The Spirit Rebellion(74)

“What is it, Hern?” one of the Tower Keepers asked.

Hern didn’t answer. She heard the scrape of his boots as he walked across the room. Not back to his seat, but to the wall that Miranda was crouched against. He was so close she could hear his breath. She held her own, not daring to make a sound.

A moment later, Hern spoke one word. “Dellinar.”

Miranda’s eyes widened. It was a spirit’s name. In the split second after, time slowed to a crawl. She turned and grabbed her papers, shoving them into the pocket of her dress as she called for Durn, her stone spirit. He could stop anything of Hern’s, Miranda was sure, buying her time to get to the window. They were only one flight up; she could make it. But even as her lips formed Durn’s name, the wall between the rooms exploded in a shower of splintered wood and snaking green vines. The plants sprang like tigers, snapping around her ankles, her waist, and her wrists, slamming her to the floor so hard she saw spots. More vines wrapped around her arms and her head, sliding across her open mouth to gag her. She struggled wildly, but then the vines twined around her throat, nearly cutting off her breath. She looked up and saw Hern kneeling beside her, a wide grin on his face.

“What you feel is my vine spirit about to crush your windpipe,” he said calmly. “If your spirits try anything, he will take off your head.”

Miranda spat an obscenity at him, but all she managed was strangled sound as the vine twisted tighter.

Hern leaned over so that he was in front of her, and he waved a piece of paper. “Lovely bit of warning,” he smiled, glancing down at her scattered notes, which had fallen from her pocket when she fell. “Good timing too. I must remember to thank dear Edward.”

There was shouting out in the hall, and Miranda caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye of soldiers entering the room. “Spiritualist Hern,” a stern voice announced. “Duke’s orders, both you and the spy are to report to the citadel at once.”

Hern glowered. “I have this well under control, officer.”

The soldier didn’t even blink. “Duke’s orders,” he said again.

Hern rolled his eyes. “Very well,” he said. “But first”—he made a florid gesture with his jeweled hand. Miranda gasped and began to kick as the vines wrenched tight. She reached frantically for her spirits, but it was too late. The plants cut into her skin, binding her limbs and cutting off her air. Her body grew impossibly heavy, and she lay still, her lungs burning for air.

“Pick her up.” Hern’s voice was very far away. “And mind the vines.”

Hands slid under her and she felt herself lifted. Guards’ faces blurred across her vision, and then she saw nothing.





CHAPTER 13





The crowd in front of the citadel was thinning, the conscripts getting their orders from a group of guards in full uniform at the gate and moving off in organized packs toward different sections of town. The peasant soldiers organized with remarkable efficiency, and Eli got the feeling that the duke called in conscripts fairly often. Eli waited until the coast was clear, lounging casually on a bench by a fountain in one of the little parks just off the main square while Josef waited tensely behind him with Nico. Eventually, the last of the conscript groups moved off and most of the uniformed soldiers trudged back into the citadel, leaving only a small knot of guardsman and a lone officer at the door.

Seeing his opportunity at last, Eli stood up and walked toward the square, Josef and Nico trailing along behind. Just before he stepped out into the open, Eli paused and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his demeanor had changed. His posture was perfectly straight, his shoulders square, his face intent and uncompromising. When he stepped out into the square he didn’t walk across the cobbles; he marched straight over the open ground to the broad steps at the front of the Duke of Gaol’s impenetrable fortress.

The knot of six guards and their decorated officer stood at attention at the top of the stairs before a heavy iron door. They pulled closer as Eli approached, gripping their spears suspiciously. Eli ignored the warning and walked until he was just shy of the first step. There, he stopped and planted both feet with iron stubbornness.

“If you’re here for the conscription,” the officer said skeptically, “you’re too late to avoid the fine. If you give your name to Jerold here, I’ll be sure the duke knows you showed up, but—”

“Don’t be stupid,” Eli sneered, tossing his golden hair. “I’m no conscript. I am the Spiritualist Miranda Lyonette, head of the Spirit Court’s investigation into the rogue wizard Eli Monpress. I heard that he struck this fortress last night, and I demand access to the scene of the crime.”