“You sold me like a horse!” Miranda screamed.
“You should be happy we could sell you at all!” Alma screamed back.
Things might have gone very badly then had Tima not pushed herself between them. “Mother,” she said softly. “Enough. Let me talk to her.”
Alma closed her eyes. “Yes, Trintima, you talk some sense into this ungrateful girl.” She took a deep breath and turned to the door, but as her white-gloved hand closed on the handle, she glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t you dare ruin this for us, Miranda. You’ve ruined enough, and I will not see this family suffer for your indulgences any longer.”
“I don’t want to hear it!” Miranda shouted, but Tima held her firmly as their mother left, shutting the door behind her with a slam that rocked the paintings. When she was gone, Miranda slumped against her sister. Tima helped her to the padded chair by the window, and then sat on the footstool beside her, taking Miranda’s hand between her own soft, delicate fingers.
“You knew,” Miranda said. It wasn’t a question.
“I did,” Tima confessed. “But Miranda, it really is for the best. They handled it terribly, I’ll admit, but Father really is in a bind. You have to understand it from his point of view. The Lyonette family has been one of the richest in Zarin for years, but then the Council came and the bar for who was rich got higher and higher. There were appearances to keep up, and Father’s money couldn’t support them. He’s deeply in debt to Mr. Hapter.”
“And I’m his way out,” Miranda said, grabbing the arm of the chair so tightly it creaked.
“If Father goes bankrupt, it will ruin Alyssa’s chances at a good marriage,” Tima said, her voice calm and matter-of-fact. “We don’t always get to choose our fortunes, Miranda, and honestly, it’s not a bad match. You’ve never cared for noble birth anyway, and with Hapter’s money, you’ll be the richest of all of us. He’s very progressively minded; he doesn’t even care that you were a Spiritualist.”
“Am,” Miranda said, sitting forward so fast that Tima jumped. “I am a Spiritualist. I took an oath, Tima. An oath I will never, ever foreswear.” She thrust out her hand, and the rings on her fingers glowed like lanterns in the dark room. “I’m already bound. Bound to my spirits and bound to the Court, and I will never, ever give up those ties, not for Mother, not for Father, and certainly not for Alyssa.”
Tima dropped her head to kiss her sister’s hand. “I know you’re angry,” she said. “But it will be better for everyone if you just accept it. What Father did is within his rights. The law is on his side, Miranda. If you throw a fit, it will only make things worse.”
Miranda slumped into the chair. Hating the rest of her family came easily, but she couldn’t bring herself to hate Tima. Even so, she couldn’t do as her sister asked, either.
“I’m not marrying Martin Hapter,” she said, standing up. “Father might have the law on his side, but Hapter’s not stupid. He doesn’t want a bride he’ll have to drag into marriage. I’ll just go tell him it’s not happening.”
“Miranda,” Tima said, but Miranda was already marching out of the room. Everyone else was still in the dining room downstairs. Lots of people tried to congratulate Miranda when she came in, but Miranda just pushed by them, her eyes on the man at the crowd’s center. Usually, moving through such a press would be difficult, but these were nobles, and they weren’t used to being shoved aside, so she made it to the front without much trouble. Her father gave her a killing look as she approached. Miranda ignored it, pushing her way forward until she was standing at Martin’s side.
“I need to speak with you,” she said in her best no-nonsense voice.
“Can it wait until this is through?” Martin said without looking at her or dropping the smile he was flashing at the elderly lady who’d reached for his hands.
“No,” Miranda said, grabbing his arm. “It can’t.”
Martin sighed and then smiled indulgently at the crowd. “It seems my future wife has something urgent to tell me,” he said. “Dessert will be served on the terrace; please enjoy yourselves.”
The crowd began to titter at the implications of a soon-to-be bride dragging her husband off, but Miranda ignored the sound just as she ignored her mother, who was trying to get her attention, and her father, who was blatantly grabbing for her arm. She focused on nothing but getting past the crowd as she led Martin through a side door and down a hall to the office he’d shown her earlier during their tour. The band was just striking up as she shoved him inside and locked the double doors. She was dangerously angry, and her spirits were picking up on the feeling, turning in their rings, so Miranda forced herself to stop and take a deep, cleansing breath, letting the calm Master Banage had spent years forcing her to learn wash over her before she turned to face her fiancé.