The Spirit Eater

CHAPTER 14

The water over his head parted, and Eli sucked in an enormous breath. He sat there a moment, reveling in the joy of breathing, before Miranda’s face dipped down to fill his vision. She grabbed his head, checking his eyes and throat.

“You’re right,” she said. “He’s fine.”

Eli thought she was talking to him until he heard the water at his throat bubble in answer.

“Of course I’m right,” Mellinor said. “It’s my water.”

Miranda’s mouth twitched in a smile before returning to a stern line as she looked down at Eli.

“Turn him around,” she said haughtily. “I’m going to change out of these wet clothes and then we’ll see what the plan is.”

“Shouldn’t you include me in this conversation?” Eli said. “This is my neck you’re talking—”

His words cut off with a choke as Mellinor heaved sideways, spinning him dizzily in his watery prison. Eli thrashed, but the water was like cement around him, and all he managed was to get a giant mouthful of cold, salty water down his windpipe as the sea spirit turned him completely around. He coughed loudly and spat out the water on the wall that was now five inches from his nose, filling his vision.

“There’s no cause for violence,” he said, still hacking.

“If you want to keep enjoying the air, you’ll keep your mouth shut,” Miranda said, her voice floating from the room behind him. “One more word and I’ll let Mellinor put you back underwater. Gin! Do you see Sparrow anywhere around?”

“No.” The ghosthound’s growl was muffled, and Eli realized he must be outside the small building they were in. Of course, there was no way the hound could fit inside.

“Stop him if you see him,” Miranda said, her voice dampened by the clothes she must have been pulling over her head. “I want him to ask Izo’s men to move us to a better location. I’ll need more room to properly contain the thief for tonight.”

Eli craned his neck, looking around at the small wooden hut with its low, easily scalable windows looking out onto quiet, sheltered back alleys. “This place looks fine to me.”

“Shut up,” Miranda and Gin said in unison.

Eli turned sullenly back to the wall.

“I’ll send Sparrow your way if I see him,” Gin said. “Hurry up, it’s already getting dark.”

Miranda made an annoyed sound and the room lapsed into silence, broken only by the soft shuffle of clothing.

Eli stared at the wall, listening with interest. From what he could hear, Miranda was six, maybe seven feet away. Far too short for a break even in the small room, assuming, of course, he could get out of the water spirit, which he couldn’t. Kirik would be no use. The lava spirit’s burn was waterlogged, and Mellinor was the bigger spirit anyway. The sea would win for sure if it came to a fight.

Eli tried a few experimental movements, then stopped. The water was like a vise, pressing into him so hard he couldn’t even wiggle his fingers. He struggled a bit more, just on principle, before flopping down against the water to wait it out.

He’d been like that for only a few moments when he felt something brush his cheek. Eli jumped, lashing his head back in surprise. Or he tried to. All he managed was to wrench his neck into an awful crick. Eli winced and turned to see what had touched him. His eyes widened in surprise. There, standing right next to Mellinor’s water, was a man. He was dressed in dull brown with a bow over his shoulder and a quiver of very familiar arrows.

The man put a finger to his lips. “Don’t say anything,” he whispered. “My name is Sparrow, and I have an offer for the great Eli Monpress.”

Eli stared at the man, curious now. He wasn’t a Spiritualist, or even a wizard, Eli would wager. Even Great Spirits perked up when a wizard spoke, no matter how used they were to having them around, but Mellinor had remained perfectly still. Still, there was something very odd going on. For one thing, the man had to be standing right behind Miranda, but the soft sounds of her changing hadn’t even paused. The Spiritualist could be a little blind at times, but it wasn’t like she would just miss something like this. Even stranger, Gin hadn’t made a sound either. That made Eli very cautious. Unless there were two men named Sparrow here, this was the one Miranda had asked the hound to look for, and any person who could sneak past an alert ghosthound was someone to be treated with respect.

