Spirit’s End

CHAPTER 9

Eliton?”

Banage’s voice broke on the last syllable. Eli rolled his eyes. “Who else?”

The candle flame flickered as Banage stood, his eyes wide and bright in the shaking light. “It is really you?” he whispered.

Eli started to say something snarky, but the words vanished as Banage did something completely unexpected, something he’d never done before in Eli’s memory. The Rector Spiritualis reached out, grabbed his son, and clamped him to his chest. The fire hovering on Banage’s hand danced wildly as it skittered to avoid catching Eli’s clothes, but the Rector didn’t seem to notice. He hugged Eli with a bone-crushing fury, and Eli, feeling decidedly off balance, stood and took it, his hands resting awkwardly on his father’s shoulders.

Several long seconds later, Banage finally drew back. “Forgive me,” he said, surreptitiously wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve. “It’s just—” He stopped, taking a deep breath. “It’s not many fathers who get to see their sons come back from the dead twice.”

“Well, no one’s happier I’m not dead than me,” Eli said, wincing at how awkward his voice sounded. “What are you doing here?” He glanced at Banage’s empty fingers. “Where are your rings?”

“Later,” Banage said. “How are you alive, Eliton? What happened? We all saw you vanish, but afterward nothing would talk about it. What was that light? Where did you go, and how did you return?”

Eli scrambled to think of a good lie, something plausible enough for his father to believe without giving too much away. But just as he started picking through his options, he stopped. What was he doing? The whole reason he was here right now was because he’d decided he was done being the Shepherdess’s dog. If that was true, then why should he continue lying for her? Why should he bother hiding her secrets?

The realization broke over him like a bucket of cold water, and Eli’s lips peeled away into a wide smile. He’d been so busy with his capture, he’d forgotten for a moment that he was free. Eli almost laughed out loud at the idea. Free. He lifted his head to look Banage in the eye, and then, with a delicious breath, he told the truth.

“I went to the Shepherdess,” he said. “That was the deal. I used her power to make sure the Empress’s fleet wouldn’t bother us anymore, and she got to take me back. But when she realized I’m not as easy to live with as I used to be, she kicked me out on the Council’s doorstep. She thinks it will bring me around to her way of thinking, but she doesn’t understand that I’d rather rot in the worst prison the Council can devise than spend another minute in her company. At least here I can escape.” He reached out to knock on the prison wall with a cheery smile. “Big improvement.”

He stopped there, waiting for Banage to comment, but his father just stared at him, utterly bewildered. Eli sighed deeply and tried again. “You remember when you asked me why I didn’t come home that night?”

Banage nodded.

“It’s because that was the night the Shepherdess found me,” Eli said. “I was just a kid, and I was so mad at you.” He shook his head at the memory. “She was kind to me, treating me like I was some kind of treasure. I thought she was my savior. We lived together happily for a few years, but then I grew up. Or, rather, I woke up to what she really was. After that, I decided it was time to get away, and I convinced her to let me go. It was also around that time I decided I wanted to be a thief, so the second I was out of her care I apprenticed myself to a master and started learning my trade. The rest is public record.”

“Hold a moment,” Banage said, his voice quivering with disbelief. “You mean to tell me that you lived with the Shepherdess? You’re saying that the greatest of all Great Spirits, the force that controls this world, isn’t some giant, sleeping mother spirit but a real woman who took care of a little boy?”

“I don’t know about the real woman part,” Eli said. “She’s not human. She’s not a spirit either. She’s something else altogether, a Power of Creation.”

He stopped a moment to enjoy the sight of his father gaping in amazement, but to his surprise and disappointment, Banage only nodded, his eyes dropping to his empty fingers where the small fire still burned. “Miranda told me something very similar.”

“Miranda?” Eli couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it. “What does Miranda know of the Shepherdess?” Unbidden, a memory of his childhood welled up inside him: the Shepherdess standing cold and terrible before the Spiritualist whose name he’d never learned. Miranda would ask the same questions, he was certain, and for a moment he saw her hanging on the Lady’s hand, staring down in disbelief at her own death. Eli shook his head and forced the thought away.

Banage didn’t notice. “After the events with Izo the Bandit King, Miranda went with Slorn to the Shaper Mountain,” he said, his voice full of worry. “There she learned of the stars and the Shepherdess. Afterward, Slorn stayed behind so she could escape. The knowledge she brought allowed us to answer the West Wind’s request to come to Osera and help in the fight against the Empress.” He raised his eyes to Eli. “Later, when everything was done, she also told me that you gave yourself to save us.”

Eli gritted his teeth. Of course Miranda would see it that way. She would never understand what it meant to lose like that, to give up. And since Banage thought he was dead, she must, too, which gave more credence to the whole martyr story. The idea of Miranda spreading fabricated stories of his selflessness annoyed Eli so strongly that he completely missed what Banage said next.

“What?”

“I said I’m proud of you,” Banage repeated. “I’d thought you were lost to even the concept of responsibility, but it seems I was wrong.”

For several seconds, Eli just stood there, blinking. “What?”

Banage’s face darkened. “If my gratitude means so little to you, Eliton, you don’t have to accept it.”

“No, it’s not—” Eli stopped, dragging his fingers through his hair. “I just never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“I never thought I’d get the chance to say it,” Banage answered, his eyebrow arching into a skeptical glare.

Eli decided to leave it at that. Any more pushing and this bizarre world where both his parents said they were proud of him in a single day would surely shatter.

“So,” Banage said, clearing his throat. “The Shepherdess just dropped you here, did she?” He folded his arms over his chest with a glare. “What did you do, Eliton? It must have been terrible to make her so angry she’d hand you over to the Council.”

“I’m sure she thought it was,” Eli said, his voice snippy. “But I didn’t do anything except speak my mind.”

Banage made a disbelieving sound, and Eli decided it was time to change the subject. He wasn’t quite ready to throw away this strange new respect his father had for him by falling right back into their old ways.

