Spirit’s End

CHAPTER 14

Spiritualist Krigel rubbed his knotted hands across his wrinkled face. He was too old for this, he reminded himself. The ache in his chest was constant now, forcing him to take his breaths in short, tight gasps. His heart had been through too much already. Another hour of this kind of stress and he would be dead.

Against his better judgment, he lowered his hands and looked out at the crowd. The circular assembly hall of the Spirit Court was packed to the rafters. As demanded, every Spiritualist who had ever sworn an oath, from the most influential Tower Keepers to the newest crop of apprentices, had answered the call of the Conclave. They filled the raised gallery that surrounded the hearing room floor. Those who’d arrived early and those whose rank demanded deference sat on the benches. The rest piled in wherever they could, a great mass of red robes and nervous shifting.

Below the ring of benches, the white floor was empty, as was the witness stand at the room’s center. This was a formal meeting of the Court, not a trial. Of course, Krigel sighed, you’d think it was his trial the way Blint and his ilk were glaring at him.

The Tower Keeper had a large contingent, too. A good third of the Spiritualists on that side of the room had come in with him, probably from one of those secret meetings he was always holding. The man was as bad as Hern. Blint had jumped at the chance to go over to the Council when Banage was declared a traitor, and though he’d dressed it up afterward, saying he’d just been doing his duty to the land of his birth, the bald truth was that Blint had grabbed for power the moment he saw weakness. From the naked hunger in his eyes, he was clearly ready to do so again, and given the current situation, Banage’s supporters weren’t in much position to oppose him.

Rubbing his aching chest, Krigel let his glare drift up to the place everyone else was studiously avoiding. High above him, the Rector’s chair stood empty. Miranda has been missing since yesterday afternoon. Considering how she’d been acting over the last two days, Krigel shouldn’t be surprised, but seeing as she was the one who’d called the Conclave in the first place, he’d assumed she’d at least show up for it. But here it was, thirty minutes past noon, and there was no sign of her.

Krigel gritted his teeth. If it were anyone else he’d have wagered she’d skipped town, but not Miranda. The girl was too stubborn to run from her own execution. She was probably off doing something she considered frighteningly important. More important than being Rector. Hopefully whatever it was would give her some comfort when she lost her position and Krigel was torn to pieces as Blint rushed the Rector’s seat. Assuming, of course, his heart didn’t give out first.

Krigel was sinking deeper down that bleak line of thought when a cracking sound shocked him out of his gloom. At the other end of the enormous room, the double doors flew open. A hundred long benches scraped as all the Spirit Court leaned forward, looking to see if this was Banage’s protégé at last. But their gasp of anticipation faded to a hiss as, alas, not the Rector but her ghosthound strode into the room.

Gin trotted across the empty assembly floor, his claws clicking on the polished stone. He’d barely gone three steps before the room exploded. Spiritualists shouted over each other, demanding to know where his mistress was. The ghosthound ignored them completely. He simply made his way to the spot directly below the Rector’s chair and sat down, wrapping his tail around his feet as he glared at the assembled Spirit Court, most of whom were now very close to rioting.

“Order!’ Krigel shouted, jumping to his feet as he banged his hand on the heavy banister.

The wizards ignored him. A few were already up and making their way to the doors. Blint was on his feet as well, but he was headed for the Rector’s chair, his face set in a predatory smile of long-held ambition nearing its fulfillment. Krigel cursed under his breath and leaned over the railing.

“Where is the Rector?” he hissed at the ghosthound, who was sitting directly below him. “Everything is falling apart!”

“She’s coming,” Gin said, his quiet voice picking up the hint of a growl as his orange eyes locked on Blint. “Just a bit longer.”

“We don’t have a bit longer,” Krigel snapped. “We haven’t had a bit longer for the past half hour. You tell her to get here now, or I’ll—”

A brilliant flash of light cut him off. Blinded, Krigel fell backward, his mouth working dumbly in his shock. He wasn’t alone. The light cut through the chaos in the room like a falling ax, leaving the chamber silent except for Gin’s growl. When Krigel’s blindness faded at last, he looked up to see the Spirit Court gaping at him in shocked silence.

No, he realized belatedly, not at him. Their eyes were locked on the seat above him, the Rector’s raised pulpit. Swallowing against the sudden tightness in his throat, Krigel braced his hands on the banister and turned, his eyes going wide.

A white line hung in the air in front of the Rector’s throne-like seat. It was no thicker than a thread, but it flashed as bright as a sunbeam off a mirror. He saw it for only a moment, and the world split open as Miranda stepped into view.

She stepped through the hole in the world as though she did it every day. Her face was set in an utterly implacable frown, and her clothes were wrinkled and travel worn, but that mattered little. What did matter was the enormous golden chain that lay across the neck and shoulders of her tattered coat.

Krigel’s breath caught. She was wearing the mantle of the Tower, the sacred mark of the office of Rector that he’d laid out for her this morning, back when he’d still thought they’d have time to discuss the Conclave before it began. He had no idea when she’d had the time to go up to her office and put it on, but she had it now, and she wore the golden weight as though she’d been born to it.

When Miranda had both feet on the wooden floor of the Rector’s stand, the white line she’d entered through flickered and vanished. But as it died, another flashed, this time to her right, and Krigel felt his poor chest constrict as a middle-aged man with neatly cropped dark hair, a golden sword, and a long black coat stepped out of nothing to stand at Miranda’s right. By this point, the stunned silence was as thick as cotton. Krigel himself had never seen the man before, but there wasn’t a soul in the room who didn’t recognize the long black coat with its high collar trimmed in silver, or what it meant.

Krigel raised a shaky arm to wipe away the sweat beading on his face. The Rector Spiritualis and the League of Storms, standing together. Powers, what had the fool girl gotten herself into?

The scrape of the Rector’s chair was offensively loud as Miranda pushed it aside to stand before the podium. The League man hung back, his cold eyes moving over the assembled Spiritualists, judging each of them in turn. Outside, despite the clear sky, a roll of thunder crashed in the distance.

