by Rachel Aaron
Almost too late, Eli remembered this was Josef and Nico’s first time visiting Slorn. A warning of some sort was probably wise.
“Remember,” he whispered over his shoulder as they stepped through the door. “Don’t stare.”
Josef gave him a confused look, but then they were walking through the door and his eyes went wide as Eli’s meaning became clear.
They were standing at the end of a long, well-lit room with a cheery fire in the hearth and a dozen lamps swinging from the tall rafters. Long as the room was, it was mostly taken up by a heavy table large enough to seat eight full-grown men, but which was currently covered with everything from pieces of driftwood to incredibly intricate parts of unknown machinery. At the table’s head, an enormous man sat hunched over, working an iron ingot between his enormous hands like a potter works clay. At first glance, he could have been one of the giant, northern woodsmen, but with one slight, important difference. At his shoulders, where his neck should have been, rose the furry head of a black bear.
It was a sharp change, human skin suddenly giving way to black fur, as though the man’s own head had been chopped off and a bear’s put in its place. But other than the horrible wrongness, it was a natural transition. The man part of him looked like any other man, and the bear part looked like any other bear. His nose was black and wrinkled and it quivered under his slow breathing. Yellow teeth glinted in a jaw that could crush a man’s head, but his dark, wide-set eyes were calm and thoughtful as they watched the iron yield to his hands. Although Eli knew what to expect, a shudder ran from his feet to his head. No matter how many times it happened, seeing Slorn was always a bracing experience.
“You’re staring,” said a gruff voice, more growl than speech. The bear looked up, his dark eyes passing over Eli’s shoulder to the man behind him. “I heard Monpress tell you not to do that.”
Eli heard the creak of leather as Josef’s hands tightened on the knives at his hip, and the bear-headed man made a low rumbling sound that was eerily close to a chuckle. “Don’t insult my house with those dull blades, swordsman. Unless you mean to draw the monster on your back, or the monster at your side”—his dark eyes flicked to Nico, who was pinned to Josef’s arm—“I suggest you calm down.”
Josef relaxed slightly, and the bear grinned, a disturbing sight. “Come,” Slorn said. He tossed the iron down and motioned to the bench. “Sit and tell me how I might get rid of you.”
“Now, Heinricht,” Eli said, plopping down at the table across from him, “is that any way to treat your customers?”
“I’m a craftsman,” Slorn said, resting his furry chin on his knuckles. “Not a shopkeeper. Get to the point.”
Eli leaned forward. “You see that timid little thing beside my swordsman?” he whispered conspiratorially. “I need you to make her a new coat.”
Slorn’s dark eyes flicked over to the girl who was huddling in the doorway, as far from the bear-headed man as she could get, her eyes wide and disturbingly bright. They stared at each other for a long minute, then Slorn gave Eli a tired glare.
“When you asked for a cloth that could hide a demonseed’s presence,” he said, “and manacles to hold it down, I made them. I did it in thanks for the great service you had done me, and I asked no questions. But the debts between us are paid, Monpress. I took the risk of letting you find me today out of respect for our history together, but understand that doing what you ask now will put me in a very tenuous position. What compensation have you brought to make it worth my while?”
Eli’s smile brightened, and he motioned to Josef. The swordsman hefted the sack of Mellinor’s gold, which he had lugged halfway across the known world for this purpose, walked over to the table, and set it down with a very satisfactory thump. Eli reached out and undid the leather strap, letting the gold spill out in a glittering cascade.
“A king’s ransom,” he said smugly. “Well, part of one. There’s enough in there to buy you a castle, though it’d be up to you to put legs on it. I think that should more than cover one little coat.”
Slorn looked at the pile and then at Eli. “I asked you what compensation you’d brought. All I see here is a lot of money.”
Eli’s smug expression faltered just a hair. “Surely even the great Heinricht Slorn needs to buy things on occasion.”
“If I wanted money ”—Slorn spat the word with disgust—“I could get more than this from far better company.” He leaned back, folding his arms over his massive chest. “What else did you bring?”
