The Spirit War tloem-4 Read online

  Banage began to pace. “I gave Sara and Whitefall every chance to make good. I flat out told them I would fight if they would only open the Council to Spirit Court inspection, and I was met with nothing but excuses. Sara does not share our respect for the spirits, nor our duty toward them, and I am tired of playing her game. The more I see, the more I’m convinced that the future she and Whitefall are building isn’t one I want to live in. It may well be that the Empress’s coming is the dawn of a new age for the Spirit Court and the spirits.”

  Miranda stared at her master, horrified. “What you’re saying is treason.”

  “Is it?” Banage said. “I’ve sworn no oaths to Zarin. My only oaths are here, with the Court and the spirits, and I see no reason to take either to war for a government that cares nothing for them.”

  Miranda licked her lips. She knew that calm tone in Master Banage’s voice. He’d already made up his mind. Made it up long ago, it seemed. She wasn’t happy at all with the idea of sitting back and letting the Empress conquer her homeland, but she wasn’t about to go against her master, not after everything he’d done for her and the spirits. Still…

  “We must do something.”

  “We will,” Banage said. “We’ll keep doing what we have done for the last four hundred years—protect the spirits and obey our oaths. Do I make myself clear, Spiritualist Lyonette?”

  Miranda swallowed. “Yes, Master Banage.”

  “Good,” he said, standing up. “For now, I want you to write up your experience inside the Shaper Mountain. When you’re finished, you have my permission to go through the archives for any information on this Shepherdess and the Great Spirits called stars.”

  Miranda perked up considerably. “All the archives?”

  “Yes,” Banage said. “The Shaper Mountain did not show you that vision by accident. Far more important than this war is what is happening at the top levels of the spirit world. I want you to find out whatever you can. The Court will not sit idle.”

  Miranda couldn’t help grinning. The Spiritualist archives were the repository for the collective knowledge of the Spirit Court. Every Spiritualist report ever written was stored there. Previously she’d had access to only the lowest level of common reports. Now she’d get to read the recollections of the secret missions as well. Bad as everything else seemed, that, at least, was something to look forward to.

  “Go on,” Banage said, waving her off. “But get some sleep and food first. You look dreadful.”

  Miranda blushed and glanced down at her filthy clothes. “Yes, Master Banage,” she mumbled, dropping a deep bow before retreating. Her mind might still be racing with everything that had happened, but her body was more than glad to put it all off in favor of food, a bath, and a bed. Smiling at the prospect, she closed Banage’s door softly behind her and went to wake up Gin, who was sleeping on the stairs where she’d left him.

  Sara leaned back in the tall armchair, heavy smoke trailing from the corner of her mouth. Alber Whitefall sat across from her, his chin resting on his hands. They were both staring at the blue ball on the table between them as the soft, watery light began to fade.

  “Well,” Sara said. “I think that should be proof enough.”

  Whitefall dropped his head into his hands. “Sara,” he said, grinding his palms into his eyes. “I’m not going to ask how you got a Relay point into Banage’s office. I’m not sure I want to know. The only thing I’m going to ask is why.”

  “I thought that would be clear,” Sara said. “You heard it from his own lips, in his own impossibly long-winded style. Etmon Banage is a traitor. He’s sided with the Empress against his own people.”

  Whitefall sighed. “We need him.”

  “We need the Court,” Sara countered. “Banage is the one standing in our way. It’s loyalty to him that keeps those idiots in the Tower. Break Banage and the Court will come to us. Well,” she said, putting her pipe stem back in her mouth. “Most of them. Some attrition is unavoidable.”

  “We’ll never get this to stick,” Whitefall said, moving his hands down to his mouth as he considered his options. “An overheard confession’s not enough on its own, and he’s not going to repeat it.”

  “Of course he will,” Sara said. “This is Etmon Banage. The man can’t lie to save his life, or anyone else’s. Pull him out and ask him openly whom he supports, the Council or the Empress, and then sit back while he digs his own grave.”

  Whitefall gave her a long-suffering look. “Isn’t this a little much, Sara? The man is still your husband.”

  Sara sniffed. “I loved Banage when I was young and stupid enough to get caught up in his idealism. But that world never existed, Alber. There’s no place for men like Banage who refuse to admit that there is no absolute right or wrong, that everything is relative, even morality. Never was. I won’t see my life’s work stomped under just to keep his hands clean.”

  She reached out and snatched the Relay point off the table, sliding the blue marble into her pocket as she stood. “We need those wizards if we’re going to survive, Alber. I’ve given you your linchpin. All you have to do is pull it.”

  Whitefall turned and stared unhappily into the cold, empty fireplace. “Fine,” he said quietly. “Send word to Myron.”

  Sara nodded and marched out of the room. Sparrow fell in silently beside her, giving Whitefall a sickening smile as he closed the door behind his mistress. As their footsteps faded down the long hall, Whitefall stood and walked to the window, opening the glass pane to let the night wind clear out the stinking pipe smoke. As he stared down at his brightly lit city, the streets packed and humming with life, he wondered, not for the first time, who really ran the Council of Thrones.

