She ran to help him. “Can you stand?”
Eli nodded and took her offered hand, groaning as she pulled him to his feet.
Gin gave a warning growl. Nico was stirring, her cracked limbs righting themselves as they watched.
“What do we do now?” Miranda said.
“We do what we should have done when this mess started,” Gin said. “We kill her.”
“The dog might be right,” Eli whispered, his voice thin and pained. “At this point, without Josef, I don’t know anything else to do. Every moment she spends like this, our Nico goes further away. But whatever we do, let’s do it quickly, otherwise”—he tapped his foot on the acid damaged stone—“the castle will do it for us.”
Miranda froze. Now that he’d pointed it out, she didn’t know how she’d missed it. Now that Gin had injured the demon and broken the spell of fear, every spirit in earshot was awake and calling for blood. Every piece of the throne room, from the broken glass to the stones under their feet, rumbled with desperate anger. Showers of dust cascaded from the ceiling as the marble strained against its mortar. Even the support pillars were edging closer, preparing to break free and let gravity do the rest, even if it cost them their lives, if that’s what it took to kill the demon.
With a sickening series of cracks, Nico sat up. She
stretched out her arms, and the joints snapped back into place. As she moved, the terrified dust flung itself off her, creating a low cloud that obscured her movements. Even so, Miranda could feel when Nico turned, feel the girl’s regard sliding over her skin. Then Nico opened her eyes, and Miranda’s blood turned to lead. The girl’s eyes, which were too large to be human anymore, glowed with a steady, otherworldly light. They shone bright as candles through the terrified dust, brilliant but illuminating nothing. The rest of her face was lost in shadow, but Miranda could see clawlike hands scraping as the girl edged to the rim of her crater, and that was enough.
Nico moved along the wall, gathering herself for another leap, but Gin didn’t give her the chance. He charged with a howl, barreling toward the demonseed. She snarled in answer and sprang to meet him, winking through the darkness faster than Miranda could follow. But Gin’s sight was better than Nico’s, and the ghost hound’s teeth caught Nico’s arm just before she landed a killing strike on his skull. She whipped her other arm around and caught his jaw before he could bite down, stopping his momentum like an iron wall. Gin struggled against her grip, and Nico cackled, her terrible eyes narrowing to glowing slits. She slammed her feet into the screaming stone and lifted the ghosthound off the floor. Gin yelped in surprise as Nico swung him over her head and slammed him into the cracked wall where she had landed before. The hound rolled as he flew, landing on his feet. His paws barely touched the stone before he pushed off again with a roar, barreling straight for Nico. The demonseed had no time to dodge before the flat of Gin’s head hit her square in the chest and the two of them
went flying in a tangle of shifting fur and snapping fangs. But when they landed, Nico was on top. With a triumphant cry, she plunged her claws into Gin’s back, and the ghosthound howled. He fought her as hard as he could, rolling and snapping, trying to knock her off, but her hand was deep in his muscle, and he couldn’t dislodge her. Dark red blood flowed down his sides, matting his fur and hiding his patterns. His movements grew sluggish, but he would not stop fighting, even when his legs collapsed. Miranda’s throat was raw before she realized was screaming, though she couldn’t make sense of her own words, or if they were words at all.
Without thought or warning, her spirit flung itself open, and Miranda’s power roared to life. Spirit voices shot through her, clearer than ever before, flooding every sense until she could almost taste where one soul ended and the next began. Without thinking, she swept her spirit across them. The response was immediate. Every spirit was desperate for action, desperate to fight the intruder. A direction was all it took. She thrust her hand toward the demonseed, and the spirits leaped forward, screaming vengeance. A volley of broken glass, stone, and metal came from every corner of the throne room to strike Nico wherever there was room to strike. The impact ripped her hand free of Gin’s back, and she toppled over. The marble floor was ready for her. The moment she hit, the stones sank beneath her, going as soft as clay at Miranda’s command. As soon as Nico was mired, the stone surged over her arms, legs, chest, and neck before hardening again, pinning the demonseed to the ground. Miranda ran forward, flinging out her hand. The throwing knife that Nico had flung away clattered across the tiles and leaped into
her grip. Miranda clamped her fingers on the hilt as she jumped, aiming the point to land deep in Nico’s exposed throat.
