“So do I,” Miranda whispered, clutching her rings tighter than ever.
They sat in nervous silence until, at last, the great door opened and the bright light of the Court shone in. Even though she knew it was coming, the shock of the brilliant Court chamber after the dim waiting room threw Miranda off balance for a moment. Then she was in control again, and she marched through the doors and up the steep steps with her head high and Gin right behind her.
The Spirit Court’s hearing chamber was a circular room that took up the entirety of the tower’s second floor. High overhead, hanging from the tall, arched ceiling, white fires burned in silver sconces without fuel or heat, their sharp light blending with the sunlight that filtered through the tall, milky glass windows. Enormous rings of wooden benches ran along the outer edge of the room, spiraling down from the walls in a series of interlocking tiers, but only the bottom rings were filled. Tower Keepers sat primly in their formal robes, their ringed hands draped over the high wall that separated them from the open floor and the raised stand at its center, where Miranda would make her case.
Directly across from the doors where she had entered, an enormous bench loomed over everything else. It towered above the polished marble floor, carved from wood so old it had lost all its color and was now solid black beneath the layers of polish. Sitting behind the great bench on a chair as regal as any throne was Master Banage. He was dressed in a coat of pure white with a high collar that framed his face like a snowdrift, making him look ancient and distant, an infallible king of judges. Around his neck he wore the Mantle of the Tower, the regalia of the Rector Spiritualis. It was styled as a chain. Each link was a knot of heavy gold holding a great stone, and each stone held one of the spirits bound, not to any one Spiritualist, but to the Court itself, passed down from rector to rector, the living symbol of the Spirit Court’s pledge of protection, justice, and equality to the Spirit World.
It was an awe-inspiring sight that was as much a part of the Spirit Court as the tower itself, and with every step she took toward the stand, Miranda felt the weight fall heavier on her shoulders. The age, the power, the majesty of the Spirit Court threatened to crush her, and no matter how many times she told herself that this was exactly the intended effect, the impact was not lessened. By the time she reached the stand, climbing the three little steps so that she stood at the apex of the court’s scrutiny, even Gin’s presence couldn’t stop her hands from shaking.
“Spiritualist Miranda Lyonette.” Banage’s voice boomed down from the high bench, warped into a fearsome specter of itself by the room’s strange acoustics. “The Spirit Court has gathered to hear the charges brought against you by your peer, Spiritualist Grenith Hern, Master of the Towers, concerning the incidents that occurred in the kingdom of Mellinor.”
Banage looked down at the man who was sitting front and foremost in the first ring of seats. There, dressed in a well-tailored robe of expensive crimson silk embroidered with gold flourishes, was Grenith Hern himself. He was young for a Tower Keeper, scarcely into his forties, and clearly he had been very handsome at one point. His hair, though graying, was still a flaxen blond, and he wore it long and braided down his back like a dandy. However, any appearance of youthful inexperience was banished by the immense collection of rings that glistened on his hands, which he draped casually over the bench that separated him from the open floor. He had necklaces as well, jeweled chains nearly as ornate as Master Banage’s, and bracelets glittering beneath the cuffs of his robe.
Banage looked down. “Speak your complaint, Spiritualist Hern.”
Hern stood up with a gracious nod and turned to face Miranda, meeting her glare with a warm, confident smile.
“My complaint is one of a most serious nature.” His smooth voice rang out through the great room. “I charge that Miranda Lyonette, in violation of her duty and her oaths, did conspire with the noted criminal Eli Monpress to gain access to the spirit known as Mellinor, a Great Spirit overpowered and imprisoned by the dreaded Enslaver Gregorn, and thought destroyed more than four hundred years ago. Despite her orders to apprehend Monpress, Spiritualist Lyonette instead worked with him to win over Mellinor, already weakened and confused from the long Enslavement and imprisonment, with threats and guile. Furthermore, in payment for this assistance, Spiritualist Lyonette bought Monpress time to escape by destroying the throne room of Mellinor, putting countless lives in danger.”
Banage gave him a cold look. “This is your charge?”
