Rachel Aaron: Spirit's Oath

“How can you say that?” Alma replied, clutching her hands against her chest. “I’m your mother! I nearly died giving birth to you. You are my darling, my own beautiful jewel. Dress it up however you like, but the fact remains that you owe me your life, and your father as well. We have asked nothing of you, and spoiled creature that you are, you take that as your right. But it is a child’s duty to mind her parents, and you will abide by me on this.”

It was the duty comment that undid her, and Miranda clenched her fists. “Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “But as soon as this party is over, I’m going back to Court.”

“After this party, you won’t be my problem,” Alma said, ringing the little bell on the table beside her. “Now go upstairs and put on something that doesn’t look like you stole it off a farmhand. We leave after lunch.”

Miranda gaped at her mother, but before she could get a word in, the door clicked open and the maid entered.

“Take Lady Miranda to her room,” Alma said. “And watch to make sure she puts on the dress I bought her. Also, see if anything can be done to her hair.”

The maid curtsied and looked at Miranda. With a deep breath, Miranda got a firm handle on her anger and motioned for the maid to lead the way.

Six hours later, Miranda was dressed in the most uncomfortable, frilly contraption she’d ever worn in her life; her hair was pinned back so tightly her face felt stretched; and her feet had been squeezed into tiny shoes half an inch too small to fit her toes. But all of that would have been bearable had she not been in a carriage with her mother, father, and sixteen-year-old sister.

“Really, Miranda,” Alyssa said, twirling her own strawberry blond curls. “Your dress is yellow and still you’re wearing that ugly green rock on your thumb?”

“That is Durn,” Miranda said, staring pointedly out the window at the rolling farmland that surrounded Zarin. “And he’s a stone spirit large enough to crush this carriage without noticing, so mind your tongue.”

“Are all Spiritualist rings so mannish?” Alyssa continued, leaning across the carriage. “I heard you showed up at the door wearing trousers. What kind of nonsense is going on at your Court anyway? Honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that you’re a Lyonette, they wouldn’t even let you in to a party like this.”

“Were you always this much of a snob?” Miranda snapped.

“Girls,” Alma said with a sweet, warning voice that hid murder. “That’s enough.”

Alyssa flopped back with a dramatic huff, but she kept her mouth shut. Miranda was glad. All this family time was wearing her thinner than any Enslaver. The only reason she was still in this carriage at all was because her mother had said she could leave after this party. It was her shining hope, and she clung to that promised escape with everything she had until the carriage finally turned through a pair of stone pillars onto a long drive that ended at the largest house Miranda had ever seen.

It was like someone had decided to build a city in the middle of nowhere. The main house was in the Zarin style, an enormous, soaring structure of white stone and tile roofs with white-painted timber supports, but unlike Zarin, which was ancient, this building was entirely new. Every inch of it shone like a snowflake against the green, green grass of the lawn surrounding it. The large windows were all glass, the front drive was paved with a mosaic of a seashell, and though it was barely five in the evening, all the torches were already lit.

They were hardly the first to arrive. There were five carriages already waiting on the drive and a dozen more pulled around by the stables. Miranda was the first one out when the footman opened their door, pulling her absurdly large skirts along with her and cursing her mother for every one of the frilly petticoats the woman had made her wear. The tiny pointed heels of her too-small shoes sank into the soft grass, making walking difficult. She was getting ready to kick them off altogether when a man’s voice cut through her black thoughts of shoe destruction.

“Lady Lyonette?”

Miranda looked up to see a man standing just a few feet away. He was dressed far too nicely to be a servant, but he didn’t have that effortless snobbery of a noble. He was tall but not handsome, though not ugly either. He mostly looked put-upon and bored, like he’d rather be doing anything else besides standing here, though he did manage a smile at her.

“Miranda!” Her mother cried as she came out next. “Where are your manners?”

“I have no idea,” Miranda muttered, looking back at the man. “Who are you, sir?”

Her mother gasped a little, but the man didn’t seem fazed at all. “Martin Hapter,” he said, putting out his hand.

Miranda shook it with wary curiosity. It was customary for a host to greet his guests, but they usually did it inside, not by coming out and stalking the carriages. Still, he’d done nothing to upset her yet, unlike her family, so there was no reason to be rude.

“Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Hapter,” she said, shaking his hand firmly. “I am Spiritualist Miranda Lyonette of the Spirit Court.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Spiritualist?”

Miranda smirked. Her parents must have neglected to mention that tidbit. Her mother was certainly turning a nice, splotchy shade of pink.

“Miranda is a wizard, sir,” she said at last, moving to stand beside her daughter. “Knowing nothing of wizardry, we thought it best to let the Spiritualists teach her.”

“Teaching doesn’t mean taking oaths,” Martin said, looking Miranda up and down. “You’re sworn, then?”

“I am,” Miranda said, holding out her gold ring so he could see.

Martin didn’t even look, but his polite smile fell to a distracted frown, like he was doing math in his head. “I suppose it makes no difference,” he said at last. “Why don’t you come inside?”

Their carriage was blocking the way, so the whole Lyonette family piled out and followed their host into his enormous house. A head of the family and the highest ranking noble, Lord Simon should have walked first, but Martin led the way, and Miranda walked beside him when her mother wouldn’t let her walk anywhere else. Miranda didn’t pay much attention to that after the initial shock, though. She was too busy gaping at the house.

It really was like a palace. Every inch of it was a work of art. Antiques and collectibles from all over the world were arranged to their best advantage throughout the rooms. The lamps hung from enormous rings of antlers cut from animals she’d never seen before. The paintings on the walls were from a broad variety of styles and schools, and the floor alternated between polished stone and some kind of yellow wood she didn’t recognize. Every room was painted a different color, and through the windows Miranda could see a garden filled with plants she couldn’t even name.

“Your house is very impressive,” she said after they’d walked through the third room that would have been at home in a king’s treasury.

“Thank you,” Martin said. “Our company deals mostly in metals and timber, both of which have been booming since the Council lifted the tariffs. We have offices all over, and most of my year is spent traveling among them. I try to bring things back from wherever I visit, but since I’m gone so often, this house is more of a museum than anything else.”

“You’re in trade?” Miranda regretted the words the moment they were out of her mouth. She sounded as snobby as Alyssa, but she just couldn’t believe her parents would go to a party thrown by a tradesman. Her mother didn’t even answer letters from anyone who couldn’t prove at least three generations of noble blood.