Spirit’s End

CHAPTER 10

Sparrow was waiting just outside. He fell into step with Eli’s guards as they marched down the stairs, but when they reached the end of the spiraling hall, he told the guards to return to the Merchant Prince; he would take the prisoner from here. The guards didn’t look happy about this. They hadn’t looked happy since Whitefall had first sent them out of his office, but, now as then, they obeyed, and Sparrow led Eli down through the doorway and into Sara’s cavern alone.

As they climbed down the metal stairs, Eli saw that Sparrow was dragging a little. His already uncharacteristic silence was punctuated with sharp gasps, as though breathing hurt him. The gasps only got worse when they reached the ground, and Eli decided it was time to pry.

“All right,” he said, slowing down. “I give in. What’s wrong?”

“You mean right now, or with this situation in general?” Sparrow said, his voice thin and strained.

“I mean why do you sound like you’re having a heart attack?” Eli said. “I can’t take pride in an escape if the only reason I got out was because my guard dropped dead.”

“Your compassion is touching,” Sparrow said, pushing Eli to make him go faster. “If you must know, your mother is rather angry with me at the moment.”

“And that’s making it hard for you to breathe?” Eli said, dragging his feet along the dark stone as best he could. “How does that work?”

“Terribly well, actually,” Sparrow said. “Here we are.”

He stopped them at the shiny door to the cistern prison Eli and Banage shared.

“Hands out, please,” Sparrow said. “Now hold still while I figure out what new knot those Council idiots invented this time.”

Eli shoved his hands back, waving them up and down to make the untying as difficult as possible. Meanwhile, he took the precious opportunity to study the lid to his cell from this side. His eyes, already adjusted to the dark from the walk, picked out the same interlocked concentric circles he’d seen inside. They were probably a pressure system, he realized. A kind of spring that helped the metal bounce itself open. Very clever, and very like a Shaper to use the metal’s natural tension to help it move.

His eyes traced the outer lip, sliding along the polished surface until, finally, he found the hint he was looking for. An intricate mark had been pressed deep into the upper circle, the maker’s seal of the lid’s Shaper. There was no time to study it, so Eli burned the image into his memory as Giuseppe had taught him, focusing only on seeing, not understanding.

Understanding takes time you do not have, the old thief’s voice droned in his mind. Focus only on the physical act of observation, Eliton, and save the understanding for later.

It had been one of the harder lessons of being a master thief, but Eli had learned it, and he used it now, memorizing every detail of the mark in the time it took to blink and then looking elsewhere before Sparrow could catch him staring.

“There,” Sparrow said, pulling the rope free. “Down you go.”

He raised his foot, slamming his heel down at the dead center of the door’s concentric circles. The metal boomed at the impact, and the door bounced up like a dog standing for a treat. When it was all the way up, Sparrow gave Eli a little push, and Eli, taking the hint, began to climb down.

“I want you to know it’s been a real pleasure,” Sparrow said, kneeling on the prison’s edge as Eli descended into the dark. “It’s not every day you see the famous Eli Monpress crawling down a hole like a rat. I very much doubt we’ll meet each other again, but I do hope you’ll remember our time together well enough to stay clear of me in the future. Not that I don’t enjoy your company, understand, but a man of my talents doesn’t relish the tornado of attention you seem to attract.”

“No worries,” Eli said. “If I have the slightest chance of avoiding you, I’ll be sure to take it.”

Sparrow laughed at this, a bright sound that cut off with a sharp, pained breath.

Eli looked up, half expecting to see Sparrow keeling over the pit, clutching his chest in pain as he fell. But the hateful man was still perched on the ledge like his namesake, smiling wide through clenched teeth.

“Good luck, Eliton,” he called. “And good-bye.”

Eli frowned in confusion, but before he could ask what Sparrow meant by that, the man stood and hit the door again. It dropped closed with a soft hiss, plunging Eli into a darkness so deep it felt like he was drowning. The feeling lasted less than a breath. The moment the door was fully closed, Banage’s small candlelight flickered to life.

“Nice trick,” Eli said, smiling at the dim, flickering light. “How’d you sneak that spirit past Sara?”