Krigel closed his eyes as the rumble shook the Tower. Forget the girl, what had she gotten the Court into? His only answer was another peal of thunder as the sunlight faded from the Court’s high windows.

Miranda faced the gathered Spirit Court with iron determination. The Court stared back at her, a sea of faces packing the ring of benches. She’d never seen so many people in the Court’s chamber, and for several moments the sheer weight of their stares threatened to send her curling into a ball. But she steadied herself against the Rector’s wide podium, keeping her back straight as a beam. Now was not the time for weakness. Now was the time to perform the task Master Banage had entrusted her to do. On her left hand, the Rector’s ring gripped her finger like a vise, trembling with the thunder that shook the Tower. The Lord of Storms would be here soon. She had to move quickly.

“Spiritualists of the Court,” she said, and then stopped. Even with the crowd, her voice boomed through the chamber. It rang in her ears and echoed in her stomach, not just loud but clear, like a brass bell. The chamber’s high walls and polished stone took her voice and made it a proclamation. The mantle on her shoulders rang with the words as well, and Miranda realized that the Tower itself was helping her. Immense gratitude flooded her mind, and Miranda began to speak in earnest.

“I am sorry for the delay,” she said, her voice ringing in the air. “Thank you all for responding so quickly to the call for Conclave. For those of you who don’t know me, I am Miranda Lyonette, former apprentice to Rector Banage, who was arrested three days ago for supposed treason against the Council of Thrones. Knowing he could not perform his duty from the Council dungeon, Master Banage conferred upon me the role of emergency interim Rector Spiritualis for the sole purpose of calling the Court to Conclave.”

The crowd shuffled and began to whisper. On her left, Blint leaned over the railing and opened his mouth to speak. Miranda didn’t give him the chance.

“Master Banage’s arrest by the Council violated the neutrality of our order,” she said hotly. “Whitefall’s attack on our Rector was an attack on all of us, but this was not the reason Rector Banage ordered the Conclave convened.”

She turned slowly, fixing her eyes on Blint. “The war with the Immortal Empress lasted only one night, but in the run-up to that night, great damage was done to our Court. Our strength was splintered, our ideals muddied. Rector Banage ordered me to call the Conclave because he hoped to heal this division so that the Court could once again stand united against the trials to come. In hindsight, this was immeasurably wise. For in the last two days a disaster of unprecedented scope has fallen upon the world. A crisis even Etmon Banage did not foresee.”

“But you did?” Blint’s voice shot through the room like an arrow. All eyes turned to the Tower Keeper as he leaped to his feet, glaring at Miranda like she was a stain on his robes.

“You fancy yourself a wise leader, girl?” he cried, his face blotchy with rage as he spat the words at her. “You dare stand at the Rector’s podium and lecture us on Etmon Banage’s goodness? Have you forgotten that it was Banage’s ego that broke the Court in the first place? And now you say a crisis is upon us. Let me guess, is it a crisis only you can face? One that requires you to remain as Rector so you can continue Banage’s doctrine of destructive absolutism?”

The room erupted as he finished. The benches rocked as the Spiritualists turned on each other, shouting and arguing. Miranda banged her hand against the wood of the podium, but her calls for order were lost in the chaos.

She felt Alric shifting beside her. There wasn’t much time before the Lord of Storms arrived. If he saw the Court in such disagreement, he could rescind the deal. She had to get control, and she had to get it now. Clenching her fingers, she brought the Rector’s ring to her lips. Please, she mouthed against the smooth, warm gold, let me be heard.

The ring began to buzz against her finger, and Miranda had the curious sensation that the room was bending toward her. When she spoke again, her voice fell on the crowd like a torrential rain, drowning out all else.

“This isn’t about Banage!” she cried, the words booming loud as thunder cracks. “Not anymore. Forget your politics for one moment and think. Something horrible is happening, something far greater than Banage or the Council or even this Court. You’ve all felt it, haven’t you? Your spirits launch into a sudden panic and won’t tell you why. The Whitefall River overflows its banks in a screaming terror with no provocation. All around the Council Kingdoms, reports flow in of earthquakes and floods, of spirits turning on each other in terror, and none will say why.”

She stopped, her unnaturally loud voice echoing in the newborn silence, but all around the room, heads were nodding. Hands crossed over rings turned inward, and faces drew tight with worry. Strangely, Miranda felt a swell of relief. They knew what she was talking about, and they were as afraid as she had been.

“Your spirits won’t tell you what is happening because it is forbidden for them to speak of such matters,” she said, her voice gentle. “But it is not forbidden for me.”

And then she told them. She told them as the Shaper Mountain had told her, about the stars, about the Shepherdess. After that, she told them about Mellinor and his warning, and then she told them of her own research and calling the West Wind, about her trip to the broker and her promise to Rellenor, the Whitefall River. She told her story in a rush, letting the last three days pour out of her, stopping just before she’d left for the League’s stronghold. When she finished, the room was as silent as a tomb. Only Blint’s face was unchanged. But for all his haughtiness, his fingers were clutching the dark green ring on his right thumb, and Miranda knew that, whatever else lay between them, he believed her.

“I don’t have to tell you the scale of the disaster we’re facing,” she said slowly. “You saw it for yourselves yesterday, when the rivers flooded. You’ve felt it in your own spirits. The stars are the foundations of this world, but one by one, they are being pulled away, leaving the spirits who depended on them in free fall. As they unravel, so does the world we’ve sworn to protect.”

She leaned forward, and her voice dropped low. “Spiritualists,” she said, letting the title shake with emotion. “I don’t have to remind you of your oaths or your duty. When Rector Banage told me to call the Conclave, he meant it to reunite the Court. But I say that no matter our past squabbles or petty politics, we have always been united in our core purpose: the protection and preservation of the spirit world. For every ring I see in this chamber, I know your dedication, and I’m asking you now to act on it. I’m asking you to stand with me, to stand together as a Court, and do what must be done.”

