The Spirit War

CHAPTER 24

Banage stopped them at the foot of the tower to hear reports from the other Spiritualists, but Miranda was too enraged to listen. Josef Liechten? A king? Of Osera? It was absolutely impossible. This had to be one of Eli’s scams. How he could trick an entire kingdom, queen included, Miranda had no idea, but she intended to find out. That thief could not be allowed to meddle with something this big.

By the time they entered the tower, Miranda had worked herself into a cold fury. For all his talk about not wasting time, Josef set a maddeningly slow pace. They climbed the winding tower steps carefully, stepping over the wounded as they went. The gristly scene only sharpened her rage. She wasn’t sure how, but she was positive Eli was somehow to blame for all this. And while she couldn’t actually pin the Empress’s sudden appearance on him, she was absolutely sure Osera would have been in a better position to defend itself if he hadn’t been here running whatever con he was running.

The stairs finally ended at a large watch room ringed with windows. There were wounded here too, but the half of the room overlooking the bay was clear, though the view of the bay itself was completely obscured by Allinu’s mist and Banage’s fog spirit. She could feel her mist straining to keep the island covered against the light of the setting sun and the stiff wind from the sea, and Miranda sent a small pulse of power down to Allinu’s ring. The strain eased a bit, and she turned her full attention back to the task at hand.

A large table was set up under one of the bay-facing windows. Beside it, an older man in an officer’s coat was waiting with a map, which he handed to Josef. Josef took it and leaned over the table, seemingly forgetting about them entirely. The older man looked stricken for a moment by Josef’s indifference and then stepped forward, bowing before Banage.

“Rector Spiritualis,” he said. “On behalf of all Osera, please let me thank you. You arrived in the nick of time.”

Banage nodded. “It was our duty.” He paused.

“Admiral Hawthorne,” the man supplied in a hurried voice. “Commander of her majesty’s navy. His majesty’s now, of course,” he corrected himself. “Though there’s not much left of it.”

“Wouldn’t be any left if these two hadn’t shown up,” Josef said, standing. He looked Miranda in the eye, then Banage. “Thank you,” he said, his voice surprisingly sincere. “I really thought that was the end. Thank you for the fog as well. Maybe it’ll buy us enough time for the Council reinforcements to arrive.”

“Don’t count on it,” Banage said. “Product of nepotism he may be, but Myron Whitefall’s an experienced general. His objective is the preservation of the Council, not Osera. He won’t waste time sailing troops out here when he can use your fall to buy the time he needs to fortify the continent.”

Josef’s face grew very dangerous. “If that’s how it is, then why are you here?”

“Because we are not the Council,” Banage said. “Much as some would like to claim otherwise, the Spirit Court is an independent body with its own priorities, and right now those include stopping the Empress’s advance. If you are indeed king of Osera, then we are prepared to offer you our full cooperation toward that end.”

Josef nodded. “What have you brought?”

Banage began to rattle off the Court forces—the number of Spiritualists, the capabilities of the spirits at their command, so on and so forth. Miranda stopped listening almost immediately and began scanning the room. There were many prone shapes lying in the dark around them. Miranda examined each of their faces, looking for the boyish, infuriating one. If Josef was here, Eli couldn’t be far away. He was probably watching right now…

Even as the thought crossed her mind, she spotted a familiar shape. At the far edge of the room, a small bundle lay pressed against the wall. Miranda had spotted it only by chance, and even now, when she was turned to look straight at it, the bundle seemed to fade into the shadows. But nothing could hide the white, feminine, skeletally thin hand peeking through the folds. Miranda sucked in a breath. She’d know that hand anywhere. It was the same hand that had dug into Gin’s back in Mellinor, and considering Josef was standing a few feet away, there was no doubt in her mind. It was Nico, and if she was there—Miranda’s eyes jumped to the lanky soldier sitting slumped beside the demonseed, his unruly black hair falling down to hide his face.

“Eli Monpress!” she shouted, interrupting Master Banage midsentence. “Come out now. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Everyone turned in surprise to see what she was pointing at. Across the room, the slumped man heaved a long sigh and looked up.