“It’s not my spirit,” Banage said. “Sara left me one candle when she first locked me down here. The wax is long gone, but I’ve been keeping the flame alive as best I can on my own energy.”

“Seems a little unorthodox,” Eli said, dropping to the ground.

Banage’s voice grew defensive. “It was a fair exchange. He would have gone out otherwise. I’ve promised to join him with my fire bird.” He lowered the flame. “Enough. What was that about?”

“I don’t know,” Eli lied, dusting off his now badly smudged white suit. “And I don’t think I care. I’ve had about enough of Council politics. What do you say we get out of here?”

“I think that’s the most sensible thing you’ve ever said.”

For the first time in a very, very long while, Eli gave his father a genuine smile. Banage gave a surprised jerk and then slowly smiled back. The situation was so unbelievable, Eli just shook his head as he dropped to a crouch and set his mind on the task at hand. It was time to try the new angle he’d thought of on his way down. Grinning, he felt along the wall until his fingers found the one spirit he and Banage hadn’t considered in their initial assessment.

The hole Sara had stuck them in hadn’t always been used for keeping pesky wizards locked up. Before it was a cistern prison, it had been an actual cistern, catching the water that gathered here at the lowest point in the cavern. But with a hole this deep, the stone couldn’t be counted on to keep itself up. It needed a brace, and in this particular case, that brace was a flat piece of metal the width of Eli’s palm that ran in a U shape up both sides of the prison and across the pit’s floor.

Eli seized on the metal like a child grabbing a present, running his fingers eagerly over the brace’s cold, rust-pitted surface. The metal was locked in deep, deep sleep against the silent stone. It didn’t stir at Eli’s prodding, not even when he knocked his knuckles over the rivets that held it to the stone. Undeterred, Eli sat down and reached out with both hands, softly thrumming his fingers up and down the metal, scratching the rust like he’d scratch an itchy spot on a dog’s back.

Minutes ticked by, but Eli didn’t stop. He just kept moving his fingers, whispering encouraging sounds laced with just enough power to draw the sleeping spirit’s attention. It was tiring work. The stone he sat on was hard and cold, and keeping his spirit cracked open a tiny fraction for such an extended period of time was like trying to hold a bucket of water at arm’s length without letting it drop. But Eli was a professional, and he didn’t let up until, finally, the metal twitched against his fingers.

Eli stopped his movements at once, holding his hands still in the air.

“What are you doing?” Banage whispered, his voice hoarse, as though he’d been holding the question back for a long time.

Eli put his finger to his lips. On the floor, the metal twitched again, and then a tiny, rusty voice whispered, “Well?”

“Well what?” Eli asked.

“Keep going,” the metal said, arching up a millimeter. “That felt nice.”

Eli winked at Banage, who was staring at him like he’d just turned into a ghosthound, and lowered his hands back to the metal. “Like this?”

“Yesssssss…” the metal hissed, vibrating under his scratching fingers.

“Hasn’t anyone been down to rub you?” Eli said, his voice thick with scornful astonishment. “Don’t they take care of you here?”

“No,” the metal said, wiggling. “That feels lovely.”

“They do this to metal upstairs all the time,” Eli said, intensifying his scratching. “Don’t they?”

This was directed at Banage, who, after several seconds of stunned hesitation, nodded. Eli rolled his eyes, and Banage quickly changed his answer from motion to verbal.

“Yes, of course they do,” he said in the most unconvincing lie Eli had ever heard.

He shook his head and made a note not to involve his father any further. Thankfully, the metal wasn’t familiar enough with humans to notice the bad acting.

“Really?” it said, its creaking voice tinged with jealousy. “Must be nice.”

“It’s more than nice,” Eli said. “I’d say it’s mandatory. Are you sure no one’s come down to rub you?”

“No,” the metal said sullenly.

“Criminal,” Eli said, his voice grave. “Absolutely criminal. And to think, they spent all that effort putting in a new door when they can’t even be bothered to come down and take care of the metal they’ve got.”

“Yeah.” The metal shook against his hands.

“It’s not right,” Eli said zealously, scratching harder. “That’s a Shaper-made door, too. They’re terribly full of themselves. Entitled. They think the world owes them something just because they spend all their time awake.”