  “That was impressively ruthless,” Sparrow said as they walked through the dark, empty halls of the Citadel. “Even for you. Good to know the enormous risk I took planting that Relay point paid out.”

  Sara arched an eyebrow. “Enormous risk?”

  “Have you seen the dog she rides?” Sparrow shuddered. “I could have lost a hand. Or more.”

  “Your sacrifice wouldn’t have been in vain,” Sara said as they started down the stairs to her underground workshop. “I couldn’t have asked for a better confession. I always knew something changed in him the night he lost his spirits, but I didn’t know he’d gone that far.”

  “Well,” Sparrow said, smiling slyly. “He certainly had enough to say about you.”

  Sara shrugged. “No worse than he’s said to my face.”

  “I never could understand what you saw in him.”

  “He was uncompromising,” Sara said. “I felt like a better person when I was around him, like I was one of the good guys. But he had no vision, no reach. He never understood that some of us can’t be happy just maintaining the status quo. It didn’t matter what miracles I showed him, he always found some fault.” She shook her head. “Uncompromising men are easy to admire, but they’re impossible to live with.”

  “I can imagine,” Sparrow said as they reached the foot of the stairs. “Still, congratulations. You won!”

  “Hardly a glorious victory,” Sara said, walking between the suspended Relay tanks toward the brightly lit platform at the center of the enormous cavern. “I’d always hoped that Etmon would see things my way someday, understand the great work I’m doing.” She heaved an enormous, smoky sigh. “Considering our history, I suppose it’s only fitting that I be the one to deal the breaking blow.”

  “How do you mean to do that, by the way?” Sparrow said. “He’s locked himself up quite nicely, and I don’t think he’s going to come out to talk to you.”

  “The Spirit Court’s Tower is still only stone,” Sara said with a smile. “And I’ve been needing something to test our new weapon on.”

  “It’s done, then?” Sparrow said.

  “Done enough,” Sara said, sticking her pipe into her mouth. “Words won’t do it justice, though. You’ll just have to wait for tomorrow.”

  Sparrow smiled a
wide, toothy smile. “And see the haughty Spiritualists brought low? I can’t wait.”

  “I’m sure,” Sara said distractedly. “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

  Sparrow fell in behind her as she marched out onto the platform around the enormous tank that served as her headquarters and began shouting for her assistants.

  CHAPTER

  16

  Josef woke with a snort, hands going instantly to his blades. He looked around a moment in groggy confusion, grinding his teeth as the world came together. It had happened again. He was still on the couch where he’d sat down to wait for Adela, only now it was morning. But the sunlight streaming through the window was still more white than yellow. Early morning, then. That was better than yesterday.

  He looked around for Nico and found her sitting behind the couch, wrapped in her coat with her back resting against his through the wooden frame, sound asleep. Josef smiled. Catching Nico asleep was rare. Then his smile fell. Rare, and a sign of something very wrong.

  A knock sounded at the door, and Nico’s eyes popped open. She saw him at once and rolled to her feet, a confused and slightly alarmed look on her pale face. Josef put up his hand, motioning her to keep out of sight. She nodded and shrank back behind the couch. The knock sounded again, soft but urgent. Josef pulled his shirt straight and started for the door, but whoever was knocking must have grown impatient. Before Josef had gone two steps, the lock rattled. The door opened with a click and Eli stepped in, palming his lock pick with a hurried glance over his shoulder.

  “Good,” he said, closing the door behind him. “You’re up. We have a problem.”

  “We have several,” Josef said as Nico stood up from behind the couch. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m not sure,” Eli said. “But word is the queen’s up and on the warpath. I’m surprised she hasn’t—”

  A banging on the door cut him off, and the three of them froze. Josef was the first to recover. He caught Nico’s eyes and glanced at the corner. She nodded and slid sideways, fading into the small shadow behind the fireplace. When she was gone, Josef walked to the door. He motioned for Eli to get behind him before lifting the latch.

  A page stood in the hallway, his hand raised to knock again. He was flanked on both sides by stern, armored guardsmen and looking decidedly unhappy about it.

  “My lord prince,” the page said, recovering from his aborted knock with impressive speed. “Your royal mother requests your presence.”

  Josef frowned. “Now?”

  “Now would be good,” the man said.

  Josef shook his head and turned back to the room, leaving the door open. He walked to the corner and grabbed the Heart. When it was securely on his back, he walked back to the door. Eli stepped into place beside him, ready to go.

  The servant glanced nervously from Josef to Eli. “My lord,” he started. “Your mother specifically asked—”

  “My adviser comes with me,” Josef said, stalking into the hall.

  Eli gave the servant a winning smile as he followed Josef out the door. The guards fell in around them, setting the pace as they walked up the stairs toward the royal suite.

  A larger than usual squad of guards lined the gallery leading up to his mother’s door, all of them at full attention. Josef pushed his way through, opening his mother’s door with a rough jerk.