But the blow never connected. The demonseed ripped her legs free of the stone at the last moment and caught Miranda in the chest. The Spiritualist grunted in pain as the new impact hit the old bruises, and she tumbled backward, cracking her head on the stone floor. Nico sprang to her feet, flakes of dead stone falling off her like dried mud.
“Stupid girl,” she hissed, her eyes glowing like lanterns in her shadowy face. Her hand shot out, grabbing Miranda around the throat. Miranda struggled violently as Nico lifted her off the ground, but her head was ringing and the demonseed’s grip was like iced iron against her skin. Nico pulled her close, close enough that Miranda could smell the strange, metallic stench of the girl’s transformed skin. The demonseed’s mouth curled into a sharp-toothed grin as she dangled Miranda from her outstretched arm, the Spiritualist’s still kicking weakly as her air ran out.
“That’s enough.”
The deep voice cut clean through the spirits’ clamor, leaving only silence in its wake. Nico froze, her lantern eyes flicking past Miranda to the tall figure standing in the ruined doorway, outlined by the falling dust.
Josef stood lopsidedly, Heart of War under his shoulder, like a crutch. Very slowly, he hobbled past Eli, who was still on the floor, clutching his ribs, past Gin, who lay motionless on the ground, and stopped right behind Miranda.
“Put her down.”
Nico obeyed, and the Spiritualist landed in a heap on the shattered floor, coughing and clutching her throat. Neither the demonseed nor the swordsman paid her any attention. They stood face to face, Nico cowed and heaving, Josef still and calm. With great effort, he shifted his weight to his own feet and lifted the Heart of War over Nico’s trembling body.
“Time to come home,” he said, and he brought the sword down.
Miranda could barely breathe. She knew the Heart of War was an awakened sword, but that did not describe what happened next. As the blade connected with Nico’s shoulder, the Heart of War’s spirit opened like a wizard’s. Miranda had never even heard of a spirit that could open its soul, yet the Heart’s presence was doubling and doubling again, growing exponentially until it filled the hall with its oppressive, immobile weight. It was as if a mountain had fallen on the castle with the sword at its center and Nico beneath it. She crashed to the floor, and Josef followed her down, sinking to his knees.
With a shuddering sob, Nico started to shrink, the terrifying light in her eyes fading away. Her claws dulled into fingers, and her frame shriveled to skin and bones again. As she shrank, the aura of fear receded, and Miranda felt the spirits calming as the Heart of War’s weight pushed them into a deep sleep. Only when the room was still did the Heart’s spirit begin to pull back. When the mountain was just a sword again, Josef lifted the black blade and slammed it into the stone beside Nico’s head. She was lying on the floor with her eyes closed, small and feeble again, as if nothing had happened. Josef slumped down the dull blade of his sword, resting on his elbow beside her.
“Stupid girl,” he muttered, brushing the wild black hair out of her sleeping face with a gentle finger. He smiled and, his eyes rolling back in his head, fell forward to lie beside her, the Heart of War standing over both of them like a guard.
Miranda didn’t realize Eli was moving until he crawled past her, Nico’s silver restraints tucked under his arm. He pulled himself to her and began clamping the manacles back into place, a grim look on his face. “Gin’s still alive,” he whispered roughly, locking the silver ring onto Nico’s neck. “Get him up and get them out of here.” He nodded toward Josef and Nico. “We’re not safe yet.”
At this point it was meaningless to argue. Miranda climbed slowly to her feet and stumbled toward Gin’s collapsed body, almost crying with relief when she saw his bloody chest rise and fall.
“Gin,” she whispered, fisting her hands into his coarse fur. “We have to move.”
The ghosthound’s orange eyes cracked open, and he shifted just a little. “Gin.” She shook him, blinking back tears. “Come on, mutt. We have to get you out of—”
“Leaving so soon?”
