The Spirit Rebellion(31)

When they were all still, Miranda lifted the pressure and sat back, staring up at the high windows. She rarely lied to her spirits, but she wasn’t above withholding a truth, especially one that had not come to pass yet, and things could still turn out in the end.

She closed her eyes. Even thinking it felt foolish. Everything would be all right? She didn’t see how they could have gone worse. She’d needed to make a glorious defense. Instead, she’d lost her calm and let Hern lead her in circles away from her carefully prepared arguments. Miranda gritted her teeth. She’d let him play her for a fool from the very beginning, from that first night in Banage’s office when she’d read his name on the petition.

Miranda leaned back, letting her head thunk against the cold stone wall. She’d been such an idiot. All this time, she’d truly believed that if she could only tell her story, show them Mellinor, prove that Hern’s case was completely unfounded, then the Tower Keepers would be on her side. Yet she could see them now in her mind’s eye, the robed figures, their faced turned toward each other, whispering, their ringed hands drumming impatiently on the stands. They hadn’t come to Court today to be convinced, to test innocence. There’d been no questions, no demanding of proof, no calls for witnesses, nothing. The Tower Keepers who came today had come to see an unpleasant bit of necessary business through, just as Banage had warned her. She clunked her head against the stone wall again, a little harder this time. Stupid, that’s what she’d been. Stupid and naive, thinking things would be the way she wanted just because that’s how she believed they should be.

She could hear Gin’s claws on the stone as he paced. He’d been right that night in the garden. Coming here today, naked like this, with only her spirits and her word behind her, it had been a prideful thing to do. She had gone in with her head held too high to see the shaky ground beneath her feet, and now…

Miranda raised her hands quickly, pressing her fingers hard against her eyes to block the wetness that threatened to roll down her cheeks. She could not be weak, not now. But Hern’s voice, smooth and triumphant as he announced the punishment, was circling through her mind.

Banishment from the Spirit Court by stripping of rings, rank, and privileges.

Her hands began to tremble. She had known from the beginning that this was the risk she was taking, but, at the same time, she had not truly understood what was at stake. Banishment she could handle. Rank could go as well, and everything else. But her rings? She turned her hands over, pressing the stones of her rings against her cheeks. She could feel her spirits moving inside them, turning as they slept. Each one was tied to her by a promise, a sacred pledge she’d thought would last until her death. Could she lose that?

The crack of the doors interrupted her thoughts, and Miranda had just enough time to scrub her eyes before two red-robed Spiritualists entered the waiting room. They didn’t look at her, only opened the doors and stood at either side, waiting for her with downcast faces. Miranda got up from the bench with a terrible feeling of dread. Had the Tower Keepers reached their decision so soon? Surely not. It had been barely ten minutes. Could they even take the vote that quickly? Yet the young Spiritualists stood waiting to escort her, and Miranda had no choice but to take her place between them. Without a word, they led her up the stairs into the bright light of the Court, and with every step she took, Miranda felt her hope grow fainter.

This time, her walk through the Court was very different. She was the same, marching in with her head high and her face a calm mask over her fear. She was still a Spiritualist after all, at least for the next few minutes. The circular room, however, had changed in the short time she’d been waiting. Before, the first two rings of seats had been nearly full. A slim showing, but still, people had been there. Now, the great Court was almost empty. Only a few Spiritualists sat sprinkled across the benches, mostly faces she knew, Banage’s supporters. Everyone else seemed to have left after the vote. Probably too cowardly to stay and watch the aftermath, she thought darkly.

Hern was there, of course, lounging in his chair like a patron at a boring play, though he did look up to give Miranda a smile, which she did her best to ignore, focusing instead on Master Banage. For once, however, the sight of her mentor brought her no comfort. Even beside the snowy whiteness of his collar, his face looked pale and worn. For the first time his hair looked more gray than black, and his blue eyes were sad and tired when they met hers. If she’d had any hope about the verdict, it died then, but she walked to the stand the same as ever, straight and proud, with Gin stalking behind her like a silent, silver mist.