“False hopes, apparently.” Eli sighed. “Look, bearface, we’re in a bit of a bind.” His hand shot out and grabbed Nico’s wrist, pulling her out from behind Josef and pinning her arm to the table before she could react. He pressed it down, letting the sound of the manacle rattling against the wood make his point for him.
“I don’t have to tell you what that means,” he said softly, meeting Slorn’s dark, animal stare. “You made them. If you don’t want gold, tell me your price and I’ll steal it for you, but if you’re not going to help us, just say so and we’ll get out of your fur.”
Nico tugged her hand out of Eli’s grasp, but he didn’t look at her. He kept his eyes on the bear-headed man, who was scratching his muzzle thoughtfully.
“Perhaps we can come to an arrangement,” Slorn growled at last. “I’ve been doing some work on my own, and I think I can make your girl a coat better than the one before. Something made to withstand your”—he paused, looking them over—“harsh lifestyle. In return, however, I want you to do a job for me.”
Eli arched his eyebrows. “And what kind of job would this be?”
“Something right up your alley, I’d think,” Slorn said. “I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you before we have an agreement.”
Warning bells sounded in Eli’s head, and he gave the crafter a suspicious look. “It’s not usually my policy to make deals without knowing what I’m getting into.”
Slorn shrugged. “If you don’t like it, you’re free to go and find a coat elsewhere. Better decide quickly, though. Your demonseed is starting to make the furniture nervous.”
As if on cue, the bench they were sitting on started to rumble and tried to tip backward. Josef slammed his feet and leaned forward, pinning it with his weight. Eli shook his head and turned back to the bear-headed man.
“You make a good point,” he said. “All right, we’ll take your job, but ”—he pointed his finger directly at Slorn’s snout—“you’re making the coat first. Nico’s an important part of my team. I need her in peak condition if we’re going to do a job, especially one you won’t tell me about beforehand.”
On the other side of Josef, Eli heard Nico straighten up, and a warm feeling of satisfaction went through him. Perhaps the girl wasn’t as unfeeling as she made out.
Slorn, however, did not look convinced. “How do I know you won’t just run off?”
Eli clasped his chest. “You wound me! I would never risk losing your good opinion, or all the nice toys you keep making me.”
“Fair enough,” Slorn said, standing up. “You have your deal. Pele, take the girl upstairs and measure her. I’ll start on the cloth tonight.”
Pele nodded and pushed off the wall she’d been leaning on. She looked at Nico and jerked her head in the direction of the tiny staircase that led to the house’s attic. “This way.”
If possible, Nico’s face went paler. She looked at Josef, almost like she was asking permission, but the swordsman just stared right back at her. Biting her thin lip, Nico left Josef’s side and crept up the stairs after Pele, keeping her arms crossed over her chest and staying as far from the walls as she could. When she reached the tiny landing, she gave Josef and Eli one last terrified look before Pele ushered her into a brightly lit room and shut the door behind them.
“They won’t be long,” Slorn said, moving across the room with surprising lightness for such a tall, broad man. “We need to move quickly. The manacles were never meant to do their job alone.”
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“I thought the coat was just a cover,” Josef said, standing up. “A front to hide what she is so the spirits won’t panic.”
“That’s part of it,” Slorn answered. “But demons feed on all parts of a spirit, including fear. In the absence of its cover, the seed has been gorging, and not just on the fear around the girl, but on her own as well. As it eats, it grows, and as it grows, the girl’s fight to keep her mind becomes harder and harder.” The bear-headed man knelt down by a chest that opened instantly for him, the lid popping up of its own accord. “I cannot undo the damage that has already been done, but I can slow down the process by hiding what she is, cutting off the demon’s food source and allowing Nico to regain some measure of control.”
He stopped searching through the trunk and turned to look at them, his bear eyes dark and sad. “You understand, of course, that this is only a delay. No matter how many layers of protection we swaddle the girl in, so long as she lives, her seed will continue to grow. Whether it comes tomorrow or a year from now, the end will be the same. The demonseed will eat her, body and soul, and there will be nothing you can do.”
