The Spirit Thief

CHAPTER 14

Miranda didn’t realize she had passed out until she woke up sore, stiff, dirty, and uncomfortably damp. She was propped on Gin’s paw, and as soon as she moved, his long snout filled her vision.

“How are you feeling?”

Miranda thought about it, and winced. “Like someone’s beaten me, eaten me, and thrown me up again.”

She ignored his disgusted look and pulled herself up by his fur. “That went well,” she muttered, cleaning the grit out of her mouth with a less dirty corner of her riding coat. “Somehow, I’m not surprised Coriano was there. I’d love to know what that enslaver’s paying him to make him toss out his good reputation with the Spirit Court.”

“I don’t think it’s always about money with that one,” Gin said thoughtfully. “He smells more of blood than gold to me.”

Miranda grimaced. “Well, that’s a problem for later,” on top of the mountain of problems they already faced. “Right now, we’ve got to figure out what we’re going to do about Renaud.”

Gin laid his ears back. “Men like that don’t deserve to be wizards. Sandstorms may be stupid, but no spirit deserves what he did. It’s even worse than being eaten by a demon. At least then you’re just dead rather than jabbering insane and balled up in some maniac’s pocket.”

Miranda looked up. “Is it still around?”

“I can’t hear it, but that’s no guarantee he didn’t put it back in his pocket.”

Miranda groaned and rubbed her temples. “An enslaver with an ax to grind and a throne to grind it on, it doesn’t get much worse than that.”

“Wait,” Gin said. “What about that Banage thing? The thing he sent us here to stop Eli from getting?”

Miranda blanched. “Gregorn’s Pillar…” She put her knuckles to her mouth, thinking madly. “No,” she said at last. “I don’t think he knows about it. Gregorn’s Pillar is a pretty obscure piece of wizarding history. Banage wasn’t even sure Eli knew about it, but it was the only thing he could think of that Monpress would want from Mellinor. Anyway, Renaud was a jilted wizard in the castle for sixteen years. If he knew about the Pillar, he would have enslaved his way to it years ago, wouldn’t he?”

“I’d think so,” Gin said. “But can we count on that? I mean, I’m pretty good against enslavers usually, but Renaud had me down in the dust before I knew what was happening. He’s got a strong soul, and he’s not afraid to use it full tilt. Now, that’s bad enough, but if that pillar is half of what Banage made it out to be, Renaud really will be able to put the spirit world under his boot if he gets his hands on it.”

“That may be true,” Miranda said and nodded, pulling herself up by his fur. “But Renaud getting the pillar is not a possibility we can handle, so there’s no point in dwelling on it. Let’s just focus on getting him off the throne quickly before he figures out what’s in his treasury.”

“It should be simple enough,” Gin said. “Jump the gates, eat the prince, and get out.” He snapped his teeth. “An enslaver is only human, after all.”

“Out of the question.” Miranda shook her head. “We’d just get flattened again if we tried a direct attack.”

Gin snorted, and Miranda ignored him, pacing little nervous circles around the hound’s paws. “What we need is help,” she said. “But there’s no time to send to the Spirit Court for backup, and with all of Mellinor thinking I murdered their king, we’ll get no aid from—” She stopped suddenly, looking around. “Wait a minute, where is the king?”

“He’s here,” Gin said. “He’s actually been awake for some time. I didn’t want to bother you, so I asked him to wait.”

Miranda stared, confused. “You asked him to wait?”

“Yes.” The hound grinned, showing all of his teeth. “Nicely.”

Miranda put her aching head in her hands. “Gin, let him up.”

Gin feigned innocence for a few more seconds and then lifted his back rear paw, allowing the king, who at this point looked more like a pig farmer with a good tailor than royalty, to wiggle his way to freedom.

“Honestly,” Miranda said and sighed, giving her companion a final glare before running to help the dirt-caked monarch. “As if things weren’t bad enough.”

Gin lowered his head and began cleaning the mud off his paws, completely unconcerned.