“What are you doing down here, anyway?” he said, leaning back against the cold stone. “I’m used to jails, but they’re not the sort of place you expect to find the Rector Spiritualis. Did Sara decide it was time to get the family back together and have you kidnapped?”

Banage’s face fell, and what warmth there was in the room fell with it. “I am no longer Rector,” he said. “I refused to allow the Council to use the Spirit Court as a weapon, and for that I have been charged with high treason.”

Eli’s eyes widened. “But you were at Osera before the Council could send a fishing boat.”

“Because the Lord of the West asked for our assistance,” Banage said. “The Court fights for the good of the spirits, not because Whitefall is worried about his borders.”

Eli dropped his head and began to rub his suddenly aching temples. “No offense, but that sounds like a pretty small distinction to lose your office and go to jail over.”

“It is the small distinctions that matter, Eliton,” Banage said solemnly. “If we do not stand on our morals in all matters, small or great, then we are no longer moral men, and no longer worthy of the spirits’ trust.”

Eli sighed deeply. This was more like the Banage he remembered. “So what now? Will there be a trial, or did Sara just lock you down here and throw away the key?”

Banage gave him a flat look. “Guess.”

“Good old mom,” Eli said. “At least she’s consistent.”

“Actually, I’m pleased with the way things worked out,” Banage said. “Though I was named traitor and stripped of my position as Rector, there were issues I lacked the freedom to pursue as part of the Court. Now that I’m in disgrace, I mean to set things right.”

“Like what?” Eli said, genuinely curious.

Banage’s eyes drifted up to the darkness above them. “Do you know how the Ollor Relay works, Eliton?”

Eli arched an eyebrow at the sudden change of subject. “You speak into one ball, sound comes out the other.”

“I meant how it really works,” Banage said with an exasperated sigh. “How it moves sound like that?”

“No,” Eli said. “But that’s kind of the point of a state secret. Why, do you?”

“No,” Banage said softly, lowering his eyes until he met Eli’s again. “Not for sure. But before Sara and I were married, she showed me, just once, how she made a point.”

“She always was a show-off,” Eli said with a shrug.

Banage laughed. “At least you come by it honestly.”

When Eli refused to dignify that with a response, Banage continued. “You saw the tanks above us?”

Eli nodded. How could he have missed them? The cylindrical tanks filled the cave beneath the citadel like the eggs of some enormous insect.

“Each of those tanks is one Relay point,” Banage said. “Every Relay point is really three parts: two orbs, one that’s kept by the Council, usually by Sara, and another that’s out in the field, and the tank is the third part. It lies in the middle, connecting the other two. Words spoken in one orb echo through the tank to the other, allowing communication across any distance.”

“Come on,” Eli scoffed. “I’m no Shaper, but even I know that can’t be how the Relay works. For words spoken in one end to be heard through the other, the orbs and the tank would all have to be part of the same spirit, and that’s impossible. I mean, maybe if you were working with a very large, very strong water spirit and you were a Shaper with a deep understanding of Spirit Unity, you could possibly divide the water into three separate vessels and still keep it as one spirit for a few minutes, but it would never work long term. A spirit separated becomes two spirits. That’s a fact of reality. If you pour a water spirit into two blue marbles and a tank, you’re going to end up with three spirits. It’s just how the world works. Claiming otherwise is like saying rocks fall up when you drop them.”

Banage shrugged. “Then you tell me. How does she do it?”

“I don’t know,” Eli said. “It’s probably some kind of stupid trick. Or maybe she’s got a Great Spirit on the line.” She was egotistical enough to try it.

“She can’t,” Banage said, shaking his head. “No Great Spirit would let itself be used like that willingly, and the only Enslaver who ever kept one longer than a few hours was Gregorn. But whatever she’s doing, she’s hidden it very well. I’ve been looking into the Relay discreetly for years. Every time I came down here, I tried to question the tanks, but I never heard a thing back. It’s like the entire cavern is asleep.”

Eli remembered the strange, thick silence and shuddered. “Still, that’s good,” he said. “If they’re asleep, then you know she’s not Enslaving anything.”

“I almost wish she was,” Banage said darkly. “Enslavement is straightforward. Enslavement I could end right now. But I don’t understand what Sara’s doing, or how, and that makes me afraid.”

“If you’re so worried about it, why didn’t you stop her before?” Eli said. “I thought protecting spirits from abusive humans was what Spiritualists did.”

He stopped there, bracing for the explosion that always came whenever he criticized the Court, but Banage just ran his hand over his tired eyes.

“I’ve asked myself that many times,” he said quietly. “At first I did nothing because she was my wife and I was sure she’d tell me eventually. Later, I did nothing because I was furious and wanted to keep you away from her. And then, when I became Rector, I still did nothing because the Spirit Court needed the Council of Thrones. I have lived with this growing guilt for twenty-six years now, Eliton, but for all my excuses, the truth was that I still loved her. Despite everything, I couldn’t look at her without remembering the brilliant girl she’d been, and I could not bring myself to believe she would do something truly awful, even as the evidence of it became overwhelming.”

He stopped there, his face hidden behind his hand. Eli bit his lip. He’d never seen his father like this. Banage never got emotional. He shifted back and forth, wondering if he should say something, but before he could think up anything good, Banage resumed his story.

“When the Empress returned, I thought I’d found my chance at last,” he said, lowering his hand with a sharp breath. “The Council needed the Court desperately. I thought I finally had the leverage to force Sara to open up. I thought surely, surely whatever she’d done to make the Relay couldn’t be so bad she’d risk losing the Court’s support during a national emergency to keep it hidden. But it was. Whatever secret she’s keeping down here, she needed it more than she needed me.”

He raised his head, and Eli was surprised to see that his father’s face was calm and determined. “But things are different now,” Banage said. “As Rector, I had everything to lose. Now I have nothing, not even the duty a husband owes to his wife. Sara and I have nothing left between us but the truth, and the truth, Eliton, is that there is right and wrong in this world, and even Sara with all her brilliance cannot escape justice forever.”

