I’m missing. Whatever Coriano says about Eli’s skill, Monpress can’t do what he’s doing without a spirit’s help, and he can’t use spirits without leaving some trace. He’s been lucky so far, but as soon as I can figure out his gimmick, I’ll wring his-” She stopped short.
The street outside was just as empty as it had been when they’d arrived. Gin was where they had left him, slouched on the ground. His large head rested on his paws, one of which had something squirmy pinned in the mud beneath it.
“You have a visitor,” he said, tail twitching. “He didn’t want to wait until you were done with your meeting, but I convinced him otherwise.”
“Gin,” Miranda said through gritted teeth. “Let him up.”
The ghosthound lifted his paw, and Miranda hurried to help the man. Even covered in mud, the royal messenger’s livery was recognizable. He wobbled a bit, like his knees wouldn’t support him, and Miranda had to position herself between him and Gin before he could get his message out.
“T-the Master of Security s-sent me to f-find you, lady,” he stuttered. “A letter just arrived from the king.”
Miranda’s face lit up. “A letter from the king? How long ago?”
“Master Oban sent me as soon as it came,” he said, keeping his distance from the Spiritualist and her monster. “Ten minutes maybe? Twenty?”
That was all Miranda needed. She hooked her arm over Gin’s nose and he lifted her up onto his waiting back.
“Lady!” Marion cried. “Where are you going?”
“To the castle, of course!” Miranda shouted. “Eli’s made his move, and I’m not about to let him get away so easily this time.”
Marion opened her mouth to say something else, but the ghosthound dashed behind her and Miranda swept the girl up onto his back. Gin whirled, patterns flashing wildly over his fur, and dashed up the hill, pouncing in silent bounds toward the castle.
The moment the ghosthound was out of sight, the neighborhood started pouring out of its hiding places. Men, women, and grubby children flooded the muddy street, and the royal messenger found himself surrounded by gawking, dirty people. One look at the knives some of the men wore in their boots and the messenger decided it was time to return as well, and he followed the ghosthound up the hill toward the castle at a dead run.
CHAPTER 7
Oban, the Master of Security, was waiting for them at the castle gate with a roll of parchment in his hand.
“Lady Miranda!” he shouted, running toward them as Gin slid to a stop.
“Is that the letter?” Miranda hopped down.
“Yes.” He shoved the parchment into her hand. “Read it quickly.”
She shook the paper open and read, muttering along as she went. “
“Yes,” Oban said, “under much duress, we fear.”
Miranda gave him a flat look. “He has very good handwriting for a king under duress.”
“Oh, this isn’t the original.” The Master of Security ran a nervous hand over his bald head. “It’s a scribe copy.”
“Well, that won’t do.” Miranda put her hands on her hips. “Where is the original? I need it now.” Time was precious. If she got it soon enough, the faint, weak spirits in the ink might still remember the ink pot they’d lived in. That would give her a direction at least, maybe even a relative distance, but only if she got to them before they fell asleep completely and forgot that they’d ever been anything except words on a page.
The Master of Security blanched. “I’m afraid I can’t get it, lady. The situation’s, um”-he clutched his hands-“changed.”
“Changed how?” Miranda’s eyes narrowed.
“Go to the throne room, and you’ll see.” He sighed. “They don’t know I let you see the note, lady, but I couldn’t let you go in there without some information at least. Good luck.” He bowed slightly, then whirled around and disappeared into the stables.
“He stinks of fear,” Gin said, his orange eyes on Oban’s retreating back.
“Do you know what this is about?” Miranda asked Marion, who was still working her way down off the ghosthound. The girl shook her head.
Miranda stared up at the white castle, which looked much more forbidding than usual. “Ears open, mutt,” she muttered. “Be ready if I call you.”
“Always am,” Gin huffed, sitting down in the middle of the stable yard.
Miranda nodded and hurried up the castle steps, Marion keeping close behind her.
The entrance hall was quiet and empty. Miranda frowned, glancing around for the usual clusters of servants and officials, but there was no sign of them. She quickened her pace, trotting across the polished marble to the arched doorway that led to the throne room. As she rounded the corner, what she saw stopped her dead in her tracks. The entire servant population of castle Allaze, from the stable boys to the chambermaids, was crammed into the great hall that led to the throne room. They were crowded in, shoulder to shoulder, filling the hall to bursting.
Miranda stared bewildered at the wall of backs blocking their way. “All right,” she sighed, slumping against the wall, “I give up. What is going on?”
Marion hurried forward, tapping the shoulder of a man at the back of the crowd wearing a blacksmith’s leather apron to ask what was happening.
“Didn’t ya hear?” the man said. “Lord Renaud’s back.”
Marion’s face went white as cheese. She thanked the man and hurried back to Miranda. “Lord Renaud is back,” she whispered.
“So I heard,” Miranda said. “But let’s assume for the moment that I know nothing about this country. Who is Lord Renaud?”
“King Henrith’s older brother.”
“
“Of course not!” Marion looked mortified.
“Then why did Henrith become king, and not him?” None of the research she’d done on Mellinor had mentioned any variance in the normal lines of succession. Of course, she hadn’t had time to do much research in her rush to beat Eli.
“Lord Renaud was first in line for the throne, but then there were, um”-she glanced pointedly at Miranda’s rings-“problems.”
“I see,” Miranda said quietly, following her gaze. “You know, in most countries, having a wizard in the royal family is considered a blessing.” Marion winced at the coldness in her voice. “He was banished as a child, then?”
Marion shook her head. “That’s usually the way, but not this time. You see, no one knew he was a wizard until a few days after the prince’s sixteenth birthday. The old king was furious when he found out, of course, and he banished Lord Renaud to the desert on the southern edge of Mellinor.”
“Sixteen is far too old for a manifestation,” Miranda said, drumming her fingers against the stone doorway. “A wizard child can hear spirits from birth. It’s obvious by the time they can talk that something is off. A prince,