The king’s clothes were nearly black with dirt, and if he’d had a jacket, he’d lost it somewhere, leaving him with nothing but the thin, dirty remains of a white linen shirt that had a large burn mark down the center where Skarest had hit him. Miranda winced at that, and at the marked resemblance between him and his brother. There hadn’t been time to get a good look at him in the clearing, but now that the king was crouched in front of her, the family connection was painfully obvious. The two men had the same long build and blond hair, though Henrith’s was nearly brown with dirt at this point. Also, the king’s face was much rounder than the prince’s, a trait that was emphasized by the dusty, overgrown beard that covered nearly all of his lower face after a week away from the royal barber. When he looked up to see who was helping him, his eyes were the same as Renaud’s. The fear that shone in them, however, was new.

As soon as he recognized her face, he bolted for the trees.

“Wait!” Miranda shouted, jumping to block his way.

The king made a break in the other direction, but Gin stuck his leg out at the last moment, sending the king sprawling into the dirt yet again. Miranda ran to help him up.

“Your Majesty,” she pleaded, helping him turn over. “I am Miranda Lyonette of the Spirit Court. I’m here to help!”

“Help?” the king sputtered, smacking her hands away. “Help!? You shot me!”

Miranda winced, but held her position, standing so that the king was stuck between her and Gin. “I know how this sounds, but you must believe me when I say that that was not my lightning bolt.”

“Really?” the king shouted, pointing at his singed chest. “It felt real enough to me!”

“Just listen,” Miranda said, crouching down to a less threatening height. “That was my lightning spirit, but he wasn’t acting on my command. Your brother, Renaud, is an enslaver, a kind of wizard who uses the raw strength of his soul to force weaker spirits to do his bidding. He took my lightning spirit to make it look like I tried to kill you and he is now using the situation to usurp your throne.”

The king looked at her blankly. “An ensla-what?”

“An enslaver,” Miranda repeated. When comprehension failed to dawn on the king’s face, she added, “A bad wizard.”

Gin chuckled at the simplification, and the king, assuming the noise was aimed at him, went scarlet. “And I suppose it was Renaud who told your dog to sit on me,” he said, pointing accusingly at Gin’s nose.

“Unfortunately, that was his own idea,” Miranda growled. “But it was for your own protection!” she added quickly.

The king crouched in the dirt, eyeing her suspiciously. Carefully, Miranda sat down across from him, trying to look as meek and harmless as she could.

“I know you don’t have much cause to like wizards right now,” she said gently, “but I will swear any oath you like that I am on your side.”

“My side?” the king snapped. “You wizards ruined everything! How can you expect me to believe that you could possibly be on my side?”

Miranda answered honestly. “Because in this situation the fact that I’m a wizard makes me your greatest ally.” She held up her dirty hands where her rings still glittered dully. “I’m a member of the Spirit Court. That means I took an oath to preserve the balance between spirit and man, and to do all I could to prevent the abuse of either. Without the Spirit Court’s rules to guide him, your brother has turned to enslavement, forcing his will on the world and doing permanent damage to the spirits he abuses. By my oaths, by my life, I cannot let him continue.”

She finished, looking as earnest as possible, and the king scratched his dirty beard thoughtfully. “It’s that serious, is it?”

“Let me put it this way.” Miranda leaned a little closer. “I was sent here on express orders to stop Eli before he did anything to ruin the reputation of wizards any more than he already has. But if it came down to bringing Renaud in to stand trial or catching Eli red-handed, I’d take Renaud in a heartbeat. I would be stripped of my spirits if I didn’t.”

The king eyed her suspiciously. “I’m still not convinced, but let’s just say I don’t find your story of Renaud’s betrayal all that unbelievable.”

Miranda bit her lip. “I understand it is difficult for you to hear these things of your brother—”

“Not so difficult as you might imagine.” The king sighed, plopping down in the dirt. “You forget, I grew up with the bastard. He was mother’s favorite, no question, and he knew it. Father had nothing to do with us before we were old enough to hunt, so Renaud ran things for most of my childhood. It’s safe to say I don’t find it hard to believe that he misuses his magic.”

Miranda’s eyes widened. “You knew he was a wizard?”

“Oh no, not in the beginning,” Henrith said, waving dismissively. “But when it came out, I wasn’t surprised. He was always going on about his birthright and his inheritance and the proper way of things, but he never seemed very interested in the business of being king. Father didn’t quite know what to do with him. Frankly, I think my brother scared him a little. It’s always been my suspicion that he was secretly relieved when Renaud turned out to be a wizard and gave him a chance to reorder the succession.” The king gave her a long wink. “I was always father’s favorite.”