Sparrow smiled as he watched Eli’s thought process and deftly flicked a card out of his front pocket. “Before you ask,” he said softly, slipping the card down Eli’s shirt collar, “no, they don’t know I’m here.” He leaned casually against the wall. “I’m something of an oddity, you see. I’ve been told I’m the opposite of a wizard, something completely beneath the world’s notice, or some such. I don’t fully understand it myself, but it’s dreadfully useful, especially when sneaking around a girl who relies on spirits to do her watching.” He glanced sideways beyond Eli’s line of vision to where Miranda was getting ready. “Unless I’m wearing something with some life and color to it, spirits can’t see me at all, so I thought I’d take advantage of my current drab attire to have a little chat with you. Of course”—he frowned—“the moment you speak, the jig is up, so things are going to be a little one-sided, I’m afraid. But I’m sure I can count on a man known for his curiosity to keep his mouth shut until he gets an explanation.”

Eli gave him a sour look, but nodded.

“Good,” Sparrow said. “You should know first that I’m not Spirit Court, and I’m not after your bounty either. I work for the Council of Thrones. Specifically, I work for the Council’s Head Wizard, and she’s very interested in you.”

Eli’s eyes went wide as coins, and he mouthed one word.

Sara.

“Who else?” Sparrow said. “I’m afraid things are about to be very difficult for you, Mr. Monpress. Miranda’s on the warpath. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were standing trial before Banage within the month. However, it doesn’t have to be that way.” Sparrow leaned a little closer. “Sara has asked me to assure you that you will always be welcome in her department.”

Eli glowered and said nothing. Sparrow shrugged and gave Eli’s head a wet pat. “The offer’s there, when you’re ready,” he said, moving silently back toward the open window. “Just remember, the Council’s been planning your hanging since your bounty hit twenty thousand. It promises to be quite the event, but even this could be quietly forgotten if Sara wanted it to be. Think on that a bit. I’ll be in touch, should you need me.” He gave Eli one final smile before slipping quietly through the window, vanishing without a sound into the alley beyond.

Eli was still staring when Mellinor jerked beneath him, whirling him around to face Miranda, who was dressed in one of her standard riding suits, a deep blue one this time, with her red curls pulled up in a severe ponytail and a deep scowl on her face.

She folded her arms over her chest as Eli smiled at her. “What were you looking at just now?”

“Absolutely nothing of consequence,” Eli said.

Miranda’s look told clearly how much she believed that, but before she could say anything, Gin poked his head in the front door. “Sparrow’s headed toward Izo’s.”

Miranda shook her head and grabbed a handful of Mellinor’s water.

“Where are we going now?” Eli said, but Miranda didn’t answer. She just dragged him, water and all, out the door and into the dirt street beyond.

Miranda marched into Izo’s hall, leaving a wet trail on the grimy stone as she dragged a water-bound Eli behind her. Sparrow was already waiting for her. His drab clothes were gone, replaced by his usual finery, now a green silk coat covered with a short blue cape that set off his eyes in a way that was obviously planned. He looked impossibly smug, as always, but his expression was somewhat tempered by the sight of their prize being flung around like a wet towel. Miranda paid him no attention. She stopped when she reached the middle of the hall, slamming Eli down on his knees before Izo’s empty throne.

Sparrow leaned over. “Miranda, dearest,” he whispered. “Perhaps it is not the best idea to bring the object of a negotiation to the negotiation.”

“The only spirit I trust him with is Mellinor,” Miranda said through gritted teeth. “He’s not leaving my sight. And don’t call me dearest.”

“She can get very touchy,” Eli said, his voice somewhat burbled by the watery prison sloshing at his chin.

Sparrow gave him a dashing smile. “The greatest thief in the world. It is quite the honor to meet you, Mr. Monpress.”

Eli grinned back. Miranda glowered and snapped her fingers, giving Mellinor a nudge that sent Eli’s head back underwater.

“Don’t encourage him,” she said pointedly.