“And what is that?”

Miranda turned to see Blint leaning out toward her, but though his face was screwed up in its usual glare, his voice was more pleading than angry. “You just told us this was the Shepherdess’s doing,” he said. “Before tonight, I’d heard of her only in the abstract, a spirit so enormous as to be completely separate from the scope of human magic. Now you tell us she’s not only real but she’s turning the world on end, ripping out the largest spirits in creation like weeds and leaving the rest to fend for themselves. A terrible problem, I’ll grant you, but what can we do about it? Every wizard in this room stands by their oaths, but there’s a bit of a jump between defending the spirit world and performing miracles.”

A smattering of nervous laughter went up from the crowd at this, and Blint crossed his arms with a smug smirk. Miranda tightened her grip on the podium’s worn wooden lip.

“We can’t take the place of the lost stars,” she said. “But we can help to calm the panic caused by their disappearance. The floods that devastated Zarin and every other riverside community weren’t caused by the vanishing river star but by the panic of the rivers once they realized their star had gone. That panic is the danger. We can’t stop the stars from vanishing, but if we could calm the spirit’s fear before it became dangerous, if we could have reached out to the rivers before they flooded, we could limit the damage, maybe even prevent it altogether.”

“And how do you mean to manage that?” Blint said. “Catching the panic means reaching the spirit the moment the trouble starts. We can’t be everywhere at once. Do you mean us to only comfort spirits in Zarin? Or is that why he’s here?” Blint’s hand shot out, finger pointed directly at Alric. “The League of Storms are demon hunters, last I heard. Their members are said to have strange powers, a rumor that was just proven by your own flamboyant entrance.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “Have you sold out the Court, Lyonette?”

Miranda clenched her teeth against her growing rage. “Must you see everything I do in the worst light possible?” she snapped. “Whatever you may think of me, this isn’t a power play, Blint. Yes, as you can all see, I went to the League, and yes, I went to make a deal. I saw just as you did that there was no way we could handle a problem this enormous as we are. We move fast, but not that fast. What good is it to go to calm a panic if you arrive days after the panic occurs? It is our duty and our calling to offer our help to the spirits, but for that help to be of any use, we need more than we can muster on our own.” She raised her hand, motioning to Alric. “The League also suffers from this crisis. No one wants this panic, and the League has agreed that we should combine our efforts to fight it.”

“Combine how?” Blint said. “What, do you mean to swear them in? Give them rings and pledge them to service like apprentices?”

“Not quite.”

It was Alric who spoke, his quiet voice booming thanks to his position beside Miranda. He smiled at Blint with the same tight-lipped politeness he showed everyone, but his eyes were burning with banked anger.

“If I may?” he said, looking at Miranda. When she nodded, he addressed the Court. “I am Alric, Deputy Commander of the League of Storms. This morning, Rector Lyonette came to us with an offer of aid. The League exists to prevent the spread of demonseeds. To this end, we have been given certain powers to help in our hunt. However, the current situation prevents our organization from operating as it should, and we find ourselves overwhelmed by the scale of the panic we are facing. With this in mind, the Lord of Storms has offered a deal to your Rector and the Spirit Court she represents.”

He raised his hand, holding it out palm up like he was making the room an offering. “We will grant you temporary use of our gifts, namely the power to open portals through the veil to any location in the world, the ability to hear the ripples of spirit panic so that you can respond to any outbreaks as soon as they occur, and the command to instantly crush any panic deemed dangerous to a spirit or those around it. The League will make these gifts available for as long as this crisis persists, and in return, the Spirit Court will supply the manpower needed to properly deal with the panics. This is the agreement tendered between my commander and your Rector.”

As he finished, the room began to buzz. Miranda let it. This was the crux of all her work, the pinnacle of these last, horrible days. Alric’s words were simple, but the ideas behind them were enormous and so far removed from the day-to-day life of the Court that some pushback was inevitable. She was a polarizing figure, Banage’s protégé, a reminder of the recent strife, but Alric was neutral, and the League of Storms, while mysterious, was highly respected. Better they should whisper over his words without her speaking up and dragging the discussion back to the bitter anger of Blint and those like him.

Better still, with this, her role was over. The truth has been told. Alric had laid out the deal and the Court knew enough to make a decision. It was done. She’d fulfilled her promise to Banage and her pledge to Mellinor. Maybe now she could rest.

Miranda closed her eyes. The weariness went all the way to her bones, but though the Rector’s chair was right behind her, she dared not sit. First, it was Master Banage’s chair and she had no right to take it. Second, if she did sit down, she had no real conviction she’d ever be able to make herself get up again.

As a compromise, she let herself slump against the podium. The gold mantle of the Rector was heavier than she’d ever imagined, but the gold and gems were dull on her shoulders. There was no sign of the light she’d seen when Master Banage wore it, and somehow that was a relief. Rectors served for life. If it had flared up for her, it would have been a sign that Master Banage really was never coming back.

Better the mantle stayed dull, she thought, fingers clenching. Better if everyone saw her for what she was—a stand-in who was going back to her real duty as soon as the Lord of Storms came to take their pledge. The second he did, she’d throw the mantle at Krigel and use her new abilities to find and free her true Rector from wherever Sara had hidden him. She would bring him back to the Court in triumph, and then they would both work to settle the panic before the world tore itself to pieces. After that, she would rest. She would stuff herself full and sleep for a year. She deserved it after the last few weeks. Powers, she’d been fighting looming disaster for so long now she almost missed eating Eli’s dust.

It would all be over soon enough, though. Already, the conversation in the room was dying down. As the Spiritualists stilled, she could see their resolve solidifying. Thank the Powers, she was almost done. She was almost free.

“Rector,” Alric whispered. She looked over to see the Deputy Commander had leaned down so his head was even with hers. “How long?”

