The Spirit Thief(50)

“Well,” Eli said, “if that’s how you feel, how can you object to a trifle like moving the Spirit Court’s five thousand?”

Miranda hunched over Gin’s head, glaring suspiciously at the grinning thief. “Why a million?”

Eli shrugged. “Seemed like a good number. No one’s ever had a million-gold bounty.”

Miranda gave him a scathing look. “It can’t be that simple.”

“I never said it was, but you’re free to make up your own reasons if it’ll make you feel better.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked up at her, his face unbearably smug. “Time’s ticking, Miss Spiritualist. Do we have a deal or not?”

Miranda knotted her hands in Gin’s fur, thinking. Henrith shifted uneasily behind her while the hound kept a close eye on Nico, who hadn’t done anything except sit on the ground and watch the show. Finally, the Spiritualist gave a long sigh.

“All right,” she said. “I’m sure I’ll regret this, but you have a deal, Mr. Monpress. If you help apprehend Renaud and put Henrith safely back on his throne, I will talk to the Rector Spiritualis about transferring our bounty on you to the Council. However”—she stabbed her index finger at him—“even though, at the moment, I’m looking the other way for the sake of the greater good, my orders to bring you in have not changed. When we are done here, I’m not going to stop chasing you.”

Eli smiled graciously. “I expected nothing less.”

Miranda blinked, thrown off balance by his sudden sincerity. “Well, that’s settled then.”

Josef pushed himself off the tree. “If you two are done chatting, we’d better get moving. Sitting out in the dark on the edge of the clearing where we were almost killed isn’t a good place to talk strategy. Besides”—he slapped his neck—“I’m being eaten alive out here.”

Now that he mentioned it, Miranda could feel them too. “Lead on,” she mumbled, slapping one of the biting midges off her hand.

When she looked up, the swordsman was already stalking off through the trees. The demonseed girl followed a few steps behind, silent as a shadow. Eli strolled along at his own pace with his hands in his pockets, whistling something off key.

Miranda exchanged glances with the king. At last he gave a resigned nod, and she nudged Gin with her toe. The ghosthound rose soundlessly. Quiet as his namesake, he slipped through the trees, keeping abreast with the swordsman but well away from the girl who followed him. High overhead, the moon was beginning its climb through the black sky, illuminating their winding path through the rocky hills and steep gullies of the deer park with her clear, white light.





CHAPTER 15





This is where you were hiding?” Miranda gaped, sliding off Gin’s back. The moonlight that filtered through the treetops was just enough for her to be able to make out the tumbledown walls and gaping roof of the small hunting shack. “You could barely spend a night in this.”

“It’s a bit run down,” Eli admitted, “but”—he leaned over and pointed through a gap in the surrounding trees—“you can’t beat the location.”

Looking where he pointed, she could just spot the white walls of the city glowing silver through the trees, barely half a mile away.

“I don’t believe it,” Miranda said.

“First rule of thievery,” Eli said, grinning, “only run if you’re not coming back.” He thumped his heels on the hard ground. “The last place a man looks is under his feet.”

“All this time you’ve been hiding in the king’s deer park?” She was almost laughing now. “You’re putting me on. I had Eril search this area days ago.”

“Spirits don’t see everything,” Eli said. “Besides, I had some excellent camouflage.” He tilted his head back. “Ladies?”

The pleasant purr of his spirit voice reverberated through her. High overhead, a chorus of sighs answered, “Eli!”

Miranda took a step back as the trees behind the cabin, a clump of young hardwoods taking advantage of the tiny clearing’s sunlight, shook themselves to life. They bent down, giggling like geese, and surrounded Eli in a nest of branches. He said something low, and they giggled harder before lifting away and settling lightly over the ruined roof. They rustled madly, fluffing their broad leaves over the gaping holes and forming a sort of net over the fire hole to diffuse the smoke. When they stopped moving at last, Miranda’s eyes widened. The young trees covered the hut perfectly. In fact, had she not seen them move, she would have sworn that the hovel was just another rocky outcropping, and that the trees had always been that way.