“Nothing gets by you, does it?” Eli said.

Miranda ignored him, turning to the admiral. “That man is the thief Eli Monpress,” she said. “He must be arrested at once.”

The admiral stared at her, his face strained and white as paper. “Lady Spiritualist,” he said at last. “I fear you are mistaken. That is Lord Eliton Banage, best friend and adviser to King Josef Liechten of Osera.”

For several seconds, Miranda was too shocked to speak.

“Banage?” she said at last. “Eliton Banage?” She turned back to Eli, who was on his feet by this point, neatly picking his way toward them through the lines of the wounded. “Of all the…” She almost couldn’t find the words. “Slanderous, outrageous, presumptuous—” The list dissolved into enraged sputters. “How dare you try and hide behind the name of the most respected wizard on the continent! I don’t care if we’re at war or if the Empress is coming up the stairs as we speak, I’m taking this criminal in right now. Master Banage!” She turned to face her Rector. “I’ll handle this. He won’t…”

Her voice trailed off when she saw Master Banage’s face. He was standing perfectly still, his eyes open so wide she could see the whites all the way around. He was staring at Eli like another man might stare at a corpse suddenly come to life.

“There is no slander,” Banage said, his voice thin and almost trembling. “It’s been a long time, Eliton.”

“Fifteen years,” Eli said, stepping up to stand beside Josef.

Miranda couldn’t even speak. She just stood there, looking from Banage to Eli and back again. “Impossible,” she whispered. “Impossible. There is no way—”

“Miranda,” Banage said, his voice suddenly as sharp as a razor. “Go downstairs and command the front until I return.”

Miranda blinked. “What?”

“Now,” Banage snapped.

She stared at him stupidly as the command sank in. Then, without a word, Miranda obeyed. She turned and walked down the stairs, the click of her boots and the moans of the wounded the only sound in the tower. She didn’t stop walking until she reached the edge of the sea wall. She stood on the precipice, staring out into thick fog, her mind whirring so fast she didn’t even notice Gin until the ghosthound pressed his nose into her back.

“Eli is Master Banage’s son.” The words tumbled out of her before she could stop them.

“Really?” Gin said, sitting down beside her. “I always thought they smelled kind of similar.”

“This has to be some kind of joke,” Miranda went on as though she hadn’t heard him. “Master Banage is a man of duty and integrity. I’ve never heard him tell a lie, and I don’t even think he’s capable of stealing. Eli is the most irresponsible, conniving, sleazy excuse for a wizard I’ve ever met. How can they possibly be related?”

“Morality isn’t an inherited trait,” Gin said, flicking his ears. “Look at things objectively and it’s really not surprising. I mean, they’re both dark haired, tall for humans, thin built, and powerful wizards.”

Miranda didn’t even want to go down that path, but now that Gin had put the idea in her head, her mind would not stop finding similarities. The way Eli and Master Banage both talked with their hands, for instance, or the particular way their eyes would narrow when they were angry. The little details kept coming, piling up until even her outrage couldn’t overpower the mountain of evidence.

“Powers,” she muttered, flopping against Gin. “Why didn’t Master Banage just tell me?”

Gin snorted. “Can’t blame him. Can you imagine anyone willingly owning that thief as a son?”

Miranda rubbed her eyes. “I don’t even know anymore. I can’t believe—”

She stopped when she felt Gin’s paw nudge into her side. The ghosthound was looking over his shoulder. Miranda turned as well and saw one of the young Spiritualists, a girl whose name she couldn’t remember, standing timidly several feet away with a look on her face that screamed, I have an important message but I’m too shy to interrupt.

Miranda sighed. “What?”

“Spiritualist Lyonette,” the girl said, bowing low even though she and Miranda were technically the same rank. “Someone’s approaching from the city.”

“Someone?” Miranda said, frowning. “What kind of someone?”

“We’re not sure,” the girl said. “It’s hard to see with the fog, but it looks like two people leading ten wagons.”