“I can call the vote at any time,” Miranda whispered back. She would have liked to wait a little longer to let the Court come around completely, but Alric’s expression was tense.

“Do it,” he ordered. “He’s nearly here.”

As though in answer, a flash of lightning lit up the windows, followed immediately by a peal of thunder so strong it rocked the Tower beneath their feet. That was warning enough, and Miranda pushed herself straight. But as she opened her mouth to call the question to order, a flash of lightning so bright it sent her hands flying to shield her eyes filled the Court chamber.

For a second, Miranda could see nothing but white. The smell of ozone burned her nostrils, but all she could feel were her rings as they vibrated against her fingers, the warning trilling up every connection. She dropped her hands with effort as the thunder crash came and turned to face the man who now stood at the center of the Court.

The Lord of Storms was standing in the witness stand, the same stand where Miranda had made her case what felt like years ago. Though he looked no larger than usual, leaning casually against the stand’s railing with his arms crossed as his silver eyes raked over the crowd, his presence filled the room to bursting. The Spiritualists cowered before him. Even Blint pulled back, his skin gray with fear. This reaction seemed to please the Lord of Storms, for his face broke into a smug smile as his gaze moved to Miranda.

She took a deep breath and banished her fear, pulling herself to her full height. “Welcome, Lord of Storms,” she said, her voice stiff and formal. “The Spirit Court extends its friendship to you and yours in good faith.”

The Lord of Storms shrugged and pushed himself up. He walked across the floor toward the Rector’s stand, the click of his boots on the polished stone the only sound in the deep, terrified silence. When he reached the stand’s base, he vanished. There was no white line this time, no lightning; he simply vanished in a swirl of cloud only to reappear instantly right beside Miranda.

A gasp went up from the crowd, but Miranda barely heard it. She was too concerned with not falling over as she scrambled to give the commander room in the narrow space. This close, he towered over her, and it took every ounce of her pride not to flee down the stair at the back of the platform. As Miranda held her ground, the Lord of Storms’ smile grew, and he sat down in the Rector’s chair like it had been set out just for him.

“Well?” he said, his voice as loud and deep as the thunder that rolled outside. “Are you ready for the binding? Because I don’t have all day.”

“Almost,” Miranda said, trying to keep the anger out of her voice. “I was just about to take the vote.”

He waved for her to go ahead. Miranda glowered and turned back to the Court. But as she lifted her voice to call the vote, a throat cleared right below her. Miranda jumped at the unexpected sound and looked down to see Krigel trying to catch her eye.

“A point of procedure, Rector,” he said, his quiet voice clear in the terrified hush.

Miranda frowned, confused, but Krigel’s stare was unwavering. When she nodded, he turned sideways so that his face could be seen by both her and the Court beyond. “By rules of the Conclave as stated in the Court’s founding pledge, this is not actually a voting matter.”

Miranda clamped her mouth closed right before the question It isn’t? popped out. Breathing a silent breath of relief at avoiding looking like an idiot, she clenched her teeth and waited for Krigel to continue.

“Were this a standard hearing, we would now vote on the matter of whether or not we should offer our aid to the League,” Krigel said, his voice dry and formal. “But this is not a standard hearing. It is a Conclave. Conclaves are held only in emergencies, and are thus governed by emergency rules. Since a Conclave has not been called in fifty years, however, I feel it is timely to refresh the Court’s memory that all proclamations made by the Rector Spiritualis during a Conclave become law immediately.”

For a moment, Miranda could only gape. “What?”

“Conclaves exist to galvanize the Court in times of crisis,” Krigel continued. “At such times, our founders felt it imperative that we be united in purpose and speak with one voice, that of the Rector. Therefore, as this is Conclave and you are Rector, all you have to do to ally us with the League is say so. Speak the decree and it becomes law. Well”—he tilted his head—“for five weeks anyway, at which point the matter returns to debate among the Tower Keepers who can either—”

Miranda closed her eyes, unable to follow Krigel’s legal lecture any further. She’d never paid much attention to the finer points of Conclave procedure because it had never seemed important before. How stupid, she realized with a flush, going into Conclave without even reading the rules. If the Rector got to just make laws during a Conclave, it was no wonder Blint had reacted so badly to the news. Of course, part of her argued that this made things easier since she wouldn’t have to worry about a vote, but a much louder part argued back that this was actually much, much worse. She probably would have won a vote, but no one was going to take her decrees for law because she wasn’t even—

“The girl’s not even properly Rector!” Blint shouted, finishing for her. “Conclave or no, you think this Court will obey anything she spits out?”

“That is a valid point, Tower Keeper Blint,” Krigel said gravely. “And that is exactly why all Conclaves must, by law, begin with a ratification of the sitting Rector or an election if the position of Rector is unfilled. A step, I might add, that has been overlooked in the current proceedings.” He turned and gazed up at Miranda, his face curiously blank. “Seeing this, I must demand that we vote at once on the office of Rector to prevent any future dispute on the legitimacy of Conclave decrees.”

Miranda had to bite down hard to keep from screaming. Why was Krigel pushing this now? The Lord of Storms was practically standing on her toes. If they’d called a vote, this would already be done. Now what should have been a simple decision to make both the Court and the League’s jobs easier was going to get lost in the massive crash of politics and ego surrounding the office of Rector. The exact same crash that had torn the Court apart in the last crisis with the Empress. Powers, what was Krigel doing?

As though in answer to her question, Krigel’s voice rang out. “Who wishes to serve the Court as Rector?”

Blint’s answer was immediate. “I do.”

A murmur of approval rose from his half of the room, and Miranda fought the urge to bang her head against the podium.

“Anyone else?” Krigel asked.

The question hung in the air. Benches creaked as the Spiritualists shifted, but no one said a word. No one was stupid enough to stand against Blint, Miranda realized. She glared at the crowd, noting that the men around Blint were grinning like schoolboys. Miranda gritted her teeth. If there was a way the situation could get worse, she couldn’t see it.