Miranda suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.

“Anyway, I’m not surprised that he was so quick to come in and take command, either,” the king continued. “Ever since father died, I’ve been hearing rumors that Renaud was hiding somewhere in Allaze. It’s been my theory for years that he would appear the moment he saw a chance.”

“And Eli handed him that chance on a string,” Miranda said hotly. “You may be more right than you realize. Renaud was in the palace the day after you were taken. That’s suspiciously fast, even for an ambitious opportunist. I’ll bet Eli was in on this from the beginning.”

“No,” the king said, vehemently shaking his head. “Renaud and Monpress are not the kind who would work together.”

“But how can you know?”

“Believe me,” the king answered. “I spent twelve years as brother to one and a week as prisoner to the other. Both stints were plenty long enough for me to know that much at least.”

Miranda sighed. “If that’s true, then Eli’s actions are almost worse. If he was working for someone, that would at least show some forethought, but to just charge recklessly into a country and overturn the balance of power like this, with no attention to the consequences…” She shook her head. “He’s lucky Master Banage wants him alive, or I’d kill him myself.”

The king nodded approvingly at that sentiment. “Well, if you are on my side, what do we do now?”

Miranda tapped her fingers against her chin thoughtfully. “Let’s look at our situation. I saw Oban get out, so I think we can safely assume that everyone at the palace thinks you’re dead, and that I killed you. Your brother’s control of the castle depends on them continuing to think that. That screaming black cloud was his way of erasing the evidence, but I’d bet Eli’s bounty that he’s taken steps to make sure there’s a plausible story in place, just in case you did survive.”

“That’d be easy enough,” the king said. “All of Mellinor’s heard the same stories about wizards. They’d never believe I wasn’t a phantom you conjured if we tried to gather allies.”

“A phantom?” Miranda frowned. “Where did you get that idea?”

“It was in a book,” Henrith said. “It’s banned, but everyone’s read it. Morticime’s Travels or something.”

Miranda suddenly had a splitting headache. “Morticime Kant’s A Wizarde’s Travels?”

“Yes,” Henrith said, laughing, “that’s the one! Oban’s son and I used to sneak it around under our armor and read it when our tutors thought we were studying. I haven’t thought about it in years.”

Miranda didn’t have the energy for the rage she could feel building, so she put the whole affair out of her mind and focused instead on her spirits. Eril had come racing back the moment Renaud had opened his spirit, but he was curled up in his pearl in a deep sleep and traumatized beyond usefulness. Skarest had locked himself away, Durn was still recovering, and Kirik was little better than an ember. Her resources were looking grim indeed.

“You have no idea how much I hate to say this,” she said slowly, “but I think we need some outside help.”

The king frowned. “You mean send a message to an ally country? Get your spirit-whatever to send more wizards? But that will—”

“Take too long, I know.” Miranda stood up. “That’s not the kind of outside help I had in mind.” She looked over at her companion. “Gin?”

The ghosthound glanced up from his grooming. “If you’re asking what I think you’re asking, the answer is yes, back the way we came.”

“Good.” She walked over and began pulling herself onto his back. “Let’s be quick about it, then. We’ve wasted too much time already.” She settled herself on his neck and patted the fur behind her. “Climb up, Your Majesty, time is wasting.”

The king looked at the hound in horror. “Climb?”

The word was barely out of his mouth before the ghosthound lurched into action. Gin moved like lightning, plucking the king off the ground with a long claw and tossing him in the air. He landed in a heap on the hound’s back, and Miranda righted him just in time as Gin set off through the woods at a full run. The king clung to the shifting fur, yelping in terror as the trees flew by, too busy trying not to fall off to ask where they were going. That suited Miranda just fine. As hard as this was for her, it was going to be ten times worse for him. Better to explain it when they arrived and he couldn’t get out of it. She grimaced and gripped Gin’s fur tightly. No matter how she sliced it, this was going to be some bitter bread to swallow indeed.

The sun had dropped to the horizon by the time the rock spit Eli, Josef, and Nico in a tumble on the dusty ground. Nico landed gracefully. Eli landed on top of Josef.