“Two people leading ten wagons?” Miranda’s scowl deepened, and Gin began to growl. “All right,” she said, jumping off the wall. “Let me have a look.” Because, really, how much stranger could this day get?

The girl smiled in relief as Miranda and Gin walked to the head of the road. Sure enough, squinting through the mist Miranda could just barely make out ten wagon-shaped shadows coming down the mountain with surprising speed. Gin raised his nose, sniffing the air in a loud huff.

Miranda waited impatiently. “Well?”

“You’re not going to believe this,” Gin said, lowering his head with a snort. “And you’re not going to like it either.”

“What?” Miranda said pointedly.

Gin told her, and he was right, she didn’t like it one bit. Biting back a curse, she grabbed the Spiritualist girl and sent her up the stairs to warn Master Banage that things had, against all odds, gotten worse.

Eli hung back, keeping Josef between himself and Banage. The king and the Rector were talking strategy, something about leveraging Josef’s ability to sink palace ships, but Eli was too distracted to pay much attention to the actual plan. The Rector’s eyes never left Josef or the map, but Eli could feel the old man watching him without watching, just like he used to. Eli crossed his arms and glared pointedly out at the fog. He’d known the moment he decided to send Miranda the message that it would come to this. He didn’t regret calling for help, even this beat asking Benehime for aid, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

He was staring as hard as he could at the blank, gray spot where the beach should be when he heard someone enter the room. He looked up to see a girl about Miranda’s age, though with only a fraction of Miranda’s rings, standing in the doorway. She bowed nervously and went straight for the Rector, whispering in his ear. Banage’s already stern face fell into a deep frown as she spoke. When she finished he nodded and waved her away, turning to Josef with a dour look.

“It seems the Council is here.”

“Council?” Josef said expectantly. “Troops?”

Banage shook his head. “I imagine troops are coming, but right now you’ll have to content yourself with the Council’s head wizard.”

Despite his best efforts, Eli’s breath caught.

Thankfully, Josef didn’t notice. He was glaring at Banage, turning this latest development over in his head, looking for the trap. “I thought the Spirit Court split from the Council,” he said. “That’s what you told me.”

“We have,” Banage said. “But we face a common enemy. I should think you’d welcome the help.”

“That depends on the help,” Josef said.

“For that, you’ll have to ask her yourself,” Banage said, his voice cold. “The Court does not involve itself in her methods.”

Josef looked at the Rector with a curious scowl, but he started toward the door all the same. He paused when he reached it, looking over his shoulder at Banage, who had not moved.

“Go ahead,” the Rector said. “Eliton and I have things to discuss in private.”

Josef’s eyes darted to Eli, but the thief shook his head. It would have come to this sooner or later. Might as well be sooner.

Josef turned and started down the stairs, leaving Eli and Banage staring at each other. Thanks to the thick fog, the tower was very dark now. Eli could barely make out the wounded lying on the other side of the room. Banage, however, he could see clearly thanks to the light that was still emanating from his rings. Eli grimaced and looked away.

“If you’re here to arrest me, don’t bother,” he said. “I’m under the king’s protection. Last time I checked, Spiritualists don’t break local laws.”

“I’m not here to arrest you,” Banage said quietly. “Though I am happy you remember some of the doctrine I tried to teach you.”

“How could I forget?” Eli grumbled. “Sometimes I think you taught me to read only so I could study Spiritualist laws.” He paused, waiting for Banage to start raging, but the room was more silent than ever. The quiet stretched on and on until Eli could bear it no longer. “You wanted to discuss things in private,” he said, sitting on the edge of the table. “So discuss.”

Banage took a deep breath. “Why didn’t you come home that night?”

Eli didn’t have to ask which night he meant. “I had no reason to,” he said. “What was there for me to go home to? You didn’t want me unless I was ready to be an obedient Spiritualist.”

“That’s not true,” Banage said. “I was trying to teach you discipline. Responsibility. You were always powerful, and there are rules that—”

“Oh, yes,” Eli said, surprised at how bitter his voice sounded. “How could I forget? You cared more for rules than you ever did for me.”

