“I hear nothing,” she said. “Am I doing something wrong, or—”
“You can’t ‘do something wrong’ with an instinctive power,” Alric said. At her crestfallen expression, he added, “Think of it this way. Panic rings best in hollow vessels, but your soul is full, isn’t it?”
“Very full.” The Tower’s deep voice rumbled through Miranda so loudly that her bones rattled.
“I begin to see your point,” she said, wincing at the sensation. “I suppose it’s hard to hear anything through all this rock.”
“You should be glad,” the Tower said. “It’s a storm out there, little Rector. Be thankful of my protection.”
“I just hope I’m able to do my job deaf,” she snapped.
“Excuse me?” Alric said.
“Nothing,” Miranda muttered, a blush spreading over her face as the Tower’s chuckle rattled her teeth.
“Don’t worry,” the Tower said, its voice full of black humor. “You’ll hear the panic when it’s close, and when you do, you’ll wish I could block it all out.”
Miranda had no answer to that, and she turned her attention back to Alric. “We’ll just have to weather whatever comes.”
“Oh, no, my dear,” Alric warned. “You’re part of the storm now. There’s no more weathering, no more sitting back. You ride with the Shepherdess’s favor now, good or ill, just like the rest of us. I only hope this little trick of yours works. If we don’t find the demon, I dread to think of the consequences.”
Miranda steadied herself, turning to hear the next oath before asking the question that had been smoldering in her mind since this morning. “What are you hunting?”
Alric’s answer was so cold she almost didn’t recognize his voice. “A demon who should be dead twice over,” he said, his hand vanishing from her shoulder.
When she turned to ask what he meant by that, Alric was across the room, standing beside Krigel as he talked with the Spiritualists who hadn’t instantly adapted to the change.
She watched him another moment before giving up. She had enough to worry about without pressing into League business. Steeling herself, she turned back to the matter at hand, acknowledging each oath as, one by one, the entire Spirit Court received the Lord of Storms’ gift.
It took a good hour before the last Spiritualist left the Lord of Storms’ grasp. By that time, most of those who hadn’t adapted to the gift at once had come around, just as Alric had predicted. Alric himself had left twenty minutes ago after a brief, whispered conference with his commander. He was probably going to prepare the rest of the League for the hunt, Miranda realized.
The Lord of Storms was certainly ready. As the line dwindled, he seemed to grow larger. He loomed over the platform now, and the room felt colder for his presence. Colder and full of reined-in power. It reminded Miranda of the minutes just before a storm broke, which was appropriate. She just hoped he didn’t break in her assembly room.
When the final Spiritualist had received the League’s gift and vanished through her portal, Miranda expected the Lord of Storms to vanish with her, but he didn’t. Instead, he began to stalk around the room with his eyes closed, as though he were listening. After watching him circle for several nervous minutes, Miranda decided to ignore him and go on with her, which was to say the Court’s, business.
The assembly room was nearly empty now. Krigel was seeing off the last of those slow to adapt to their gifts. Miranda held her tongue, waiting until the last Spiritualist vanished before asking for a report.
“It’s as you see, Rector,” Krigel said, leaning against the wall below the Rector’s seat with a sigh. “One thousand twenty-two Spiritualists attended the Conclave today, and of those, nine hundred and ninety-eight renewed their oath and took the League’s gift. An excellent turnout, all said, especially when you consider what Blint’s influence was not two hours ago.”
Miranda bit her lip and glanced around. Save for the stalking Lord of Storms and Gin resting behind her, she and Krigel were alone in the enormous room. Even so, she reached down and gave the Tower’s ring a little prod.
At once, the enormous room shifted subtly, the acoustics changing. When she spoke again, the words that should have echoed across the empty stone fell tiny and flat, just as she wanted. There could be no chance of anyone overhearing what she said next.
“Krigel,” she whispered. “Why did you do it?”
The old Spiritualist didn’t ask what she meant. He leaned against the polished wood and fixed her with a glare that made her feel like a bumbling apprentice again.
“You would have me let Blint make a mockery of all we’ve fought for?” he said. “All Etmon sacrificed?”
“I don’t want to be Rector,” Miranda argued. “I want to fight. I should be out there—”
“What you want means nothing,” Krigel said. “You have a duty, Miranda. A duty to the Court and a duty to Banage, who’s sacrificed more for you than you can ever know. If Blint became Rector, the Spirit Court would be little more than a subchapter of Whitefall’s Council.”
Miranda knew she should leave it there, but selfish as it was, she couldn’t stop. “But why me?” she cried. “Why do I have to be—”
“Because there was no one else,” Krigel said. “This Court has been too long in the presence of the Council. Men like Blint sway others with power and greed. He had half the Court in his pocket this morning. It didn’t matter whom I’d named for Rector. Had the vote been taken when the Conclave began, Blint would have won. That’s why I didn’t call the referendum at the beginning as I should have. I meant to let you call the vote for the Court’s agreement with the League, procedure be hanged. But while you were standing on the Rector’s platform speaking the truth of the horrible events taking place around us, flanked by the League’s Deputy Commander and the Lord of Storms himself, the power in the Court began to shift. With every word you spoke, the Court forgot its greed. It forgot the promise of power and remembered its oaths and its purpose. At that moment, Miranda, you were more powerful than Blint could ever be.”
“So you forced the vote,” Miranda said, dropping her head.
“Of course,” Krigel said. “Powers, girl, I might be old, but I’m not so great a fool to let an opportunity like that pass me by. With you as Rector, the Court will continue to live up to its purpose. You proved as much just now when you made us reaffirm our oaths. The lust for power that let men like Hern and Blint climb so high is still there, but today at least, the Court’s pride won out. With good leadership and a clear purpose, I hope we can keep it that way. This crisis may be the key to finally breaking the Council’s hold on us and regaining our true independence. Surely you’re not going to let a little thing like a personal aversion to being Rector stand in the way of such a great and noble goal, are you?”
Miranda’s answer was a deep sigh, and Krigel’s smile spread.
“Glad we see eye to eye,” he said, bowing low. “It is my honor to serve you, Rector Lyonette.”
Miranda waved him away and slumped down, landing hard on the polished stone. As though on cue, Gin got up from his post to the right of the Rector’s podium and padded over to thrust his enormous head into her lap.
“Let’s get to business, then,” she said, scratching the ghosthound’s muzzle. “You can hear the panic, right? So, tell me what’s going on.”
Krigel snapped to attention. “The fear has already died down considerably thanks to your Court’s efforts, Rector. It seems the star of the hardwood forests vanished just before the Conclave, but from what I can hear, the panic has all but vanished in the south and across the sea. There are still screams coming from the north, but they’re dying down. At this rate, it’s only a matter of time before the Lord of Storms gets his quiet.”
“None too soon,” Miranda muttered, glaring at the Lord of Storms, who was still stalking back and forth across her assembly floor. She watched him as he walked, his feet slamming down on the stone so hard she felt it through the Tower’s connection. She was about to ask him if he would mind stomping more quietly when the Lord of Storms froze.
It happened without warning. One moment he was moving fluid as a panther; the next he was still as the floor beneath his feet. He stayed that way for one endless breath, and then his face transformed.
The change was so dramatic Miranda had no words to describe it. There simply was no human name for such pure, rapturous, purposeful joy. It was a look of completion, as though the entire work of the man’s life had suddenly been validated. For one brief second, the Lord of Storms stood transfixed, and then he opened his mouth with a roar that was more power than sound, vibrating through the fabric of the world.