Now it was Eli’s turn to drop his head. “How are you still this arrogant?” he muttered. “Just because she won’t show you her experiments, you let yourself get captured thinking you’re going to shine the righteous light on her sins?” He glowered at his father. “Powers, old man, you don’t even know if she’s actually doing anything wrong. You just assume she is because she won’t share her secrets with you. Maybe she’s just tired of your lectures, ever think of that?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Eliton,” Banage said, his voice full of the old warning. Eli nearly climbed the ladder right then just to get away from him. But when Banage kept going, his voice had softened again with that strange tenderness.

“You’re right, though,” he said. “Had I been a braver man, I would have found out the truth of the Relay years ago. But I was a coward. A coward and a fool, clinging to forsworn promises under the cover of duty.”

He looked at Eli, and his face broke into a sad smile. “One of my many failings, as I’m sure you can tell me. But though you call me arrogant, believe this. There would be no greater joy in my life than to find out I’m wrong. Wrong about the Relay, about your mother, about everything. That’s why I chose to leave the Court and let the Council take me as a traitor. I still hope to find out I’m mistaken, you see.”

“And what if you’re not,” Eli said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Banage’s expression grew hard as iron. “Then I will do what I must, and I will do it myself. I owe her that much. Whatever wrongs Sara has done, I loved her once. And besides”—that sad smile returned—“she gave me you.”

Eli looked away and kept his mouth shut. The room fell into a deep, deep silence, punctuated only by their breathing. But Eli was never one for silence, and less than a minute later he couldn’t help but ask the other question that had been weighing on his mind.

“So,” he said, leaning back, “if you’re here, who’s running the Court?”

“I gave it to Miranda,” Banage said.

Eli gaped at him. “You what?”

“I had very little time,” Banage said in a measured voice. “Sara was coming to arrest me and I had to do something to keep Hern’s faction from—”

“You threw her to the wolves!” Eli shouted. “Miranda’s cut from the same goody-goody moral idiot cloth as you. They’ll eat her alive for trying to claim the title of Rector. Why didn’t you just leave it to some power-hungry Tower Keeper? Then at least you’d tie their lust for power to the Court’s preservation and Miranda would be free to keep helping Slorn or saving puppies or whatever other high-and-mighty missions you’ve lined up. But no, you just gave her the ring and sent her in, didn’t you? And she’s duty bound enough to keep charging straight ahead even if it kills her, just because you asked.”

He stopped and waited for Banage to get angry, but the former Rector just dropped his head.

“I thought about that, actually,” he said. “Miranda has family of her own, but I think of her very much as my daughter. I knew giving her the Rectorship would put her in danger, especially in times like these, but I had to do it for the good of the Court. In any case, even if I had appointed some ‘power-hungry Tower Keeper’ as you suggest, she’d never stand aside and let him turn us into an arm of the Council. Even if I’d ordered her to keep her head down, she’d fight all the way. It’s her nature.”

Eli rolled his eyes. That was certainly true. Counting on Miranda not to go butting her nose in where she shouldn’t was like betting on a bottomless boat not to sink. Still. “You should have been more careful,” he scolded. “She’d just lost a spirit. Couldn’t you have given her a little time off?”

“She wouldn’t have taken it if I did,” Banage said. “Miranda’s stronger than you think. She’ll do the right thing.”

“I don’t doubt that at all,” Eli grumbled. “What I question is her ability to not get herself killed along the way.”

“She’s survived so far,” Banage said. “Have a little faith in the girl, Eliton.”

Eli huffed and leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared up into the dark. They’d been talking for a while now. Well long enough for Sparrow to get bored and move on if he had decided to lurk. Time to get to work.

“Well,” he said, standing up, “lovely as this little father-son bonding session has been, I’ve just managed to escape the Shepherdess, and I don’t mean to spend my freedom rotting in a cell.”

Banage looked up. “What are you going to do?”

Eli smiled and held up four fingers. “Find Josef and Nico.” He folded one down. “Find out what the Shepherdess is up to.” He folded the next. “And find out how to get out of her way.” Down went the third. “First rule of thievery,” he said with a wink. “Don’t be a hero. Of course, before I can do any of that”—he wiggled the fourth and final finger at his father—“I’m getting out of here.”

Banage laughed out loud. “Impossible. Sara had this place put together specifically to keep powerful wizards under control. Look around.” He held out his arms, sending the flickering light dancing over the rough stone walls. “This rock isn’t part of the Tower. It’s a separate bedrock spirit, and it’s so deep asleep I don’t think we could wake it up even if we both stood here for days with our spirits wide open. So that’s the walls, as for the door…”

He pointed up into the dark where a silver gleam was barely visible in the candlelight. “It’s solid steel, Shaper-made, and deathly loyal to Sara. You’ll never get it open. If I had my rings it would be another story, but alone like this…” Banage sighed deeply. “The only way out is to wait for Sara to slip up.”

“Or Enslavement,” Eli said, craning his neck back.

Banage went rigid. “Eliton!” he cried. “Don’t you dare even think—”

“Relax,” Eli said. “I’ve never Enslaved anything, and I don’t mean to start now. I wouldn’t need to anyway. This looks pretty straightforward.”

Banage stared at him, aghast. “Did you hit your head on the way down? I told you, I tried everything. This is a wizard prison designed by the most brilliant wizard inventor of our age, maybe ever. There’s no way out.”

Eli laced his fingers together and stretched his hands, popping his knuckles one by one. “Just who do you think you’re dealing with?” he said, flashing his father an impossibly smug grin. “I’m Eli Monpress, the greatest thief in the world.”

And with that, he started to climb the iron rungs hand over hand, leaving Banage staring dumbfounded as he vanished into the dark.

Twenty minutes later, Eli was starting to wish he had been a little less cocky. He was hanging upside down under the circular door, knees looped over the second rung of the metal ladder for support while his hands ran over the door’s overlapping rings of polished steel. Each ring was fitted so tightly into the next he couldn’t get so much as a fingernail between them. What’s more, the door, though obviously awake, wasn’t responding to polite inquiries.

