Miranda couldn’t help grinning. The Spiritualist archives were the repository for the collective knowledge of the Spirit Court. Every Spiritualist report ever written was stored there. Previously she’d had access to only the lowest level of common reports. Now she’d get to read the recollections of the secret missions as well. Bad as everything else seemed, that, at least, was something to look forward to.
“Go on,” Banage said, waving her off. “But get some sleep and food first. You look dreadful.”
Miranda blushed and glanced down at her filthy clothes. “Yes, Master Banage,” she mumbled, dropping a deep bow before retreating. Her mind might still be racing with everything that had happened, but her body was more than glad to put it all off in favor of food, a bath, and a bed. Smiling at the prospect, she closed Banage’s door softly behind her and went to wake up Gin, who was sleeping on the stairs where she’d left him.
Sara leaned back in the tall armchair, heavy smoke trailing from the corner of her mouth. Alber Whitefall sat across from her, his chin resting on his hands. They were both staring at the blue ball on the table between them as the soft, watery light began to fade.
“Well,” Sara said. “I think that should be proof enough.”
Whitefall dropped his head into his hands. “Sara,” he said, grinding his palms into his eyes. “I’m not going to ask how you got a Relay point into Banage’s office. I’m not sure I want to know. The only thing I’m going to ask is why.”
“I thought that would be clear,” Sara said. “You heard it from his own lips, in his own impossibly long-winded style. Etmon Banage is a traitor. He’s sided with the Empress against his own people.”
Whitefall sighed. “We need him.”
“We need the Court,” Sara countered. “Banage is the one standing in our way. It’s loyalty to him that keeps those idiots in the Tower. Break Banage and the Court will come to us. Well,” she said, putting her pipe stem back in her mouth. “Most of them. Some attrition is unavoidable.”
“We’ll never get this to stick,” Whitefall said, moving his hands down to his mouth as he considered his options. “An overheard confession’s not enough on its own, and he’s not going to repeat it.”
“Of course he will,” Sara said. “This is Etmon Banage. The man can’t lie to save his life, or anyone else’s. Pull him out and ask him openly whom he supports, the Council or the Empress, and then sit back while he digs his own grave.”
Whitefall gave her a long-suffering look. “Isn’t this a little much, Sara? The man is still your husband.”
Sara sniffed. “I loved Banage when I was young and stupid enough to get caught up in his idealism. But that world never existed, Alber. There’s no place for men like Banage who refuse to admit that there is no absolute right or wrong, that everything is relative, even morality. Never was. I won’t see my life’s work stomped under just to keep his hands clean.”
She reached out and snatched the Relay point off the table, sliding the blue marble into her pocket as she stood. “We need those wizards if we’re going to survive, Alber. I’ve given you your linchpin. All you have to do is pull it.”
Whitefall turned and stared unhappily into the cold, empty fireplace. “Fine,” he said quietly. “Send word to Myron.”
Sara nodded and marched out of the room. Sparrow fell in silently beside her, giving Whitefall a sickening smile as he closed the door behind his mistress. As their footsteps faded down the long hall, Whitefall stood and walked to the window, opening the glass pane to let the night wind clear out the stinking pipe smoke. As he stared down at his brightly lit city, the streets packed and humming with life, he wondered, not for the first time, who really ran the Council of Thrones.
“That was impressively ruthless,” Sparrow said as they walked through the dark, empty halls of the Citadel. “Even for you. Good to know the enormous risk I took planting that Relay point paid out.”
Sara arched an eyebrow. “Enormous risk?”
“Have you seen the dog she rides?” Sparrow shuddered. “I could have lost a hand. Or more.”
“Your sacrifice wouldn’t have been in vain,” Sara said as they started down the stairs to her underground workshop. “I couldn’t have asked for a better confession. I always knew something changed in him the night he lost his spirits, but I didn’t know he’d gone that far.”
“Well,” Sparrow said, smiling slyly. “He certainly had enough to say about you.”