as a leash to sic it on us, and then left it to blow itself out, taking all the evidence of his double cross with it.” Eli ran his finger delicately over one of the long scars on the rock face. “It would have worked too, if not for my brilliant plan.”
“Very brilliant,” Josef said stiffly, pressing his injured chest. “Where’s Renaud now, then?”
“Back at the palace, I’d say.” Eli nodded toward the spires that poked above the treetops, dark and flat against the evening sky. “Princes who have just overthrown their brothers probably have better things to do than wait around for the likes of us. Maybe we should—”
He stopped as a strong wind blew across the clearing, swirling the loose glass dust into a biting whirlwind. Eli, Josef, and Nico huddled in the lee of the stone, trying not to breathe.
“Well, I think that does it,” Eli wheezed when the wind finally died down. “Cowering in a glass dust bath with no gold, no king, and no easy way to get either. This is, officially, our worst job ever.”
“It was your idea,” Josef said. He dug out one of his spare bandages and tied it over his mouth. “Here,” he said and handed one to Nico and another to Eli. “Let’s go.”
They secured the cloth over their faces and began their trek out of the dustbowl. It took much longer than it should have, for the dust was knee deep in places and so fine it got under their improvised masks within minutes, caking anywhere there was moisture. The bloody front of Josef’s shirt was black with it, and even Nico grimaced when it got in her nose. The dusty circle was deathly silent. In the forest ahead, crickets chirped and evening birds called out, but inside the clearing the only sound was the shuffle of their feet sliding through the dust and the wheezing of their own labored breathing.
“Faster,” Eli mumbled, trying to speak without opening his mouth. They picked up the pace, and by the time they reached the forest’s edge, they were almost running.
As soon as they reached the trees, they tore off their masks and collapsed panting on the ground.
“There should be a stream or something around here,” Eli said, spitting the dust out of his mouth. “If I don’t get this mess off me soon, I’ll be Eli jerky.”
A leather canteen flew through the darkness and landed with a wet slap as his feet. Eli jumped back with a sound that was half obscenity, half squeal. Josef whirled in the direction the canteen had come from, blades out. In the last dim light, a pair of amused orange eyes flashed down from the shadows.
Eli recovered in the blink of an eye, slouching into a carefully nonchalant pose. “How long were you waiting?”
“Long enough,” Miranda said, not fooled for a moment by his sudden cool attitude. Below her, Gin choked back a laugh. “You can call off your pet swordsman. My intentions are peaceful for the moment.”
Josef looked nonplussed at his new title, but he put the knives away. Eli just grinned. “Such assurances!” He waved at the king sitting behind her. “Hello, Your Majesty! Couldn’t live without us, could you?”
The king went scarlet and opened his mouth to protest, but Miranda cut him off. “You will refrain from harassing King Henrith any further, Mr. Monpress.” Her voice would have frozen a boiling pot.
Eli gave her a wink and reached for the canteen. “So, Miss Spiritualist, to what do we owe the honor of this peaceful chat?”
Miranda folded her arms over her chest. “I want to know what your plans are for fixing this mess you’ve made.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you are talking about,” Eli said, and took a long drink. “I’m just a thief.”
“Just a thief?” Miranda gave him an incredulous look. “You kidnapped the king of a council kingdom.”
“I was going to give him back,” Eli said, splashing a handful of water on his face. He took another swig and then passed the canteen to Josef. “Actually, that makes me better than a thief, since they don’t normally return what they steal.” He grinned. “I guess I’m moving up in the world.”
“I don’t care what you were going to do. I care about what you did. ” Miranda leaned forward, resting her elbow on Gin’s forehead. “Did it not cross your mind, even for a second, what kidnapping a king might do to his country?”
“For your information, I chose Henrith very carefully. How was I supposed to know he had a crazy wizard brother?”
“If you used half the time you spend talking on research, you would have known Mellinor’s entire family tree,” Miranda snapped. “Now, because of your shameful incompetence, that ‘crazy wizard brother,’ who also happens to be an enslaver and an attempted murderer, is in spitting distance of the throne, and it’s All. Your. Fault.”
“Now hold on,” Eli said. “You can’t blame all that on me.”
“By the Powers, I can!” Henrith yelled. “Everything was fine before you came! Even Renaud stayed in line. Then you appear and turn things
upside down and expect us to let you walk away?”
