The Spirit Thief(87)
The water hissed as he spoke, changing its flow as Renaud’s triumph rippled through his wide-open spirit, subtly altering the shape of the enslavement. Suddenly, Miranda had an idea.
“You might want to watch your captive before you speak of kindness,” she said, turning to face Renaud head on. “I don’t know what that spirit used to be, but Gregorn died trying to control it.” She smiled her most infuriating smile. “No matter what you say about birthrights, Renaud, you’re no Gregorn. I give you fifteen minutes before the water breaks your soul and eats you alive.”
“What would you know about control, girl?” Renaud thrust out his hand, and a wall of water surged down from the dais, rising over Miranda in a great wave. “You Spiritualists know nothing about control! You go on and on about balance, about our duty to the spirits, but we wizards are the ones with the power! The spirits obey my will, even one who bested Gregorn!” He was shouting now, his face scarlet. This close, Miranda could feel the chains of his enslavement vibrating with his rage, and the suspended wave he held over her head began to tremble. “Soon,” Renaud crowed, “even you will learn that this is the proper balance! With the wizard on top, and the spirit below!”
“If that’s the case,” Miranda said and smiled at him through the wall of water. “If you’re so in control”—just a little more—“why is your shirt wet?”
Renaud’s arm shot up to his shoulder. Sure enough, his black shirt was soaked through. He snatched his hand away, but not before a tremor of uncertainty fluttered through the enslavement that held the water captive. A tremor was all it needed. The wave roared in triumph and crashed against the enslavement’s barrier. Renaud staggered and slammed his control down again. Then, with a snarl, he crashed the suspended wave down on Miranda’s head.
The force of the water knocked Miranda off her feet. She spun in the freezing, dark water as the current batted her back and forth, crushing the air out of her lungs. Her chest burned as she tried desperately to hold on to what breath she could, but no matter how she struggled, the water would not let her go. It hadn’t been enough, she realized as cold crept in. He’d regained his control too quickly. But even as she sank, she could still feel the echo of Renaud’s uncertainty, and far below her in the icy depths, she felt a tremble of hope. As the water darkened around her, the last bubble of Miranda’s breath drifted from her lips in the shape of a request. Deep at its heart, as far as possible from the iron walls of the enslavement, the water listened.
Eli was on the move as soon as the wave crashed down. Enslaver, king, Gregorn’s heir, whatever he decided to call himself, Renaud was still human, and he could concentrate on only so many things at once. Eli didn’t know what had possessed Miranda to taunt a man bent on destruction, but she had his full attention, and the thief was determined not to let the opportunity pass him by.
Using the water to keep himself out of Renaud’s line of sight, Eli crept to the fallen ghosthound.
“Mutt,” he whispered, poking Gin’s side. “Wake up, mutt. Your mistress needs you.”
The ghosthound was unresponsive. Only the shallow rise and fall of his chest showed that he was alive at all. Eli put a little more weight into his voice. “Gin, wake up. Miranda’s going to die.”
The ghosthound’s breathing hitched as the spirit voice trembled through him, and one of his ears swiveled in Eli’s direction.
“You are very forceful, aren’t you, wizard?” Gin’s voice was barely a whisper. “I’m an inch from death myself. If you have the energy to use your tricks, why don’t you save her?” The ghosthound opened one enormous orange eye and focused its menacing gaze on Eli. “We both know you can.”
The thief grimaced. “I’d like to, but the price of playing the hero isn’t one I can afford right now. It’s you or nothing, mutt.”
“Not… quite…” Gin closed his eye, but one of his ears flicked toward the water, and Eli looked up.
Miranda’s body hung limp at the heart of the wave. On his dais, Renaud was grinning triumphantly, but as the enslaver lowered the water to get a better look at her, the Spiritualist’s head jerked up. She met Renaud’s grin full on, and her spirit opened like a flower.
Despite having no bound spirits to resonate the power, Eli took a step back as her spirit washed over him. It filled the room, warm and strong as a desert wind. There was no fear in it, no doubt, only the practiced, controlled power of a master Spiritualist nearing the peak of her craft, and that power struck Renaud like a wave of lead.