For a terrified moment, Eli had thought that he’d lost his touch. That Benehime had actually been right and the spirits really had paid attention to him only because of her mark. But then he’d seen the door twitch almost like it was turning up its nose after one particularly entreating prod, and Eli had come to a new conclusion: This door was a jerk.

“Come on,” Eli whispered, careful to keep his back to Banage, who was waiting expectantly below. “I just want to talk to someone with some sense. Don’t leave me alone with him.”

The door pressed itself more firmly into the stone and began to emanate a silence so saturated with smug superiority it almost made Eli gag. He flopped back, dangling from the wall by his knees so the door wouldn’t have the privilege of seeing him fume. This just made the door cinch down tighter with a haughty clink, and Eli gritted his teeth. Yep, definitely a jerk door.

He was working up the will to try again when he heard the door tremble against the stone. Quick as a monkey, Eli dropped, swinging down the ladder to land at Banage’s side. The second his feet hit the ground, something hit the door with a resounding clang, and the metal swung open.

Banage stared at the opening door, and then his eyes flicked to Eli, wide with wonder. “You weren’t just bragging,” he whispered. “That was amazing.”

Eli shook his head. “As long as I’ve waited for such a compliment, I’m afraid that wasn’t me. Look lively, I think we’ve got a bird.”

As though on cue, Sparrow’s head appeared above them. “Sorry to interrupt family time,” he called cheerily. “I need Banage the younger. Quickly, please.”

Eli crossed his arms. “What’s my motivation?”

“Well,” Sparrow said, “if you don’t come up on your own, I can always go get Sara and let her think up a way to get you out.”

Eli grimaced. He had no interest in being on the receiving end of Sara’s creativity. With a long-suffering sigh, he shimmied up the ladder once more. Sparrow’s hands met him at the top, gathering Eli’s wrists together and deftly tying them behind him with a supple length of steel cord.

To Eli’s surprise, Sparrow wasn’t alone this time. Two guards in the Whitefall family’s personal dress stood a short distance away, staring at the surrounding forest of tanks with obvious discomfort.

When Sparrow was finished trussing him, he turned Eli over to the guards before going back to the metal door. In one swift motion, he lifted his leg and kicked the door hard with the heel of his boot. The impact sent a ringing reverberation through the metal, and the door fell gracefully back to its locked position. Eli got one last look at his father’s worried face before the door landed, settling back into its stone groove with a solid crunch.

Sparrow took Eli by the elbow. “This way, little Eliton.”

Eli began ambling forward. “That was a neat trick with the door, Sparrow. Tell me, do you have to kick it every time?”

“It’s the most convenient way to get its attention,” Sparrow said, pulling him into a faster pace. “But I don’t know if it’s strictly necessary. I do my best not to get involved with Sara’s contraptions.”

Eli nodded, letting Sparrow drag him between the tanks. Sparrow probably didn’t know how the door worked at all, he reasoned. The kicking was most likely a trigger, something to let the spirit-deaf Sparrow communicate with the awakened door. The real question was, could anyone kick the door and have it open? Eli filed this thought away for later testing as the guards fell in behind them.

He expected they’d head for the ladder leading up to the suspended walkway, but Sparrow led them in a different direction, setting off between the tanks at a quick pace. They walked this way for several minutes until, suddenly, the tanks ended and Eli saw they’d reached the wall of the cavern.

Sparrow didn’t miss a beat. He skirted the wall for a dozen feet before leading them up a metal stair set that had been bolted into the stone of the cavern itself. At the top, they passed through a guarded door and into a long, spiraling tunnel of a hallway leading up. Eli quickly lost all sense of direction. The tunnel seemed to be tying itself in knots, twisting in and over on itself before finally ending at a nondescript door that opened into a very well-appointed hallway lined with heavy wooden doors, each bearing a gold nameplate and a small flag. Eli licked his lips in anticipation. They must be deep in the inner offices of the Council of Thrones if this much money was lavished on a hallway.

Sparrow led them forward without pausing, and the guards made sure Eli kept pace, their boots falling soundlessly on the rich carpet. The hall ended at a graceful stair, and Sparrow led them up two more floors until the stairs ended, letting out into the richest, most tasteful waiting room Eli had ever seen. Eli began dragging his heels, buying himself time to take in the fine furniture and classic paintings before moving on to the vulnerabilities he would exploit the next time he was here. Privately, he decided that would be very soon. Those crystal decanters on the left end table were far, far too fine to leave in the hands of bumbling Councilmen.

He was just deciding which house at Home would make the best use of the embroidered curtains when Sparrow jerked him out of his happy thoughts, pulling Eli up beside him as he knocked on the heavy door at the far end of the waiting room. The door opened immediately, and Eli took a deep, appreciative breath.

If the waiting room had been fine, the office before him was truly the center of the treasure trove. It was large, spacious, and set all around with windows looking down on the city. The walls by the door were lined with handsome bookcases while the stretch of space between the two picture windows was filled with a mechanical clock, the first of its kind Eli had ever seen. But while he was gawking at that, Sparrow was nodding to the genteelly handsome older gentleman sitting at the broad mahogany desk set dramatically at the office’s center.

“Mr. Monpress,” said a soft, well-bred voice. “An honor to meet you at last.”

Eli looked away from the clock in surprise, but as soon as he saw the man, all surprise vanished. Even though he hadn’t grown up in Zarin, he’d spent enough time looking at Council-issued coins to know the face of the Merchant Prince of Zarin.

“Alber Whitefall,” he said with a broad grin. “Never thought I’d have the pleasure.”

Whitefall smiled and then glanced at Sparrow. “Thank you, you may go.”

Sparrow bowed lavishly and, after handing Eli over to one of the guards, turned on his heel and walked out of the room. Eli craned his head, staring at Sparrow’s retreating back in surprise. It was just sinking in that, while Whitefall was here, Sara was not, and now Sparrow was leaving and she still wasn’t here. He licked his lips and turned back to the Grand Marshall of the Council of Thrones. Whatever this was about, he couldn’t imagine Sara letting other people have access to him without her oversight, which meant either he was wrong or Sara didn’t know he was here. Considering how quickly Sparrow had left, Eli was leaning toward the latter.