“It’s from the Shapers?” The metal creaked, arching almost like it was trying to look up. “I didn’t know that. Why would something like that be all the way down here?”

“Taking attention and resources away from others, apparently,” Eli said, disgusted. “I bet it’s not even grateful.”

“Yeah,” the metal grumbled as the support beams running along the cistern wall started to creak. “That door thinks it’s so great. I’m the one holding up all the weight.”

“I just can’t believe this,” Eli said. “Hang on, I’m going to go have a talk with it. You stay here and let Banage scratch you. I’ll get us some answers.”

“Yeah!” the door said again.

Eli stood up, motioning frantically for Banage to take his place. After a slight hesitation, the former Rector leaned over and started running his fingers over the metal just as Eli had been doing. The brace sighed contentedly, rolling back and forth like a dog angling to have its belly rubbed. When Eli was sure Banage could keep it up, he turned and shimmied up the ladder to the door.

The polished steel surface was perfectly still, but Eli could almost feel the door leaning away from him. He smiled and hooked his legs under the top rung of the ladder so he could lean back and look at the door directly.

“You’re not talking to me,” he said gently. “I understand. You’re just doing your job, after all. But since we’re going to be together for a while, and seeing as you’re a Shaper door, I was hoping I could ask you a question.”

The door creaked suspiciously.

“I’m no expert on Shapers,” Eli continued undeterred. “But I did notice the mountain swallow in your maker’s mark. Isn’t that the mark of Heinricht Slorn?”

“Absolutely not,” the door answered, its voice surprisingly loud after so much stubborn silence. “Heinricht is a traitor to the Mountain. I was Shaped by Jonath Findel, master blacksmith and loyal student of the Great Teacher.”

“Findel,” Eli said, stroking his chin. “I’ve seen some of his work. Fantastic stuff, really brilliant designs.”

Eli didn’t know a Findel from a fondant, but it didn’t matter. The door was rolling now.

“Absolutely brilliant,” the door agreed, its metal rings humming with pleasure. “I’m a prototype for a new kind of locking mechanism designed specifically for Lady Sara. Of course, I was originally made to stand upright, but as you see, Findel’s design works either way thanks to the coils. True brilliance is utterly adaptable.”

“So when she needed a door, she came to you,” Eli said.

“Of course,” the door rattled with pride. “Who else could switch directions to act as an emergency prison door? Thanks to my Shaper’s work, I’m miles beyond the dull, ordinary metal you find around here.” The door stopped suddenly, and Eli felt himself being looked over. “Just so you know, wizard, I’m completely loyal and utterly unbreakable. You’d have to be Gregorn himself to Enslave me, so don’t even try.”

Eli pressed his hand to his chest. “I would never dream of such a thing. I’m a thief, not a spirit abuser. But”—he raised his voice—“surely a door such as yourself must get bored just sitting around with all this quiet.”

“Of course,” the door said, slumping against the stone lip. “It’s an absolute waste keeping me down here. I’m sure you’re a very tricky sort of thief, but really, there’s no ruse you could pull that would fool me. I’m Shaped.” The door’s voice swelled with pride. “Awakened! I’m a higher form of spirit than anything else you’ll find in this pit.”

Eli nodded in commiseration. “No one to talk to, eh?”

“No one worth the effort,” the door said. “I mean, look around. There’s nothing but the bedrock, who never wakes up, and the metal support, who has the conversational skills of a cockroach. A rather dumb cockroach, I might add.”

At this, the metal rungs Eli was standing on, rungs that, it should be noted, were attached to the metal support brace, began to vibrate. All along the walls, stone dust was falling in little cascades where the support beam met the stone. The door didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m just biding my time until I can get back to a real use of my talents,” it said, turning its interlocked rings in a motion that reminded Eli of a girl tossing her hair. “Sara promised me a place up top in the citadel proper once this blows over, but at this point I’d take anything to get away from these dullards.”

“Dullards?” Eli prompted, moving sideways so he was clinging to the wall instead of the iron ladder.

