The Spirit Eater (31 page)

“Is that a trick question?” Miranda asked, keeping her voice carefully flat.

“No,” Eli said slowly. “It’s a sincere one.”

Miranda leaned back, resting her head on Gin’s ribs. “Because it is my duty.”

“Nonsense,” Eli said. “It’s the Council’s job to catch thieves.”

She gave him a long look. “That may be, but the Spirit Court cannot ignore your actions. You go around using spirits to steal kings without even trying to hide it. Every job you pull is a production, a grand sensation to build your reputation as Eli Monpress, the wizard thief. The Spirit Court exists to promote two goals: the ethical treatment of spirits and building the public’s faith in wizardry. In case you’ve forgotten, wizards used to be seen as tyrants, hated by spirits and people alike for abusing their power. For the last four centuries, the Spirit Court has worked to change that by taking down those who abuse spirits and by holding all wizards accountable to a moral code, whether they want to be held accountable or not.”

“You can’t force your morals on the whole world,” Eli said.

“We don’t,” Miranda said. “We force them on other wizards, because if we didn’t, the bad times would return faster than you could imagine.

Spiritualists swear to uphold the Spirit Court’s code of ethics precisely so that we never go back to those dark days. That is why, when you decided to abandon those morals, to use your power as a wizard to flout the law for personal gain, it became my duty to stop you. Your actions throw a black shadow on all of us and undo the hard work of a great many good people. It’s so much easier to tear down a reputation than to build it, to inspire fear and suspicion rather than trust. That’s why I have to stop you, to protect the work of all the Spiritualists who went before me and save the trust they built, which you now take advantage of.”

Eli heaved a long, hard sigh. “You remind me very much of someone I used to know when you lecture like that,” he said quietly. “How is it Spiritualists can turn anything into a matter of duty?”

“It’s called having principles,” Miranda said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Some of us don’t have morals as flexible as yours.”

“Well, no one could ever accuse you of flexibility,” Eli said dryly. “Unfortunately, I fear we will never come to an agreement. Your world is far too black-and-white for me.”

“There’s no agreement to come to,” Miranda said fiercely. “Don’t forget who’s up to his neck in water.”

Eli smirked and started to answer, but he never got a chance. At that moment, the door exploded.

Miranda screamed in surprise, throwing up her arms to shield her face as bits of wood shot across the room. She fell to the ground as Gin slid out from under her, leaping to his feet with a snarl, his patterns swirling madly as he turned to face the door, ears flat back against his skull. For a moment, she couldn’t even see what he was growling at through the dust and debris. Then the man stepped into the room, and Miranda felt her skin grow cold.

Sted stood in the doorway. He was shirtless, and his cape was gone. For a moment, Miranda could only stare in horror at the hideous thing growing out of his shoulder. The black skin, as hard and polished as scorched glass, was so alien, so beyond what she expected, that Sted had walked almost all the way to where Eli was trapped in the water before she realized it was his arm. With that realization, everything else fell into place, and she flung out her hand. At once, Durn threw himself back, sliding along Allinora’s mossy bed to rest beside Miranda, Eli safely squeezed between the layers of rock and water. The thief started to protest, but Mellinor’s water covered his head before he could speak. Never taking her eyes off the intruder, Miranda nodded in thanks. Now was not the time for distractions.

“I knew something was wrong with you,” she said, stepping between Sted and Eli, who was bubbling furiously under Mellinor’s water. “But I never thought Izo’d actually be stupid enough to employ a demonseed. It must be an idiocy common within the criminal element.”

Behind her, Eli made a sound that was half burble, half scoff, and she flicked Durn’s ring. There was a loud scrape as the rock closed over Eli’s head, trapping him inside a cocoon of stone as well as water. Miranda nodded. Mellinor could give him enough oxygen to keep him from drowning for ten minutes at least, and she was taking no chances.

Sted stood where Durn had been, glaring at her with eyes that were far too bright for the dim room. “I serve no man but myself,” he sneered. “I’m here for the thief. Hand him over.”

“Never,” Miranda said, pulling Allinora’s moss back into her ring, away from the monster at the door. “Eli Monpress is under arrest by the authority of the Spirit Court and the Council of Thrones.”

“Really?” Sted’s voice was slow and sharp, like a knife working through frozen flesh. “And are you ready to die to keep him?”

