The Spirit Rebellion(122)

“Edward,” he said, very softly. “That water spirit is Miranda’s. We still have her rings. That’s all the leverage we need on a girl like her. We still have control.”

“Control?” The duke’s voice was low and sharp. “What do you know about control?” His hand shot out, grabbing Hern’s collar with alarming strength, dragging the Spiritualist until they were an inch apart.

“I have devoted my entire life to shaping Gaol,” he whispered. “Every moment, from the first moment I heard a spirit’s voice, I knew that this was my purpose, to turn this ragged hash of spirits into a land of order, discipline, and prosperity. I did not work all those years to lose it now.”

“Edward!” Hern gasped against his grip. “I know what you’re thinking, but be reasonable. Sometimes controlled retreat is a victory. We still have—”

“There will be no retreat!” the duke roared, tossing Hern to the ground. “I rule Gaol! It is not a matter of that girl controlling the river, but of my spirits disobeying me!” As he spoke, his spirit surged through the words until Hern could barely hear them over its roar. “I rule here,” the duke said, turning back toward the river, “and disobedience will not be tolerated.”

“Edward!” Hern shouted, but it was too late. A massive wave of Enslavement rolled out of the duke. It hit Hern full force, and he toppled over, dragged down by his rings. The Enslavement surged up the connection he shared with his spirits until he was writhing on the ground. But even as the overwhelming pressure threatened to crack his mind, he reached up and began to pluck his rings one by one from his fingers. With each ring removed, the pressure grew less. He kept taking off rings until he could stand again, and then, using a leather pouch to grab them so the terrified spirits did not touch his skin and reopen the connection, Hern gathered his spirits and fled.

Edward had gone too far. Hern shook his head, making his way quickly down the shaking stairs. He wouldn’t help the duke Enslave his country. He was a Spiritualist still, and there were limits to what even he would do. Besides, if word ever got back to Zarin that he’d been involved in this in any way, no amount of politics could save him. So, with that, Hern vanished into the night, running for his tower as the city began to go mad around him.


Miranda pulled herself out of the river, grinning from ear to ear as she bent over to help extract Eli from the glowing water. Gin was waiting for them on the dock, looking as pleased as she was, which didn’t seem to be making the elder Monpress more comfortable. Gin’s toothy smiles were difficult to appreciate unless you knew him.

“I never thought that would work half as well as it did,” he said, lowering his head to help Miranda climb onto the dock. “The city literally leaped at the chance to look for a new master.”

“Anything would be better than the old one,” Miranda said, pulling herself up by the tough fur on his ruff. “Actually, I don’t see how things could have gone better, the duke’s control broken, Eli on a chain; all I need now is for Hern to come begging for mercy and I think I’ll have just about everything I could want in the world.”

“As pleased as I am to be included in such happiness,” Eli said, climbing up onto the dock behind her, “I would like to remind you—”

But he never got to finish. At that moment, an ear-splitting howl drowned out all other sound. Miranda, Gin, and Eli all shielded their ears, and even the elder Monpress looked up, startled. The cry went on and on, shaking and changing pitch, like it was being passed from one voice to another, full of terror and wailing and crushing despair.

“Is that Nico?” Miranda shouted. It was certainly desperate enough to be demon panic.

“Nico’s panics don’t sound like this,” Eli shouted back. With a wince, he glanced up at the city, and his face went bone pale. Startled, Miranda looked, too, but even she didn’t quite recognize what she was seeing until Gin named it.

“It’s an Enslavement,” he whimpered. “I’ve never seen one so large.”

Miranda straightened up, forcing herself to ignore the horrible noise and look. Across the river, the city was twisting like a trapped animal. Buildings writhed and screamed, their bricks cracking from the pressure. Fires were breaking out everywhere, shooting up chimneys as their spirits fought the wizard’s will. But it was too strong. Even as she watched, the city began to settle down, the buildings crouching low like beaten animals, trembling. Yet for all the flash, Mellinor’s captured river seemed unaffected by the crushing force. So did Gin, who was on his feet, teeth bared.