“I don’t believe it,” Josef grunted, shoving Eli off. “That was your great escape plan? Hide inside a rock?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Eli snapped back. “Besides, do you have any idea how hard it was to convince that boulder to hide Nico in the first place? Before the other nonsense sent it into a panic?”

“Maybe if it wasn’t such a stupid idea to begin with, you wouldn’t have had so much trouble pulling it—ow.” Josef snatched back the fist he’d been hammering on the ground to make his point. “What the—?”

Nico took his hand before he could mangle it further and deftly pulled a long, glass splinter out of his palm.

“Where did that come from?” He glared at the glass, then at Nico. Nico just shrugged and nodded over his shoulder. Josef turned, and his eyes went wide. The forest, the piebald grass of the clearing, the injured soldiers, the broken weapons, the arrows—they were all gone. The three of them were at the center of a smooth, black dust bowl that bore no resemblance at all to the clearing they had left just a few hours earlier. The dust lay in undulating patterns, ground so fine that the slightest breeze stirred up a miniature tornado. Other than their rock, nothing else remained, not even the natural slope of the ground.

A hundred feet back from its original position, the forest started again, but the new tree line was unnaturally straight. Some trees were missing limbs; others had entire sections of their trunks ripped away. The damage was surgically clean, as if some giant had taken a razor and simply cut away a circle of the forest using their rock as a center mark.

“I take it back,” Josef muttered. “The rock was a great idea. How did you know it would be the only survivor?”

“I didn’t,” Eli said, leaning in to examine the stone’s face.

The boulder itself looked worse for wear. Long, sharp-edged gashes pitted the stone’s surface. When Eli brushed his hand over them, a shower of glass dislodged and toppled to the ground, raising a sparkling cloud that sent them all into painful coughing fits.

When he could speak again, Josef asked, “What was that thing, anyway?”

“A sandstorm spirit,” Eli wheezed.

“I’ve never seen a sandstorm that could do this.”

“Normally, it couldn’t,” Eli said, covering his mouth with his hand. “But this one wasn’t in its right mind. Did you see that Ronald guy drop the sphere?”

“Renaud,” Nico corrected, casually pulling glass splinters out of her coat.

“Whatever,” Eli said. “That ball wasn’t a gem or anything you normally store a spirit in. It was the spirit. He used his will to overpower the sandstorm, like a bully crushing ants together. He forced it to press itself down into that tiny ball, and what do you get when you put sand under high pressure?”

Nico held up one of the dark glass shards.

“Exactly,” Eli said and nodded. “Compressing it into a size he could carry around completely altered the spirit’s form. Considering the color, he’s probably had it like that for a very long time.” He frowned, and his next words were uncharacteristically gentle. “It must have been very painful for the storm.”

“Well, if it hurt so much, why didn’t the spirit just escape?” Josef said, leaning over to knock the glass dust out of his hair. “I’ve never been clear on all this wizard talk, but a sandstorm’s a lot bigger than he is. Couldn’t it have just up and run?”

“It’s not that simple,” Eli said. “A sandstorm isn’t a whole spirit to start with, not like other spirits. A rock, for example, has been a rock for a long time. It may have been part of a mountain in the past, but it’s always been stone. The rock’s spirit has a strong sense of identity. It’s fully developed. Sandstorms are different. They’re born when air spirits and sand spirits rub each other the wrong way, kind of like a spirit brawl. As the sand is thrown up into the air, both spirits merge into one violent storm. Eventually, they blow their anger out and the sand falls back down, separating the spirits again, but while they’re fighting, the sand and air spirits together are a sandstorm spirit. Believe me, neither side is very happy about it. Storms like that are impossible to talk to.

“Unfortunately,” Eli continued, “storms like that are also very stupid. Both spirits are battling for control of the storm, so there’s a lot of raw spirit power, but no control. That’s probably why Renaud was able to dominate it so completely. It didn’t have the presence of mind to resist.”

“So where is the storm now?” Josef said. “Did he roll it back into a ball and take it with him?”