If Whitefall noticed his confusion, he didn’t comment. Instead, he turned his smile to the guards. “Please make Mr. Monpress comfortable.”

The guards saluted and moved Eli to the chair in front of Whitefall’s desk. They sat him down slightly harder than was necessary, and then the first guard took a length of rope from his belt pouch and started tying Eli down.

“Oh, come on,” Eli said. “Rope? Really? Don’t you know who I am?”

“I respect your reputation as an escape artist, Mr. Monpress,” Whitefall said, his voice unfailingly polite. “But we do have appearances to keep up. I promise not to keep you long.”

“Take your time,” Eli said, tensing his muscles against the rope as the soldiers tried to pull it tight. “It’s not like I have pressing business in my cell. Why did you bring me up here, anyway? Didn’t feel like climbing all the way down to the basement?”

“It is a bit of a challenge for a man of my years,” Whitefall said. “But that’s not the reason. I brought you up here, Mr. Monpress, because unforeseen circumstances have put me in a rather delicate position. One that, unfortunately, prevents me from leaving you in the shelter of your mother’s loving bosom.”

It might have been Eli’s imagination, but he thought he detected a hint of anger in that last sentence. He couldn’t say for sure, though, so he filed it away for pondering later. “I’ll have to revise my opinion of you,” he said, leaning against the ropes as the soldiers finished their knots. “I didn’t think you let yourself get into delicate positions.”

Whitefall’s smile didn’t even flicker. “Even I get caught unawares sometimes. Fortunately, I have you to get me out. I’m afraid you’re going to be my bargaining chip, Mr. Monpress. An ignoble fate to be sure, though one you must be used to by now.”

“I’m getting there,” Eli said, wiggling his arms to test the knots. He started to ask what sort of problem was so huge that the Merchant Prince of Zarin needed a thief worth nearly three hundred thousand gold standards as a bargaining tool, but before he could think of the right wording, the door burst open and a page in crisp white livery strode into the room.

“The king is here, my lord,” he said. “He arrived just minutes ago.”

Whitefall tilted his head. “If he arrived minutes ago, why hasn’t he been brought to my office?”

The page flushed. “Apologies, Merchant Prince. His arrival was very… unconventional, and we had a bit of trouble confirming his identity at first. We’re sure of him now, but I’m afraid the guard captain is having a hard time convincing him to comply with your law prohibiting weapons in the Citadel.”

Eli’s eyebrows shot up. Suddenly, things started to click together.

“If that’s the king I think you’re talking about,” he said, “no amount of protocol is going to convince him to disarm. If you want to have your meeting today, Alber, I’d suggest you give in and let him keep his weapons. None of you look like master swordsmen, so I doubt he’ll use them.”

The page went pale with horror, though whether it was from Eli’s casual use of the Merchant Prince’s given name or the suggestion that a king be allowed to enter the Grand Marshall’s office while armed Eli couldn’t tell. Whitefall, however, didn’t seem to care.

“Mr. Monpress makes a good point,” he said. “Tell the king he is welcome to keep his weapons. I know he will behave himself as a gentleman.”

The page’s face went paler still, but he was too well trained to object. After a moment of shock, he bowed and hurried out the room, closing the door softly behind him. The guards on either side of Eli shifted nervously, but the Merchant Prince offered no reassurances. Instead, he stood up and reached into his pocket, taking out a long, white handkerchief.

“I did not ask my guest to disarm,” he said, all politeness. “But I’m afraid I cannot take such luxuries with you, Mr. Monpress.”

“I don’t see what you mean,” Eli said, looking desperately pathetic. “I’m a prisoner, tied down and at your mercy. If you disarmed me any further, I wouldn’t have any arms left.”

Whitefall chuckled and strode around his desk, balling the handkerchief in his hand as he stopped in front of Eli. “Come, Mr. Monpress, I’ve followed your exploits for many years now, even more so since the disaster with Izo. I like to think that I am a man who can learn from the misfortunes of others. Sparrow and Miss Lyonette made the mistake of not securing you properly. I do not intend to be so foolish, especially when dealing with a commodity worth…” His face crumpled, folding into a frown like he was fighting to remember something. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Remind me again, how high was your bounty?”

Eli straightened up and opened his mouth to recite his bounty down to the last gold standard, but before he could get a word out, Whitefall’s hand swooped in to shove the balled-up handkerchief between his teeth. Eli gagged, eyes bulging. Whitefall snatched his hand back as the soldiers moved in, wrapping a length of rope around Eli’s cloth-stuffed mouth before he could spit the handkerchief out.

“Your youth betrays you, Mr. Monpress,” Whitefall said with a slow smile. “Cleverness is inborn, but guile is the providence of the aged. A few more years and you would have seen that coming a mile away.”

Eli made a furious sound, but Whitefall had already started back toward his seat. “I apologize for any discomfort. If it makes you feel better, I don’t expect this to take long. Turn him around, please.”

This last bit was directed at the guards, and Eli grunted in surprise as his chair was suddenly lifted and turned sideways so he could see the door and Whitefall. By the time he was safely back on the floor, the Merchant Prince had returned to his chair and was shuffling papers on his desk, tapping the piles into neat squares.

“Remember,” he said softly, “no matter what happens, do not take your eyes off the thief. I will do the talking.”

The soldiers saluted. “Sir!”

Eli said something as well. Fortunately, though, it came out as a series of muffled grunts, because that was not the kind of language one used in the presence of the Merchant Prince.

Whitefall had time to give him one last smile before a soft knock sounded. He lifted his head to answer, but the door flew open before he could get a word out and two familiar figures swept into the room. When he saw them, Eli was really afraid he was going to cry.

Josef came in first. He looked the same as always, but tired, with dark circles under his hard blue eyes. His swords, all of them, were in their places, strapped awkwardly over his expensive jacket and well-tailored trousers. The familiar, battered hilts of his daggers peeked over the edge of his glossy polished boots, and Eli felt a kind of peace settle into his bones. No matter how much else changed, this part of the world at least was still as it should be.