  The queen was waiting for them. She was dressed and sitting on her chair at the center of the raised platform at the far end of the room, Lenette at her side, as always. There were several nobles in the room as well, all of whom Josef knew he should probably recognize. But he’d never been good with remembering court officials, even back when he was actually trying, so he dismissed them and focused on his mother. Queen Theresa looked more tired than ever. Her papery skin was almost gray against the harsh black of her dress and veil, but her eyes were as sharp as knives, and they pinned Josef to the floor.

  “Where were you last night?” she asked the second the door closed behind Eli.

  “Asleep,” Josef said.

  The queen arched her eyebrow. “Asleep? All night?”

  Josef crossed his arms. “All night. Why?”

  For a split second the queen looked relieved, and then the scowl was back. “Finley is dead.”

  “Dead?” Josef said. “How?”

  “Stabbed,” the queen answered. “Someone, or several someones, broke into his mansion last night. His honor guard is dead, as are most of his servants, his son, and, of course, the duke himself.”

  Josef frowned. “Was there a fight?”

  “Adela is investigating as we speak,” the queen said. “In the meantime, why don’t you tell me.”

  The room filled with whispers as the nobles began to talk. Josef ignored them.

  “How should I know?” he said.

  “You were with the duke a few hours before he died,” the queen said. “You had an argument, a loud one, after which you left. What did you talk about?”

  “Nothing of consequence,” Josef said. “He told me he was going to be king, and I said go ahead.”

  The queen’s eyes narrowed. “Really? That’s all?”

  “That’s all,” Josef repeated firmly. “I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  The queen’s fingers tightened on the arms of her chair. “The report said the guards died with swords in scabbard, killed by a blow to the back of the neck from a long blade. Finley was heir to the throne of Osera, guarded by the best the country can offer. So either his guards were killed treacherously by someone with enough rank to avoid a challenge, or they were taken out by a master swordsman before they could draw. You are both, so you can see how suspicions could rise.”

  Josef rolled his eyes and reached over his shoulder. He drew the Heart with a flourish, slamming the point into the wooden floor at his feet. All around the room, people began to shout. The guards drew their swords and encircled the queen. Even Lenette shrank back against her mistress, but Queen Theresa just watched, her eyes hard as iron as she glared at the large chunk that was now missing from her floor.

  “Blow to the back of the neck?” Josef said, turning the Heart so everyone could see the size of the blade. “This is the only blade I keep that could be considered long. If I struck someone across the back of the neck with this, I would take their head off.”

  The queen sniffed. “Are you saying you’re not clever enough to hide a murder weapon?”

  “I’m saying I had no reason to kill Finley other than he’s an ass,” Josef answered. “And if I was going to kill him for that, I would have challenged him openly and had the pleasure of thrashing him in front of everyone.”

  “That, at least, I agree with,” the queen said with a long sigh. “You can put away your iron bat, Thereson. I don’t think you killed Finley, but the fact remains that the heir to the throne of Osera is murdered, and I have to determine how, by whom, and why.”

  Josef slid the Heart back into place on his back. “Easy enough,” he said. “We’ll go investigate.”

  “You will do no such thing,” the queen snapped. “I said I don’t think you did it, but that does not remove you from these matters. You are still under suspicion, and until my people get to the bottom of this, you will remain in your rooms where I can keep an eye on you.”

  “What?” Josef shouted.

  “I don’t see why you’re surprised,” the queen said, her voice rasping. “You were the one who chose to pursue a life of violence. You cannot now turn and condemn us for judging you by it. Our country is on the brink of war, and the people have just lost the man they thought would be their king. Now more than ever, Osera must be united. Lawful. Its throne without reproach.”

  “But I didn’t do anything!” Josef cried.

  “I believe you,” the queen said earnestly. “And I have no doubt our inquiry will absolve you of all guilt, but I cannot shield a known murderer from investigation just because he is my son.”

  “I never murdered anyone,”
Josef said hotly. “I killed swordsmen in battle. There’s a difference.”

  “A subtle one,” the queen said. “Countries on the brink of war that’ve just seen their duke murdered don’t appreciate subtlety.”

  “I don’t care what they appreciate,” Josef sneered. “I’m not going to let you lock me up for something I didn’t do.”

  “You don’t have a choice,” Theresa said. She turned to her guard. “Take his swords. The prince is under arrest.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Josef roared. “You’re not taking my swords!”

  “I am queen!” Theresa roared back. “I take whatever I—”

  The queen’s words dissolved into a coughing fit as she doubled over, heaving into her handkerchief. Several of the nobles started to run forward, but Lenette was there first, waving the rest away.

  “The queen’s medicine!” she yelled. “Hurry!”

  A servant grabbed a kettle, a cup, and a folded paper sachet from the tray in the corner and ran to Lenette, pouring the steaming water into the cup as she went. Lenette grabbed the sachet and the cup. She shook the folded paper open, dumping green powder into the hot water. She stirred it once with the spoon the servant offered and then, grabbing the queen’s convulsing shoulders, pushed the cup to her lips.

  The queen drank, choked, and drank again with Lenette’s help. Her coughing subsided, and she slumped back into the chair. For several minutes she did nothing but sit with her eyes closed, breathing as though taking in air were the hardest task she’d ever attempted. When she did finally open her eyes, they looked immediately at Josef.