He was looking at Eli as he spoke, but it was Josef who answered, and the vehemence in his voice made them both flinch.
“Nico is a survivor,” the swordsman said. “When I found her, she was a breath away from death. I waited for her to die, but she didn’t. She kept breathing. Every breath should have been her last, but she always found another. She’ll beat this, too, bear man, so make the damn coat.”
Slorn stared at him in abashed silence, but Josef ignored him and stood up. “I saw a bath on the way in.” He slid the Heart of War from his back and dropped it on the table with a resounding gong from the iron and a painful shudder from the wood. “If Nico asks, that’s where I’ll be. If anyone else needs me, they can wait.”
With that, he turned and stomped off down the hall. Slorn watched him go, looking as astonished as a bear could. Eli just watched from his seat at the table, grinning like a maniac.
“He certainly doesn’t mince words,” Slorn said, turning back to the chest.
“No,” Eli said and grinned wider. “That’s why I like him.”
Slorn shook his head and turned back to the chest.
Eli watched him for a moment, but he could see the work settling on the bear-headed man’s shoulders like a vulture, and he decided it was time to move somewhere more comfortable before Slorn forgot him completely.
“I’m going to freshen up as well,” he announced. “I presume the guest bedroom is still in the same place?”
“More or less,” Slorn said. “Top of the stairs, third door on the right.”
“Third door, much obliged.” With a gracious nod, Eli gathered his bag and set off up the stairs, leaving Slorn alone in the great room. On the broad worktable, the enormous pile of gold glittered in the fire light, forgotten by everyone.
CHAPTER
3
Gin was asleep in the flower bed that surrounded the low building where Miranda kept her chambers when she was in Zarin. His legs kicked in his sleep, sending the well-turned dirt flying, and his shifting patterns swirled in strange, spiraling shapes across his body, all except for the patch between the shoulder blades. There, the wound from his fight with the demon girl Nico stood out like a red brand beneath the dried layers of green polluce the stable master had smeared over it. It looked better than before, but it would never be part of his patterns again. Even in his sleep, he seemed to favor the wound, cringing away from it whenever he rolled over.
Suddenly, his dream running stopped. He lay perfectly still, except for his ears, which swiveled in quick circles, each moving independently from the other. The night was as quiet as a city night could be, but Gin jerked up, his orange eyes wide open, watching the corner of the building. A few moments later, Miranda flew around it. She saw him at once, and ran toward him, moving strangely, keeping her breathing almost too regular and her face down so that the last evening light couldn’t touch it. This was probably to keep Gin from seeing that she was crying, but his mistress had never fully appreciated just how much his orange eyes could pick up, especially in low light.
Still, he played along, rolling over and sitting up properly as she came near, his tail wrapped around his paws. Miranda didn’t slow when she reached him, didn’t say a word. She slammed into him and slumped down, and though she never made a sound, the salty smell of tears filled the air until he had trouble breathing. After several silent minutes, Gin decided to take the initiative. After all, if they needed to escape, it would be best to do it now, before the lamps were lit.
He lowered his head until he was level with hers. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
Miranda made a sound somewhere between a curse and a sob. Gin growled and nudged her with his paw. “Don’t be difficult. Spit it out.”
“It makes me so angry!” Her answer was a whip crack, and Gin flinched. Miranda muttered an apology, scrubbing at her eyes in a motion he was probably not supposed to notice. “It’s just… How could they do this to me? How could they betray me like this? All my life, from the moment I understood that the voices I heard were spirits, all I’ve wanted was to be a Spiritualist. To do good and defend the spirits and be a hero and all the stuff they tell you when you start your apprenticeship. And now here I am, on trial for making the decisions the Spirit Court trained me to make. It’s not right !”
That last word was almost a wail, and she buried her head in her hands. Gin shifted anxiously. He hadn’t seen her this upset in a long time.