She let Eli bubble a bit before bringing him up again. “I told you,” she said quietly, glaring down at the thief. “You’re here because I can’t leave you alone, not because we like your company, so keep your big mouth closed.” She straightened up, pushing a stray curl out of her face. “Honestly, what part of ‘prisoner’ don’t you understand?”

“Oh, I understand,” Eli said with a wet grin. “I’ve just never been in agreement with the concept.”

Miranda rolled her eyes, but before she could retort, or stick him underwater again, the iron gate rattled as Izo entered the room. He was dressed far finer than before, with a scarlet silk jacket over polished chain mail and a black cape edged extravagantly in gold thread. Miranda grimaced. He looked like every tacky minor lord in the Council district of Zarin, which was probably his intent. He was grinning like a cat as he stalked over to his chair, flanked on one side by the thin man in black, Sezri, and on the other by the enormous brawler with the ever-present cape over his shoulders, the man called Sted.

“Well,” Izo said, settling down into his throne. “Well, well, well. Let it not be said that Izo doesn’t deliver. Monpress kneels before me while his pet swordsman lies unconscious in my infirmary. I hope you understand now, friends, the power of the Bandit King. I have given you the uncatchable thief on a platter, as promised. Now we’ll discuss the details of how you mean to hold up your end of the bargain.”

Miranda started to point out how they had been the ones doing the actual catching, but Sparrow cut her off.

“Of course,” he said, “we could not have asked for a better outcome, and the Council always keeps its bargains. We will leave for Zarin first thing tomorrow, and I will return personally to hand you your invitation to the Council within the month, King Izo.”

Sparrow looked up, obviously expecting a smile at this new title, but Izo wasn’t smiling. He lounged back on his throne, his eyes lidded and dark as he looked Sparrow over.

“No, no, pretty messenger bird,” Izo said slowly. “That’s not how this works. I may be king, but I’ll always be a bandit, and bandits don’t get to be kings by blindly trusting the word of Council dogs. No member of the Monpress party leaves my camp until I have the writ from the Council acknowledging my kingship in my hand.”

“My lord,” Sparrow said, his voice buttery and soft. “That’s simply not possible. It would take two weeks at least for me to return to Zarin. Without Monpress, it could take months to convince the Council to act, even for someone as connected as Sara.”

“Then I will keep him for months,” Izo said. “But he’s not going anywhere until I get my price.”

“That’s unacceptable,” Miranda said. “Every moment the thief spends outside of the Spirit Court’s full security is a chance for him to escape. This isn’t some cat burglar you can just lock in a cell. This is Eli Monpress we’re talking about, the man who broke into, and escaped from, the great citadel of Gaol. Even if I stayed in your camp to guard him, I couldn’t promise I could keep him safely bound for months. If he doesn’t leave for Zarin immediately, we could all lose.”

“Miranda,” Eli said gently, “I’m touched. Praise from you is praise indeed.”

Miranda waved her hand, and Mellinor’s water went over Eli’s head again. She held it there until his face was blue. “Shut up,” she muttered, keeping her eyes on Izo. The Bandit King was leaning on his throne, scratching his scarred chin thoughtfully.

“I understand your complaint, Spiritualist,” he said. “But my terms stand. Monpress goes nowhere until he is paid for. If you want to get him back to Zarin, I suggest you convince your Council to move quickly.”

Sparrow smiled. “May I have a moment to discuss this with my colleague?”

Izo shrugged and waved his hand. Sparrow bowed in thanks before grabbing Miranda’s arm and dragging her back to the gate.

“I told you to keep your mouth shut,” he whispered harshly, though the calm smile never left his face.

“But we have to get Eli out of here,” Miranda whispered back.

“Yes,” Sparrow said. “And now he knows that. Never give information away, Miranda. Fortunately, the deal he just offered isn’t bad. Eli is still only one half of this operation. If you stay to make sure he remains caught, there’s a good chance you’ll come into contact with Slorn at some point. I’m going to take his deal to Zarin. You and Tesset will stay here. With Tesset doing the hunting, Slorn should be in hand by the time I get back, and then we can all leave together with our missions complete.”

