The Spirit War(135)

“Good,” Gin snapped back. “So do that. Kill Enslavers, stop abusive wizards, but don’t go poking your nose where it’ll get bitten off.”

Miranda turned away with a huff. Gin crouched low, his swirling fur moving in quick little patterns, and Mellinor began to rumble.

“Listen,” she said, calmly now. “Whatever happens from here out, I’m always going to choose the path that leads to a better, fairer world for all of us. That’s my job. That’s why I became a Spiritualist. And if that path leads me off a cliff, then so be it, but I will not turn back. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to follow.”

Gin bared his teeth. “Don’t even try,” he growled. “I go where you go, no matter how reckless or stupid. But that doesn’t mean I have to keep my mouth shut about it.”

Miranda couldn’t help grinning at that. “Nothing could make you keep your mouth shut, mutt.”

Gin snorted and put his head on his paws. “Better put away your reading. Someone’s coming.”

Miranda glanced at the door a split second before the knock sounded. Gin gave her a superior look, and Miranda rolled her eyes. She stood up, carefully marking her place before closing the record book, and walked to the reading room door. A young man in apprentice robes was standing on the other side. His face lit up when he saw her.

“Spiritualist Lyonette? Master Banage wants to see you at the top of the Tower. He says it’s urgent.”

“The top of the Tower?” Miranda said, wrinkling her nose. “You mean his office?”

“No, ma’am,” the apprentice said, shaking his head. “He said the top.”

“The top?” Gin said, suddenly behind her. He grinned, showing a wall of teeth. “I’ve never been to the top.”

“Neither have I,” Miranda said, elbowing her dog. The apprentice was staring at Gin’s teeth like he might faint. “Take us there.”

“Yes, Spiritualist,” the boy said, starting down the hall sideways so he wouldn’t have to put his back to Gin. “This way.”

Miranda shook her head and followed. Behind her, Gin crawled through the door, slipping his long body through the small opening with practiced ease. They climbed up and up, past floors of meeting rooms, guest rooms, and storerooms, until they reached the landing outside the Rector’s office. This was where the stairs usually ended, but now there was a new opening in the wall beside the Rector’s office door, a set of stairs Miranda had never seen before, leading up.

“We can make it from here,” she said, smiling at the apprentice. “Thank you for your service.”

“It is an honor to serve, Spiritualist,” the boy said with a halfhearted bow. After a final, terrified glance at Gin, he vanished down the stairs like a frightened rabbit.

“That one knows his place,” Gin said, flipping his tail smugly.

“Stop it,” Miranda muttered, starting up the new stairwell. “You’d better stay here.”

Gin growled and sat, ears turned forward so he wouldn’t miss anything.

The new stairs wound up for a dozen feet before stopping at a little stone door barely larger than she was. It opened when Miranda touched it, and a blast of wind nearly blew her back down the stairs. The door let out on the very top of the Tower’s spire. Below, she could see all of Zarin and the plains beyond. The white buildings were almost blinding in the afternoon sun, and the Whitefall River was little more than a glittering thread between the dark shapes of the bridges and barges. The wind roared around her, and for a moment Miranda was afraid it would blow her off altogether. Thankfully, the door was set back in the Tower’s spire, and the tiny alcove provided just enough shelter to keep the wind from ripping her off the Tower. Master Banage was already here, standing with his back pressed against the stone and his head tilted up toward the sky.

“Miranda,” he said in a voice that carried over the wind. “Glad you could join us.”

The moment he said it, Miranda felt the truth. The wind howling around them wasn’t the usual gusts found this high up. There was a familiar heaviness to it, a great spiritual pressure that made her ears pop, and she didn’t need Eril’s frantic clamor to know who, or what, she was facing.

“Lord Illir,” she said, clutching her wind spirit’s shaking pendant against her chest. “It is a pleasure to meet you again.”

“Pleasure tainted with crisis, I’m afraid,” the wind hummed around her. “Let the little one pay his respects before he bursts.”

Miranda let Eril fly at once. The smaller wind tore out of his necklace, spinning in a reverent circle before returning to Miranda’s side.