Inland Sea and Deep Current Mellinor, War Hero of the Second Battle of Osera, apprentice and chosen successor of our former Rector, Etmon Banage, and, as Rector Banage often said in this very room, the pride of this Court.”
A cheer erupted at this, causing both Miranda and Blint to jump. They turned in unison, staring at the surprisingly large group of clapping Spiritualists standing across the hall from Blint’s entourage. Miranda’s brain didn’t get much further than that, however. She was too busy fighting the terrible clenching in her stomach.
“Why?” she said, her voice cracking. “I don’t want—”
“That is why we chose you,” Krigel said, his voice rising to fill the room. “The Rector gives her life in service to the Court. It is a position that demands absolute dedication to the ideals of Spiritualists’ oaths. The Rector must never be swayed by human politics and never abandon the spirits for landed power. The office of Rector must be above reproach, or we risk losing the faith of those spirits we are sworn to serve.”
He turned away from her then, sweeping his arms out as he faced the crowd. “With this in mind, I ask the Court, who is more suited? A man who has coveted the Rector’s power all his life, who colluded with Hern, the traitor who helped Enslave all of Gaol? Or the woman who has never once violated her oaths? Who, in fact, continued her duty to the spirits even after the Court kicked her out? Who would serve our ideals better? A Tower Keeper who has spent the time since his Rector’s arrest plotting his own ascension, or the Spiritualist who has used her emergency powers as Interim Rector to work without rest to find a solution to what may be the greatest threat to the spirit world since the Enslaver kings this Court was founded to fight?”
Krigel pulled himself straight, his voice so full of pride it trembled. “It was Spiritualist Lyonette who went to the League of Storms, Spiritualist Lyonette who forged the very bargain before us that may well be our only salvation in this crisis. Therefore I ask you, Spiritualists, who but Miranda Lyonette is fit to lead us through it?”
Blint began to shout then, but Krigel’s voice rolled over him. “It is time the Spirit Court remembered its purpose!” he cried. “We have allowed ourselves to be swept up in Whitefall’s Council for too long, and I say it is time to prove that we are beholden to none save the spirits who depend on us. If you would be worthy of the oaths you swore, if you would have a Spirit Court that truly serves the spirits, and not the Council of Thrones, then do as I do.” He thrust his hand in the air, his rings glowing like lanterns on his bony fingers. “Raise your hand for Miranda Lyonette, and let this Court be what it should again.”
“Krigel!” Miranda hissed, leaning over to grab the old man’s hand out of the air. “Powers, man, stop…”
Her voice trailed off as she faced the Court. In the packed benches of the hearing room, nearly every hand was up. Hundreds of rings glittered in the white light of the lanterns overhead, and every face mirrored Krigel’s determination. Even on Blint’s side, hands were raised. Blint himself looked ready to explode, and Miranda didn’t blame him. That had hardly been a fair election, and if the Court’s will had been less clear, she would have made Krigel do a formal vote. But the Spirit Court had spoken, loudly, and even though Miranda was ostensibly at the heart of it, she could no more deny its will than she could send a wave back to sea. Defeated, she slumped down, her elbows cracking on the Rector’s podium. Below her, Krigel lowered his hand with a look of pure triumph.
“I believe that settles it,” he said. “If anyone objects, it is their right to speak now.”
With a great clatter, Blint shot up from his bench and marched out. A few of the men who’d been sitting beside him scrambled to follow, but it was nowhere near the crowd that had been whispering with him at the beginning. Most of those men were now doing their best not to look at the Tower Keeper as he vanished through a side door, his formal robes swirling behind him in an angry riot of red silk.
“As there are no objections,” Krigel said, “the Spirit Court offers the office of Rector to Miranda Lyonette.” He turned slowly, fixing Miranda with his eyes. “Do you accept the Court’s call, Spiritualist?”
Miranda very seriously considered saying no, but old Krigel was looking at her with so much pride. The same pride that lit his face when he looked at Banage, she realized. That line of thinking brought her back to her lost master. As Rector, she’d have the clout to fight for his release. Powers knew they needed him now more than ever. She glanced sideways to see the Lord of Storms was watching her, his eyes going through her like hailstones as his boot tapped against the edge of the podium.