Josef finished his swig and handed the canteen to Nico. “I understand Dusty’s concern.” He nodded to the king, who fumed. “But I don’t understand why you’re involved.” He fixed his eyes on Miranda. “You were sent here to catch Eli, right? So why aren’t you attacking us and leaving the king to fend for himself? Mellinor doesn’t even like wizards. Why should the Spirit Court care who’s on the throne?”
“Because an enslaver king is bad for everyone,” Miranda said. “He cannot be allowed to secure his power.”
“Seems to me like you’ve already got the answer to that.” Josef looked at the king.
“It’s not that simple,” Miranda said. “Renaud wouldn’t take a chance on this brother surviving without some kind of cover. Henrith tells me that Renaud has probably already convinced the masters that anyone resembling Henrith who approaches the castle is a phantom I’ve summoned to trick them.”
“A phantom?” Eli cackled. “Where did they get that idea?”
“Don’t ask,” Miranda grumbled. “Anyway, suffice it to say the direct approach is out of the question, but the Spirit Court cannot allow an enslaver access to a kingdom’s power. We learned that lesson with Gregorn. Master Banage would back Henrith’s claim, but the people of Mellinor would never believe it wasn’t a Spiritualist trick. Whatever way we go, Mellinor will be thrown into conflict either with the Spiritualists, the Council forces, or itself. War is bad enough, but war with an enslaver involved?” She shuddered. “Imagine rivers used as soldiers, armies of trees, an infantry of bonfires, and all of them left mad at the end, no matter which way the fighting went. That mad sandstorm was nothing compared to what Renaud could do if he had the reason. We can’t let that happen.”
“Well, that sounds dreadful,” Eli said. “I’m still failing to see what this has to do with us.”
“It has everything to do with you!” Miranda shouted. “Who do you think started all of this? Everything in Mellinor was perfectly fine for four hundred years. Four hundred! That’s four centuries without a coup, a rebellion, or any problems bigger than a trade dispute, until you three showed up.”
“That’s a bit unfair,” Eli said and frowned. “We only—”
“I don’t care!” Miranda rolled right over him. “I don’t care what you wanted or how it was supposed to turn out. No matter what spin you put on it, this whole country is about to go to hell because of you and your stupid plan to bilk forty thousand gold standards by destabilizing a peaceful kingdom. So, what I want to know, Mr. Greatest-Thief-In-The-World, is what do you mean to do about it?”
Eli looked from the fuming Spiritualist to the king and back again. He turned to Josef, who shrugged, then Nico, who was trying to get the last drops of water out of the canteen, and his shoulders slumped.
“All right,” he said. “I admit that things might not have gone exactly as I would have liked, but perhaps we can come to an arrangement.” His smile was back as he looked up at Miranda. “Say I agree to help you, what exactly would you be asking us to do?”
“Our primary objective is to apprehend Renaud,” Miranda said, nodding toward the castle, which was now lost in the evening gloom. “After that, returning Henrith to his throne will be easy.”
“And you’d want our help on the apprehending part,” Eli said, tapping his finger against his belt idly. “That’s a tall order. Renaud’s pretty strong.”
“Strong, yes,” Miranda said, “but surely a man with a fifty-five-thousand-gold bounty on his head is plenty strong in his own right.”
“Such flattery is dangerous for a humble man like myself.” Eli grinned, and Josef rolled his eyes. “But I’m a thief, Miss Spiritualist, not an assassin. Robbing him blind is one thing, but confronting him outright?” He shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ll have to sweeten the deal.”
“How do you mean?”
Eli put on his best innocent look. “I do feel somewhat responsible for the current state of affairs in Mellinor, and I am a man who takes his responsibilities very seriously. That’s why I’m going to offer you our services at a very reasonable rate.”
Miranda’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to pay you to do what you should be doing in the first place.”
“Oh, not money.” Eli waved his hand. “Nothing like that. Just a small trade of favors. I help you, you help me.”
“If you want me to talk to the Council about your bounty—”
“Powers, no!” Eli laughed. “You couldn’t change a thing even if I did want it. My favor is much, much simpler. You see, right now I’m wanted by both the Spirit Court and the Council of Thrones for different infractions. Two posters, two listings in the bounty roster, two payouts. It’s all very impractical. All I want you to do is convince the Spirit Court to combine its reward of five thousand standards with the Council’s. No extra money needed, just a tiny administrative change.”