When the silence had stretched long enough, Krigel shook his head. “By law, there must be a contest for the position of Rector,” he said. “As assistant to the office of Rector, I claim the privilege of nominating the second candidate.”

Without warning, he turned his back to the crowd and looked up at Miranda with an expression of smug pride. “I nominate Miranda Lyonette, friend of the West Wind, Savior of Gaol, Master of the Great Spirit of the Inland Sea and Deep Current Mellinor, War Hero of the Second Battle of Osera, apprentice and chosen successor of our former Rector, Etmon Banage, and, as Rector Banage often said in this very room, the pride of this Court.”

A cheer erupted at this, causing both Miranda and Blint to jump. They turned in unison, staring at the surprisingly large group of clapping Spiritualists standing across the hall from Blint’s entourage. Miranda’s brain didn’t get much further than that, however. She was too busy fighting the terrible clenching in her stomach.

“Why?” she said, her voice cracking. “I don’t want—”

“That is why we chose you,” Krigel said, his voice rising to fill the room. “The Rector gives her life in service to the Court. It is a position that demands absolute dedication to the ideals of Spiritualists’ oaths. The Rector must never be swayed by human politics and never abandon the spirits for landed power. The office of Rector must be above reproach, or we risk losing the faith of those spirits we are sworn to serve.”

He turned away from her then, sweeping his arms out as he faced the crowd. “With this in mind, I ask the Court, who is more suited? A man who has coveted the Rector’s power all his life, who colluded with Hern, the traitor who helped Enslave all of Gaol? Or the woman who has never once violated her oaths? Who, in fact, continued her duty to the spirits even after the Court kicked her out? Who would serve our ideals better? A Tower Keeper who has spent the time since his Rector’s arrest plotting his own ascension, or the Spiritualist who has used her emergency powers as Interim Rector to work without rest to find a solution to what may be the greatest threat to the spirit world since the Enslaver kings this Court was founded to fight?”

Krigel pulled himself straight, his voice so full of pride it trembled. “It was Spiritualist Lyonette who went to the League of Storms, Spiritualist Lyonette who forged the very bargain before us that may well be our only salvation in this crisis. Therefore I ask you, Spiritualists, who but Miranda Lyonette is fit to lead us through it?”

Blint began to shout then, but Krigel’s voice rolled over him. “It is time the Spirit Court remembered its purpose!” he cried. “We have allowed ourselves to be swept up in Whitefall’s Council for too long, and I say it is time to prove that we are beholden to none save the spirits who depend on us. If you would be worthy of the oaths you swore, if you would have a Spirit Court that truly serves the spirits, and not the Council of Thrones, then do as I do.” He thrust his hand in the air, his rings glowing like lanterns on his bony fingers. “Raise your hand for Miranda Lyonette, and let this Court be what it should again.”

“Krigel!” Miranda hissed, leaning over to grab the old man’s hand out of the air. “Powers, man, stop…”

Her voice trailed off as she faced the Court. In the packed benches of the hearing room, nearly every hand was up. Hundreds of rings glittered in the white light of the lanterns overhead, and every face mirrored Krigel’s determination. Even on Blint’s side, hands were raised. Blint himself looked ready to explode, and Miranda didn’t blame him. That had hardly been a fair election, and if the Court’s will had been less clear, she would have made Krigel do a formal vote. But the Spirit Court had spoken, loudly, and even though Miranda was ostensibly at the heart of it, she could no more deny its will than she could send a wave back to sea. Defeated, she slumped down, her elbows cracking on the Rector’s podium. Below her, Krigel lowered his hand with a look of pure triumph.

“I believe that settles it,” he said. “If anyone objects, it is their right to speak now.”

With a great clatter, Blint shot up from his bench and marched out. A few of the men who’d been sitting beside him scrambled to follow, but it was nowhere near the crowd that had been whispering with him at the beginning. Most of those men were now doing their best not to look at the Tower Keeper as he vanished through a side door, his formal robes swirling behind him in an angry riot of red silk.

“As there are no objections,” Krigel said, “the Spirit Court offers the office of Rector to Miranda Lyonette.” He turned slowly, fixing Miranda with his eyes. “Do you accept the Court’s call, Spiritualist?”

Miranda very seriously considered saying no, but old Krigel was looking at her with so much pride. The same pride that lit his face when he looked at Banage, she realized. That line of thinking brought her back to her lost master. As Rector, she’d have the clout to fight for his release. Powers knew they needed him now more than ever. She glanced sideways to see the Lord of Storms was watching her, his eyes going through her like hailstones as his boot tapped against the edge of the podium.

Miranda set her jaw and turned to face the Court. “I accept,” she said, proud that her voice betrayed none of the bone weariness that suddenly threatened to overwhelm her.

The second the words left her mouth, everything changed.

Without warning, the Rector’s ring tightened on her finger hard enough to make the bone ache and a presence roared into her mind. Miranda jerked in surprise, her eyes slamming shut in pain and shock. It was like binding a spirit, an enormous one, but she’d given no oath, made no pledge. Yet the connection was there, as strong as Mellinor’s had been, but where the sea had been inside her, this spirit was all around her, enormous and steady and, she frowned, laughing at her.

“Of course I laugh, little Rector,” the voice boomed in her mind. “Banage always told me you would come.”

Her eyes popped open. The golden mantle of the Rector was glowing as bright as noon across her shoulders, a multicolored light show that, she realized for the first time, was the product of one spirit, not many. That same spirit ran through the floor below her feet, up the walls that surrounded her. It reached up to the Tower’s peak and down to the Tower’s foundations, which ran deeper than she’d ever imagined, down to the very roots of Zarin itself. She could feel every bit of the stone like she held the whole of it in her hands, and her mind filled with wonder until it was all she knew.

“You are the Tower,” she whispered, clutching the gold chain.

“And you are faster than most.” The Tower’s voice laughed in her head. “Though I’d expect as much from Mellinor’s master and one who has seen the truth of Lord Durain’s heart.”