“These stupid spirits,” the door said. “All they do is sleep. Sometimes I don’t even think they have minds of their own. Why a door like me should have to pick up the slack for such weak, dull, pathetic little creatures I really can’t—”

Eli never got to hear the rest, for at that moment, the cistern’s metal supports jerked free from their rivets and surged upward, hitting the door square on both sides. The door squealed in surprise as the force launched it upward with an echoing clang, tearing its hinges from the stone with an explosion of rubble. It landed a few feet away, crashing into the floor of the cavern hard enough to chip a large piece from the sleeping bedrock. Eli shook his head to clear the ringing from his ears and then looked down to grin at his father, who was standing far below with an utterly amazed expression on his face.

“Stupid door,” the metal support muttered, sliding back into place.

“Stupid door, indeed,” Eli said, giving the metal one last scratch.

The metal purred at the contact and wiggled its rivets back into their holes. When it was securely locked in place once again, the metal went still, falling instantly back into a deep sleep. And down below, Banage was still staring at his son, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish.

“Eliton,” he said at last, “did you just incite a brawl between two spirits?”

“Yep,” Eli said, swinging up through the now-open top of the cell. “Pretty clever, eh?”

“Clever?” Banage roared. “That was horrible! How dare you take advantage of a poor, gullible spirit’s loneliness to trick it into attacking one of its brethren for your own selfish—”

“You can stay down there if you don’t like it,” Eli said, pulling himself to his feet.

Banage snapped his mouth shut. He stood in silence a few moments, and then, with an air of unassailable dignity, climbed out of the cistern.

“This doesn’t mean I agree with your methods,” he said when he finally made it to his feet beside Eli. “Only that there are larger wrongs that I cannot right if I’m locked in a hole.”

“Spoken like a true Spiritualist,” Eli said. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Banage pressed his mouth in a tight line and said nothing.

“Well,” Eli said. “Not that our time together hasn’t been a delight, but I need to get moving. This has already been one of the longest unintended incarcerations of my career, and I’m not looking to push it any further. I’d suggest you take the back exit.” He pointed through the dark at where he was reasonably certain the service door stood. “Should be easier for a man of your inexperience.”

Banage shook his head. “I’m not leaving.”

Eli sighed dramatically. Rings, of course. “You know,” he said, “you’d probably have better luck demanding your rings from Sara through an official Court petition. I know Miranda would help you draw one up.”

“My rings aren’t why I’m staying,” Banage said. “Watch.”

He closed his eyes, and the weight of his spirit landed on Eli without warning. Banage opened his soul like throwing open a door, and the call that rang through it was deafening.

Far across the cavern, from the direction of the barely visible glow of Sara’s headquarters, a chorus of voices shouted in surprise. A second later, the whole cavern shook with the sound of metal tearing. The floor rumbled as the sound solidified into pounding hoofbeats that grew closer and closer until, just when Eli was sure he’d be deaf for life if this kept up one second longer, Banage’s jade horse burst from the shadows between the tanks and skidded to a stop before its master.

Banage reached up to stroke its glossy stone muzzle before taking a pile of gold from the spirit’s mouth. “Didn’t I tell you,” Banage said, slipping his rings onto his fingers. “Not a problem.”

“If you could do that, why didn’t you do it before?” Eli shouted.

“Because Durrel couldn’t break through the cell door without chipping himself, and I would never knowingly do him harm,” Banage said, glancing at his son. “Shouldn’t you be going?”

“Well, after all that noise, I guess I’d better,” Eli muttered, shaking his head. Powers, what theatrics. Banage’s horse would lead everyone right to them. “Do what you want, old man.”

But as he started to jog away, he heard Banage’s voice softly over the din of shouts that was rising from the walkways above.

“It was good to see you again, Eliton.”

Eli heaved an enormous sigh and ran into the dark, waving with one hand before vanishing into the forest of tanks.

At the other end of the Citadel, Sara was busy with a confrontation of a different sort.

“How dare you?” she shouted, slamming her hands down on the glossy wood of the Merchant Prince’s desk. “How dare you take my son for your games, Alber! He is a vital resource for the expansion of the knowledge of magic. He is not a bargaining chip!”

“You were the one who tried to keep him from me in the first place,” Alber said, not even looking up from the pile of papers his assistant was passing him to sign.