“No,” Eli said, shaking his head. “If there’s anything left, we’re standing on it.” He nudged the sand gently with his foot, stirring up a small cloud of glitter. “Once a spirit degrades that far, it’s only good for one last blow. Renaud knew that, so he used the last of its self-control as a leash to sic it on us, and then left it to blow itself out, taking all the evidence of his double cross with it.” Eli ran his finger delicately over one of the long scars on the rock face. “It would have worked too, if not for my brilliant plan.”

“Very brilliant,” Josef said stiffly, pressing his injured chest. “Where’s Renaud now, then?”

“Back at the palace, I’d say.” Eli nodded toward the spires that poked above the treetops, dark and flat against the evening sky. “Princes who have just overthrown their brothers probably have better things to do than wait around for the likes of us. Maybe we should—”

He stopped as a strong wind blew across the clearing, swirling the loose glass dust into a biting whirlwind. Eli, Josef, and Nico huddled in the lee of the stone, trying not to breathe.

“Well, I think that does it,” Eli wheezed when the wind finally died down. “Cowering in a glass dust bath with no gold, no king, and no easy way to get either. This is, officially, our worst job ever.”

“It was your idea,” Josef said. He dug out one of his spare bandages and tied it over his mouth. “Here,” he said and handed one to Nico and another to Eli. “Let’s go.”

They secured the cloth over their faces and began their trek out of the dustbowl. It took much longer than it should have, for the dust was knee deep in places and so fine it got under their improvised masks within minutes, caking anywhere there was moisture. The bloody front of Josef’s shirt was black with it, and even Nico grimaced when it got in her nose. The dusty circle was deathly silent. In the forest ahead, crickets chirped and evening birds called out, but inside the clearing the only sound was the shuffle of their feet sliding through the dust and the wheezing of their own labored breathing.

“Faster,” Eli mumbled, trying to speak without opening his mouth. They picked up the pace, and by the time they reached the forest’s edge, they were almost running.

As soon as they reached the trees, they tore off their masks and collapsed panting on the ground.

“There should be a stream or something around here,” Eli said, spitting the dust out of his mouth. “If I don’t get this mess off me soon, I’ll be Eli jerky.”

A leather canteen flew through the darkness and landed with a wet slap as his feet. Eli jumped back with a sound that was half obscenity, half squeal. Josef whirled in the direction the canteen had come from, blades out. In the last dim light, a pair of amused orange eyes flashed down from the shadows.

Eli recovered in the blink of an eye, slouching into a carefully nonchalant pose. “How long were you waiting?”

“Long enough,” Miranda said, not fooled for a moment by his sudden cool attitude. Below her, Gin choked back a laugh. “You can call off your pet swordsman. My intentions are peaceful for the moment.”

Josef looked nonplussed at his new title, but he put the knives away. Eli just grinned. “Such assurances!” He waved at the king sitting behind her. “Hello, Your Majesty! Couldn’t live without us, could you?”

The king went scarlet and opened his mouth to protest, but Miranda cut him off. “You will refrain from harassing King Henrith any further, Mr. Monpress.” Her voice would have frozen a boiling pot.

Eli gave her a wink and reached for the canteen. “So, Miss Spiritualist, to what do we owe the honor of this peaceful chat?”

Miranda folded her arms over her chest. “I want to know what your plans are for fixing this mess you’ve made.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you are talking about,” Eli said, and took a long drink. “I’m just a thief.”

“Just a thief?” Miranda gave him an incredulous look. “You kidnapped the king of a council kingdom.”

“I was going to give him back,” Eli said, splashing a handful of water on his face. He took another swig and then passed the canteen to Josef. “Actually, that makes me better than a thief, since they don’t normally return what they steal.” He grinned. “I guess I’m moving up in the world.”

“I don’t care what you were going to do. I care about what you did.” Miranda leaned forward, resting her elbow on Gin’s forehead. “Did it not cross your mind, even for a second, what kidnapping a king might do to his country?”

“For your information, I chose Henrith very carefully. How was I supposed to know he had a crazy wizard brother?”

“If you used half the time you spend talking on research, you would have known Mellinor’s entire family tree,” Miranda snapped. “Now, because of your shameful incompetence, that ‘crazy wizard brother,’ who also happens to be an enslaver and an attempted murderer, is in spitting distance of the throne, and it’s All. Your. Fault.”