“I was trying to teach you respect for the spirits!” Banage shouted. “Obviously, I failed. Look at you, a thief and a degenerate, using spirits for your own selfish purposes.” He clenched his fists, his rings glowing brighter as his spirits reflected his anger. “When I think of what you could have been. What I could have made you—”

“I don’t have to listen to this,” Eli said, hopping off the table. “I freed myself from your expectations years ago, old man. If you’re going to be disappointed in someone, save it for yourself. You were a terrible teacher and a miserable excuse for a father. If I didn’t turn out the way you wanted, that’s entirely on you.”

Eli started to leave, but Banage moved to stand in his way. Eli reached out to push his father aside, but his hand stopped an inch from the old man’s arm. Banage was looking at him with an expression Eli had never seen on his face before. If it had been anyone else, he would have said the old man was on the verge of tears.

“I am more disappointed in myself than you will ever know,” Banage whispered. “When your mother refused to leave Whitefall’s Council, I took you away from Zarin and tried to raise you as best I could. Every night since you vanished, I’ve been haunted by regret for all I could have done to prevent it. I’ve hated you, Eliton. I’ve despised you, blamed you, but I never, ever stopped loving you.” His hands reached out, fingers trembling, to clutch Eli’s shoulders. “The day I first saw your bounty poster was the happiest day of my life, because that was the day I knew you were still alive.”

“And you sent your apprentice after me,” Eli said.

Banage flinched. “I had to. Whatever you may think, I am responsible for you, as a father and as Rector. I could not let you go on abusing spirits and flaunting the rules of the Court.”

Eli reached up and pried Banage’s fingers off his arms. “I’ve never abused a spirit in my life,” he said. “Ever. Ask Miranda, she knows. So would you, if you knew me at all.”

“And you think for that I should just let you do as you like?” Banage said, his voice growing heated again. “You’re one of the most powerful wizards I’ve ever seen, and yet you insist on being a criminal. If you will not willingly accept the responsibility and self-control that power demands, then it is my duty to make you. If you want to throw your life away, that’s your decision, but you can’t be angry with me for doing my duty!”

“Throwing my life away?” Eli roared. “You finally find me after fifteen years and that’s all you want to talk about? How I’m wasting my power as a wizard? Powers, father.” He looked away in disgust. “All I ever wanted was for you to see that I was worthy of your interest. Me. Not my power as a wizard or my future as a Spiritualist. Just me, Eli, your son.”

He glanced back out of the corner of his eyes, but Banage’s face was sterner than ever. Eli sighed and shook his head. “Obviously that’s too much for you,” he muttered, pushing past Banage and stomping toward the door. “Next time you want to have a private chat, don’t bother unless you’ve got something new to say.”

“Wait.”

Eli paused. He could hear Banage moving, but he didn’t turn back. He didn’t even want to look at the man anymore.

“Your mother is outside,” Banage said, his voice strangely thick. “Will you say something to her?”

“No,” Eli said, stomping down the stairs. “I have even less to say to her than I had for you.”

If he’d looked back then, he would have seen Banage put his head in his hands, but he didn’t. He ran down the stairs two at a time, ducking out at the second-to-last landing, the only landing that had a window. He wiggled through the narrow slit and dropped to the walkway along the sea wall, keeping the tower between himself and the gathered Spiritualists standing at the tower door. He could hear voices on the wind, Miranda’s, Josef’s, and another, a smoky, haughty voice from his memory. Eli stopped, nearly overcome by the memory of fragrant smoke. Then the wind shifted and the voices vanished. Free again, Eli walked to the very end of the sea wall and sat down in the crevice where the wall met the cliff. The fighting had been lighter here, and he was able to find a clean stretch of stone. The fog hid the ravaged battlefield, and staring into the blank grayness, he was almost able to forget where he was and why.

You should have known better, love.

Powers, Eli thought, closing his eyes as the voice filled his mind. Not now.

