making a scandal of yourself and your family, but if you dare back talk me about my rights, I will make you regret it, child, just see if I don’t.”
“You’re worried about me making a scandal?” Miranda cried. “I haven’t even seen you since you gave me to the Court seven years ago, and you want me to believe you suddenly care about my life? Please. You didn’t even visit on my birthdays, which is pretty sorry considering you live a mile away.” Miranda crossed her arms and set her feet in a wide, stubborn stance. “Why are you really here, Father?”
Simon’s face went redder than Miranda’s robes. “This is not a matter to be discussed in front of outsiders,” he growled, glancing at Banage, who was starting to look a little deadly himself.
“You’re the only outsider here,” Miranda said. “And I’m not going with you.”
“That is where you are wrong,” Simon said, turning to Banage. “Do you want to tell her, or should I?”
Miranda didn’t like the smug tone of his voice one bit, and she turned to her Rector. “Master Banage?”
Banage heaved a long sigh. “Your father is within his rights,” he said. “It’s against our doctrine to go against local laws. Though the Spirit Court is a neutral body, you are still a noble lady of Zarin, and he is still your father. Until you marry, the law is unfortunately on his side. However.” Banage’s hand came up, cutting off Miranda’s outburst before it could start. When he was sure she would stay quiet, he turned and focused the whole of his cold disdain on Lord Simon Lyonette. “This is still my Court. While I have no authority to keep Lady Miranda from you, you cannot order the schedule of my Spiritualists. So far I’ve heard no emergency dire enough to send away Spiritualist Lyonette when she has just returned home from a long trip.” He leaned back and picked up his pen, looking down at his papers as he made a series of short notes not so much because they needed noting, but because the action told Lord Simon this conversation was over. “Your daughter will be delivered to you safe and sound tomorrow morning,” Banage said without looking up. “I believe you know your way out.”
Simon just stood there, his jaw hanging open in outrage while his face grew redder and redder until Miranda was sure he was going to pop. But then he turned on his heel and marched out of the Rector’s office. “We will have words about this in the morning, Miranda,” he said when he reached the door. “See you’re not late.”
And then he was gone, stomping off down the stairs. Banage kept writing until the lord’s banging footsteps vanished, and then he threw down his pen.
“Master Banage,” Miranda said, whirling back around. “How could you—?”
“I didn’t want to,” Master Banage said, rubbing his temples. “But the truth is as you heard. He has the law on his side, Miranda. If I hold you here, he’ll get the Whitefalls on my head. That’s a level of trouble we can’t afford right now, especially since Alber will just order me to release you to your father anyway.”
“This is absurd!” Miranda cried. “I’m an adult, a Spiritualist; he can’t just order me around like I’m five!”
“He can and he has,” Master Banage said. “But think a moment, Miranda. Your family was more than eager to give you to the Court the moment you met our age requirement. You said yourself that your father hasn’t sent you so much as a note in the seven years you’ve been with us. Why is he suddenly demanding your return?”
“I don’t know!” Miranda shouted, stalking back and forth across the Rector’s wide office. “Maybe he suddenly remembered I wasn’t hiding somewhere spending every moment thinking how I could please him.” She huffed out a furious breath. “Overbearing idiot.”
Master Banage shook his head. “I don’t think it’s that simple. I think there’s something he wants, something he needs you to get.”
Miranda stopped midstep. “What?”
“I don’t know yet,” Master Banage confessed. But when Miranda threw up her arms in frustration, he held out his hands. “I don’t know what he wants, but I am certain of one thing. For all Lord Lyonette’s bluster, you will never be the sort of docile, tractable daughter a noble like him needs. They gave you to us for a reason, Miranda, and it wasn’t because you were a talented wizard.”
Miranda blinked, cheeks coloring. “Are you saying I was a problem child?”
“I’m saying you are a stubborn, outspoken young lady,” Banage said, his overly serious face breaking into one of his rare smiles. “A talented wizard and exactly the sort of headstrong girl who will never, ever fit into any of the limited roles your father could think of for you. Now, do you want to hear my plan for how you’re getting out from under his thumb or not?”
Miranda motioned for him to go ahead.
Banage stood up and walked around to sit on his desk, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “We have no choice but to give you up. So, you’ll go with him as he wants, and then, you just be yourself. I give it three days before Lord Lyonette begs us to take you back and you won’t have to worry about him for another seven years.”
“Or I could just run away and save everyone the trouble,” Miranda countered. “I bet if I went spirit hunting for a few months, the old windbag would forget all about me.”
“No.” The word came so fast and loud it made her wince. Master Banage’s smile was gone, and he was staring at her with an expression so old, hurt, and angry she didn’t know what to make of it.
“Never run away from your parents,” he said, his voice soft now, but the lowered volume didn’t lower the intensity of the words. “Ever. No matter how angry you may be with them. No father, no matter how terrible, deserves the pain of not knowing if his child is alive and safe.”
“I’m sorry,” Miranda said, but Banage shook his head.
“Forget it,” he said with a wave of his jeweled hand. “Just go home, be yourself, and everything will work out. He can try and change you all he wants, but you belong with us.”
Miranda’s head dropped. “You say that,” she muttered. “But what if you’re wrong? What if he keeps me at home forever? All my work and training will have been for nothing. I’ll have to stop being a Spiritualist.”
Banage’s laugh was so sudden, Miranda jumped. She looked up in alarm to see the Rector laughing longer and louder than she’d ever seen him do before. Finally, he stopped long enough to give her a wide grin. “Miranda,” he said, still chuckling, “I cannot think of anything that could keep you from being a Spiritualist. I don’t think I could keep you from being a Spiritualist. Trust me, you’ll find your way back.”
Miranda frowned, not sure if she should feel complimented or insulted, but Banage was already up and walking to the door. “Come,” he said. “We’re running late.”
“Late for what?” Miranda said.
Banage reached the door and glanced over his shoulder. “Did you forget so quickly? My apprentice has just bound a wind spirit, so I’m getting Krigel, and then we’re taking you out to celebrate. You’re not going to let your father ruin that, are you?”
Miranda’s face broke into a huge smile. “No, sir,” she said, jogging through the door he held open for her.
The cab dropped Miranda off in front of the Lyonette city home early the next morning. She climbed out of the hired carriage with some trepidation, clutching the battered leather bag that held everything she owned, which wasn’t much. Spiritualists traveled a great deal, and Miranda had never found much she was willing to lug around with her. Even so, she felt pitifully under-packed standing on the steps of the enormous, opulent mansion.
Her parents had moved since she’d gone to Court. This was her first time seeing their new house, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. The home she’d grown up in had been down by the river, a lovely old townhouse that had sheltered the Lyonette family for generations. It had been large and gracious, huge to a child, but it was nothing compared to the four-story monstrosity she stood before now.
Miranda hesitated on the street as long as she could, but when the carriage drove off, she forced herself to climb the white marble stairs to the covered portico at the top. Feeling more than a little awkward, she reached out and knocked on the shiny red door. A young woman Miranda didn’t recognize opened it at once. Her plain, dark dress and apron said she was a maid, but the look she gave Miranda’s travel jacket and trousers was as cutting as any noble lady’s.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m Spiritualist Miranda Lyonette,” Miranda said, straightening up. “I—”
The maid’s eyes widened the moment Miranda spoke her name, and she stepped back immediately. “Forgive me, Lady Miranda, I didn’t recognize you.”
Miranda didn’t see how she could have, being as the girl was younger than she was and the last formal
