Rachel Aaron - The Spirit Thief

Miranda nodded peaceably and closed her eyes. Within seconds, everything but the lovely sound of the rain had fallen far away, and she slipped easily into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Miranda woke slowly, her mind rising like a bubble from her deep sleep. Below her, Mellinor was still sleeping, his currents deep and calm at the bottom of her awareness. She let him be and drifted upward, the dandelion fluff of her thoughts coming and going on their own time. Everything felt wonderful, like she was floating in a warm, lavender-scented cloud while someone played music in the distance. She winced, off-key music. Unbearably off key. Her thoughts began to thicken into consciousness, falling into place while worries filled the cracks between them. Suddenly, she wasn’t quite as comfortable. She hovered for a moment on the edge of sleep, fretting, and finally decided that if she was awake enough to fret about waking she might as well go all the way. At least then she could stop the awful music.

She opened her eyes to find herself buried at the center of a large feather bed. An elderly maid dozed in a chair by the bed’s foot, her soft snores stirring the dust motes that hung suspended in the honeyed sunlight pouring down from the high windows. The awful music came from behind a large folding screen, which split the already small room in half. Miranda shifted experimentally, and she jumped as something heavy rolled across her chest. With some effort, she freed one of her hands from the tightly tucked sheets and groped clumsily across the comforter. After a few uncertain moments, her fingers closed around a soft leather pouch filled with the heavy, familiar shapes of her rings. An incredible feeling of relief rushed through her, and she sighed contentedly. At the sound, the sleeping maid leaped from her chair.

“Lady,” she clucked, shuffling across the thick carpet to pull the sheets tighter. “Please do not move.”

“Is she awake?” an excited voice called from behind the screen. There was a shuffle, and then King Henrith came bounding into view, a handsome but sloppily tuned tenor vikken dangling from his left hand. His cheeks and neck were wrapped in white bandages and there was an angry gouge across the bridge of his nose, but otherwise he looked quite well compared to the last time she’d seen him. The maid backed away reverently as he approached, and Miranda sank a little deeper into the bed.

“I was hoping you’d wake up during one of my visits,” the king said, grinning. “Of course, I haven’t been able to visit very often. Things have been busy, but I did think you’d enjoy some music.” He held up the poor vikken by its strings. “How did you like my-”

“It was lovely,” Miranda cut in. “How long have I been like this?”

“Well,” the king said and scratched the top of his chin, which was the only section of his beard that wasn’t covered in bandages. “Three days, I think. Really, it feels longer.”

“Three days?” She clutched her ring bag. “Eli is gone, I take it?”

“Yes,” Henrith said, sounding annoyed, “and all the loose gold with him, what wasn’t melted to slag, anyway. Honestly, I don’t think we could have expected better. I was more distracted by the state of the room and, of course, you and my brother. We thought you were dead as well, but your beast told us that you were merely suffering from exhaustion, so I asked one of the girls-”

“Gin told you?” Miranda sat up in a rush, but the pain that shot through her skull at the movement sent her right back down again.

“Well, he didn’t tell us exactly.” The king sat down on the nightstand. “One of the other wizard chaps spoke with him.”

“Other wizards…” Miranda closed her eyes. This conversation was veering rapidly in directions she didn’t think her battered mind could handle right now. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “Could you start over? From the beginning, please.”

“There’s not much to it,” the king said. “They arrived right after I did. That night, when the shaking started and your dog ran off, I just couldn’t stay put. I kept hearing these awful sounds. It was like the forest itself was trying to get away from something.”

Miranda remembered the terrifying aura of Nico’s uninhibited powers and shuddered. The king didn’t seem to notice.

“I decided it was time to stop hiding, so I made my way back to the castle only to find everyone out in the yard because of a fire in the kitchens or some such. The kitchen staff had it well in hand, but with all the noises from the throne room and the stories the wounded soldiers were telling, no one wanted to go back in.” The king chuckled. “Nobody believed I was who I said at first. It took me a good hour to convince them I really was their king, and then it was another two hours after the water stopped pouring out of the castle before I could get together a group bold enough to go inside and see what all the fuss was about.

“I’m still not quite clear on what happened,” Henrith said, frowning. “But the wizards showed up about half an hour after we found you and just sort of took charge.” He gave her an amused look. “It’s funny, after four hundred years without them, Mellinor’s suddenly up to its neck with wizards.”

“These wizards,” Miranda said, reaching into her leather bag, pulling out the thick, gold loop of her Spirit Court signet, “do they wear rings like me? Are they Spiritualists? How many are there?”

“That’s the strangest thing,” Henrith said, adjusting his bandages. “They wore no rings, and they didn’t say anything about the Spirit Court. The serious fellow who leads them said he was with the League of Something or Other.”

Miranda froze. “The League of Storms?”

“Yes! That’s the one!” Henrith grinned. “There were more than fifty at the beginning-seemed to pop right out of thin air, gave us quite a fright, I can tell you-but most vanished again after an hour or so. Now there are maybe eight or nine. Still, they’re doing a great job fixing the damage Renaud did to my throne room, and at no expense to us, so I’m inclined to let them be. Though I would like to ask you for your version of what happened that night. The doctors demanded we take it slowly so as not to risk your… Where are you going?”

Miranda had swung her feet over the edge of the bed and was shoving her rings back onto her fingers. “Thank you for your hospitality, my lord,” she said in a rush. “The Spirit Court will not forget such kindness, and I will of course be happy to relate what happened in the throne room, but I can’t afford to waste any more time in bed.”

“Are you sure you should be getting up?” Henrith said, eyeing her suspiciously. “The doctors still aren’t sure what’s been wrong with you.”

For a moment, Miranda considered trying to explain the dangers of opening one’s spirit for prolonged lengths of time, especially to such an extreme degree as she had, and then accepting a new spirit on top of that. However, seeing the concerned look on Henrith’s face, she opted for something less explanatory and more understandable.

“It’s just exhaustion,” she said, sliding to the edge of the fluffy mattress while ignoring the increasingly urgent calls from her muscles that standing would be a very bad idea. “I was a bit overzealous with my abilities. Luckily, I recover quickly.”

Henrith arched an eyebrow at her but didn’t say anything as she took a deep breath and, gripping the heavy bed frame like a lifeline, hauled herself to her feet. It hurt every bit as much as she’d expected, but she firmly ignored the pain and set about looking for something more substantial than a woolen nightgown. Fortunately, some thoughtful servant must have anticipated this, and a delighted smile spread over Miranda’s face when she saw her riding suit, freshly laundered and mended, laid out on the dresser under the window. Using the heavy furniture to support her sleep-weakened legs, she hobbled along the wall to the dresser. When she picked up her jacket, something white tumbled out of the pocket and landed on the thick carpet by her feet.