“Durain?” Miranda repeated foolishly. “The Shaper Mountain?”

“The Lord of all Mountains,” the Tower said reverently. “It was he who bade me to enter a pact with your kind many years ago, but it is another lord you should mind now, Rector.”

The words were accompanied by a sort of mental prod. Miranda followed it and found herself facing the Lord of Storms, who was looking dangerously bored.

“Can we get on with this?” he drawled, tapping his long fingers on the clawed arm of the Rector’s chair. “I have a hunt to finish.”

Miranda nodded, grabbing her shocked mind and forcing it back to the here and now. “Lord of Storms,” she said, her voice rising as she became mindful of the crowd of Spiritualists who were watching her like hawks. “The Spirit Court is honored to accept your bargain as offered.”

The Lord of Storms nodded and vanished in a swirl of cloud only to reappear again on the witness stand at the center of the room. “Line them up here,” he said, pointing to the stand’s small step. “I’m not bothering the Lady for permission on this, so I’ll have to do them one at a time. And be fast about it. I’ve wasted enough time with Court theatrics for this century.”

Miranda nodded and, almost without thinking, turned and stepped off the Rector’s elevated platform into thin air. She couldn’t say why she’d gone that way instead of taking the stairs, and for a moment she was sure she was going to fall and break her fool head. But as soon as her foot left the platform, the floor of the chamber rose to meet her. The white stone moved like water, flowing up to form an elegant stair, each step coalescing a moment before her foot landed. A gasp went up from the gathered Court, and Miranda began to blush.

“You make me do things now?” she hissed, stomping her way down.

“Not at all,” the Tower whispered. “I merely offer suggestions, and your mind, though distracted, seems to know a good idea when it hears one. Besides, I’ve been an ally of the Court for a long time. I know when it needs a little impressing.”

She had to admit the spirit’s plan worked. The Spiritualists were watching her with round eyes as she walked across the smoothly polished floor and came to a stop before the Lord of Storms. He held out his hand impatiently, but just before his palm landed on her head, Miranda ducked away.

“Wait.”

The Lord of Storms gave her a murderous look. Miranda ignored it and turned to face her Court. “Before we begin, I wish to make a few things very clear. First, even with the power of the League behind us, know that the path we begin today will be a difficult one. You will see spirits suffering as never before, and it may come that you will have to use a strong hand to stop their panic if it becomes violent. The use of force over spirits, even for their own protection, is abhorrent to Spiritualists by nature. Therefore, participation in this operation is entirely voluntary. I want only the willing, and there will be no punishment or shame for those who do not wish to accept the Lord of Storms’ offer. Those who do wish to help may come down now to receive the League’s gift of power. However”—the sudden sharpness in her voice interrupted the scrape of benches—“before anything is given or received, each of you must stand before the Court and reaffirm your oath as a Spiritualist.”

The Spiritualists began to mutter angrily, and Miranda put up her hand. “I don’t ask this because I doubt your loyalty or resolve. I wouldn’t be standing here if that were the case. But the League’s powers go far and beyond the normal scope of our Court. If this is to work, we must be above reproach. We must be exactly what our oath requires: servants of the spirits. With that in mind, I want everyone who means to work with the League to reaffirm that loyalty, starting with myself.”

She placed both hands on her chest, rings out, just as she had when she was a raw apprentice so many years ago. Now as then, she lowered her head before the Tower and the Court and spoke the words that had guided her life from that moment on.

“I pledge my life to the unseen world,” she said, her voice ringing loud and clear. “My soul to the protection of those who suffer. On my life and my soul I swear to never stand quiet before abuse or stay my hand when my strength may aid the world’s good. I pledge my life and my soul to the spirits, and those who aid me I will bind in solemn promise: power for service, strength for obedience, a servant to the Court and the spirits it defends until the end of our days. This is my oath, and may my life be forfeit before ever I am forsworn.”

As she finished, she raised the solid gold band on her left hand and kissed the center of the perfect circle. Oath spoken, she turned back to the Lord of Storms.

His hand landed on her head like a vise, and her body trembled as a pulse of electricity shot through her. It crawled over her skin, more intense than painful, and then, as fast as it started, it was over. The pressure on her skull vanished, leaving only a faint tingling. She glanced up, confused.

“That’s it?”

The Lord of Storms sneered. “What did you expect, a speech? Unlike you lot, we don’t waste time with ceremony.”

Miranda swallowed. Surely there was more than that. Her skin was tingling, but otherwise she felt no different than before.

“It’s there,” the Lord of Storms said, answering the question she hadn’t asked. “All you have to do is hold out your hand and think of where you want to go.”

Sheepishly, Miranda obeyed, stretching out her arm as she’d seen Alric do. The moment her fingers rose in front of her, the white line appeared. It fell like a knife, cutting a door in the air that opened onto the beach by Osera. Miranda blinked in amazement. She’d done little more than picture the destination in her mind, but there was the sea, choppy and dark blue under the overcast sky.

As she stared at it, her vision began to blur. On the other side of the white cut was the stretch of shallows where she’d lost Mellinor, and later, Eli. The sea spirit was out there still, deep below the water, but he wasn’t hers. Not anymore. And the thief…

Miranda dropped her hand, and the line vanished, fading as quickly as it had appeared. She scrubbed her eyes covertly, though there was no way the Lord of Storms could have missed the tears. But when she glanced up, he wasn’t even looking at her. By this point the room was full of the sound of shuffling as the Court came down from the benches to the floor to take part, and he was watching the approaching line with a look of growing annoyance.

“Make them speak quick, girl,” he growled, leaning against the railing. “I mean to be back on the hunt within the hour.”

Miranda nodded and motioned for the first Spiritualist to step forward. The woman, a Tower Keeper from the south, spoke her oath with pride and did not even flinch when the Lord of Storms touched her head. When he lifted his hand, she looked him straight in the eyes.

