The Spirit Thief(88)
The enslaver fell to the ground, unable to move. With so much power coursing through the room, Eli could almost see the outline of Miranda’s fully opened spirit bearing down, not on Renaud himself, but on the channels of the enslavement, cutting away the banks that held the water spirit captive. Using the current’s own ebb and flow, Miranda sawed the cutting edge of her soul against the prince’s overstrained will. With every surge of Miranda’s power, the feedback through Renaud’s connection with the spirit slammed him into the floor, grinding him into the stone. Cracks began to appear in his enslavement, and the well-contained wave began to sprout leaks. Shouting in triumph, Miranda and the water pushed together one last time. Then, with an explosive crack, Renaud’s control shattered, and water burst in every direction.
The wave holding Miranda splashed to the ground, and she landed on her back, soaked and gasping beside Gin. The ghosthound shifted his head so that his nose pressed against her heaving side.
“I told you before, thief,” he said, looking at Eli as he nudged Miranda into a sitting position. “My mistress is no weakling.”
Miranda looked at Gin in confusion, still coughing, but there was no time to ask what he was talking about. Renaud was still on the ground. Miranda’s spirit had closed when she fell, but the effects on the enslaver didn’t seem to be fading.
“What did you do to him?” Eli said, reaching down to help her up.
“Exactly what he did to me,” she said, taking his hand and letting him pull her to her feet. “He’s learning the ultimate difference between Spiritualists and enslavers. You see, my spirits serve me willingly, so when I’m knocked on my back from spirit feedback, my servants don’t try and take advantage of the situation.” Her face broke into a triumphant grin. “Renaud’s may not be so considerate.”
With a thundering roar, the water surged toward the dais. Renaud raised his head, his spirit swinging wildly as he tried to reassert his control, but nothing he mustered could stop the wall of furious water rolling toward him, growing larger and faster with each moment. By the time it reached the dais, the wave’s crest brushed the collapsing roof. In a final act of desperation, Renaud threw the brunt of his power at it, stopping the wave for a moment at its peak. But the enslaver’s exhausted, overextended will could not hold back the water’s rage, and his soul crumpled. The wave crashed down with a scream, shattering the stone dais. Miranda got one last look at Renaud’s body as the water tossed him up, his pale face contorted in terror as he plummeted head first back into the swirling water and disappeared beneath the waves.
The moment he hit, the whirling spirit light in the water vanished, plunging the room into total darkness. Miranda gripped Gin’s fur, letting the ghosthound’s heavy breathing be an anchor for her thudding heart. Slowly, her eyes adjusted, and the world began to reinstate itself. The wind whistled softly through the shattered windows and the gaping hole in the wall, peeking in to see what the fuss was about before quickly blowing away. From the darkness where Renaud had fallen came the gentle sound of flowing water, but Miranda could see nothing. The dim moonlight seemed to avoid that section of the throne room. The quiet stretched on and on, and, at last, Miranda took a tentative step forward. She jumped back immediately as something freezing and wet touched her foot. Shivering, she pressed herself against Gin’s warmth and squinted into the darkness.
In the indirect glow of the moonlight, she could just make out a thin layer of water spreading out from the ruined dais. It ran past the fallen stones, over the ruined floor, and under Josef and Nico’s bodies. Gin shivered when it touched him, and Miranda tore a strip out of her ruined skirt to try and stem the flow.
“We have to move,” she muttered. “This water’s like snowmelt. They’ll die if they sit in it much longer.”
“I think temperature is the least of our worries,” Eli muttered, staring into the darkness where the dais had been.
Before she could ask what he meant, a flash pulsed in the darkness and warm, blue light blossomed through the room. Blinking the spots out of her eyes, Miranda turned toward the dais as well, bringing her hands up to shield her eyes. In front of them, floating above the pile of rubble that had been the royal seat of Mellinor, was a tall column of pure, clear water. It hung in the air as if weightless, spinning slowly. The light at its heart was blinding bright, like the glint on a far-off wave. Water poured from its sides like a fountain, rushing in little streams down the rocks to join the spreading pool that was quickly carpeting the entire room in clear, cold water. The turning column slowed, then stopped, and though it had no face, no distinguishing features, Miranda felt its gaze land on her.