Josef looked at Eli, who was doing his best not to laugh. “Don’t be prickly, Miranda,” Eli said. “He didn’t mean anything by it. Do you want to tell him, or should I?”
Miranda looked away, fuming. “I don’t see why it needs to be explained at all. He won’t understand it.”
Josef’s glare matched her own. “Try me.”
Miranda tugged a hand through her hair. “Fine,” she growled. “It’s not exactly a secret.” She held up her hand so that her rings glittered in the shaky firelight. “Wizards can impose their will over spirits. That’s one of the basic principles behind magic. The other, of course, is that our control does not extend over other human souls. That’s why most people feel only a slightly uncomfortable pressure when a wizard opens their spirit, no matter how strong the wizard is. Spiritualists, however, are different, because we maintain a constant bond through our rings with our servant spirits. Each of my spirits siphons off a small, steady stream of energy from my soul as per our agreement when they became my servants.”
“Power for service,” Eli said, with mock seriousness. “Strength for obedience.”
Miranda ignored him. “Most of the time, this connection is one way. But sometimes, for example, when a powerful wizard opens his spirit full tilt right in front of them, my servant spirits are affected like any other spirit, and that can cause feedback through our connection.”
“So what does that mean?” Josef said.
Eli beat Miranda to it. “It means normal humans may feel a bit queasy when a wizard’s open soul is pressing against them, but it can’t hurt us, so we don’t go all weak at the knees about it. Spiritualists, however, are tied into their pet spirits waking and sleeping, and when those spirits are squashed under a strong wizard’s will, like Renaud’s, the Spiritualist,” he said and made a squishing motion with his hands, “goes right down with them.”
Miranda shook her head, but Josef nodded. “Hell of a weakness. How does the Spirit Court fight an enslaver, then?”
“A strong, loyal fire spirit is usually enough,” Miranda said. “They’re so chaotic that most enslavers can’t get control before they’re burned. My Kirik would have been perfect had someone”—she glared murderously at Eli—“not doused him.”
“How was I supposed to know he’d go out so quickly?”
Josef shook his head. “Well, that’s out. Is there any other way around the problem?”
“No,” said Miranda.
“Yes,” said Eli.
She whirled to face him. “What do you mean?”
Eli shrugged. “Your rings are what give you trouble, right? So take them off. Seems simple to me.”
“Take them off?” Miranda looked incredulous. “I can’t just take them off!”
“Well, how else do you think you’re going to be able to come into the castle with us?” Eli said.
“Maybe you can get by sweet-talking trees and doors,” she huffed, “but I’m not leaving my spirits. I’ll be defenseless!”
“Can’t be worse than what happened before,” Josef said. “I’m sure your wiggling on the ground really intimidated Renaud. Might and majesty of the Spirit Court and all that.”
“There’s no other way, Miranda,” Eli cut in. “We need your help in this, and we can’t go in if we can’t count on you not to fall over when things get sticky.”
Miranda looked at the king, who looked thoroughly lost in all this spirit talk. When he saw her looking, he smiled trustingly, and she heaved a long sigh. With great difficulty, she reached down and pulled off her rings one by one, laying them gently on the ground in front of her. She pulled Eril’s pendant over her head and added him to the pile. Lastly, she slipped the Spirit Court signet off her left ring finger and laid it reverently beside the others, the heavy gold glowing warmly in the firelight.
Next, she dug around in her knapsack for the doeskin bag all Spiritualists kept for just this purpose. Her fingers felt uncomfortably light and naked as she dropped her rings one at a time into the soft leather pouch. It was a tight fit—no Spiritualist expects to have to remove all of their rings at once—but after a few tries she managed to wedge everything in and knot the bag closed with a red silk cord. Out of the glittering pile of rings, she’d kept only one. A small opal band, almost like a child’s promise ring, remained on her left pinky. Her glare dared anyone to comment as she tucked the bulging doeskin bag back into her knapsack.
“Okay,” Eli said, rubbing his hands together as Miranda settled back into her spot by the fire. “Now that we’re serious, here’s the real plan.”