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

“I know this has not been the homecoming you wished for,” he said quietly, “but mind your temper, Miranda. He’s been through a lot for you already today. Try not to make things more difficult than they already are, for once.”

Miranda stopped short. “What do you mean?”

“Just keep that hot head of yours down,” Krigel said, squeezing her shoulder hard enough to make her wince.

Slightly more hesitant than she’d been a moment ago, Miranda turned and walked into the office of the Rector Spiritualis.

The office took up the entirety of the peak of the Spirit Court’s tower and, save for the landing and a section that was set aside for the Rector Spiritualis’s private living space, it was all one large, circular room with everything built to impress. Soaring stone ribs lined with steady-burning lanterns lit a polished stone floor that could hold ten Spiritualists and their Spirit retinues with room to spare. Arched, narrow windows pierced the white walls at frequent intervals, looking down on Zarin through clear, almost invisible glass. The walls themselves were lined with tapestries, paintings, and shelves stuffed to overflowing with the collected treasures and curiosities of four hundred years of Spiritualists, all in perfect order and without a speck of dust.

Directly across from the door where Miranda stood, placed at the apex of the circular room, was an enormous, imposing desk, its surface hidden beneath neat stacks of parchment scrolls. Behind the desk, sitting in the Rector Spiritualis’s grand, high-backed throne of a chair, was Etmon Banage himself.

Even sitting, it was clear he was a tall man. He had neatly trimmed black hair that was just starting to go gray at the temples, and narrow, jutting shoulders his bulky robes did little to hide. His sharp face was handsome in an uncompromising way that allowed for neither smiles nor weakness, and his scowl, which he wore now, had turned blustering kings into meek-voiced boys. His hands, which he kept folded on the desk in front of him, were laden with heavy rings that almost sang with the sleeping power of the spirits within. Even in that enormous room, the power of Banage’s spirits filled the air. But over it all, hanging so heavy it weighed even on Miranda’s own rings, was the press of Banage’s will, iron and immovable and completely in command. Normally, Miranda found the inscrutable, uncompromising power comforting, a firm foundation that could never be shaken. Tonight, however, she was beginning to understand how a small spirit feels when a Great Spirit singles it out.

Banage cleared his throat, and Miranda realized she had stopped. She gathered her wits and quickly made her way across the polished floor, stopping midway to give the traditional bow with her ringed fingers touching her forehead. When she straightened, Banage flicked his eyes to the straight-backed chair that had been set out in front of his desk. Miranda nodded and walked forward, her slippered feet quiet as snow on the cold stone as she crossed the wide, empty floor and took a seat.

“So,” Banage said, “it is true. You have taken a Great Spirit.”

Miranda flinched. This wasn’t the greeting she’d expected. “Yes, Master Banage,” she said. “I wrote as much in the report I sent ahead. You received it, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did,” Banage said. “But reading such a story and hearing the truth of it from your own spirits is quite a different matter.”

Miranda’s head shot up, and the bitterness in her voice shocked even her. “Is that why you had me arrested?”

“Partially.” Banage sighed and looked down. “You need to appreciate the position we’re in, Miranda.” He reached across his desk and picked up a scroll covered in wax seals. “Do you know what this is?”

Miranda shook her head.

“It’s a petition,” Banage said, “signed by fifty-four of the eighty-nine active Tower Keepers. They are demanding you stand before the Court to explain your actions in Mellinor.”

“What of my actions needs explaining?” Miranda said, more loudly than she’d meant to.

Banage gave her a withering look. “You were sent to Mellinor with a specific mission: to apprehend Monpress and bring him to Zarin. Instead, here you are, empty-handed, riding a wave of rumor that, not only did you work together with the thief you were sent to catch, but you took the treasure of Mellinor for yourself. Rumors you confirmed in your own report. Did you really think you could just ride back into Zarin with a Great Spirit sleeping under your skin and not be questioned?”

“Well, yes,” Miranda said. “Master Banage, I saved Mellinor, all of it, its people, its king, everything. If you read my report, you know that already. I didn’t catch Monpress, true, but while he’s a scoundrel and a black mark on the name of wizards everywhere, he’s not evil. Greedy and irresponsible, maybe, and certainly someone who needs to be brought to justice, but he’s nothing on an Enslaver. I don’t think anyone could argue that defeating Renaud and saving the Great Spirit of Mellinor were less important than stopping Eli Monpress from stealing some money .”

Banage lowered his head and began to rub his temples. “Spoken like a true Spiritualist,” he said. “But you’re missing the point, Miranda. This isn’t about not catching Monpress. He didn’t get that bounty by being easy to corner. This is about how you acted in Mellinor. Or, rather, how the world saw your actions.”

He stared at her, waiting for something, but Miranda had no idea what. Seeing that this was going nowhere, Banage sighed and stood, walking over to the tall window behind his desk to gaze down at the sprawling city below. “Days before your report arrived,” he said, “perhaps before you’d even confronted Renaud, rumors were flying about the Spiritualist who’d teamed up with Eli Monpress. The stories were everywhere, spreading down every trade route and growing worse with every telling. That you sold out the king, or murdered him yourself. That Monpress was actually in league with the Spirit Court from the beginning, that we were the ones profiting from his crimes.”

“But that’s ridiculous,” Miranda scoffed. “Surely-”

“I agree,” Banage said and nodded. “But it doesn’t stop people from thinking what they want to think.” He turned around. “You know as well as I do that the Tower Keepers are a bunch of old biddies whose primary concern is staying on top of their local politics. They care about whatever king or lord rules the land their tower is on, not catching Eli or any affairs in Zarin.”

“Exactly,” Miranda said. “So how do my actions in Mellinor have anything to do with some Tower Keeper a thousand miles away?”

“Monpress is news everywhere,” Banage said dourly. “His exploits are entertainment far and wide, which is why we wanted him brought to heel in the first place. Now your name is wrapped up in it, too, and the Tower Keepers are angry. Way they see it, you’ve shamed the Spirit Court, and, through it, themselves. These are not people who take shame lightly, Miranda.”

“But that’s absurd!” Miranda cried.

“Of course it is,” Banage said. “But for all they’re isolated out in the countryside, the Tower Keepers are the only voting members of the Spirit Court. If they vote to have you stand trial and explain yourself, there’s nothing I can do but make sure you’re there.”

“So that’s it then?” Miranda said, clenching her hands. “I’m to stand trial for what, saving a kingdom?”

Banage sighed. “The formal charge is that you did willfully and in full denial of your duties work together with a known thief to destabilize Mellinor in order to seize its Great Spirit for yourself.”

Miranda’s face went scarlet. “I received Mellinor through an act of desperation to save his life!”