His ribs burned through his tattered shirt as Benehime’s white arms snaked around him.

I don’t even know why you stayed to talk, she whispered in his ear. To Banage you’re just another duty, another mess to put right. Did you really think it would be any different?

Eli dropped his head. He hated Benehime’s voice at the best of times, but he never hated it as much as when she spoke sense. “Good thing I didn’t call the Spiritualists to go over ancient history,” he muttered. “So long as Banage fights the Empress, I don’t really care what he does with his private time.”

Oh yes. He could hear Benehime’s smile. How goes the good fight? Not well, I’m guessing, considering the sorry state of your darling lava spirit.

Eli set his teeth and said nothing.

He’s going to die, you know, Benehime whispered. Such a waste. I could save him, of course. Him, your swordsman, even your little demon. I could save them all, but oh—She paused. That’s right. You’re not going to ask for my help…

Her voice trailed off, letting the words hang. In the silence, her finger slid across his chest to hover just on the edge of Karon’s burn. The moments ticked on, but Eli didn’t break his silence. Finally, Benehime sighed in his ear.

I’ll be waiting, she whispered, her hands pulling back through her cut in the world. And unlike Banage, who wants you to be something you’re not, or Miranda, who just wants you to disappear, or even Josef, who wants you to save his kingdom, all I ask, all I’ve ever wanted, is your love. Come home, Eliton. Let me help you. Love me again as I love you and I’ll give you everything—your lava spirit, your friends’ lives, safety for this land, everything.

Eli closed his eyes as the Lady’s presence began to fade.

When you’re ready, love, I’ll be here. I’ll always be here for you.

The words echoed in the fog, and then the Lady was gone. Eli closed his eyes as her pressure vanished, clutching his fingers against Karon’s burn.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. I’ll find another way to save you. But you know I can’t go back.” He felt the water on his cheeks before he realized he was crying. He scrubbed his eyes fiercely and tried to look away, but everywhere he looked, he saw the ravages of war. The dead were little more than shadows in the fog, but he felt them just as he heard the terrified whispers of the spirits all around him, the moaning fear of the winds above, and though he knew it was his imagination, Eli could almost taste the reproach in their voices.

Eli bowed his head. “I’m sorry this is happening,” he said, rubbing his eyes on his sleeves. “I’m sorry I let this happen. I’m letting everybody down. It’s my fault.”

And it was. It was his fault. His fault for thinking Benehime would actually be above starting a war over her stupid obsession. His fault for letting it continue. He could stop it right now. One more lie, that’s all it would take. But…

“I’m sorry,” he said, choking on the words. “I can’t go back to her. I’m so sorry, so, so sorry, but I can’t. I can’t.”

The sob shook him this time, and Eli clenched as his burned chest seized. Despite the motion, Karon didn’t move. Eli swore under his breath and let gravity slide him down the cliff and toward the cold, wet stone, curling into a ball on his side as the mist swallowed him whole.

Miranda stood at the foot of the watchtower with her arms crossed and her mouth set in a stubborn line. Gin stood beside her, growling deep in his chest as he kept his eyes on Sara and, more important, Sparrow, who was standing beside her. Sara stared right back, smoking her ever-present pipe in long puffs. Sparrow simply looked bored, lounging on the wagon with a sleepy expression like ghosthounds growled at him all the time. Of course, for most of the last two months, that had pretty much been the case.

Miranda ignored the flamboyant man completely, focusing on Sara, head wizard of the Council of Thrones, inventor of the Ollor Relay, and Eli Monpress’s mother. Powers, she thought with a stifled groan, that explained so much. But at least it meant Eli came by his scheming honestly, most likely making it the only honestly gotten thing he possessed. She studied Sara as the wizardess took another puff of her pipe, trying to see what Master Banage had ever seen in the woman. Whatever it was, it must be long gone. Miranda had been ready to strangle her from the first moment they’d met.

The door of the tower creaked and she turned gladly to greet Master Banage. But it wasn’t the Rector who emerged from the tower. It was Josef, and he did not look happy.