Miranda kept her eye on him as she went over the words in her head, looking for the catch. “But that would raise your bounty to …”
“Sixty thousand.” Eli reached in his pocket and pulled out his new wanted poster. “It’s really too bad,” he sighed, unfolding it. “They just copied out all these new ones. I think it’s their best likeness of me yet.”
He tried to hand the poster to Miranda, but she held up her hand. “Stop. You’re up to something.”
Eli blinked innocently, but Miranda leaned forward on Gin’s head, keeping her eyes pinned on his. “Asking Mellinor to pledge money, I can understand. That gives them a thirty-five-thousand-gold stake in making sure you don’t get caught. But the Spirit Council won’t stop chasing you no matter what it costs. You know this, so why raise your bounty? Don’t you realize that every gold standard draws another ten bounty hunters out of the woodwork? Sixty thousand is enough money to bankroll a small war. Your own mother would turn you in for half as much.”
“I don’t doubt she would.” Eli’s grin grew wicked. “But you’re missing the point, Lady Spiritualist. It’s not about the bounty hunters or extorting countries. It’s about the bounty. It’s about a little boy’s dream!” He threw out his arms. “Sixty thousand is nothing. Chump change! My goal is to be worth one million gold.”
Miranda’s eyes widened. “One million? Are you crazy? There’s not that much money in the world! The Council’s war with the Immortal Empress didn’t cost half so much, and they’re still paying it off. Even if you kidnapped a king a week, you’d die of old age before you got your bounty that high.”
“Well,” Eli said, “if that’s how you feel, how can you object to a trifle like moving the Spirit Court’s five thousand?”
Miranda hunched over Gin’s head, glaring suspiciously at the grinning thief. “Why a million?”
Eli shrugged. “Seemed like a good number. No one’s ever had a million-gold bounty.”
Miranda gave him a scathing look. “It can’t be that simple.”
“I never said it was, but you’re free to make up your own reasons if it’ll make you feel better.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked up at her, his face unbearably smug. “Time’s ticking, Miss Spiritualist. Do we have a deal or not?”
Miranda knotted her hands in Gin’s fur, thinking. Henrith shifted uneasily behind her while the hound kept a close eye on Nico, who hadn’t done anything except sit on the ground and watch the show. Finally, the Spiritualist gave a long sigh.
“All right,” she said. “I’m sure I’ll regret this, but you have a deal, Mr. Monpress. If you help apprehend Renaud and put Henrith safely back on his throne, I will talk to the Rector Spiritualis about transferring our bounty on you to the Council. However”—she stabbed her index finger at him—“even though, at the moment, I’m looking the other way for the sake of the greater good, my orders to bring you in have not changed. When we are done here, I’m not going to stop chasing you.”
Eli smiled graciously. “I expected nothing less.”
Miranda blinked, thrown
off balance by his sudden sincerity. “Well, that’s settled then.”
Josef pushed himself off the tree. “If you two are done chatting, we’d better get moving. Sitting out in the dark on the edge of the clearing where we were almost killed isn’t a good place to talk strategy. Besides”—he slapped his neck—“I’m being eaten alive out here.”
Now that he mentioned it, Miranda could feel them too. “Lead on,” she mumbled, slapping one of the biting midges off her hand.
When she looked up, the swordsman was already stalking off through the trees. The demonseed girl followed a few steps behind, silent as a shadow. Eli strolled along at his own pace with his hands in his pockets, whistling something off key.
Miranda exchanged glances with the king. At last he gave a resigned nod, and she nudged Gin with her toe. The ghosthound rose soundlessly. Quiet as his namesake, he slipped through the trees, keeping abreast with the swordsman but well away from the girl who followed him. High overhead, the moon was beginning its climb through the black sky, illuminating their winding path through the rocky hills and steep gullies of the deer park with her clear, white light.
CHAPTER
15
This is where you were hiding?” Miranda gaped, sliding off Gin’s back. The moonlight that filtered through the treetops was just enough for her to be able to make out the tumbledown walls and gaping roof of the small hunting shack. “You could barely spend a night in this.”
“It’s a bit run down,” Eli admitted, “but”—he leaned over and pointed through a gap in the surrounding trees— “you can’t beat the location.”
Looking where he pointed, she could just spot the white walls of the city glowing silver through the trees, barely half a mile away.
“I don’t believe it,” Miranda said.
“First rule of thievery,” Eli said, grinning, “only run if you’re not coming back.” He thumped his heels on the hard ground. “The last place a man looks is under his feet.”