Miranda set her jaw and turned to face the Court. “I accept,” she said, proud that her voice betrayed none of the bone weariness that suddenly threatened to overwhelm her.
The second the words left her mouth, everything changed.
Without warning, the Rector’s ring tightened on her finger hard enough to make the bone ache and a presence roared into her mind. Miranda jerked in surprise, her eyes slamming shut in pain and shock. It was like binding a spirit, an enormous one, but she’d given no oath, made no pledge. Yet the connection was there, as strong as Mellinor’s had been, but where the sea had been inside her, this spirit was all around her, enormous and steady and, she frowned, laughing at her.
“Of course I laugh, little Rector,” the voice boomed in her mind. “Banage always told me you would come.”
Her eyes popped open. The golden mantle of the Rector was glowing as bright as noon across her shoulders, a multicolored light show that, she realized for the first time, was the product of one spirit, not many. That same spirit ran through the floor below her feet, up the walls that surrounded her. It reached up to the Tower’s peak and down to the Tower’s foundations, which ran deeper than she’d ever imagined, down to the very roots of Zarin itself. She could feel every bit of the stone like she held the whole of it in her hands, and her mind filled with wonder until it was all she knew.
“You are the Tower,” she whispered, clutching the gold chain.
“And you are faster than most.” The Tower’s voice laughed in her head. “Though I’d expect as much from Mellinor’s master and one who has seen the truth of Lord Durain’s heart.”
“Durain?” Miranda repeated foolishly. “The Shaper Mountain?”
“The Lord of all Mountains,” the Tower said reverently. “It was he who bade me to enter a pact with your kind many years ago, but it is another lord you should mind now, Rector.”
The words were accompanied by a sort of mental prod. Miranda followed it and found herself facing the Lord of Storms, who was looking dangerously bored.
“Can we get on with this?” he drawled, tapping his long fingers on the clawed arm of the Rector’s chair. “I have a hunt to finish.”
Miranda nodded, grabbing her shocked mind and forcing it back to the here and now. “Lord of Storms,” she said, her voice rising as she became mindful of the crowd of Spiritualists who were watching her like hawks. “The Spirit Court is honored to accept your bargain as offered.”
The Lord of Storms nodded and vanished in a swirl of cloud only to reappear again on the witness stand at the center of the room. “Line them up here,” he said, pointing to the stand’s small step. “I’m not bothering the Lady for permission on this, so I’ll have to do them one at a time. And be fast about it. I’ve wasted enough time with Court theatrics for this century.”
Miranda nodded and, almost without thinking, turned and stepped off the Rector’s elevated platform into thin air. She couldn’t say why she’d gone that way instead of taking the stairs, and for a moment she was sure she was going to fall and break her fool head. But as soon as her foot left the platform, the floor of the chamber rose to meet her. The white stone moved like water, flowing up to form an elegant stair, each step coalescing a moment before her foot landed. A gasp went up from the gathered Court, and Miranda began to blush.
“You make me do things now?” she hissed, stomping her way down.
“Not at all,” the Tower whispered. “I merely offer suggestions, and your mind, though distracted, seems to know a good idea when it hears one. Besides, I’ve been an ally of the Court for a long time. I know when it needs a little impressing.”
She had to admit the spirit’s plan worked. The Spiritualists were watching her with round eyes as she walked across the smoothly polished floor and came to a stop before the Lord of Storms. He held out his hand impatiently, but just before his palm landed on her head, Miranda ducked away.
“Wait.”
The Lord of Storms gave her a murderous look. Miranda ignored it and turned to face her Court. “Before we begin, I wish to make a few things very clear. First, even with the power of the League behind us, know that the path we begin today will be a difficult one. You will see spirits suffering as never before, and it may come that you will have to use a strong hand to stop their panic if it becomes violent. The use of force over spirits, even for their own protection, is abhorrent to Spiritualists by nature. Therefore, participation in this operation is entirely