“What’s all this?” he said, eyes moving up and down the spectacle gathered at his door.

“All this” was a line of wagons, the same wagons from the Council’s assault on the Spirit Court Tower earlier that morning. Each was large enough to carry eight men with room to spare and filled with lumpy objects hidden beneath a cover of thick, tied canvas. There were ten wagons in total, all identical, and none with a driver or animals to pull them. They rolled on their own, much like Slorn’s wagons, though with wheels instead of legs. But these weren’t like Slorn’s wagons; Miranda was positive of that. One, Sara wasn’t that nice, or a Shaper, and two, the wagons didn’t move and fidget like Slorn’s awakened creations did. These wagons followed Sara’s instructions with a sluggishness that reminded Miranda more of bad puppetry than spirit work. Still, strange as this was, Miranda put it out of her mind. The threat, if there was one, wouldn’t come from wagons that moved themselves but from whatever Sara was hiding under their cloth covers.

Sara met Josef with a smile, her eyes flicking to the enormous sword on his back. “You must be Josef Liechten, master of the fabled Heart of War. I hear you’re king of Osera now. Congratulations, and my sincere condolences on the loss of your mother.”

Miranda snorted. Sara didn’t sound sincere at all. Fortunately, none of this seemed to faze Josef.

“Right,” he said. “And why are you here?”

“To honor the Council’s duty to Osera,” Sara answered with a shrug. “And to offer a new weapon in the war against the Empress.”

That got Josef’s attention. “What have you got?”

Sara smiled. “You’ll see for yourself as soon as the fog clears, which should be any moment now.”

“What are you talking about?” Miranda said.

Sara looked surprised. “Can’t you hear it, Spiritualist? Listen. The mist is straining. Something’s pushing on it.”

Miranda shifted her attention immediately to her mist, but Allinu felt fine. Nothing was different. Miranda frowned and pushed softly on the thread of power connecting them. The thread pushed back, but the push was weak and thin, and Miranda’s breath caught.

“Allinu!” she shouted, looking up.

“Sorry, mistress,” the mist whispered around her. “We’re holding as best we can, but the Empress has a wind. I don’t know how much longer we can keep this up.”

“A wind?” Miranda scowled. “How big a wind?”

“Big enough to blow your mist away,” Sara said, glancing up. “Look.”

Miranda looked. Sure enough, she could see patches of the evening sky overhead.

“I’m sorry, mistress,” Allinu whimpered. “We tried.”

Miranda made a soothing sound and held out her hand. The mountain mist spiraled down, sinking into her ring with a sigh. Banage’s fog was dissipating as well, and Miranda turned, staring out at the sea as the air cleared.

“Powers,” she muttered, blinking against the strong, unnaturally steady wind from the sea.

Behind her, Josef added a more powerful curse.

Just beyond the line of trees and wrecked ships was a wall of palace ships. There were seven in all, pulled so close to each other that their crews could step from one boat to the next. Their decks were black with soldiers arranged in alternating lines, the first row kneeling, the next standing just behind them. All of them were holding larger versions of the curved bows the soldiers who’d invaded the bay had been carrying, and every bow was drawn. Miranda swallowed as the full force of what she was seeing hit her. Thousands of arrows, notched and drawn, and all of them pointed at the top of the storm wall where the Oseran forces were standing.

“Durn!” Miranda shouted, but her rock spirit’s name was lost in the deafening snap of the bowstrings. A black wall of arrows shot over the bay. There wasn’t time to duck, no time for Miranda to do anything except to raise her hands in a pathetic shield as the arrows whistled toward her.

When the arrows were close enough that Miranda could see the fletching, everything suddenly went black. She blinked in surprise and then winced at the thud of the arrows striking something solid and smooth. Miranda stepped back, and then she began to grin. Durn towered over her, a great stone wall covering a ten-foot-long span of the storm wall. She grinned wider and slapped her hand against the stone. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Durn answered, his gravelly voice thick with pride.