Nico was likewise unchanged. She followed Josef like his shadow, her coat wrapped up to her neck with the hood drawn forward. Beneath its shadow, she looked tired as well, but where Josef projected a weariness born of eternal annoyance, Nico looked like she’d been pulled too tight.

Her skin was pale, even for her, and her eyes were dark and sunken under furrowed black brows. Still, Eli was happier than he cared to admit to see that the injuries from her fight with Den seemed to be healed. Strangely, she was carrying a large satchel over her shoulder, but before Eli could get a better look at it, Nico and Josef both froze in the doorway, staring at him like they’d seen a ghost.

Eli tried to smile, but all he managed was to scrape his lips against the rough rope that kept the hated cloth in his mouth. He settled for a slow wink at each of them before looking pointedly at Whitefall. Keep going, he thought at them as hard as he could. Don’t fall for his trap.

And this was where years spent in constant company paid off. One look was all it took. Josef nodded, a bare duck of the chin, and then ignored Eli completely, turning to the Merchant Prince with a deadly glare. To his credit, or perhaps due to his vast experience with being glared at, Whitefall didn’t even flinch.

“King Josef,” he said. “Welcome to Zarin. My condolences on the death of your mother. Queen Theresa was an old ally and a dear friend. She will be greatly mis—”

“You’re the Whitefall?” Josef interrupted. “Head of the Council of Thrones?”

Whitefall stopped, mouth open, and Eli was almost glad of his gag at that moment. It helped stifle his laughter.

“I am,” Whitefall said, sounding a little less self-assured. “I suppose we’re cutting straight to the point, then?”

“You political types seem to make an art of wasting time,” Josef said with a shrug. “Thought I’d save you the trouble.” He jerked his head at Eli. “Why’s he here?”

Whitefall’s smile returned. “So you recognize him, then?”

“Course,” Josef said. “Can’t turn a corner anymore without seeing his smug face cluttering up a perfectly good wall. Any kid in the Council could tell you that’s Eli Monpress.”

Whitefall leaned back in his chair. “You’re the one wasting time now, King Josef,” he said, his voice as smooth and cool as polished wood. “Let’s not play. I already know that you and Mr. Monpress have a deeper relationship than posters. I know, for instance, that you two, and I believe the girl behind you, worked together at the events in Mellinor and Gaol. You were certainly together when Izo’s camp was destroyed, or did you forget that it was Council agents who subdued your little trio?”

Josef shrugged. “Considering how badly those agents failed, I didn’t know if they’d told you. I never denied knowing or working with Monpress. I just asked why he’s here, which you have yet to answer.”

“He was caught this morning,” Whitefall said. “Usually, that would be the news of the year, but then I got a message from my cousin that you, King Josef of Osera, were bringing in a bounty that eclipsed even the famous Eli Monpress. Bearing that in mind, I thought it would be prudent to delay the announcement of Monpress’s capture until we could talk.”

Smiling at Josef’s stony expression, Whitefall turned to Eli’s guards. “You may go.”

The guards did not look pleased with this order, but they obeyed, walking past Josef with a great deal of posturing and bravado before finally slipping out the door.

“Such delicate matters are best discussed in private,” Whitefall said after the latch clicked. “Now, do you have proof of the bounty to show me?”

Josef glowered at him a few moments more, and then nodded to Nico. She walked forward, hefting the bag off her shoulder. When she reached Whitefall’s desk, she stopped and unbuckled the flap. Her hand went in and came back out with her fingers tangled in a mess of dark hair. With no more care than anyone else would show a pumpkin, Nico plopped the head of Den the Warlord down on Whitefall’s desk. The Merchant Prince shrank back, eyes wide with horror as the old, black blood adhered to the wood.

“Charming,” he said finally, reaching for his handkerchief only to find it gone. He sighed and padded the sweat from his brow with the edge of his sleeve. “Thank you. I’ve witnessed the bounty. You can put it away now.”

Nico grabbed the head and shoved it back into the bag. On the other side of the office, Eli slumped in his chair. Of course they would bring a severed head to the Merchant Prince of Zarin. It made perfect sense in Josef logic. Powers, he had to get back to them before Josef decided that sending Nico to terrify the daylights out of the opposition was a valid political strategy.

Now that the head was gone, Whitefall’s color was returning. “Den the Warlord, dead at last,” he said. “No small feat. Who defeated him?”

“She did,” Josef said, tilting his head toward Nico.

Whitefall gave him a deeply skeptical look. Eli could see the old man examining the angles, trying to figure how Josef could benefit from such a lie. He must have come up blank, though, because he sighed and leaned on his desk, careful to keep his elbows well away from the blood smears.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” he said, glancing at Nico. “You’re giving the bounty over to this man, then?”

Nico nodded.

“May I ask how you intend to use the reward?” Whitefall said, eyes going back to Josef. “Five hundred thousand gold standards is a great deal of money, more than enough to destabilize the Council. You can see why we have to be careful, especially after the panic we’ve had this last week.”

“I’m not building an army, if that’s what you’re asking,” Josef said. “The Empress destroyed my country. Osera is a smoking ruin, and after paying for the war, we have no money to fix it. That’s where he comes in.” Josef pointed to the bag where Den’s head rested. “I mean to use Den’s bounty to rebuild my island. Anything left over will be put in the treasury to guard against future disaster.”

“How extremely reasonable,” Whitefall said, lips tilting up like the words were some kind of private joke. “Maybe we should appoint more swordsman kings?”

Josef shrugged. “Seemed fitting to me that the man who helped wreck Osera twice should be the one whose head pays to fix it. How long until the Council can pay up? We need the money as soon as possible.”

“And that’s where we find our problem,” Whitefall said slowly. “Yours is not the only country that’s had to pay for a war, King Josef.”

“We’re the only country that had to fight one,” Josef said, crossing his arms.