Hern nodded. “It is.”
“And what punishment do you seek?”
Hern turned to look down at Miranda, and his smile became a cruel smirk. “Banishment,” he said, low and cold. “Banishment from the Spirit Court by stripping of rings, rank, and privileges, including entry to Zarin or any other safe haven maintained by the Court.”
A great murmur went up among the crowd. Miranda let the sound wash over her, keeping her eyes straight ahead. She had expected this, she told herself, but still, hearing the actual words turned her spine to water. When the noise quieted down, Banage leaned forward from his high seat to look down at Miranda and spoke as gently as the acoustics of the room allowed. “How do you answer these charges, Spiritualist Lyonette?”
Miranda met his eyes one last time, and took the plunge.
“I call them nonsense.” Her voice rang out through the chamber. “It is true that I was sent to Mellinor to capture Eli Monpress, but when I arrived in Mellinor, I found a far greater crime against the spirits than anything Monpress was capable of. As you should all know, for I went into this at great length in my report, the prince, Renaud, who lost his throne thanks to Mellinor’s ancient prejudices against wizards, had turned to Enslavement to get it back. He awakened and Enslaved a Great Spirit left by his ancestor, the Enslaver Gregorn, in the artifact we know as Gregorn’s Pillar, the same artifact I had been sent to Mellinor to ensure Monpress did not steal. Despite my efforts, Renaud successfully shattered the pillar and took control of the weakened Great Spirit of the now-dry inland sea Mellinor. However, with Monpress’s help, I was able to free Mellinor from Renaud’s control and destroy the Enslaver.”
By the time she finished, the crowd was whispering madly. Hern raised his hand, and the noise stopped.
“A fascinating story,” he said. “All of which matches what the Kingdom of Mellinor itself reported to the Council, of course. Yet, the question still remains: How did all of this end up with Monpress escaping and you with the Great Spirit?”
Miranda glared at him. “After Renaud’s death, Mellinor rightfully demanded that the land Gregorn had stolen from him, what was now the Kingdom of Mellinor, be returned. However, there were, are, people living on that land, and millions of spirits who would perish if it returned to a sea. I could not let that happen. Yet a spirit without its land is a ghost with nowhere to go, and Mellinor had survived too much to die moments after winning his freedom. So we came to a compromise: Mellinor would leave the kingdom to its new inhabitants, and I would give him a new home using the only vessel large enough for a spirit of his power, my own body.”
“Your body?” Hern gave her a distasteful look, which he made sure everyone saw. “Highly unorthodox, and very dangerous for both spirit and Spiritualist. Your idea, I take it?”
“Yes,” Miranda said. “But then, wouldn’t any Spiritualist risk their life to save a Great Spirit?”
“Their own life, yes,” Hern said. “But have you thought of what happens if you die like that, Miss Lyonette? With a small ocean inside you?” He held up his hand, gesturing with his jeweled rings. “A
Gin growled savagely, but Miranda put her hand on his muzzle and yanked his fur until he stopped. When she felt sure he wouldn’t start again, she released her grip and answered Hern as calmly as she could. “I did my best with the options I had. I had to make a choice that night, and I chose to preserve as many lives as possible, spirit and human. What Spiritualist would do otherwise?”
“What Spiritualist, indeed?” Hern said, his voice growing coy and condescending. “You try to play to our sense of pity, to hide your true intention behind pure motives. But we are not so easily fooled as that poor, befuddled water spirit.”
Miranda blinked, astonished by this new attack, but Hern did not let up.
“Do you think we’ve looked the other way throughout your astonishing career?” he said, looking around the Court. “How could we? You came to the Court from a wealthy Zarin family, finished your training in two years instead of the standard three, and from the moment you took your apprentice’s oath, no one would suit you as a mentor save Etmon Banage himself, the new favorite to become Rector Spiritualis.”
Miranda clenched her fists. “I don’t see how any of this has any bearing on-”
“Don’t you?” Hern snapped. “Look again. Your entire life within the Court has been one of achievement and