“Try to remember that I’ve been in a stable having cold, foul-smelling gunk smeared on my back all evening,” he said. “Could you be a little more specific?”
Miranda leaned back against him with a huff and, in a quick, clipped voice, told him everything. The arrest, her meeting with Banage, the accusations, and Hern’s compromise.
“A compromise, can you believe it?” she said, digging her fingers into the dirt. “Extortion is more like it.”
“Being a Tower Keeper doesn’t sound so bad,” Gin offered.
“It wouldn’t be,” Miranda said, “if I were getting the promotion for any reason other than Hern playing on Master Banage’s sense of duty toward me! Oh, I hate to think what other concessions Master Banage had to make to get that out of Hern. The man is a slime.”
“But if Banage already made the concessions, why not take the offer?” Gin said, sweeping his tail back and forth. “The problem is the Tower Keepers thinking your actions reflect badly on them, right? So let them have their trial. If you’re right and Hern’s only doing this to make Banage look bad, why give him more fodder by fighting? He can’t find fault if you keep strictly to the role of the dutiful Spiritualist.”
Miranda gave him a sideways look. “That’s a very political answer for a dog who always says he doesn’t understand politics.”
“I don’t understand politics,” Gin growled. “But I understand pride, and that’s what this is really about. Sometimes the price of doing the right thing is higher than we realize when we do it. Knowing the consequences, would you have acted differently in Mellinor?”
Miranda froze and thought for a second. “No,” she said firmly.
“There you have it,” Gin said with a shrug. “So pay the price. Take the out Banage bought you, appease the Tower Keeper’s pride, and move on.”
“I will not,” Miranda said. “Maybe it is about pride, mine as much as anyone’s, but I cannot, will not, bow to Hern’s bullying. Those things he accuses me of did not happen, and I will not stand by while he smears my name and my spirits with his lies.”
“So, what, you’re just going to throw Banage’s help away?” Gin growled. “What about the part where losing this trial could lose you your spirits? Your pride is your own, and I respect your right to beat yourself bloody over it, but we’re not something to be thrown away so cheaply.”
“That won’t happen,” Miranda said fiercely, gripping her
hands until her rings cut into her fingers. “Trust me, we’ve got right on our side. We won’t lose, especially not to Hern.”
Gin looked at her, his orange eyes narrowed to slits. “And would you bet all of us on that?”
Miranda didn’t answer. They sat in silence for a while, staring out at the darkening streets. Gin sat very still, watching in the way that spirits watch. He could see each of Miranda’s spirits, the flow of their souls pulsing softly with the beating of her heart. Each spirit shone softly with its own unique color, and below them, buried deep within Miranda’s own bright soul, Mellinor’s spirit turned in his sleep. The Great Spirit was enormous and alien even to Gin, ancient beyond comprehension, yet it was also a part of Miranda now, and dear to him because of it, even beyond the natural reverence he owed a Great Spirit. Each glowing spirit, even Mellinor, had a tendril reaching out from its core. These were the bonds, the strong, deep network of binding promises, at the center of which was Miranda. All of them, even the tiny moss spirit, had abandoned their homes to follow her. From the moment they’d sworn their oaths, she’d become their center, their Great Spirit, their mistress, worthy of service. The thought of being taken from her made him afraid in ways he hadn’t felt since he was puppy. Yet the Spirit Court could do that, if it chose. Miranda’s oath had forged the bonds, but every one of those promises had been made under the authority of the Court. So long as Miranda believed in that authority, the Court owned her rings and the spirits inside, even him. As with all human magic, it all came down to will. So long as Miranda wasn’t willing to go against the organization she’d pledged her life to, they were all bound to the Spirit Court’s whims. Still, the choice was Miranda’s, and despite what he’d said, Gin knew her well enough to know her decision. So he waited patiently, watching as the city lamps flickered on, the tiny fire spirits winking to life as the lamplighters walked the districts, filling the dark streets with soft, dancing light.