“Now hold on,” Eli said. “You can’t blame all that on me.”

“By the Powers, I can!” Henrith yelled. “Everything was fine before you came! Even Renaud stayed in line. Then you appear and turn things upside down and expect us to let you walk away?”

Josef finished his swig and handed the canteen to Nico. “I understand Dusty’s concern.” He nodded to the king, who fumed. “But I don’t understand why you’re involved.” He fixed his eyes on Miranda. “You were sent here to catch Eli, right? So why aren’t you attacking us and leaving the king to fend for himself? Mellinor doesn’t even like wizards. Why should the Spirit Court care who’s on the throne?”

“Because an enslaver king is bad for everyone,” Miranda said. “He cannot be allowed to secure his power.”

“Seems to me like you’ve already got the answer to that.” Josef looked at the king.

“It’s not that simple,” Miranda said. “Renaud wouldn’t take a chance on this brother surviving without some kind of cover. Henrith tells me that Renaud has probably already convinced the masters that anyone resembling Henrith who approaches the castle is a phantom I’ve summoned to trick them.”

“A phantom?” Eli cackled. “Where did they get that idea?”

“Don’t ask,” Miranda grumbled. “Anyway, suffice it to say the direct approach is out of the question, but the Spirit Court cannot allow an enslaver access to a kingdom’s power. We learned that lesson with Gregorn. Master Banage would back Henrith’s claim, but the people of Mellinor would never believe it wasn’t a Spiritualist trick. Whatever way we go, Mellinor will be thrown into conflict either with the Spiritualists, the Council forces, or itself. War is bad enough, but war with an enslaver involved?” She shuddered. “Imagine rivers used as soldiers, armies of trees, an infantry of bonfires, and all of them left mad at the end, no matter which way the fighting went. That mad sandstorm was nothing compared to what Renaud could do if he had the reason. We can’t let that happen.”

“Well, that sounds dreadful,” Eli said. “I’m still failing to see what this has to do with us.”

“It has everything to do with you!” Miranda shouted. “Who do you think started all of this? Everything in Mellinor was perfectly fine for four hundred years. Four hundred! That’s four centuries without a coup, a rebellion, or any problems bigger than a trade dispute, until you three showed up.”

“That’s a bit unfair,” Eli said and frowned. “We only—”

“I don’t care!” Miranda rolled right over him. “I don’t care what you wanted or how it was supposed to turn out. No matter what spin you put on it, this whole country is about to go to hell because of you and your stupid plan to bilk forty thousand gold standards by destabilizing a peaceful kingdom. So, what I want to know, Mr. Greatest-Thief-In-The-World, is what do you mean to do about it?”

Eli looked from the fuming Spiritualist to the king and back again. He turned to Josef, who shrugged, then Nico, who was trying to get the last drops of water out of the canteen, and his shoulders slumped.

“All right,” he said. “I admit that things might not have gone exactly as I would have liked, but perhaps we can come to an arrangement.” His smile was back as he looked up at Miranda. “Say I agree to help you, what exactly would you be asking us to do?”

“Our primary objective is to apprehend Renaud,” Miranda said, nodding toward the castle, which was now lost in the evening gloom. “After that, returning Henrith to his throne will be easy.”

“And you’d want our help on the apprehending part,” Eli said, tapping his finger against his belt idly. “That’s a tall order. Renaud’s pretty strong.”

“Strong, yes,” Miranda said, “but surely a man with a fifty-five-thousand-gold bounty on his head is plenty strong in his own right.”

“Such flattery is dangerous for a humble man like myself.” Eli grinned, and Josef rolled his eyes. “But I’m a thief, Miss Spiritualist, not an assassin. Robbing him blind is one thing, but confronting him outright?” He shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ll have to sweeten the deal.”

“How do you mean?”

Eli put on his best innocent look. “I do feel somewhat responsible for the current state of affairs in Mellinor, and I am a man who takes his responsibilities very seriously. That’s why I’m going to offer you our services at a very reasonable rate.”

Miranda’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to pay you to do what you should be doing in the first place.”

“Oh, not money.” Eli waved his hand. “Nothing like that. Just a small trade of favors. I help you, you help me.”

