She tried again. Nothing. Not even a flicker of movement.
Miranda pulled her hand back and stood there a moment, focusing her mind on the Rector’s ring. Waiting for… she wasn’t sure what. A sign, maybe. A direction. Some hint of what she was supposed to do. Nothing came. The gold ring sat sullen and silent, its stone underside as cold as the Tower against her skin.
Miranda heaved an enormous sigh. She was too tired for this. All she wanted was to get inside to Krigel and call the Conclave before things got any worse than they already were. Holding that goal firmly in mind, Miranda balled her left hand into a fist and slammed it into the stone.
The golden Rector’s ring hit the Tower with a deep, ringing sound, just as hers had when she’d first returned to the sealed Tower days before. That time, the ringing had faded and a tunnel had opened through the stone. This time it only grew louder. The sound doubled and redoubled, filling the air until all of Zarin seemed to be vibrating. And then, without warning, the ringing simply stopped, and as it stopped, the Tower opened.
Stone peeled away from the great doors, the white rock curling like unfurling petals before vanishing again into the smooth stone walls. Gleaming windows winked open up and down the Tower’s spire as the protective layer of stone slid away. At the Tower’s peak, the enormous windows of the Rector’s office reemerged, the thick glass catching the moonlight until the Tower’s top shone like a lighthouse.
The whole transformation took less than a minute, but it was a minute more before Miranda could stop gawking. She looked down at the golden circle of the Rector’s ring. She hadn’t felt anything the whole time—no draw of power, no spirit pressure, just a faint heat against her skin. But the ring was already cooling, and Miranda, too exhausted for mysteries, stumbled gladly into the now-moonlit entry hall where Spiritualist Krigel was running down the stairs to meet her.
“Miranda!” he cried. “What are you doing back so soon? Where’s Banage? Why did he open the Tower?”
Each question came on the heels of the one before it, and Miranda, too tired to form coherent answers, just held up her hand. The Rector’s assistant stopped cold when he saw the ring on her finger, his eyes growing wide and horrified.
“Powers,” he whispered. “He’s not—”
“He’s alive,” Miranda said, lowering her hand. “But we’ve still got problems. We have to call a Conclave right away. Let’s move somewhere private and—”
She’d taken a step toward him as she spoke, but it proved to be one step too many. As her foot hit the floor, her legs gave out. She toppled sideways, landing on her side, too tired to catch herself.
She’d gone limp before she hit, so the fall didn’t hurt like it should have, but even as she realized she was on the ground, she knew for certain she couldn’t get up again. She heard Krigel’s voice giving orders, and then something hard and sweet smelling slid under her body, lifting her off the ground. She looked up to see the lovely crown of a linden tree spreading overhead, its branches cradling her body like a mother’s arms. Krigel was right beside her, the bright green ring on his index finger illuminating his worried, wrinkled face. He said something to the tree, and Miranda felt herself begin to sway as they moved toward the stairs.
The tree’s roots rolled over the smooth stone floor with one wrapped around Krigel’s outstretched hand. He was feeding it, Miranda realized with a flash of worry. Krigel wasn’t a young man anymore. Feeding a tree who had no place to dig its roots was a tall order, especially if you were making it move as well. She should say something, she thought, tell him to stop so she could get one of her own spirits out to carry her. But as she opened her mouth, Krigel gave her a look so sharp it skewered the words before she could speak them.
“If you so much as imply I am too infirm to do my duty as your assistant, Rector Lyonette, I will drop you down these stairs.”
“But I’m not Rector,” Miranda said, or tried to. The words came out in a garbled mumble.
Krigel seemed to understand well enough. “The Rector’s ring doesn’t go to just anyone,” he said. “If Banage gave it to you and the ring accepted the transfer, then you’re Rector enough for me. Now shut your mouth for once and let me do my job.”
Miranda licked her lips. “Pigs,” she whispered.
This time it was Krigel’s turn to look confused. “Excuse me?”
