Rachel Aaron - Spirit's Oath

“Yes,” Martin said, glancing at her. “Does that bother you?”

“No,” Miranda said. “I think it’s very impressive.” Always nice to find someone with money who’d actually earned it. Nice, and rare, though getting less rare as the Council’s influence grew.

Martin left them in the ballroom, which had more windows than walls and looked large enough to act as a formation field for an army. There were close to a hundred other guests there already, and Miranda was starting to worry where they would all sleep when she caught sight of a beloved figure in the crowd.

“Tima!” she cried, louder than she’d meant. Across the room, a beautiful blonde woman looked up and smiled indulgently as Miranda ran over and enveloped her in a huge hug. Trintima was her older sister and the only member of her family Miranda actually liked. Tima might look just like their mother, but her graceful-lady routine wasn’t an act.

“Miranda,” Tima said, looking her sister up and down when they finally broke apart. “You’re looking well.”

“Don’t let Mother hear you say that,” Miranda said. “How have you been? Mother said you got married.” Actually, Tima’s marriage had been the only thing Alma had talked about all the way through lunch and into the carriage. Tima, with her gentle manners and lovely looks, had married into the Whitefall family, a great triumph for minor nobility like the Lyonettes. Of course, Alma was distressed that Tima’s husband was only a second cousin to the Merchant Prince, but a Whitefall was a Whitefall. They had to be good for something eventually.

“Yes,” Tima said. “He couldn’t come, but he sends his love. He wanted to meet you.”

Miranda found that hard to believe, but she was willing to let it lie for Tima’s sake. “I’m sorry I missed the wedding.” No one had bothered to tell her about it, but Miranda wasn’t going to bring that up, either. “I’m so glad you’re here. If I had to live through four days of this with no one but Alyssa and our parents, I think I might actually go crazy.”

Tima glanced over her shoulder at their youngest sister, who was standing at the center of a growing circle of admirers. “Alyssa’s energy can be tiring,” Tima said in that gentle way of hers.

“Alyssa is tiring,” Miranda corrected. “She’s a spoiled flirt and a featherbrain.”

“Now, now,” Tima chided, but she was smiling. “Don’t you like the house?” she asked, deftly changing the subject.

“It’s certainly impressive,” Miranda answered. “Especially for being this close to Zarin.”

“Mr. Hapter’s family has been very fortunate,” Tima said. “He’s one of the richest men in Council.”

“Which explains how a man in trade managed to get all these Zarin blue bloods to come visit his little museum,” Miranda said, snagging a cup of punch from one of the passing waiters. “Poor Hapter. He can dazzle this crowd with money all he likes, but unless he suddenly uncovers a noble relative, all he’ll ever be is an oddity so far as the Zarin nobility is concerned. They’re snobs to the bone.”

“Miranda!” Tima gasped, looking around to see if anyone had overheard.

Miranda just shrugged and drank her punch. It was the truth, and she wasn’t here to be polite. At least the punch was good.

Around this point, the servants brought in card tables, and the crowd began to break into teams. Since the Lyonette family was five, that left an odd player, but Miranda was more than happy to duck out. Card playing was one of those noble time wasters she’d never understood. Honestly, the whole concept of wasting time for pleasure struck her as stupid. Why would you ever want to waste something that you never had enough of? Of course, this whole trip was a waste of time, so far as she was concerned.

But the card game would keep her mother off her back for at least the next hour. That was a gift in itself, and one Miranda was determined not to waste. She was about to sneak off and find something constructive to do, like letting Eril out to work with him on control for a bit, when a voice spoke right beside her.

“Don’t care for cards?”

Miranda managed to keep from jumping at the last second. She turned to see Martin Hapter standing at her side, looking out over his guests like a foreman surveying his crew.

“I’ve never cared for them, either,” he said. “Dreadful waste of time.”

“If that’s how you feel, why did you set up a tournament?” Miranda said, edging down the wall to put a bit more distance between herself and her host.

Martin shrugged. “It’s the sort of thing they expect from a house party.” He glanced at her. “But since card games don’t appeal to you, Miss Lyonette, perhaps you’d like a tour of the rest of the house?”

Miranda frowned. A tour did sound much more interesting than watching a bunch of overdressed snobs play cards. However, “Why are you asking me?”

“Because you look bored,” Martin said with a confident smile. “And because I feel it best that we get to know each other a little.”

Miranda didn’t like that answer at all, but she couldn’t think of a polite way to say no, which was how she ended up walking with Martin Hapter through the rest of his ridiculous house.

It wasn’t boring, at least. Every corner was a treasure trove of interesting things, though Martin’s apparent fascination with trophy hunting left a bad taste in her mouth. Each room seemed to have a dead animal as its crowning feature, and Martin would always stop to tell the story of how he’d acquired this pelt or that head. The first couple weren’t so bad, but by the time they exited to walk through the gardens, Miranda was very happy to be outside where the weather made displaying taxidermy impossible.

Martin’s gardens were as eclectic as everything else, a vibrant mix of plants from all over the Council Kingdoms as well as a hothouse full of tropical plants from the pirate isles in the far south. Miranda would have slowed down for a better look, but Martin hurried her past the flowers toward a building at the garden’s edge.

“I think you’ll really like this next part,” he said as they left the garden. “The rest of the stuff is just curiosities. I keep my real collection in here.”

The side building was one story, long and low as it wrapped around the edge of the garden. It was white like the house, but there was no glass in its windows. Instead, they were high off the ground and laced with ironwork so artistic, you almost didn’t notice the bars. The walls were very thick as well, and the doors were heavy wood held closed by bolts set into the stone floor. A servant undid the bolts as Martin approached, holding the doors open for his master, who in turn held out his arm for Miranda. That was a step too far even for politeness, and Miranda walked right past him only to stop at the threshold.

The first thing that hit her was the strong smell of animal and hay, but this place wasn’t a barn. It wasn’t the docile smell of horse or cow, but the sharper, bloodier smell of creatures that lived on meat. The building was divided into cells with a wide, straw-strewn hallway down the middle. The cells were walled in with stone and the same lovely iron bars from the windows. Low growls drowned out the gentle wind and birdsong from outside, and Miranda caught her breath.

“Don’t be afraid, Miss Lyonette,” Martin said.

“Spiritualist,” Miranda corrected, giving him a wary glare. “Spiritualist Lyonette.”

Martin smiled and started walking down the hall. “As I was saying, the cages are quite strong. It’s perfectly safe. Now”—he smiled at her—“come see my jewels.”

Against her better judgment, Miranda followed. Not surprisingly, considering the smell, the cages held exotic predators. The first contained a pair of silver foxes panting miserably in the heat, their dark eyes dull and reproachful as they glared at their captor. The moment Miranda and Martin stopped in front of the bars, Martin launched into the grand story of how his hunters had trapped the mated pair. The tale itself wasn’t so different from all the other stories he’d told walking through the house, but here in among the cages, Martin was like a different man. He was animated, his eyes bright with life, especially when he got to his plans for the kits his foxes would produce.