Gin snarled beside her, and Miranda couldn’t help baring her teeth as well. “I couldn’t do my duty if I wasn’t,” she said. “Leave now or I’ll call the whole deal off and Izo will never be king.”

Sted threw back his head and laughed, a horrible, hollow sound that rattled up from deep in his chest. “Izo?” he cried. “Who cares about Izo?

Weren’t you listening, girl? I’m here for the thief, preferably alive, but I’ll take what I can get. Your fate I’m far less picky about. Move.” He took a menacing step forward, heavy boots creaking on the bare plank floor. “Now.”

Miranda held her ground, hands clenched in sweaty fists around her rings. Spiritualists didn’t fight demonseeds; it was too risky. But she could not back down. Not now, not when she had Eli. Her resolve was set, and Gin must have felt it, for before she could open her mouth to answer Sted’s threat, the ghosthound lunged forward.

It was a tight jump. The little room wasn’t large enough for Gin to turn around in let alone get any momentum for a flying attack, but Miranda would never have known it. Gin sprang from a standstill, a shifting blur of claws and teeth aimed straight for Sted’s neck. Sted had nowhere to dodge and no time to duck before the dog’s teeth sank into his neck and shoulders.

They fell backward, Sted stumbling into the splintered remains of the door with Gin on top of him, the ghosthound’s teeth lodged in his torso.

Miranda felt like cheering. Gin knew as well as she did that the only way to win this was to take Sted down in one blow, before he could eat them or terrify her spirits into submission. From where she stood, it looked like the hound had done just that. Even demonseeds went down when you ripped them in half. But then, just when it looked like Sted was done for, Gin yelped and jumped back, slamming against the rear wall of the house in a scramble of legs and wild shifting fur.

“Bastard!” the dog roared.

Gin’s muzzle was slick with blood, which wasn’t surprising, considering he’d just bitten a man through to the ribs, but this was too much. Gin coughed, bringing up more blood as he circled to face Sted again, his head low and cautious, as though he were the one who’d just taken a blow instead of dealt one. Across the room, Sted stood up, a superior grin on his face. Gin’s bite draped across his neck and shoulders like a bloody shawl, but the holes were closing as Miranda watched.

“Not fast enough?” she asked quietly.

“No, I got him,” Gin snarled, sending blood across the floor. “Bastard let me get him. Let me get in good before he started to eat.”

He coughed again, adding more blood to the pool on the floor. “I don’t get it,” he panted. “I could feel him eating me. It was just like before, with Monpress’s girl. But there’s no fear.”

Gin was right, she realized. Other than her spirits, the room was calm. There was no panic, no overwhelming fear like she’d felt in Mellinor. If Sted wasn’t standing there with his monstrous arm, healing right in front of her, she wouldn’t have even known he was a demonseed.

Gin growled. Sted was coming forward, a feral grin on his scarred face.

“Is that all?” His voice was thick with laughter. “Is that all you have to throw against me? A pet dog?”

“Miranda,” Gin said softly, never taking his orange eyes off Sted. “Take the thief out the back. I’ll hold this bastard here while—”

A whoosh of flame cut off his words. The fire in the stove blazed up to the ceiling, and Sted burst into flames. He screamed in pain and began to flail wildly. Gin turned to look at Miranda, who was lowering her hand, Kirik’s enormous ruby burning like a bonfire on her thumb.

“No playing hero tonight, mutt,” she said, pressing her fingers against the pendant on her chest. A great wind rose up, and the fire on Sted grew white-hot as Eril, her wind spirit, blasted it like a forge bellow. Sted screamed again, beating the flames, but Kirik clung tight. The blast of heat was enough to blister Miranda’s skin, but she didn’t step back. Triumph surged up Kirik’s connection, and the ring on Miranda’s thumb began to almost vibrate with the fire’s victorious joy as Sted sank to his knees.

Then, in the space between breaths, the tide turned. The flames were still blazing bright, the smell of burned flesh thick in the air, but Miranda could feel something pulling on the connection that tied her to Kirik. It felt as though the fire spirit was going further and further away from her, fading into the distance. The feeling was so alien that, for a moment, she could only stand dumbly. Then, like a splash of cold water, she realized what was happening.

“Kirik!” Her voice throbbed with power. “Come back now!”

“No!” the fire roared. “I’ve almost got him!”