She had never hated Renaud’s voice as much as she did at that moment. She turned slowly, putting her back against Gin’s shoulder. On the other side of the throne room, still safe on its dais, the pillar waited. But, she squinted in the dim light, it was different now. All the black, rotten sections had vanished and, instead of its original dingy gray, the pillar’s surface was now white and fragile as crusted snow.
A wave of spirit pressure burst out from the dais, and the room began to shake. Long cracks raced across the
snowy surface of the pillar, and as they spread, the castle began to shake from its foundations. Showers of white dust poured down as cracks blossomed across the marble arches that held up the roof. Fissures sprouted on the walls, running like dust-bleeding capillaries from floor to ceiling as the stone spirits, already traumatized by multiple enslavements and a demonseed, finally started to lose their grip. Whole sections of wall began to come loose as Miranda watched, shattering the glass windows as the ceiling’s weight began to shift.
Then, as suddenly as it had started, the shaking stopped. The room became deathly still, as though the world were holding its breath, waiting.
In the silence, the pillar split open.
G
regorn’s Pillar split cleanly. The crystallized salt fell away in two neat halves, dissolving into fine crystals that spattered like wet snow against the marble. Where the salt crumbled, watery light swelled in its place, blue and calm like the noon sun seen from the bottom of a clear lake. At the light’s heart, casting long, dancing shadows across the ruined stone floor, was Renaud.
He stood at the center of the dais, the last of the salt falling around him, and across his shoulders, draped like the pelt of some mythic beast, was a glowing waterfall. It roared in a torrent over his shoulders and down his back, and then, just before it spilled onto the floor, it hit the wall of Renaud’s open spirit and turned in midair. The water’s own momentum forced it back up his chest and over his shoulder, where the cycle began again, an endless circle of water churning in furious anger. But no matter how it writhed and tossed, its flow was contained by the barriers of the enslavement. Renaud’s control was
well entrenched, and the water could not break free even enough to wet his clothes, which were completely dry despite the flood rushing across them.
Renaud held out his hand and the water followed his movements, charging down his arm to form a long, thin spike at the tips of his fingers, which he leveled at Miranda’s head.
“That’s two kings of Mellinor your little group has murdered,” he said. “Not to mention the destruction of our throne room. I don’t think anyone could object to your execution, at this point.”
“The only murderer here is you, Renaud,” Miranda hissed, clutching Gin’s fur. “Release that spirit!”
Renaud chuckled, and the water flowing across his shoulders roared even faster. “I don’t think you want me to do that. I see now why Gregorn was willing to die to keep this spirit. He’s barely awake, but just look what he can do.”
Renaud swung his arm, and the spike of water flew out in an arc, striking the wall like a cannon shot. The stones exploded outward, sailing into the night. Wind rushed in, and Miranda ducked as a shower of rubble flew toward her. When Renaud pulled back his hand, the entire northwest corner of the throne room was gone, leaving a gaping hole where the wall had been.
The stones in the roof squealed, but with one of their corner supports gone, it was a losing battle against gravity. One by one, they hurtled to the ground, cracking the floor where they hit. Renaud cackled, and the water’s light flashed wildly around him, shifting from blue to white to almost black in sickening confusion.
“Renaud!” Miranda shouted, putting her arms up in
a desperate attempt to shield herself and Gin from the falling rocks. “Enough of this! You’re going to destroy everything if you keep this up!”
“And what do I care?” Renaud’s voice trembled with the force of the spirit he held back. “Mellinor is mine to do with what I like!” He held out his hand again, and the water rushed over it in a fountain of white spray. “This is the heart of Mellinor,” he shouted, raising the water high over his head. “Everything else is just an empty shell!”
As he clenched his fist, Miranda could hear the water’s own deep voice, warped by the enslavement, screaming in frustration as it fought Renaud’s hold. And as it screamed, the palace began to shake worse than ever.
“We have to get out of here!” Miranda turned frantically to Eli, trying to cover Gin’s head as ever-larger pieces of ornamental stonework crashed down around them. “That idiot won’t stop until he brings the whole place down!”