As a compromise, she let herself slump against the podium. The gold mantle of the Rector was heavier than she’d ever imagined, but the gold and gems were dull on her shoulders. There was no sign of the light she’d seen when Master Banage wore it, and somehow that was a relief. Rectors served for life. If it had flared up for her, it would have been a sign that Master Banage really was never coming back.
Better the mantle stayed dull, she thought, fingers clenching. Better if everyone saw her for what she was —a stand-in who was going back to her real duty as soon as the Lord of Storms came to take their pledge. The second he did, she’d throw the mantle at Krigel and use her new abilities to find and free her true Rector from wherever Sara had hidden him. She would bring him back to the Court in triumph, and then they would both work to settle the panic before the world tore itself to pieces. After that, she would rest. She would stuff herself full and sleep for a year. She deserved it after the last few weeks. Powers, she’d been fighting looming disaster for so long now she almost missed eating Eli’s dust.
It would all be over soon enough, though. Already, the conversation in the room was dying down. As the Spiritualists stilled, she could see their resolve solidifying. Thank the Powers, she was almost done. She was almost free.
“Rector,” Alric whispered. She looked over to see the Deputy Commander had leaned down so his head was even with hers. “How long?”
“I can call the vote at any time,” Miranda whispered back. She would have liked to wait a little longer to let the Court come around completely, but Alric’s expression was tense.
“Do it,” he ordered. “He’s nearly here.”
As though in answer, a flash of lightning lit up the windows, followed immediately by a peal of thunder so strong it rocked the Tower beneath their feet. That was warning enough, and Miranda pushed herself straight. But as she opened her mouth to call the question to order, a flash of lightning so bright it sent her hands flying to shield her eyes filled the Court chamber.
For a second, Miranda could see nothing but white. The smell of ozone burned her nostrils, but all she could feel were her rings as they vibrated against her fingers, the warning trilling up every connection. She dropped her hands with effort as the thunder crash came and turned to face the man who now stood at the center of the Court.
The Lord of Storms was standing in the witness stand, the same stand where Miranda had made her case what felt like years ago. Though he looked no larger than usual, leaning casually against the stand’s railing with his arms crossed as his silver eyes raked over the crowd, his presence filled the room to bursting. The Spiritualists cowered before him. Even Blint pulled back, his skin gray with fear. This reaction seemed to please the Lord of Storms, for his face broke into a smug smile as his gaze moved to Miranda.
She took a deep breath and banished her fear, pulling herself to her full height. “Welcome, Lord of Storms,” she said, her voice stiff and formal. “The Spirit Court extends its friendship to you and yours in good faith.”
The Lord of Storms shrugged and pushed himself up. He walked across the floor toward the Rector’s stand, the click of his boots on the polished stone the only sound in the deep, terrified silence. When he reached the stand’s base, he vanished. There was no white line this time, no lightning; he simply vanished in a swirl of cloud only to reappear instantly right beside Miranda.
A gasp went up from the crowd, but Miranda barely heard it. She was too concerned with not falling over as she scrambled to give the commander room in the narrow space. This close, he towered over her, and it took every ounce of her pride not to flee down the stair at the back of the platform. As Miranda held her ground, the Lord of Storms’ smile grew, and he sat down in the Rector’s chair like it had been set out just for him.
“Well?” he said, his voice as loud and deep as the thunder that rolled outside. “Are you ready for the binding? Because I don’t have all day.”
“Almost,” Miranda said, trying to keep the anger out of her voice. “I was just about to take the vote.”
He waved for her to go ahead. Miranda glowered and turned back to the Court. But as she lifted her voice to call the vote, a throat cleared right below her. Miranda jumped at the unexpected sound and looked down to see Krigel trying to catch her eye.
“A point of procedure, Rector,” he said, his quiet voice clear in the terrified hush.
Miranda frowned, confused, but Krigel’s stare was unwavering. When she nodded, he turned sideways so that his face could be seen by both her and the Court beyond. “By rules of the Conclave as stated in the Court’s founding pledge, this is not actually a voting matter.”
Miranda clamped her mouth closed right before the question It isn’t? popped out. Breathing a silent breath of relief at avoiding looking like an idiot, she clenched her teeth and waited for Krigel to continue.
“Were this a standard hearing, we would now vote on the matter of whether or not we should offer our aid to the League,” Krigel said, his voice dry and formal. “But this is not a standard hearing. It is a Conclave. Conclaves are held only in emergencies, and are thus governed by emergency rules. Since a Conclave has not been called in fifty years, however, I feel it is timely to refresh the Court’s memory that all proclamations made by the Rector Spiritualis during a Conclave become law immediately.”
For a moment, Miranda could only gape. “What?”
“Conclaves exist to galvanize the Court in times of crisis,” Krigel continued. “At such times, our founders felt it imperative that we be united in purpose and speak with one voice, that of the Rector. Therefore, as this is Conclave and you are Rector, all you have to do to ally us with the League is say so. Speak the decree and it becomes law. Well”—he tilted his head—“for five weeks anyway, at which point the matter returns to debate among the Tower Keepers who can either—”
Miranda closed her eyes, unable to follow Krigel’s legal lecture any further. She’d never paid much attention to the finer points of Conclave procedure because it had never seemed important before. How stupid, she realized with a flush, going into Conclave without even reading the rules. If the Rector got to just make laws during a Conclave, it was no wonder Blint had reacted so badly to the news. Of course, part of her argued that this made things easier since she wouldn’t have to worry about a vote, but a much louder part argued back that this was actually much, much worse. She probably would have won a vote, but no one was going to take her decrees for law because she wasn’t even—
“The girl’s not even properly Rector!” Blint shouted, finishing for her. “Conclave or no, you think this Court will obey anything she spits out?”
“That is a valid point, Tower Keeper Blint,” Krigel said gravely. “And that is exactly why all Conclaves must, by law, begin with a ratification of the sitting Rector or an election if the position of Rector is unfilled. A step, I might add, that has been overlooked in the current proceedings.” He turned and gazed up at Miranda, his face curiously blank. “Seeing this, I must demand that we vote at once on the office of Rector to prevent any future dispute on the legitimacy of Conclave decrees.”
Miranda had to bite down hard to keep from screaming. Why was Krigel pushing this now? The Lord of Storms was practically standing on her toes. If they’d called a vote, this would already be done. Now what should have been a simple decision to make both the Court and the League’s jobs easier was going to get lost in the massive crash of politics and ego surrounding the office of Rector. The exact same crash that had torn the Court apart in the last crisis with the Empress. Powers, what was Krigel doing?
As though in answer to her question, Krigel’s voice rang out. “Who wishes to serve the Court as Rector?”
Blint’s answer was immediate. “I do.”
A murmur of approval rose from his half of the room, and Miranda fought the urge to bang her head against the podium.
“Anyone else?” Krigel asked.
The question hung in the air. Benches creaked as the Spiritualists shifted, but no one said a word. No one was stupid enough to stand against Blint, Miranda realized. She glared at the crowd, noting that the men around Blint were grinning like schoolboys. Miranda gritted her teeth. If there was a way the situation could get worse, she couldn’t see it.
When the silence had stretched long enough, Krigel shook his head. “By law, there must be a contest for the position of Rector,” he said. “As assistant to the office of Rector, I claim the privilege of nominating the second candidate.”
Without warning, he turned his back to the crowd and looked up at Miranda with an expression of smug pride. “I nominate Miranda Lyonette, friend of the West Wind, Savior of Gaol, Master of the Great Spirit of the