“I’m not arguing with you there,” Whitefall said. “But armies have to be fed, clothed, and paid whether they meet the enemy or not, and it all adds—”

“Stop,” Josef said, putting up his hand. “You’re telling me that the Council is broke, too?” When Whitefall didn’t answer at once, he threw his head back. “Powers! Does anyone actually have money in this little club of yours?”

The gag reduced Eli’s cackle to a safely muted grunt. Whitefall, however, did not look amused.

“Not being able to produce five hundred thousand gold standards on command hardly counts as broke, King Josef,” he said crisply. “The Council of Thrones would be hard-pressed to do that at any time. Now, however, it is particularly difficult. So difficult, in fact, that were it not for a certain windfall, we’d be unable to offer you any meaningful assistance at all.”

He tilted his head toward Eli as he spoke, making it painfully clear what windfall he was talking about. Josef didn’t answer, but his eyes also flicked to Eli, and Whitefall’s face lit up.

“Let me put this as simply as I can,” the Merchant Prince said. “If the Council does not claim the Monpress bounty, there’s little chance of Osera getting a red cent. Of course, this would mean Mr. Monpress would have to stand for his crimes. Though since there’s little question of his guilt, any trial would be a mere formality on his way to the gallows.”

Eli swallowed against the pressure of the gag.

“But it doesn’t have to be that way,” Whitefall said, his voice softening. “You’ll find I’m a very understanding soul. I know you and Mr. Monpress are old friends. Who could expect you to condemn your dear companion to death in order to placate a country that’s never made a question of how much it disliked you?”

Josef’s face darkened, and Whitefall moved in for the kill.

“Come, King Josef,” he said kindly. “We are grown men. Let’s not bicker. Compromise is the foundation of good governance. Here’s my offer. I’ll give you Eli Monpress, no strings attached. I will let him walk out of this office as your guest and never ask after him again. And to honor the great debt we owe Osera for her bravery, the Council will keep its fleet at Osera to help with the rebuilding as long as necessary. You will get back your friend and your country, and all I ask in exchange is that you leave that head here and never speak of it again. Let Den remain what he’s always been, a black specter from the past. Such things have no place in our modern world. Forget him, forget the bounty, and take friendship instead: Eli’s, mine, and the Council’s. What do you say, King Josef? Is that not fair?”

Eli glanced at Josef, but the swordsman didn’t look at him. His glare never left his target, the old man smiling behind his large desk.

“I give you what you want, or you send my friend to the gallows,” he said, scratching his chin. “That sounds very much like a threat, Whitefall. I didn’t know the Merchant Prince of Zarin made threats.”

“Then you must not have been in politics very long,” Whitefall said drily. “Which is good, actually, because it gives me the chance to do something truly unheard of for a man in my position.”

Josef arched an eyebrow. “Which is?”

“Be honest with you,” Whitefall answered. He sat up straight, and for the first time his voice grew deadly serious.

“When I set Den’s Bounty, I made a gamble. The Council was a fledgling mess then, a dozen countries united in terror against a common enemy. When the Empress’s first fleet was defeated, we immediately began to fall back into the endless infighting and petty quarrels that have divided this continent since the first man called himself king. Even the promise of the Relay wasn’t enough to make the kingdoms forget their old enmity. As someone who’s sought to unite this land all his life, I could not let my hard-won consensus fracture, so I found another common cause—our mutual condemnation of Den’s betrayal.”

Whitefall glanced at the sticky bloodstain on his desk, and his voice began to tremble with old anger. “The night Den turned traitor, he killed men from every kingdom. He betrayed us all for no reason other than his own bloodlust. Den’s treason was an act everyone could condemn without reservation, and setting his bounty was the first unified action of what became the Council of Thrones. That debt bound us together, and from that first binding, I forged another, and then another. I built this Council on Den’s blood, piling each pebble of common ground one on top of the other until there was enough for all of us to stand on.”

“With you at the top,” Josef said.

“But of course,” Whitefall said, lips curving in a thin smile. “I built the Council, after all. I found Sara, I funded the research that became the Relay, I was the first to unite with Osera against the Empress the first and the second time she came, and I was the one who held everything together at the end.”

Josef tilted his head. “And did it never occur to you that you might have to pay if your gamble fell through?”

Whitefall shrugged. “It did. But you have to understand, when he betrayed us, Den was in his late fifties. At the time, we assumed he would either return with the Empress herself in the next year to finish us off, in which case the bounty would be the least of our problems, or he would die across the sea and we’d be rid of him forever. Either way, it seemed a safe bet.”

Josef snorted. “Any gambler knows that even the safest bets can come back around, Whitefall.”

“You’re right,” Whitefall said. “But gamblers also know that you can’t get blood from a stone. The simple, honest truth, King Josef, is that the Council can’t pay what you’re asking. Even after we handed over the Monpress bounty, we’d still be nearly a hundred thousand short on Den’s. But even if we could clear the total amount, the Council still might not pay. You see, the damage of collecting Monpress’s bounty may well be far worse than defaulting on our debt to you.”

“How do you figure that?” Josef said. “Eli’s bounty isn’t some giant, made-up number like Den’s. It’s backed by pledges from dozens of countries. Just call them in.”

“That’s precisely the problem,” Whitefall said. “There’s not a country in the Council at this point that hasn’t involved itself in some way with the Monpress bounty, and several, including Gaol and Mellinor, are in far deeper than they should be. It’s gotten to the point now where collecting the bounty pledges could destabilize the entire Council.”

Josef rolled his eyes. “Then why did you suggest it?”

“Because you left me no choice,” Whitefall said heatedly.

He stopped and took a deep breath. When he spoke again, the Merchant Prince’s voice was low and earnest. “As much as Osera thinks of itself as an isolated island, the truth is we’re all in this together. Osera needs the Council for trade and food, and we need Osera to protect our sea lanes. If you continue to demand what I cannot give, you’ll doom us all, including your own people. And that is a threat, King Josef.”

Josef sneered, but Whitefall just leaned back in his chair. “I’ve been very generous,” he said. “I’ve offered you your thief, I’ve promised to help rebuild your kingdom, and my ships are yours as long as you need them. What more do you want?”