“To keep you from doing something like this!” Sara roared.

Whitefall sighed. “Sara, I am very busy—”

“I don’t care,” Sara snapped. “You shouldn’t, either, not if that business comes at the cost of our alliance. Your precious Council would never have stayed together if it wasn’t for me and my work. Work that you’ve just put in terrible jeopardy, if you care to know. What were you thinking, trying to trade Eliton to that bloodthirsty, no-account swordsman?”

“Considering that bloodthirsty, no-account swordsman pretty much owns the Council at this point, I should think you’d be happier if he’d taken my offer,” Whitefall said drily. “Now I’m going to have to sell your son for the bounty so we can make ends meet for the next few years.”

“I won’t allow it!” Sara cried. “He is not going before the Judiciary today or ever. And I can’t believe you thought you could just order me out of your office and keep it a secret!”

“I’m not going to waste my breath pointing out the hypocrisy of that statement,” Alber said drily, but Sara bowled over him.

“I have not put up with you for almost three decades to be treated like this now, Alber!” she cried. “This is absolutely unacceptable!”

“I don’t care if you accept it or not,” Whitefall snapped, slamming down his papers to look her straight in the eyes. “I don’t have a choice in this, Sara. I have a government to run, a government that foots the bill for all of your fiddling, I might add. Considering how vital you’re always insisting your work is, I’d think you’d take a greater interest in the financial health of the Council that supports it.”

“Not everything is about money,” Sara said through gritted teeth.

“There’s too much money at stake right now for this to be about anything else,” Alber said. “I’ve been a very lenient patron to you, Sara. I built your facility. I pay your staff’s wages. I buy whatever equipment you ask for. I even let you keep Sparrow.” Whitefall narrowed his eyes in a stinging glare. “Do you even know what that cost me? The man killed my cousin.”

“A very distant cousin,” Sara reminded him. “One you said you didn’t like.”

“Like has nothing to do with it,” Alber said. “Your man killed a Whitefall. His head should be rotting on a spike over the river, but no. You wanted him. Powers knew why, but you wanted that murderer, so I covered it up. Though it jeopardized some of the closest ties in the Whitefall family to do so, I hid Sparrow’s involvement and gave him to you. I did this because I believe your work is vital to making this Council the dominant political force for centuries to come, but we are nearing the limit of what I can give, Sara.”

Sara started to answer that, but Whitefall cut her off. “Since we’ve got fifty years to pay Osera, I have time to call in the Monpress bounty slowly and hopefully avoid economic collapse, but I will not take the absurd risk of keeping the greatest escape artist in history locked in a cell. He goes to the noose tonight, and that is not open to negotiation. So if you have something you want from your wayward son, I suggest you wring it out of him in the next few hours, because that’s all you’re going to get.”

Sara slammed her hands on the desk, scattering his papers. “You’re going to regret this, Whitefall,” she growled.

“I already regret this whole situation,” Alber said, gathering his papers back into their piles. “But if you need someone to scream at, I suggest taking your rage out on Josef of Osera. He’s the one who decided to let your son hang. I’m just the middleman.”

Sara scraped her nails across the polished wood, and then, without another word, she turned on her heel and stalked out, slamming the heavy office door so hard she heard books fall from Alber’s shelves. Sara didn’t care. Her mind was a seething fury when she spotted Sparrow waiting by the stairs. He was the picture of obedience, and it didn’t help her mood one bit.

“You,” she hissed, glaring murder at her garishly dressed assistant. “You’re in more trouble than he is. I told you to watch the Court, and where have you been? Sneaking behind my back and taking my son to Whitefall, of all people—”

“He asked me,” Sparrow said, pleading.

“And how did he know?” Sara snapped.

“I told you. Whitefall always finds out,” Sparrow said.

“Not that fast,” Sara said, eyeing him suspiciously.

Sparrow looked aghast. “Surely you don’t think I did it? You’re the only lifeline I’ve got, Sara. I’d never betray you.”

“Then why did you bring my son to Alber?”

“He’s my boss, too,” Sparrow said, exasperated. “I can’t just—”

He cut off with a wince as Sara’s hand slipped inside her coat.

