emergency. Every Spiritualist had to attend or forfeit their oaths. “How could I call one? There hasn’t been a Conclave in nearly a hundred years.”
Banage smiled. “High time for one then, I’d say.” The Council troops were almost on top of them now, and Banage pulled himself straight. “Wipe your eyes. Sara preys on weakness.”
Startled, Miranda scrubbed her eyes as the riders circled them. Sara pulled her borrowed horse to a stop a few feet from Banage and dismounted stiffly. The man beside her, a middle-aged officer Miranda recognized as the one who’d helped Sara surround the Spirit Court Tower before the Court had left Zarin the day before, stayed in his saddle, watching with the bored detachment of a soldier doing his duty as Sara faced her husband.
“You were wise not to run, Etmon,” she said. “You’ve spared your Court the indignity of watching their Rector be hunted down like a common criminal.”
Banage lifted his chin. “Considering how bad the Council is at catching common criminals, perhaps I should have taken my chances.”
Sara sniffed. “Your agents haven’t done much better, as I recall.”
“At least my agent managed to actually make contact once in a while,” Banage said, holding out his hands. “Shall we get this over with?”
Sara pushed his hands away with a smile. “Don’t be silly. We both know no common restraints can hold you.” She stepped forward, sliding her arm around Banage’s. “Until we return to Zarin, I am your manacles. It’ll be just like old times, won’t it, Etmon?”
Banage said nothing, but Miranda saw his shoulders sink at Sara’s touch.
“Now,” Sara said, lifting Banage’s hand to get a look at his rings, “Myron here brought the loyalist Tower Keepers with him. Alber would prefer if you named one of them as interim Rector. Where’s your ring?”
“With her,” Banage nodded over his shoulder at Miranda. “Spiritualist Lyonette has agreed to serve as Rector and lead the Spirit Court until a vote can be taken.”
“Her?” Sara glared at Miranda. “Really, Etmon, playing favorites to the end? It won’t look good, you putting another traitor at the head of the Court. The Council may start believing that all Spiritualists share your rebellious tendencies.”
“I don’t care what the Council believes,” Banage said. “The Spirit Court is an independent body, and it will govern itself as its members see fit.”
“Yes, yes,” Sara said, looking away from Miranda with a superior smirk. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”
She motioned, and the soldiers fell in around them. Banage climbed onto the horse Sara had ridden down and Sara climbed up behind him, wrapping her arms around the Rector’s waist in a way that reminded Miranda of a hawk’s talons wrapping around a rabbit.
Miranda started forward, her mouth open to object, but Banage’s eyes stopped her in her tracks. She stood frozen as the Council troops turned and galloped up the mountain, taking Banage away toward the city. When they were gone, Gin pressed his cold nose into her side.
“I would have eaten them for you,” he said.
“I would have eaten them, too,” Miranda answered, rubbing her eyes. “Come on, we have to find the others. I’ve got some tough news to deliver.”
Gin knelt. As soon as Miranda was safely on his back, he took off up the hill. Miranda clung to his fur as they passed the Council guards. She didn’t look at Banage as they rode by. She didn’t look at the sea behind her. She only looked forward, toward the city, the core of loyal Spiritualists who waited there, and all that must be done.
CHAPTER
2
Nico opened her eyes and saw nothing but blackness. For a long moment she lay perfectly still, fighting to keep the panic from overwhelming her mind. Then something moved over her face and she realized she was staring into the wraps of her coat. She sank into the soft bed with a relieved, almost embarrassed sigh and tilted her head. Her coat obeyed instantly, sliding off her to reveal Josef’s bedroom.
She sat up, pushing back the covers, then paused. The blankets next to her were rumpled. She slid her hand over them. The coverlet was warm, as though someone had been lying on top of it, and from the sloughed- off pile of throwing knives on the chest at the end of the bed, she had a pretty good idea who.
Pulling her hood up to hide her blush, Nico swung her legs around and stood up. The room was dark, not that it mattered to her, but the flavor of the dark suggested it was night. A line of yellow light shone under the door leading to the sitting room, and Nico could hear soft voices on the other side, followed by the clink of silverware.
She crossed the bedroom, bare feet silent on the wooden floor, and paused at the door. For a moment, she considered stepping through the shadows so she could see what was waiting before she entered the other room, but something held her back. Something was different now. She could see the world of spirits clearer than ever, but even they couldn’t hide the darkness that seeped along the edges of her vision. It was swirling like inky water, the tendrils reaching for her whenever she looked away.
She’d noticed them when she first woke up the night she and Miranda had watched Eli vanish. Then she’d thought it was a side effect of her injuries, but she felt fine now, and the darkness was still there. She slid her eyes to the side of her sockets, trying to catch more, but the tendrils slid away every time she tried to look at them straight on. But the more she tried to catch a glimpse of it, the more Nico realized the swirling dark wasn’t actually new. The blackness had always been there. She was just noticing it now, because now Nico knew what it was. She’d seen it for herself when she’d looked down at her body during the fight with Den. The swirling darkness was her. Her true form. The malicious, grasping shadows weren’t some trick of the demon or the seed repairing her injuries. She was seeing the edges of her own eyes.
You wish it was me, don’t you? The demon’s voice seeped through the back of her mind like cold water. At least then you’d have someone to blame. But whom do you blame now that you’re the monster?
Nico clenched her teeth and slammed her will down hard. The demon’s voice vanished, leaving only silence. When she was certain she was completely in control, Nico turned away from the shadows and seized the door handle, pushing it open with a loud click.
Josef and the other man looked up in unison. They were sitting at the table by the fireplace. Josef was eating dinner, and his side of the small table was buried under a plate of roast beef, a pitcher of water, and a basket with bread with a vial of flavored oil. The other man was far older, though much of that age may have been an illusion caused by the lamps casting shadows into the deep, deep worry lines that crossed his face. His side of the table was covered in ledgers and reports, and neither he nor the king looked happy with their contents.
Josef’s frown deepened the moment he saw her. “Nico, go back to bed. There’s no way you should be up yet.”
“I’m fine,” Nico said, eyeing his plate. “Hungry more than anything.”
Josef grabbed a spare chair and pulled it up beside his. “Eat,” he said gruffly. “And then back to bed.”
Nico bit her lip to hide her smile as she walked over and took her seat. Josef piled a plate high with meat and bread before plopping it in front of her. Only when she’d taken her first bite and was well on the way to her second did he turn back to the man with the ledgers.
“Continue.”
The old man began to drum his fingers nervously against his papers as he made every effort not to look in Nico’s direction. “My lord, these are matters of Osera’s national—”
“If you can say it to me, you can say it in front of her,” Josef said, shoving a fresh roll into his mouth.
“I’m sorry, your majesty.” The old man shifted uncomfortably. “But I don’t believe I know your young lady, and I’m afraid I cannot divulge information this sensitive to—”
“Powers,” Josef muttered around his mouthful of bread. He jabbed his thumb at Nico. “Nico, this is Lord Obermal, my, um—”
“Keeper of the treasury of Osera,” the old man supplied.