Beside her, Josef lowered his sword. “Nice trick.”

Miranda looked over her shoulder. By luck of where she’d been standing, Durn’s wall had also sheltered the road, the door to the tower, and most of their forces. Outside the stone’s reach, arrows lay everywhere. They stuck in the ground, lay broken on the stone, and a few were even embedded in the wooden shutters of the watchtower windows. Miranda swallowed. If Durn hadn’t shielded them, that surprise attack might well have been the end. Back on the road, the sailors and Spiritualists stood in a stunned clump, their eyes glassy as everyone realized how close they’d come to death.

“They’re notching another volley.”

Josef’s voice fell through the stunned silence like an iron weight. Miranda turned her head to see the swordsman at the edge of Durn’s wall, peering out at the enemy.

“Get to cover!” she cried.

She didn’t have to say it twice. Soldiers and Spiritualists scrambled for the safety of the tower’s shadow. They used the broken arrows as markers, crowding into the lee of the tower where no arrows had landed. Sara, however, did not move. She stood calmly beside her wagons, and Sparrow stood calmly beside her, though his face was paler than usual as he kicked a stray arrow that had landed inches from his boot.

“They’re not going to shoot again,” Sara said when she caught Miranda’s alarmed look. “The arrows are just to keep us huddled. I’d get your Spiritualists back out here. The real attack is about to start.”

“What do you mean?” Miranda said, crouching behind Durn. “How do you know?”

“I’ve fought the Empress before,” Sara said, lifting her chin. “Look. Here they come now.”

Miranda pressed her hand against Durn’s surface. The stone softened under her fingers, letting her push a small hole through the wall, just enough to see that Sara was right. On the deck of the center palace ship, behind the line of archers, a circle of ten people stood around a ball of stone and metal. The circle of figures raised their arms, and the ball began to glow red hot. Miranda felt her mouth go dry. She’d never seen one before, but there was no question that the thing at the circle’s center was one of the Empress’s war spirits. But even as she recognized what she was looking at, the circle of wizards threw their arms toward Osera and the glowing ball launched off the deck. It flew through the air with a deep, wailing scream, leaving a trail of smoke behind it as it arced up and then down, straight toward Durn’s wall.

Miranda ran back before she knew what she was doing, throwing out her hand as Mellinor surged out of her. The water flew up in a spout at the falling war spirit, and they collided midair in a burst of steam. A second later, she felt Mellinor’s triumph echo through her as the jumble of metal and stone, now black and dripping, slammed to the ground at the watchtower’s foot, followed by a shower of icy cold water.

Miranda held out her hand as Mellinor flowed back into her. “Good catch!”

“Don’t celebrate yet,” Mellinor said, his voice dire. “Look.”

Miranda glanced back to see the war spirit stirring in its crater, and then the spirit began to unfold. Stone and iron shifted, forming four sturdy legs, a solid, low-slung body, and a broad, flat head with a great hanging jaw of sharp, steel teeth. The moment the transformation was complete, the war spirit rolled smoothly to its feet, steam rising as it started heating itself up again.

“Powers,” Miranda muttered, raising her hands. Beside her, Gin fell to a crouch, claws ready. But before she could do more than ready her spirits, Josef stepped in front of her, sword out.

“I’ll handle this,” he said. “Get your wizards ready to stop the rest.”

“The rest?” Miranda said, bewildered.

Josef nodded and jerked his head toward the water. Miranda turned, and her heart sank. The sky was full of smoke trails as countless red-hot spirits launched from the decks of the palace ships. Most were already flying high overhead to fall on the city behind them. Miranda could only watch in horror as the first one crashed into the mountain, landing in the houses on the eastern slope with an impact she felt through her boots.

But even as the first wave hit, more war spirits were launching. The second volley hit the palace itself. One struck the crumbling tower at the top, taking it clean off. Another crashed into the palace’s eastern face, cracking the wall as it tore into the inner halls.

“Miranda,” Mellinor whispered in her ear. She barely heard him. She was staring in horror as a war spirit crashed through the palace roof, shattering the floors below with a distant boom of pulverized stone.