She let him dangle like that a bit, rolling his orb between her fingers before reaching past it to pull out her hastily extinguished, half-smoked pipe instead. “I am the only authority you should worry about, Sparrow,” she said quietly, setting the pipe between her teeth. “You’d do well to remember that your capacity to please and serve me is the only thing keeping the ax off your neck. Do you understand?”

“More than you will ever know,” Sparrow said, stepping forward to offer her a light.

Sara puffed against the match flame, glaring at him through the rising smoke. “This isn’t over,” she said once the pipe was going. “It won’t come tonight, because that’s all I have to learn whatever it is Eliton’s keeping secret, but one night won’t matter. You’re going to be doing penance for this for the next decade. I’ll make you wish—”

She froze midstep, her pipe falling from her mouth. Sparrow caught it neatly, holding it between her slack teeth. “What?”

“The door to Eliton and Etmon’s cell just cried out,” Sara said, snapping her jaw shut. He started to say something else, but she held up her hand. “And there’s Etmon’s spirit,” she said, pushing past him. “Downstairs. Now.”

Sparrow followed dutifully, bobbing behind her like a brightly colored shadow. They cleared the citadel proper in record time, bursting through the door at the top of the cavern with a clang that was lost in the roar below. Sara stooped cold, clinging to the iron railing as she stared down in disbelief.

The usually dark cavern was bright as day, lit by a bird of fire the size of a ghosthound that was flying in slow circles just below the hollowed-out ceiling. Down on the floor, her wizards were shouting, holding up their hands against what looked like a mass of twisted wood. She could feel their open spirits against her own, but as her staff had always been limited to the Spirit Court’s leavings, it was a pathetic showing. The lot of them couldn’t stop the roots as they shot out and twisted around the closest tank.

The iron groaned as the roots began to pull, and then it toppled, spilling a flood of beautiful blue water onto the dusty floor. As this happened, another spirit, a great jade horse, ran past her line of sight, its glossy legs splashing through water that was already a foot deep. It reared as Sara watched, kicking the next tank with enough force to puncture the iron wall. Water sprang through the hole, shooting out in a torrent of brilliant color.

For several moments, Sara could only watch in horror. Even under the fire bird’s orange light, the water on the floor was bluer than blue, a pure azure shining with its own light, the light she had nurtured, the light that was now dying out as the water mixed with the dust and grime. It flowed down the slight slope toward the center of the cavern, toward… Sara’s eyes shot up and froze, caught on the twisted, blown-out ruin of what had been her office. The large tank was almost unrecognizable, the metal plates yanked apart by enormous force to reveal the stairwell that led to the water below, her water.

Sara’s chest began to ache, and she suddenly realized she hadn’t taken a breath for nearly thirty seconds. She gulped in the air as she looked frantically around the cavern, her gaze sliding past the spirits, past her own useless wizards, to lock on the man responsible. The second she had enough air, she screamed at the top of her lungs.

“Etmon!”

The tall wizard standing on the suspended walkway turned. Even from this distance, she could see the look of triumph on his face.

“Your husband certainly can make a mess,” Sparrow said, peering over the railing.

“Shut up,” Sara spat, tearing off her coat. “I’ll handle Etmon. You find Eli.”

“Find Eli Monpress?” Sparrow cried. “In this chaos?”

“Do it!” Sara roared, shoving her coat at him.

She didn’t even wait for him to nod. She just spat out her pipe and hopped up on the railing, ignoring the protests of her aging knees. As soon as she was up, she fell forward, plummeting toward the water as she gripped the large, polished quartz on the ring of jewels hanging from her belt.

The moment her fingers touched it, the wind sprang forth. It caught her like a falling feather, blowing her up just before she hit the intact tanks below. Sara held out her arms, balancing as the wind set her down on the suspended walkway a dozen feet from Banage. She gripped the handrail to steady herself, the wind returning to its crystal as she raised her head to met Banage’s haughty gaze with a look of pure, molten rage.

“I told you it would all come to light, Sara,” he said solemnly. “It always does. Sooner or later—”

A blast of wind knocked him off the walkway midword.