“If you want me to talk to the Council about your bounty—”

“Powers, no!” Eli laughed. “You couldn’t change a thing even if I did want it. My favor is much, much simpler. You see, right now I’m wanted by both the Spirit Court and the Council of Thrones for different infractions. Two posters, two listings in the bounty roster, two payouts. It’s all very impractical. All I want you to do is convince the Spirit Court to combine its reward of five thousand standards with the Council’s. No extra money needed, just a tiny administrative change.”

Miranda kept her eye on him as she went over the words in her head, looking for the catch. “But that would raise your bounty to…”

“Sixty thousand.” Eli reached in his pocket and pulled out his new wanted poster. “It’s really too bad,” he sighed, unfolding it. “They just copied out all these new ones. I think it’s their best likeness of me yet.”

He tried to hand the poster to Miranda, but she held up her hand. “Stop. You’re up to something.”

Eli blinked innocently, but Miranda leaned forward on Gin’s head, keeping her eyes pinned on his. “Asking Mellinor to pledge money, I can understand. That gives them a thirty-five-thousand-gold stake in making sure you don’t get caught. But the Spirit Council won’t stop chasing you no matter what it costs. You know this, so why raise your bounty? Don’t you realize that every gold standard draws another ten bounty hunters out of the woodwork? Sixty thousand is enough money to bankroll a small war. Your own mother would turn you in for half as much.”

“I don’t doubt she would.” Eli’s grin grew wicked. “But you’re missing the point, Lady Spiritualist. It’s not about the bounty hunters or extorting countries. It’s about the bounty. It’s about a little boy’s dream!” He threw out his arms. “Sixty thousand is nothing. Chump change! My goal is to be worth one million gold.”

Miranda’s eyes widened. “One million? Are you crazy? There’s not that much money in the world! The Council’s war with the Immortal Empress didn’t cost half so much, and they’re still paying it off. Even if you kidnapped a king a week, you’d die of old age before you got your bounty that high.”

“Well,” Eli said, “if that’s how you feel, how can you object to a trifle like moving the Spirit Court’s five thousand?”

Miranda hunched over Gin’s head, glaring suspiciously at the grinning thief. “Why a million?”

Eli shrugged. “Seemed like a good number. No one’s ever had a million-gold bounty.”

Miranda gave him a scathing look. “It can’t be that simple.”

“I never said it was, but you’re free to make up your own reasons if it’ll make you feel better.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked up at her, his face unbearably smug. “Time’s ticking, Miss Spiritualist. Do we have a deal or not?”

Miranda knotted her hands in Gin’s fur, thinking. Henrith shifted uneasily behind her while the hound kept a close eye on Nico, who hadn’t done anything except sit on the ground and watch the show. Finally, the Spiritualist gave a long sigh.

“All right,” she said. “I’m sure I’ll regret this, but you have a deal, Mr. Monpress. If you help apprehend Renaud and put Henrith safely back on his throne, I will talk to the Rector Spiritualis about transferring our bounty on you to the Council. However”—she stabbed her index finger at him—“even though, at the moment, I’m looking the other way for the sake of the greater good, my orders to bring you in have not changed. When we are done here, I’m not going to stop chasing you.”

Eli smiled graciously. “I expected nothing less.”

Miranda blinked, thrown off balance by his sudden sincerity. “Well, that’s settled then.”

Josef pushed himself off the tree. “If you two are done chatting, we’d better get moving. Sitting out in the dark on the edge of the clearing where we were almost killed isn’t a good place to talk strategy. Besides”—he slapped his neck—“I’m being eaten alive out here.”

Now that he mentioned it, Miranda could feel them too. “Lead on,” she mumbled, slapping one of the biting midges off her hand.

When she looked up, the swordsman was already stalking off through the trees. The demonseed girl followed a few steps behind, silent as a shadow. Eli strolled along at his own pace with his hands in his pockets, whistling something off key.

Miranda exchanged glances with the king. At last he gave a resigned nod, and she nudged Gin with her toe. The ghosthound rose soundlessly. Quiet as his namesake, he slipped through the trees, keeping abreast with the swordsman but well away from the girl who followed him. High overhead, the moon was beginning its climb through the black sky, illuminating their winding path through the rocky hills and steep gullies of the deer park with her clear, white light.