Eli glanced at Josef. The swordsman was standing in first position, his eyes fixed on Whitefall with that cold, unwavering intensity usually reserved for serious duels. Eli grimaced. This was going to be bad. But when Josef finally spoke, his voice wasn’t the deep, threatening growl that usually came out of him when he looked like that. It was calm and measured, filled with a resolution as deep as mountain roots.

“I haven’t been king for long,” Josef said. “But I’ve made promises. Promises to people who lost their country and their children protecting your Council. Promises to my mother. Promises to all of Osera. I didn’t want this crown, but now that I’ve got it, I won’t betray it. Not for Eli, and certainly not to make your life easier.” He relaxed his stance, crossing his arms stubbornly. “I promised to bring five hundred thousand gold home to Osera, and I mean to keep that promise. Anything less is unworthy of my island.”

Whitefall’s eyes narrowed. “For being so new to kingship, it seems you’ve picked up the basics fairly quickly,” he said. “Making promises you can’t keep and being overly generous with other people’s money are certainly kingly qualities.”

“I wasn’t finished,” Josef said sharply. “You want a compromise? Fine. Here’s my offer. Osera still gets the full bounty, but we’ll give you fifty years to pay it. In return for our generosity, Osera will pay no Council taxes, tariffs, or dues for the entire fifty-year period.”

“No tariffs…” Whitefall’s eyes widened. “That is a hefty rate of interest, King Josef.”

Josef shrugged. “If you don’t like it, I can always take my bounty claim public. I’m sure everyone who pays Council taxes would love to see you default.”

Whitefall’s jaw tightened in fury. Eli didn’t blame him. If Den’s bounty was the uniting act that formed the Council, then failing to pay it could shatter the public’s trust, not to mention the trust of the member kingdoms. But if Whitefall did try to make good on the pledge, those countries that joined in the years after the first war with the Empress would balk at having to pay for such an enormous bounty they had no part in setting. It was a bitter fruit any way you cut it, one even Whitefall didn’t seem to know how to swallow.

“That is a bald threat indeed,” the Merchant Prince said at last, thrumming his fingers on his desk.

“You started it,” Josef said.

Whitefall did not look amused. “You realize that if I go by your terms, I’ll have to keep Monpress? The Council’s going to need all the leverage it can muster to handle such a long-term debt.”

“Do what you have to do,” Josef said. “A king has no use for the world’s greatest thief.”

Eli put on a great show of looking deeply distraught. Whitefall, however, didn’t have to put on airs. He looked positively stricken as he reached into his drawer for a clean sheaf of paper.

“I find myself at a loss,” he muttered, glancing at Eli. “You turned out to be a very poor bargaining chip indeed, Mr. Monpress.”

Eli shrugged, but Whitefall’s eyes were already back on the paper. “It will be a few hours before I can have all of this formally drawn up,” he said, jotting down notes. “I trust you don’t mind waiting.”

“Actually, I do,” Josef said. “This is a simple agreement, Whitefall. I don’t want some Council bureaucrat turning it into a thirty-page treaty full of loopholes. Write it out now, just like I said, then we can both sign and put all of this behind us.”

Whitefall’s pen stopped midscratch. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m always serious,” Josef said. “Get writing.”

Whitefall’s fingers clenched the paper, crumpling it into a tight ball, and for a moment, Eli thought the old man was going to order Josef out. But then the Merchant Prince’s shoulders slumped, and he bent down to pull a fresh sheet from the drawer. He set it on the table and, as Eli watched in amazement, began to write out the contract.

Not that he had a choice. Smart and experienced as Whitefall was, he hadn’t seen Josef coming. Any other king would have taken the first offer and gone home dancing that he had the Council so deeply in his debt, but not Josef. Whitefall was simply unprepared for a king who didn’t care about political power or the Council’s goodwill or even, seemingly, the life of his friend. Josef had come to Zarin to claim five hundred thousand gold standards for Osera, and that was exactly what he was going to do. In the face of such simple, bald determination, even Whitefall’s expert maneuvering was useless. Of course, just because he’d lost didn’t mean Whitefall was done fighting.

“I’m setting Monpress’s trial for noon tomorrow,” he said casually as he wrote. “The execution will probably be that night, considering the overwhelming evidence. Should be quite the event. I do hope you’ll still be in town to see it.”

He glanced up, but Josef’s stony expression hadn’t change a hair, and Whitefall returned to his writing with a sigh. “So much for honor among thieves.”

He wrote in silence for another minute before handing the paper to Josef. The king read it twice and then leaned over the desk, signing his name on the line Whitefall had drawn below the last paragraph. Whitefall turned the paper around and signed as well, stamping his seal in ink at the bottom.

“That it?” Josef said.

“That is it,” Whitefall said tiredly. “Unless you mean to kick me while I’m down as well?”

“No need,” Josef said.

He turned to leave, avoiding Eli’s eyes as he did, and left the Merchant Prince’s office without another word. Nico followed him silently, a shadow behind her swordsman. As the door shut behind them, Whitefall leaned back in his chair and tossed the contract on the table.

“And to think Theresa posted two hundred thousand gold standards trying to get that back.”

He glared at the door a moment longer, then reached back and pulled a velvet rope hidden behind his bookcase. The guards entered immediately, rushing to Eli. They hauled him up straight in his chair, though he was still sitting as straight as when they’d left. When Eli grunted in protest, the larger guard bent his arm back painfully. Eli went limp at once, giving the large man his best pathetic look.

“Take him away,” Whitefall said. “And tell the pages I need to see the Revenue Board, the Bounty Committee, and the Judiciary as soon as possible. Also, Sara is not to be admitted to my office for the rest of the day.”

“Yes, Merchant Prince,” the guards said, cutting Eli free.

Eli stood gratefully, stretching his arms before the guards caught them and tied him again for the trip back. When they cut the gag from his mouth, he pushed the handkerchief out with his tongue and glanced over his shoulder.

“Pleasure to finally meet you, Alber,” he called.

Whitefall didn’t even look up as the guards dragged Eli out of his office.