“No,” Miranda said. “You’re not listening. If we wait, Eli will escape. I’ve caught him twice before, Sparrow. He’s slipperier than Zarin’s bookkeeping. I’ve put aside too much and worked too hard to accept a risk like this.”

“This is a negotiation, Miranda,” Sparrow said, and though his pleasant expression never changed, his voice was starting to sound annoyed. “You don’t get to just make demands. Sted has most of the cards. We have to compromise. Stay here, keep the thief underwater, look for Slorn, and I’ll be back in a month. Everything else is details.”

Miranda glared at the floor. He didn’t understand that this whole situation was going to fall apart if it depended on keeping Eli caught. But before she could think of another way to explain things, Eli spoke up, his voice ringing loud and clear through the throne room.

“What about my swordsman?”

Eli smiled smugly as everyone turned to look at him. “My head may be worth more than some kings see in a lifetime,” he said, “but Josef carries the Heart of War. The Head Wizard of the Council is a collector of oddities, isn’t she? She would never forgive you if you let the greatest awakened blade ever created go without a fight.”

Sted lurched forward, but Izo’s voice stopped him.

“The sword is already spoken for.”

Eli’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Is that so? King Izo, you’re a cleverer bargainer than I gave you credit for, keeping the best prize safely off the table.”

“Will you shut up?” Miranda hissed, knocking Eli down with a wave of water.

“That’s because it’s not Izo’s to give!” Sted roared. “Liechten and the Heart were promised to me!”

“Sted!” Now it was Izo’s turn to shout. He glared down from his throne at the enormous man, red-faced with rage. “Everything in my domain is mine to give if I please! I am king here!” He whirled to face Sparrow. “I’ll make you another deal. You need the thief out quickly? Fine, I’d rather not wait to be king. I know you have a Relay link on you that allows you to talk directly to your mistress in Zarin. Tell her that she can have everything—Monpress, the Heart of whatever, freedom to hunt down your rogue wizard, everything, if Merchant Prince Whitefall himself comes up to welcome me as an equal to the Council by the next full moon.”

“Merchant Prince Whitefall?” Miranda almost laughed out loud. “You want the Head of the Council of Thrones, the Grand Marshal of Zarin, to come here? Have you lost your little bandit mind?”

“No,” Izo said coldly. “But you will lose your Spiritualist tongue if you speak to me that way again.”

Miranda bristled, but snapped her mouth shut when Sparrow’s hand grabbed and nearly crushed her arm.

“Forgive my companion,” Sparrow said, his voice honeyed and dripping with sincerity. “She is a Spiritualist and a native of Zarin, and as such suffers from an overinflated sense of importance.” Miranda shot him a sharp look, and the grip on her arm tightened until she could no longer feel her fingers before he let go.

“It’s late,” Sparrow said. “Minds are tired and tempers are running short. I will bring your offer to my mistress and have an answer for you by morning. Thank you so much for your generous hospitality, King Izo.”

He bowed genteelly and turned on his heel, marching out of the hall. Miranda followed a second later, dragging Eli behind her. The thief went with a bemused grin on his face and a little wink at Sted, who was in the corner turning purple with rage while Sezri held him back. Gin joined them when they reached the keep stairs and fell in behind Eli, glaring straight at the thief with his teeth bared. Now that Gin was looking after their prisoner, Miranda was free to turn on Sparrow.

“We were just getting into negotiations,” she whispered. “Why did you make us leave?”

“Because it was time to leave,” Sparrow said. “Or didn’t you see the murder in the big one’s eyes?”

Miranda looked over her shoulder. Sure enough, she could see Sted through the iron gate shouting something at Izo, who was rising from his throne in red-faced fury as he answered.

“Stop looking,” Sparrow said sharply.