“Gin’s in the stable,” she whispered, enunciating each syllable. “He needs pigs.”
“I’ll see to your dog,” Krigel said. “Now go to sleep before I have Ellinell knock you over the head.”
The tree shook with laughter, swaying Miranda back and forth. She leaned into the motion, falling into a deep sleep before they’d reached the second landing.
Miranda woke suddenly to bright light in her face. She closed her eyes and rolled away, bumping her nose into the pile of pillows behind her. Raising her hand as a shield, she tried again, opening her eyes slowly as they adjusted.
She was lying on a narrow bed in the corner of a small, neat room. Her dirty boots were off, so was her jacket, leaving her in her shirtsleeves and pants on top of the embroidered bedspread. She also realized with a bit of a shock that her hair was wet. She moved her hand up timidly, running her fingers through damp curls that smelled faintly of the mountains.
“I took the liberty of asking my spring spirit to wash it,” said a deep voice. “I thought you’d sleep better if you were clean.”
She looked up with a start to see Spiritualist Krigel rising from a deep armchair beside the bed. He took a covered tray from the table beside him and plopped it unceremoniously onto Miranda’s lap.
“You’ll be relieved to know that your ghosthound has been taken care of. He ate three pigs and passed out in a fat stupor in the stable yard. Since you already had your pass out, I’m hoping you’ll take care of the eating part so we can move on to what exactly happened in Osera that sent you running back here with Banage’s ring.”
Miranda pushed herself up and uncovered the tray. A lovely smell wafted up, and she grinned in delight at the large bowl of egg soup and the round loaf of walnut bread.
“Thank you for looking after Gin,” she said, tucking the napkin under her chin. “And me, I should add. I’m sorry to impose—”
“I’ve been the assistant to the Rector Spiritualis for close to thirty years now,” Krigel said. “It is my job to mother you. Now”—he sat down in the deep chair again—“talk.”
Miranda took a mouthful of soup and a bite of bread. Once those were down, she told him. Krigel listened impassively as she described the mad ride down to Osera, how they’d broken the Empress’s siege and retaken the beach only to lose it again. He didn’t even flinch at her description of the war spirits, though his eyebrows did furrow when she reached Banage’s meeting with Eli and his argument with Sara.
That part still felt unreal. Even two days later, she wasn’t able to fully wrap her brain around the idea that Master Banage was Eli Monpress’s father, or Sara’s husband. But Krigel took all these things without comment and told her to get on with it.
She told him about the burning of Osera next, and Sara’s counterattack, but when she reached her and Mellinor’s attack on the Empress, and how it had ended, her throat closed up. Eventually, she choked out enough of the important details to get to the Empress herself.
That was also hard to tell, but in a different way. How did you explain a star to someone who’d never seen one? Eli’s role took longer still, mostly because Miranda wasn’t sure what had happened, exactly. Even so, no matter how unbelievable Miranda knew her story must sound, Krigel’s expression didn’t change until she reached Sara’s apprehension of Banage on the beach this morning.
“I always told him Sara would never give up,” Krigel said, leaning back in his chair. “So he made you Rector and let them arrest him?”
Miranda nodded, staring down at the dregs of her soup.
“A good move,” Krigel said. “We knew his days as Rector were numbered the moment he told me he’d rejected Whitefall’s compromise. A Spiritualist must stand on ideals, but it is the Rector’s job to be a uniting force between us wizards and the rest of humanity, and you can’t do that when they’re calling you traitor.”
Miranda’s head snapped up. “So you think he should have just given in to Whitefall, then?”
“Of course not,” Krigel said. “But Banage knew as well as any of us that taking a stand meant ending his time as Rector. Still, it was his decision. I am sorry to lose him, but we in the Spirit Court don’t force men or spirits to act against their will.”
“Well,” Miranda said. “I don’t mean to let him rot in a Council jail, especially not with Sara as his jailor. We