“Kirik!” she cried again. She could feel it clearly now, vibrating up their connection. Sted was eating the fire even as it burned him, devouring the spirit’s soul. Through the flames, she could see his charred skin mending, growing whole again as he sucked in the fire’s essence. But Kirik wasn’t stopping. He burned brighter than ever, the heat roaring until the wooden roof began to smoke, but Sted was standing up, his black, clawed hand clutching the fire, drawing it in, and Miranda decided enough was enough.

With a wrench of her spirit she’d never had to use before, she grabbed Kirik and pulled him back. It hurt. The fire burned her control, fighting her, screaming that he had almost won, but Miranda slammed her will down like a forge hammer. Roaring with defeat, the fire fled back to its ring and the ruby’s light went out. Dumbstruck by what had just happened, Miranda stared at her ring, her vision wavering as her heart thudded in fear. The red stone was now the color of charred coal, and she could barely feel Kirik at all.

A gust of wind hit her as Eril returned to his pendant, and Miranda forced her attention back to the fight. Sted was on his feet again, standing in a circle of black char. Smoke filled the air, but most of it came from what was left of the roof and the floor. Sted’s clothes had been reduced to blackened rags, but his skin was nearly untouched, and what bits of it were still charred were healing before Miranda’s eyes.

She cursed under her breath as he turned to face her, his teeth bared in a hateful smile. “Anything else?”

Miranda clenched her fists. All her rings except Kirik’s were trembling against her fingers, not with fear, but with anger. They wanted to kill the monster, to stamp Sted out of existence, but Miranda held them back. She raised her hand and gave a silent order. It took a moment for Durn to comply, but eventually the rock spirit opened his stone cocoon, revealing Eli, now unconscious, curled up like a baby in Mellinor’s blue globe. The next order was the hardest she’d ever had to give. She reached out to the thick cord connecting her to Mellinor, and the globe of water collapsed.

Steam hissed as the cold water ran over the charred wood, washing Eli up in a little heap at Sted’s feet.

Sted bent over, scooping the thief up with one arm. “That was the smart choice,” he said. “But then, who could expect a woman to give a good fight?”

Miranda shook with rage, but when she spoke, her voice was as cold as Mellinor’s water. “If I back down, it is only because I value my spirits more than any prize or pride that thief could bring me. Take him and go, but be warned, Sted.” She spat his name. “When we meet again, I’ll make you suffer for what you’ve done.”

“Is that so?” Sted said, slinging Eli over his shoulder. “In that case, I’ll make a point to eat every one of your little spirits. That is, if I can be bothered to remember.”

Gin snarled, but Sted just turned, laughing, and started toward the door. Before his foot hit the ground, he was gone, vanishing into the long shadows. For a moment Miranda just stood there, almost too angry to breathe, then she knelt down beside Gin. “How is it?”

“I’ll live,” the hound grumbled, licking the blood from his muzzle. He caught her look, and his enormous orange eyes narrowed. “If you’re thinking what I think you are, the answer is yes.”

“Are you sure?” Miranda said, suddenly hesitant.

“I wouldn’t have said anything if I wasn’t sure,” Gin growled. “If you think for one second I’m going to let that bastard get away with our prize, then you can find yourself another ghosthound. Get on.”

Miranda didn’t ask again. She pulled Mellinor back into her body and vaulted onto Gin’s back. The second she was on they were running, smashing through what was left of the shattered door into the torch-lit street. She caught a glimpse of Sparrow’s shocked face, Tesset and Nico standing behind him, but she put them out of her mind. This had gone far beyond Council games and power plays. It was between her and Sted now. Gin thundered through the streets, sending bandits flying when they got in his way. He cleared the last row of buildings in one leap and stopped on the edge of the box canyon that hid Izo’s city from the world. He raised his head, holding his nose up to the night air, and took several large sniffs.

“This way,” he said, turning north so hard Miranda’s neck snapped. She grimaced and bent low on the hound’s back, clinging to his fur as they raced through the dark woods, chasing the shadow of Eli’s scent on the cold mountain air.

“I don’t know how we’re getting out of this.” Sparrow’s voice held none of its usual charm as they stomped through the torch-lit streets toward Izo’s fortress. “And that’s not a turn of phrase. I really, honestly, do not know how we are going to make this situation into anything other than an unmitigated disaster.”