“Who do you think I am?” Gin snorted. He slunk up the hill, keeping behind the vineyards until he reached a stretch of trees and bushes that did indeed shelter them for the next few miles, just as he’d said it would.
When they reached the outskirts of Gaol’s walled capital, Miranda left Gin hidden in an empty barn. He was much easier to convince this time around. Even Gin admitted there was no way he could sneak into a city, and besides, the night’s running was catching up with him. Miranda left him sleeping under the straw in the hayloft, and then, strolling casually out of the barn, she started for the city.
With the embargo on travel, she’d expected it would take some finagling to get into Gaol’s capital-a bribe for the guards, maybe, or some wall climbing. But as she got closer, she realized it wasn’t going to be a problem. The road was full of people, farmers mostly, from their clothes, and almost all of them wearing swords. These must be the conscripts, she realized. The duke was apparently building himself quite an army. Because of this influx, the guards at the large gate were letting people in without much question. No one, however, was coming out. Miranda held her breath and kept her head down as she passed through the gates, but the guards didn’t even speak to her. For once, she was very grateful to be ignored.
Gaol’s capital was as lovely as the countryside around it, with a high, thick wall, a grid of neatly paved streets lined with iron street lamps, and tall, close timber and stone buildings with tiled, sloping roofs.
“It’s every bit as orderly as the land outside,” Mellinor whispered in her ear as she turned onto one of the side streets. “The Great Spirit must be a horrible taskmaster.”
“I don’t think the Great Spirit’s the problem,” Miranda muttered. This was a wizard’s doing, she was certain. But how, and why? Those were the questions she was here to answer. As for who, though, she had a pretty good idea already. She looked northeast, where the pointed roof of an instantly recognizable tower poked over the rooftops. This was Hern’s territory, after all, and as she thought about it, several strange things in Hern’s past began to make sense, like how he’d refused year after year to take an apprentice of his own. She’d always chalked that up to self-importance combined with laziness, but if he were hiding something in Gaol, suddenly his not taking an apprentice would be cast in a new light. Same with his stubborn refusal to let other Spiritualists do any studies in Gaol, and his insistence that no Spiritualists cut through the duchy on their way to other places. He’d claimed his duke disliked Spiritualists disrupting his duchy by riding through on strange creatures, and since Hern was powerful and influential, and going around Gaol was a simple matter, no one had thought to question that explanation.
Well, Miranda thought, glaring at the tower, that was about to change. With a final sneer, she turned and started walking downhill toward the river.
As she went deeper into town, the crowd got thicker. Everyone, men and women, was carrying swords. Some moved in orderly groups through the streets, conscripts who’d already received their orders. Others, people who’d come through the gate with her, were still pushing toward the citadel, which seemed to be the heart of the whole operation. By the time she’d reached the edge of the town center square, the crowd was shoulder to shoulder. Miranda pushed her way through as best she could, but it was clear she wasn’t going to get to the river this way. She scowled at the wall of backs in front of her and started looking around for a side street she could take down to the water. That’s when she spotted him.
There, pushing his way through the crowd not five feet from her, was Hern. He was overdressed as always in a bright blue coat with silver embroidery, and looking hurried. The rings on his fingers glittered dangerously as he elbowed his way past a belligerent, and very large, pair of farmers. Once he was past, he gave the crowd a sneering look and turned down a side street lined with large, beautiful houses. As soon as he was around the corner, Miranda followed him.
“Miranda,” Mellinor said in a warning voice. “What are you doing?”
“Think about it,” she whispered, sneaking through the crowd. “Hern’s secretiveness, strange things going on with the spirits in Gaol, the West Wind asking me, Hern’s enemy, specifically to investigate? It doesn’t take a genius to put it together.”
“That may be,” Mellinor said, “but don’t forget your own words. You didn’t want to take this job specifically because of Hern. I don’t like Hern any more than you do, but the world hasn’t changed in the last day. You said it yourself: if anyone sees you here, they’re going to think it’s revenge. Take your own advice, ignore the pompous idiot and keep going for the river.”