Banage fell like a stone for several feet before a tangle of branches caught him, lowering him gently to the ground. Sara pulled her wind back, binding it around her body as she sent a spike of power to the largest of her red jewels. The temperature began to rise as the wind swirling around her filled with embers, wreathing her in red light. The wind spun faster and faster, blowing the fire inside hotter and hotter. When it was as hot as she could stand, Sara jumped the railing again, sailing down through the air after Banage. Another tank toppled as she fell, spilling its blue, blue water without so much as a cry.

Behind her, forgotten, Sara’s wizards were fleeing into the citadel. They crammed the stairwell in their panic, rushing toward the safety of the Council. And though they ran right by them, none of the fleeing wizards noticed the two coats abandoned on the railing, one plain and white like theirs, the other a gold-embroidered tapestry of turquoise, their sleeves fluttering in the hot, dry wind.

Eli Monpress was severely disappointed by the security at Whitefall Citadel. He’d expected to have to do some serious legwork, maybe even a little climbing, but in the end he’d been able to walk right out through a side door. Of course, the guards were a little preoccupied by the fit Banage was throwing in the cellar, but still, disappointing. Didn’t anyone make a proper citadel anymore?

To be fair, the guardhouse would have been harrier if he hadn’t managed to nick a fine military overcoat, complete with medals, from the coat check. As it was, he’d had no problems. With all that authority on his chest, the soldiers had opened the gate without a second glance, letting Eli Monpress stroll leisurely into freedom.

It was far too fine a day for heavy clothing, so he ditched the military coat as soon as the citadel gate was out of sight and snatched a nice, broad farmer’s hat from a tragically unattended shop front. He ditched Benehime’s white coat as well, stripping down to his shirtsleeves in the alley between two buildings.

He put his back to the wall and ran his shirt along it, staining the fine, white fabric with grime. His hands, already filthy from climbing around in the cistern, he wiped across his shirtfront until it was hopelessly smudged. When he’d stained himself to his satisfaction, he rolled up his sleeves and kicked off his white boots, letting his pants, which were already acceptably dingy from his imprisonment, hang down over his bare feet.

Eli smiled at his efforts and slapped the straw hat on his head. Then, dirty and barefoot with his head down beneath the broad brim of his hat, he turned onto one of Zarin’s busiest streets. Though his smiling face was plastered across nearly every wall, Eli walked through the crowd without causing a ripple, just another poor, dirty farmer, passing right under people’s notice. If the snobbery hadn’t been so advantageous, Eli might have been insulted.

He made it as far as the wharf without a hitch, but then his plans stumbled. Something must have happened while he’d been in prison, because the roads down to the river were a chaos of soldiers and soggy, bedraggled boat workers. A few seconds of listening told Eli that the river had flooded, which, considering there had been no major rains lately, he found very surprising. Still, the river district was clearly out of the running, so Eli slipped away from the crowd between the buildings and started up toward the workman’s quarter high on the city’s northern ridge.

The farther he went from the Citadel, the smaller and rougher the buildings became. Carriages were fewer and more storefronts were open instead of glassed. When he finally reached what he judged as the right part of the wrong side of town, Eli slowed down and started looking in earnest. He walked in a weaving pattern, studying and dismissing several taverns before he found the one that was just the right sort of seedy. Ducking under the faded sign, he pushed open the swinging door and slipped inside without a sound.

The place was dead. This close to dinner time, even drunks were home with their families. The lone barman didn’t even look up as Eli walked through the empty taproom toward the darkest, farthest corner table tucked away between the fireplace and ale casks where two familiar figures sat playing cards.

“Took you long enough,” Josef said as Eli took the empty chair with its back toward the room. “Nice hat.”

“Thank you,” Eli said, motioning for Nico to deal him in. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“We just got here,” Josef said. “Oserans are tenacious bastards, took us forever to shake them.”

“I have to admit I was a little worried you wouldn’t show,” Eli said, picking up each Daggerback card as Nico dealt it. “After that display in Whitefall’s office, I almost believed kingship really had lured you in. If I’d known you could act like that, I would have worked out more two-man cons.”

“Who said I was acting?” Josef grumbled. “I meant it when I said I wasn’t going to trade my people’s money for a thief, and I promised my mother I’d take care of Osera.”

