The Spirit Rebellion(15)

“He certainly doesn’t mince words,” Slorn said, turning back to the chest.

“No,” Eli said and grinned wider. “That’s why I like him.”

Slorn shook his head and turned back to the chest.

Eli watched him for a moment, but he could see the work settling on the bear-headed man’s shoulders like a vulture, and he decided it was time to move somewhere more comfortable before Slorn forgot him completely.

“I’m going to freshen up as well,” he announced. “I presume the guest bedroom is still in the same place?”

“More or less,” Slorn said. “Top of the stairs, third door on the right.”

“Third door, much obliged.” With a gracious nod, Eli gathered his bag and set off up the stairs, leaving Slorn alone in the great room. On the broad worktable, the enormous pile of gold glittered in the fire light, forgotten by everyone.





CHAPTER 3





Gin was asleep in the flower bed that surrounded the low building where Miranda kept her chambers when she was in Zarin. His legs kicked in his sleep, sending the well-turned dirt flying, and his shifting patterns swirled in strange, spiraling shapes across his body, all except for the patch between the shoulder blades. There, the wound from his fight with the demon girl Nico stood out like a red brand beneath the dried layers of green polluce the stable master had smeared over it. It looked better than before, but it would never be part of his patterns again. Even in his sleep, he seemed to favor the wound, cringing away from it whenever he rolled over.

Suddenly, his dream running stopped. He lay perfectly still, except for his ears, which swiveled in quick circles, each moving independently from the other. The night was as quiet as a city night could be, but Gin jerked up, his orange eyes wide open, watching the corner of the building. A few moments later, Miranda flew around it. She saw him at once, and ran toward him, moving strangely, keeping her breathing almost too regular and her face down so that the last evening light couldn’t touch it. This was probably to keep Gin from seeing that she was crying, but his mistress had never fully appreciated just how much his orange eyes could pick up, especially in low light.

Still, he played along, rolling over and sitting up properly as she came near, his tail wrapped around his paws. Miranda didn’t slow when she reached him, didn’t say a word. She slammed into him and slumped down, and though she never made a sound, the salty smell of tears filled the air until he had trouble breathing. After several silent minutes, Gin decided to take the initiative. After all, if they needed to escape, it would be best to do it now, before the lamps were lit.

He lowered his head until he was level with hers. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

Miranda made a sound somewhere between a curse and a sob. Gin growled and nudged her with his paw. “Don’t be difficult. Spit it out.”

“It makes me so angry!” Her answer was a whip crack, and Gin flinched. Miranda muttered an apology, scrubbing at her eyes in a motion he was probably not supposed to notice. “It’s just… How could they do this to me? How could they betray me like this? All my life, from the moment I understood that the voices I heard were spirits, all I’ve wanted was to be a Spiritualist. To do good and defend the spirits and be a hero and all the stuff they tell you when you start your apprenticeship. And now here I am, on trial for making the decisions the Spirit Court trained me to make. It’s not right!”

That last word was almost a wail, and she buried her head in her hands. Gin shifted anxiously. He hadn’t seen her this upset in a long time.

“Try to remember that I’ve been in a stable having cold, foul-smelling gunk smeared on my back all evening,” he said. “Could you be a little more specific?”

Miranda leaned back against him with a huff and, in a quick, clipped voice, told him everything. The arrest, her meeting with Banage, the accusations, and Hern’s compromise.

“A compromise, can you believe it?” she said, digging her fingers into the dirt. “Extortion is more like it.”

“Being a Tower Keeper doesn’t sound so bad,” Gin offered.

“It wouldn’t be,” Miranda said, “if I were getting the promotion for any reason other than Hern playing on Master Banage’s sense of duty toward me! Oh, I hate to think what other concessions Master Banage had to make to get that out of Hern. The man is a slime.”

“But if Banage already made the concessions, why not take the offer?” Gin said, sweeping his tail back and forth. “The problem is the Tower Keepers thinking your actions reflect badly on them, right? So let them have their trial. If you’re right and Hern’s only doing this to make Banage look bad, why give him more fodder by fighting? He can’t find fault if you keep strictly to the role of the dutiful Spiritualist.”