“Miranda!” the sea spirit shouted.

She snapped out of it. “Right,” she muttered, running for the lee of the tower where the Spiritualists were hiding.

“All of you!” she shouted, pointing to no one in particular. “Get to the city and get those spirits under control!”

The Spiritualists stared at her dumbly.

“Go!” she shouted again.

This time, they obeyed. The air was full of flashes as they called their mounts and took off toward the burning city, but Miranda didn’t see it. She was already marching back toward Durn’s wall.

“We have to stop those ships,” she said. “Where’s Master Banage?”

“Still in the tower, I think,” Gin said, hunching down behind the stone spirit.

Miranda bit back a frustrated groan. “What’s he doing? We need him.”

“Don’t know,” Gin growled. “Look sharp, Sara’s on the move.”

Miranda snapped her head to see her dog was right. Sara had all ten of her wagons lined up along the edge of the storm wall. She and Sparrow were beside the first one, untying the canvas cover.

“What are you doing?” Miranda shouted, marching over.

“What does it look like?” Sara said, undoing the last knot with a snap of her fingers. “I didn’t come here to enjoy the show. The war spirits that have already landed are more than enough to overwhelm your small force of Spiritualists. If we’re going to save this island, we can’t have them launching any more, which means we have to sink the ships.”

“Sink the—” Miranda said, coming to a stop beside her. “How?”

“Same way you sink anything,” Sara said. “Put a hole in it.”

She flashed Miranda a thin smile and tugged the canvas aside. It slid off the wagon, revealing… Miranda wasn’t actually sure. The wagon was full of straw and raw wool, like a packing crate, and nestled neatly in the padding were five black orbs. Each one was slightly larger than a man’s head, perfectly round and as shiny black as a puddle of freshly spilled ink. The sun was well down now as evening shifted into night, but Miranda could see the orbs well enough thanks to the grim glow of the burning city behind her. The spheres glistened wetly in the fire light, and though she could hear nothing, something about the orbs made Miranda very uneasy.

“What are those?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” Sara said, picking one up.

The orb fit neatly between her small hands. As Sara rested it against her chest, Miranda swore she saw the orb’s black surface tremble.

“Sparrow,” Sara said, lowering the orb. “Ready yet?”

“Almost,” Sparrow answered.

Miranda glanced up at his voice to see that he’d uncovered the next wagon. This one held no soft packing or strange orbs. Instead, the wagon contained a miniature catapult. The weapon was very cleverly made, with several different levels of tension to fit the most power into the smallest space. So cleverly made, in fact, that Miranda was only slightly surprised when it greeted Sara in a calm, professional voice.

“Hello, Sara. What is our objective today?”

Miranda gaped. “You brought an awakened catapult?”

“Of course,” Sara said, placing the black orb in the small depression at the end of the catapult’s arm. It didn’t look big enough at first, but the catapult shifted as the sphere settled, moving the grain of its wood to hold the glassy ball neatly in place.

“Shaper-made,” Sara said with a smile. “What’s the point in slaving for the Council if you can’t spend some money once in a while?”

Miranda stared at her, eyes wide. “Why do you need a Shaper-made catapult?”

“Because I put far too much effort into these to waste them on bad shots,” Sara said dryly, running her hand over the orb. “We’ll start with the center ship.”

This last bit was directed at the catapult. It obeyed instantly, turning the wagon until it was pointed at the palace ship in the very center of the line. “Ready on your mark,” it said, gears creaking as the arm wrenched back.

Sara held out her hand, checking the wind. The moment it fell slack, she gave the order.

“Fire.”

The catapult slung, and the black orb flew silently through the air, vanishing almost instantly into the dark. Miranda held her breath, listening for… she wasn’t sure. An explosion, perhaps. But all she heard was the slight, musical sound of glass breaking, so soft it was nearly hidden by the waves. But what followed couldn’t have been hidden by anything. Miranda bent double, slamming her hands over her ears as the night began to scream.