“How do we find those in panic?” she said, all business.

“Listen,” the Lord of Storms said. “You’ll hear it.”

The woman nodded and stepped aside to let the next Spiritualist take her place. As Miranda watched, the Tower Keeper closed her eyes and tilted her head like she was straining to hear a distant sound. Almost at once, her eyes popped back open and she held out her hand. The white line appeared instantly, and a blast of icy wind hit Miranda in the face as the Tower Keeper stepped through the cut and into a world of snow, ice, and something terrible. A screaming, howling fear. The hole closed as soon as she was through, cutting off the cold and the sound as though they’d never been.

By this point, the next Spiritualist, a journeyman as Miranda herself had been before the events in Osera, had finished his oath and received the Lord of Storms’ gift. He staggered as the Lord of Storms released him, and Miranda jumped to catch the young man before he fell.

“Easy,” she said, helping him regain his balance.

The Spiritualist shook his head. “How do you stand it?” he whispered. “Can’t you hear the fear?”

Miranda couldn’t. She actually hadn’t heard anything out of the ordinary since the Lord of Storms touched her. Her frustration must have been plain on her face, because the Lord of Storms laughed.

“What?” he barked. “You think all human souls are the same just because you’re all shaped alike? Don’t be stupid. My gift fits each person differently. Even in the League we have people who are better at some aspects than others.” He nodded to the young Spiritualist who was still shaking in Miranda’s grip. “That man has large ears, so to speak. If you weren’t so blind, you’d see the difference for yourself.”

“So my ears are small, then?” Miranda snapped, helping the Spiritualist over to the wall.

“Not very,” the Lord of Storms said, motioning for the next person to hurry up and come forward. “Come on, come on. Move.”

The next Spiritualist waited until Miranda nodded before stepping forward and reciting his oath. The Lord of Storms grabbed his head the second he finished and released it almost as quickly, pushing the man away with a quick jab.

“Next!”

The line moved quickly after that, with each Spiritualist stepping forward just long enough to give their oath before the Lord of Storms grabbed them. Some were like the first Tower Keeper. They seemed to get the powers instinctively and jumped into action, opening their portals to places of trouble without a word of explanation or training. Others were like the young Spiritualist, staggering away, as pale as death.

These Miranda led to the growing group gathered on an empty stretch of floor by the benches. Krigel was already there, helping them sit, encouraging them to talk. Miranda watched him with a worried frown, but she couldn’t get away. The Lord of Storms drove the line forward, and she had to move quickly as well, witnessing the oaths one after the other. She was about to ask for a reprieve when a voice spoke in her ear.

“Don’t worry about it.”

She jumped and turned to see Alric standing behind her, a thin smile on his lips.

“It’s the way of the Lord of Storms’ power,” he said softly, his eyes on his commander as the Lord of Storms grabbed the next Spiritualist’s scalp. “Some take to it like fish to water; others take longer to come around. It’s the same within the League.”

“Shouldn’t we be explaining something?” Miranda said. “It seems downright foolish for the Lord of Storms to give his gift and not teach people how to use it.”

“That’s how it’s always been,” Alric said with a shrug. “The League’s gift isn’t some boon or mystical power. It’s a sliver of the Lord of Storms’ own soul. Think of it as piggybacking on his strength. He’s not making something new so much as breaking up what he already has. That’s why he doesn’t explain how it works. His powers come to him as natural as breathing comes to us, and he could no more explain them than you could explain how you make your heart beat. But this is the way it’s been since the beginning, and it works. You yourself were able to make a portal with little more than a cursory explanation, after all.”

Miranda scowled. “It’s reckless.”

“Storms aren’t known for their caution and forethought,” Alric said, smiling. “Of course, if you don’t like it, you could always go to a different spirit for aid.”

Her scowled deepened, and Alric chuckled. “Don’t worry, Rector,” he said. “Even your tremblers over there will come around in time. For now, we should focus on getting as many of your Spiritualists into the field as possible. There’s so much panic at the moment I can hardly hear myself think.”

“I hear nothing,” she said. “Am I doing something wrong, or—”

“You can’t ‘do something wrong’ with an instinctive power,” Alric said. At her crestfallen expression, he added, “Think of it this way. Panic rings best in hollow vessels, but your soul is full, isn’t it?”

“Very full.” The Tower’s deep voice rumbled through Miranda so loudly that her bones rattled.

“I begin to see your point,” she said, wincing at the sensation. “I suppose it’s hard to hear anything through all this rock.”

“You should be glad,” the Tower said. “It’s a storm out there, little Rector. Be thankful of my protection.”

“I just hope I’m able to do my job deaf,” she snapped.

“Excuse me?” Alric said.

“Nothing,” Miranda muttered, a blush spreading over her face as the Tower’s chuckle rattled her teeth.

“Don’t worry,” the Tower said, its voice full of black humor. “You’ll hear the panic when it’s close, and when you do, you’ll wish I could block it all out.”

Miranda had no answer to that, and she turned her attention back to Alric. “We’ll just have to weather whatever comes.”

“Oh, no, my dear,” Alric warned. “You’re part of the storm now. There’s no more weathering, no more sitting back. You ride with the Shepherdess’s favor now, good or ill, just like the rest of us. I only hope this little trick of yours works. If we don’t find the demon, I dread to think of the consequences.”

Miranda steadied herself, turning to hear the next oath before asking the question that had been smoldering in her mind since this morning. “What are you hunting?”

Alric’s answer was so cold she almost didn’t recognize his voice. “A demon who should be dead twice over,” he said, his hand vanishing from her shoulder.

When she turned to ask what he meant by that, Alric was across the room, standing beside Krigel as he talked with the Spiritualists who hadn’t instantly adapted to the change.

She watched him another moment before giving up. She had enough to worry about without pressing into League business. Steeling herself, she turned back to the matter at hand, acknowledging each oath as, one by one, the entire Spirit Court received the Lord of Storms’ gift.