“So what are you doing here, then?” Eli said, frowning at his hand.

Josef leaned back, fanning out his cards while his free hand fiddled with the collar of his expensive coat. To a causal observer, he probably looked like a roughneck on a lucky streak. Certainly not the king of a Council Kingdom. “I think five hundred thousand gold standards is more than enough care for any country,” he said slowly. “It’s no secret I’m a pretty terrible king, so I figured now that money’s not an issue I should just get out of the way and let the people who want to rule have a go.”

“Very prudent,” Eli said. “I mean, it’s painfully obvious you don’t know anything about the niceties of politics.”

“I thought we did pretty well,” Josef said with a shrug.

Eli gave him a flat look. “You brought a severed head to a meeting with the Merchant Prince of Zarin.”

“What other proof am I supposed to bring?” Josef said. “His body was too big to haul around.”

Nico covered her mouth in a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Eli just rolled his eyes.

“Now that that’s settled,” Josef said, “where to?”

Eli scowled, suddenly serious. He’d been thinking about that question ever since he got out of the Citadel, and no matter how many angles he tried, there seemed to be only one answer he could live with. “The Shaper Mountain,” he said at last. “Karon is missing.”

Nico looked up. “Your lava spirit?”

Eli nodded. “Benehime took him away for helping me, but the Shaper Mountain will know where he is. Lava spirits are as much rock as fire, so they fall under the Mountain’s star as well as the great Lava River that minds all the fires. The Shaper Mountain knows as well as I do that Karon will die unless he finds a volcano willing to take him or I get him back. The old rock pile might put on a good front as a loyal star, but I know for a fact he’s not as law abiding as he pretends, especially not when one of his children, however distant, is on the line.”

Josef sighed. “Should I be concerned that I understood none of that?”

“Nope,” Eli answered. “Not unless you have a problem with going back to the mountains.”

“Mountains are fine,” Josef said. “While I know Osera will fare better without me, the rest of the country doesn’t seem to agree. I’m sure they’ll come around once they realize that not having a king actually sitting on the throne doesn’t mean the world is ending, but for right now the farther away from Osera we get, the better I’ll feel.”

“That makes things easier,” Eli said. “Nico?”

Nico shrugged. “If Josef doesn’t care, I don’t. I lost my fear of the mountains months ago.”

“Easier still,” Eli said, tossing his cards on the table. “It’s decided then. Let’s get out of here. That was a lousy draw anyway, and I’ve had more than enough of Zarin to last me another twenty years.”

“Figures,” Josef said, handing his cards to Nico. “The one time I get the Shepherdess.”

“She’s not all she’s cracked up to be,” Eli said, slapping his hat back onto his head.

Josef tossed some coins on the table as Nico tucked the Daggerback deck into her coat. The barkeep nodded to them as they left, never realizing that he’d just let the three most wanted criminals in the Council stroll out his front door.

“Do we need to pick up any operating funds?” Josef asked, adjusting the wrapped shape of the Heart on his back as they walked.

“Nope,” Eli said. “I’ve got it covered.”

He turned them down an alley and reached into his shirt, drawing out a set of tiny golden spoons. Josef’s eyes widened as the spoons were joined by a silver-wrought paperweight, a pair of delicate porcelain horses, and a miniature landscape still in its gilt frame.

“Where were they keeping you?” he asked as Eli piled his wealth in Nico’s hands. “A museum?”

“Oh, come on,” Eli said, fishing around in his pockets. “I was in the Council Citadel. I couldn’t leave empty-handed, could I?”

Josef rolled his eyes as Eli added several rare coins, a jeweled curtain pull, and an inkwell bearing the Whitefall family crest to the pile.

“That’s all I could fit,” he said with a regretful sigh. “We have to go back, though. Whitefall has amazing taste, and we could really use a wider collection of porcelain at Home.”

“Put it on the list,” Josef said. “Now, let’s find a fence and get going.”

Eli held out his arms in a grand gesture for Josef to lead the way, and they set off down the street toward a square filled with exactly the sort of dark, seedy stalls that would suit their purposes. Behind them in the distance, the Council Citadel’s golden spires trembled, sending pigeons fleeing across the sunset sky.