“The river will still be there in an hour,” she said under her breath. “I can’t miss an opportunity like this. Think, if I can prove that Hern’s behind whatever is going on here, I can destroy his credibility, maybe even get a retrial. It would be even better than catching Monpress. Even if it’s just that he knows what’s going on and hasn’t reported it to the Court, that would be enough to throw mud all over his career.” She stood on tiptoe, catching a glimpse of Hern’s blond head through the crowd, before ducking down again. “No,” she said. “He has to be up to something. The Spirit Court referendum is coming up any day now, and he wouldn’t dare leave Zarin and miss the run-up for that unless he had a very good reason. I’m going to find out what that is.”
Mellinor didn’t like that one bit, but he didn’t say anything else. Miranda trailed Hern for two blocks. It was nervous work. All the houses faced the road, and there was no cover for her to hide behind once they left the crowds. But Hern never so much as looked behind him. He just marched in that pompous, hurried way of his until he reached the steps of a large, expensive-looking inn. Here, he went up the stairs, nodding to the boy who opened the door for him, and vanished inside. A moment later, Miranda followed. The boy didn’t open the door as readily for her, but a coin changed his mind and Miranda found herself in the opulent entry hall of a wealthy inn in a wealthy town. Hern was at the far end of the room, talking with two men Miranda recognized as Tower Keepers. Just as she spotted them, a well-dressed servant walked over to escort the men up the stairs.
“Miss?”
Miranda jumped, startling the waiter who was hovering at her elbow. “Can I help you, miss?”
“Yes,” Miranda said, pointing at the stairwell Hern had just disappeared up. “What’s up those stairs?”
“The private dining rooms, ma’am,” the man answered skeptically, eyeing her rough clothes.
“Good,” Miranda said. “I’d like one. How much?”
“It’s fifteen silvers for a private meal,” the man said. “We’ve got grouse and pheasant in a plum glaze, with-”
“Sounds lovely,” Miranda said, shoving the money at him. “Show me up.”
The man’s haughty expression vanished when the money hit his hand, and he cheerfully led her up the stairs. There were several dining rooms, but only one of the doors was closed. She picked the door beside it, and the waiter showed her into a small room with a dining table and a little stand in the corner with water, stationery, and a jug of flowers. Best of all, it had a simple plank wall separating it from the closed dining room next door. She could just barely hear the buzz of voices coming through the wood, and then Hern’s haughty laugh.
“This is perfect,” Miranda said, nodding. “You may go.”
The waiter gave her a confused look, but bowed and left, shutting the door behind him. The minute he was gone, Miranda got down on the floor beside the wall and pressed her ear against the planks. The men’s voices drifted through, muted but understandable.
“It’s a mess is what it is,” one of the Tower Keepers was saying. “We voted against the girl like you said and nothing’s changed except Banage is more self-righteous than ever. Also, the tide in the Court’s on his side now. My position as head of the committee on Forest Spirit management is threatened.”
“You knew the risks.” Hern’s voice was bored. “But you took my money all the same. You think your committee head position’s in danger now, just wait until the Court hears about how you took a bribe to bring down Banage’s favorite.”
Miranda’s eyes widened. She shot off the floor and grabbed the stationery from the table, as well as the ink pot and pen. Here was Hern admitting to everything she’d suspected. She had to get it down on paper so she didn’t forget a word.
Both of the Tower Keepers were angry now, accusing Hern of threatening them, trying to call his bluff, but Hern’s voice was as calm as ever.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “we can go up together, or we can go down together. Your choice.”
The men grumbled, and Miranda got the feeling Hern was giving them that same haughty, implacable look he’d given her the day of the trial. It must have worked, for a few moments later he started asking them about the situation in Zarin.
Miranda was writing furiously when the door to her room clicked. She sprang off the floor and into her chair just as the waiter entered with a covered dish.
“First course,” he said cheerily. “Mushroom soup with cream and a bread tray. Your main course will be up in
