Rachel Aaron: The Spirit Rebellion: The Legend of Eli Monpress: Book 2

Hern sighed at the waste and refilled his glass, his lace cuff holding itself neatly out of the way of the dark wine. He was just about to take a sip when he heard the sound he’d been sitting on the balcony waiting to catch: the whisper of dust as it moved up the smooth white marble of his townhouse walls. He turned his chair to face the far corner of his balcony as a stream of dark-colored dust began to collect in the tray he’d left out for it. He waited patiently as the dust gathered, forming a thin layer at first, then growing to a large pile. As it collected, a smell began to collect in the air, char and smoke, and it quickly became clear that the powder on the tray was not, in fact, dust, but fine, gray ash.

When the last of the ash had collected, Hern leaned forward, a smile on his slightly lined but still handsome face. “You’re early. I hope it’s good news.”

The ash sighed, sending a smell of burnt hardwood into the air. “For your information, it’s been a very difficult day. I will never get used to moving about in such a spread-out fashion, being stepped on and losing bits of myself in the street. It’s not to be borne.”

Hern made a tsking noise. “Come now, Allio. You’re far more useful as a pile of ash than you ever were as a tree.”

“I’m glad you think so,” the ash snapped, sliding away from Hern in a sulk. “Considering it was your fault I got burned.”

Hern shrugged. “You knew the risks when you took the oath. Come, enough complaining. What news do you bring?”

The ash made a grumpy sound, but it gathered itself into a neat pile and began its report. “I put myself in Banage’s office, just as you told me. Sure enough, he had the girl brought straight to him. They had quite the argument.” The ash rippled wistfully. “Now those are Spiritualists. Such conviction, and the spirit the girl had in her, I haven’t seen the like since I was rooted in my own forest.”

Hern kicked the tray, and the ash quickly got back on topic. “Banage did just what you said he would. He made the offer and left out all the particulars.”

“And?” Hern prompted.

“And she didn’t take him up on it,” the ash finished. “He cut her off and sent her away before she could deny him outright, but I get the impression she’s not the kind to take the easy road.”

Hern leaned back in his chair, feeling very pleased with himself. “She’ll fight for certain, then. I’d bet money on it.”

“You’ll have to if you want to win,” the ash said. “It’s one thing to scare old Tower Keepers into signing a paper, but something else again to get them to vote against her in front of the whole Court. You’re going to need to put your gold where your mouth is before this is over, I think.”

“Ash doesn’t think,” Hern snapped. “Leave the details to me. Anyway, money won’t be an issue. The duke will be coming into town tomorrow, and this is as much an issue for him as it is for me. In the meanwhile, I want you to go to every Tower Keeper who came into town for this event and invite them over. I feel the need to throw a party.”

“ Every Tower Keeper?” the ash said. “Master, I’ve been out all day. I can’t spend all night crawling through town bringing your invitations to every Tower Keeper. It’s impossible, I-”

“Allio,” Hern said, drumming his fingers on his chair, his rings glittering in the light. “I have twenty-one other spirits making demands on my energies. It’s very tiring, and I’ve been thinking I should cut the dross. Now, more than ever, is the time to prove yourself useful. After all, I think I have already been kinder than most, keeping you as my spirit even after the unfortunate burning incident. What a shame if I were forced to give you up now, just because you weren’t willing to put in a little extra effort, don’t you think?”

The ash swirled on the platter, making little hissing noises. After a few turns, it stopped and lay flat in a defeated heap. “Of course, Master,” it said softly. “I wouldn’t dream of disappointing you.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Hern said with a cool smile. “Off with you, then.”

The ash bowed and slithered off the platter, disappearing over the balcony’s edge with a soft rasp. Hern, however, was already up, walking into his parlor and yelling for his housekeeper to wake up and prepare the kitchen, for he was going to have guests. Once the old woman was roused, Hern locked himself in his office and pulled out the notes he’d prepared for just such an occasion. Making Banage compromise to save his favorite had been sweet, but this promised to be far sweeter, and his face broke into an enormous grin as he leaned over and began to write out his speech.

By the time the first of the Tower Keepers arrived, he was well into his conclusion and feeling more confident than ever that here, at last, was his chance to take something precious from Banage once and for all. When he dropped his pen and went out to greet his guests, he was all confident smiles and charm, and for once, not a bit of it was faked.

The sun was barely over the valley edge when Eli emerged, yawning and disheveled, from the house on legs. As he climbed down the rickety steps, he noticed with surprise that the house was about fifteen feet farther down the dry riverbed from where it had stood the night before. Eli paused a moment, wondering whether he should be concerned that he’d slept right through the move, but he let it go with a shrug. Such things were to be expected when you visited Slorn.

On the flat stretch of sand where the house had stood yesterday, Slorn was already hard at work. He was standing still, stroking his muzzle with long, patient fingers. All around him, laid out in a rough circle with the bear-headed man at its center, was an enormous collection of sewing materials. There were bolts of cloth, enormous spools of thread, skeins of yarn, scissors, buttons, needles, everything you could think of to make a coat. For the most part, Slorn just stood there, still as a statue, but every few minutes he would walk over to one of the objects, a length of silk, say, or a pin poked in a wad of dyed wool, and stare at it hard, like it was the only thing worth looking at in the entire world. He didn’t seem to notice Eli, not even when the thief walked up to the edge of his circle and cleared his throat. Eli, quickly tired of not being noticed, left the craftsman to his flotsam and went to look for his swordsman.

He didn’t have to go far. Josef was on the opposite side of the house, where the dry river had cut below the tree-lined bank. Nico was with him, as always, perched on a flat white stone with her chin in her hands, watching. She was wearing an outfit that must have been Pele’s at one point, a girl’s cut sleeve shirt and matching large-pocketed pants that actually fit, for once. It was a nice change from her usual threadbare attire, but her hard look warned off any compliments Eli might have made before she turned her eyes back to Josef.

For his part, the swordsman paid his audience no attention whatsoever. Despite the cold morning air, Josef was shirtless. He’d taken off the bandages as well, and the wounds from his fight with Coriano stood up in red, puckered lines against his pale, scarred skin. The Heart of War was in his hands, its black, dull blade like a hole in the morning light. He held it out in front of him, the muscles in his arms straining against the weight, as though he’d been holding it like that for a long, long time. Then, without warning, Josef pulled the blade back and swung. The enormous sword moved lightning fast, almost too fast for Eli’s eyes to keep up with it, flying toward the thin trunk of a sapling. Just before it hit, the blade stopped with a whistle of terrified air, its notched, dull edge quivering less than a hair’s width from the sapling’s smooth white bark. The tree creaked and shuddered, dropping a snow of tiny, white-green leaves to join the growing pile at its base.