circle of water churning in furious anger. But no matter how it writhed and tossed, its flow was contained by the barriers of the enslavement. Renaud’s control was well entrenched, and the water could not break free even enough to wet his clothes, which were completely dry despite the flood rushing across them.
Renaud held out his hand and the water followed his movements, charging down his arm to form a long, thin spike at the tips of his fingers, which he leveled at Miranda’s head.
“That’s two kings of Mellinor your little group has murdered,” he said. “Not to mention the destruction of our throne room. I don’t think anyone could object to your execution, at this point.”
“The only murderer here is you, Renaud,” Miranda hissed, clutching Gin’s fur. “Release that spirit!”
Renaud chuckled, and the water flowing across his shoulders roared even faster. “I don’t think you want me to do that. I see now why Gregorn was willing to die to keep this spirit. He’s barely awake, but just look what he can do.”
Renaud swung his arm, and the spike of water flew out in an arc, striking the wall like a cannon shot. The stones exploded outward, sailing into the night. Wind rushed in, and Miranda ducked as a shower of rubble flew toward her. When Renaud pulled back his hand, the entire northwest corner of the throne room was gone, leaving a gaping hole where the wall had been.
The stones in the roof squealed, but with one of their corner supports gone, it was a losing battle against gravity. One by one, they hurtled to the ground, cracking the floor where they hit. Renaud cackled, and the water’s light flashed wildly around him, shifting from blue to white to almost black in sickening confusion.
“Renaud!” Miranda shouted, putting her arms up in a desperate attempt to shield herself and Gin from the falling rocks. “Enough of this! You’re going to destroy everything if you keep this up!”
“And what do I care?” Renaud’s voice trembled with the force of the spirit he held back. “Mellinor is mine to do with what I like!” He held out his hand again, and the water rushed over it in a fountain of white spray. “This is the heart of Mellinor,” he shouted, raising the water high over his head. “Everything else is just an empty shell!”
As he clenched his fist, Miranda could hear the water’s own deep voice, warped by the enslavement, screaming in frustration as it fought Renaud’s hold. And as it screamed, the palace began to shake worse than ever.
“We have to get out of here!” Miranda turned frantically to Eli, trying to cover Gin’s head as ever-larger pieces of ornamental stonework crashed down around them. “That idiot won’t stop until he brings the whole place down!”
Eli looked up from where he was fixing the last of Nico’s restraints, but whatever he’d been about to say was interrupted as a large chunk of stone arch landed not half a foot away from Josef’s head, covering them all in a shower of grit.
“All right,” Eli growled. “That’s it.”
The naked fury in his voice shocked Miranda out of her protective crouch, and she looked up just in time to see another, fist-sized stone hurtling toward Nico’s unprotected shoulder. Eli caught it without looking and hurled it as hard as he could at Renaud’s grinning face.
“Do you think this is fun?” he shouted. “Do you think this is a game? Is beating us so important that you’ll bring down your own roof to do it?”
Renaud shattered Eli’s stone with a flick of his hand. “Don’t flatter yourself, Monpress. This was never about you. You and your collection of oddities were just in the wrong place at the wrong time when fate decided to hand me my birthright.” He grinned maniacally. “Consider this my thanks, a throne room for your tomb, my way of repaying the unknowing kindness you did me.”
The water hissed as he spoke, changing its flow as Renaud’s triumph rippled through his wide-open spirit, subtly altering the shape of the enslavement. Suddenly, Miranda had an idea.
“You might want to watch your captive before you speak of kindness,” she said, turning to face Renaud head on. “I don’t know what that spirit used to be, but Gregorn died trying to control it.” She smiled her most infuriating smile. “No matter what you say about birthrights, Renaud, you’re no Gregorn. I give you fifteen minutes before the water breaks your soul and eats you alive.”
“What would you know about control, girl?” Renaud thrust out his hand, and a wall of water surged down from the dais, rising over Miranda in a great wave. “You Spiritualists know nothing about control! You go on and on about balance, about our duty to the spirits, but we wizards are the ones with the power! The spirits obey
“If that’s the case,” Miranda said and smiled at him through the wall of water. “If you’re so in control”-just a little more-“why is your shirt wet?”
Renaud’s arm shot up to his shoulder. Sure enough, his black shirt was soaked through. He snatched his hand away, but not before a tremor of uncertainty fluttered through the enslavement that held the water captive. A tremor was all it needed. The wave roared in triumph and crashed against the enslavement’s barrier. Renaud staggered and slammed his control down again. Then, with a snarl, he crashed the suspended wave down on Miranda’s head.
The force of the water knocked Miranda off her feet. She spun in the freezing, dark water as the current batted her back and forth, crushing the air out of her lungs. Her chest burned as she tried desperately to hold on to what breath she could, but no matter how she struggled, the water would not let her go. It hadn’t been enough, she realized as cold crept in. He’d regained his control too quickly. But even as she sank, she could still feel the echo of Renaud’s uncertainty, and far below her in the icy depths, she felt a tremble of hope. As the water darkened around her, the last bubble of Miranda’s breath drifted from her lips in the shape of a request. Deep at its heart, as far as possible from the iron walls of the enslavement, the water listened.
Eli was on the move as soon as the wave crashed down. Enslaver, king, Gregorn’s heir, whatever he decided to call himself, Renaud was still human, and he could concentrate on only so many things at once. Eli didn’t know what had possessed Miranda to taunt a man bent on destruction, but she had his full attention, and the thief was determined not to let the opportunity pass him by.
Using the water to keep himself out of Renaud’s line of sight, Eli crept to the fallen ghosthound.
“Mutt,” he whispered, poking Gin’s side. “Wake up, mutt. Your mistress needs you.”
The ghosthound was unresponsive. Only the shallow rise and fall of his chest showed that he was alive at all. Eli put a little more weight into his voice. “Gin, wake up. Miranda’s going to die.”
The ghosthound’s breathing hitched as the spirit voice trembled through him, and one of his ears swiveled in Eli’s direction.
“You are very forceful, aren’t you, wizard?” Gin’s voice was barely a whisper. “I’m an inch from death myself. If you have the energy to use your tricks, why don’t you save her?” The ghosthound opened one enormous orange eye and focused its menacing gaze on Eli. “We both know you can.”
The thief grimaced. “I’d like to, but the price of playing the hero isn’t one I can afford right now. It’s you or nothing, mutt.”
“Not… quite…” Gin closed his eye, but one of his ears flicked toward the water, and Eli looked up.
Miranda’s body hung limp at the heart of the wave. On his dais, Renaud was grinning triumphantly, but as the enslaver lowered the water to get a better look at her, the Spiritualist’s head jerked up. She met Renaud’s grin full on, and her spirit opened like a flower.
Despite having no bound spirits to resonate the power, Eli took a step back as her spirit washed over him. It filled the room, warm and strong as a desert wind. There was no fear in it, no doubt, only the practiced, controlled power of a master Spiritualist nearing the peak of her craft, and that power struck Renaud like a wave of lead.
The enslaver fell to the ground, unable to move. With so much power coursing through the room, Eli could almost see the outline of Miranda’s fully opened spirit bearing down, not on Renaud himself, but on the channels of the enslavement, cutting away the banks that held the water spirit captive. Using the current’s own ebb and flow, Miranda sawed the cutting edge of her soul against the prince’s overstrained will. With every surge of Miranda’s power, the feedback through Renaud’s connection with the spirit slammed him into the floor, grinding him into the stone. Cracks began to appear in his enslavement, and the well-contained wave began to sprout leaks. Shouting in