It took a good hour before the last Spiritualist left the Lord of Storms’ grasp. By that time, most of those who hadn’t adapted to the gift at once had come around, just as Alric had predicted. Alric himself had left twenty minutes ago after a brief, whispered conference with his commander. He was probably going to prepare the rest of the League for the hunt, Miranda realized.

The Lord of Storms was certainly ready. As the line dwindled, he seemed to grow larger. He loomed over the platform now, and the room felt colder for his presence. Colder and full of reined-in power. It reminded Miranda of the minutes just before a storm broke, which was appropriate. She just hoped he didn’t break in her assembly room.

When the final Spiritualist had received the League’s gift and vanished through her portal, Miranda expected the Lord of Storms to vanish with her, but he didn’t. Instead, he began to stalk around the room with his eyes closed, as though he were listening. After watching him circle for several nervous minutes, Miranda decided to ignore him and go on with her, which was to say the Court’s, business.

The assembly room was nearly empty now. Krigel was seeing off the last of those slow to adapt to their gifts. Miranda held her tongue, waiting until the last Spiritualist vanished before asking for a report.

“It’s as you see, Rector,” Krigel said, leaning against the wall below the Rector’s seat with a sigh. “One thousand twenty-two Spiritualists attended the Conclave today, and of those, nine hundred and ninety-eight renewed their oath and took the League’s gift. An excellent turnout, all said, especially when you consider what Blint’s influence was not two hours ago.”

Miranda bit her lip and glanced around. Save for the stalking Lord of Storms and Gin resting behind her, she and Krigel were alone in the enormous room. Even so, she reached down and gave the Tower’s ring a little prod.

At once, the enormous room shifted subtly, the acoustics changing. When she spoke again, the words that should have echoed across the empty stone fell tiny and flat, just as she wanted. There could be no chance of anyone overhearing what she said next.

“Krigel,” she whispered. “Why did you do it?”

The old Spiritualist didn’t ask what she meant. He leaned against the polished wood and fixed her with a glare that made her feel like a bumbling apprentice again.

“You would have me let Blint make a mockery of all we’ve fought for?” he said. “All Etmon sacrificed?”

“I don’t want to be Rector,” Miranda argued. “I want to fight. I should be out there—”

“What you want means nothing,” Krigel said. “You have a duty, Miranda. A duty to the Court and a duty to Banage, who’s sacrificed more for you than you can ever know. If Blint became Rector, the Spirit Court would be little more than a subchapter of Whitefall’s Council.”

Miranda knew she should leave it there, but selfish as it was, she couldn’t stop. “But why me?” she cried. “Why do I have to be—”

“Because there was no one else,” Krigel said. “This Court has been too long in the presence of the Council. Men like Blint sway others with power and greed. He had half the Court in his pocket this morning. It didn’t matter whom I’d named for Rector. Had the vote been taken when the Conclave began, Blint would have won. That’s why I didn’t call the referendum at the beginning as I should have. I meant to let you call the vote for the Court’s agreement with the League, procedure be hanged. But while you were standing on the Rector’s platform speaking the truth of the horrible events taking place around us, flanked by the League’s Deputy Commander and the Lord of Storms himself, the power in the Court began to shift. With every word you spoke, the Court forgot its greed. It forgot the promise of power and remembered its oaths and its purpose. At that moment, Miranda, you were more powerful than Blint could ever be.”

“So you forced the vote,” Miranda said, dropping her head.

“Of course,” Krigel said. “Powers, girl, I might be old, but I’m not so great a fool to let an opportunity like that pass me by. With you as Rector, the Court will continue to live up to its purpose. You proved as much just now when you made us reaffirm our oaths. The lust for power that let men like Hern and Blint climb so high is still there, but today at least, the Court’s pride won out. With good leadership and a clear purpose, I hope we can keep it that way. This crisis may be the key to finally breaking the Council’s hold on us and regaining our true independence. Surely you’re not going to let a little thing like a personal aversion to being Rector stand in the way of such a great and noble goal, are you?”

Miranda’s answer was a deep sigh, and Krigel’s smile spread.

“Glad we see eye to eye,” he said, bowing low. “It is my honor to serve you, Rector Lyonette.”

Miranda waved him away and slumped down, landing hard on the polished stone. As though on cue, Gin got up from his post to the right of the Rector’s podium and padded over to thrust his enormous head into her lap.

“Let’s get to business, then,” she said, scratching the ghosthound’s muzzle. “You can hear the panic, right? So, tell me what’s going on.”

Krigel snapped to attention. “The fear has already died down considerably thanks to your Court’s efforts, Rector. It seems the star of the hardwood forests vanished just before the Conclave, but from what I can hear, the panic has all but vanished in the south and across the sea. There are still screams coming from the north, but they’re dying down. At this rate, it’s only a matter of time before the Lord of Storms gets his quiet.”

“None too soon,” Miranda muttered, glaring at the Lord of Storms, who was still stalking back and forth across her assembly floor. She watched him as he walked, his feet slamming down on the stone so hard she felt it through the Tower’s connection. She was about to ask him if he would mind stomping more quietly when the Lord of Storms froze.

It happened without warning. One moment he was moving fluid as a panther; the next he was still as the floor beneath his feet. He stayed that way for one endless breath, and then his face transformed.

The change was so dramatic Miranda had no words to describe it. There simply was no human name for such pure, rapturous, purposeful joy. It was a look of completion, as though the entire work of the man’s life had suddenly been validated. For one brief second, the Lord of Storms stood transfixed, and then he opened his mouth with a roar that was more power than sound, vibrating through the fabric of the world.

“There you are!”

As the words thundered, the Lord of Storms vanished in a flash of light. Miranda flinched back against the wooden wall, blinking madly against the echo of his power throbbing through her mind. As she struggled to get her thoughts back in order, she felt almost sorry for the demon.

Poor thing wouldn’t know what hit it.