Miranda turned back to the torch-lit road. “Whatever you say; one night won’t make a difference,” she grumbled. “There’s no way you’re getting Whitefall up here.”

Sparrow’s grin vanished, and he looked sideways at her with a condescending sneer. “You assume too much, darling. There are two pillars that prop up the Council of Thrones. The first is Merchant Prince Whitefall; the second is Sara. If push came to shove she could have the entire Whitefall family up here tomorrow, and for a combination of Slorn, Eli Monpress, and the Heart of War, she just might. She’s been talking about that sword for years, but has never been able to find it.” His voice softened, and he tilted his head thoughtfully. “Who would have thought its current wielder would be traveling with the thief? Though it makes sense, considering the spectacular feats his group has pulled off.”

Eli burst out laughing at that, though the sound turned into a squeak when Gin bit him. Sparrow blithely ignored the entire affair.

“I’m going to check on Tesset,” he said. “Then I’ll drop by the infirmary to see this Heart of War for myself. You go back to the house and lock the thief down for the night. Tomorrow, I’ll answer Izo’s demands. You can come along if you promise to keep your mouth shut this time.”

“No promises,” Miranda said, halting at the door of the house they shared.

Sparrow didn’t even stop, he just waved his hand as he walked down the dirt street toward the barracks where the infirmary was set up. Miranda watched him go for a moment and then turned on her heel and stomped off the other way, looking for one of Izo’s men to bully into giving her her own building to stay in. Gin stayed close behind her, his eyes pinned on the water-bound Eli as he bumped along behind in his liquid prison.

Back in Izo’s hall the air was growing violently tense. Sted stood at the base of the stairs to Izo’s seat, held back only by Sezri’s slender hand across his chest. “You have no right!” he roared. “Liechten is mine!”

“I have every right!” Izo shouted back, standing before his throne with his hand on his sword. “Everything in this land is mine to do with as I please, and I will not have my rights disputed in front of my guests by one of my own men!”

“I’m none of yours!” Sted bellowed. “I’m no one’s servant! I am Berek Sted! I came back from death for this, and I will have my rematch with Josef Liechten even if I have to do it on your corpse!”

“Sted!” The demonseed’s thin fingers dug into the larger man’s cape-covered chest.

“No, Sezri.” Izo sneered. “Let the ox bellow. Your Master has been a good ally to me, but I will not be told how to handle my affairs. I rule this land, make no mistake, and I will use its prisoners as I see fit.” He sat back down on his throne, drawing his sword and laying it across his lap as he glared at Sted. “Leave. I grow tired of your tantrums. Tomorrow, I’ll decide what’s to be done with the swordsman. Beg your Master that I don’t also decide what’s to be done with you.”

For a moment, Sted’s eyes went wild. He pressed against Sezri until the smaller man began to tilt and it looked like Sted would fall on Izo like a tiger. But then, like a curtain falling over a lamp, the furious light went out. Sted stepped back, turned on his heel, and marched out of the hall, slamming the iron gate as he left. Sezri watched him leave, never moving until Sted’s enormous shadow vanished into the night.

“That,” he said, turning to look at Izo, “was a very foolish game to play.”

Izo waved dismissively. “I’ve been leading bandits for fifteen years. You think I don’t know how to handle men like Sted?”

“Sted isn’t one of your thugs.” Sezri’s voice was sharp with disgust. “Have you forgotten whom he serves?”

“Men like that don’t serve anyone but themselves,” Izo said, laughing. “Your Master is kidding himself if he thinks otherwise.”

“My Master sees all things,” Sezri said quietly. “It is by his goodwill alone that you have risen as far as you have. You would do well to keep that in mind.”

“He helped,” Izo said. “He gave me monsters like you, but I was the one who planned the raids, who beat the other bosses. I was the one who took every two-bit gang from here to the coast and turned them into an army capable of taking on Council cities. True, it would have taken me much longer without your Master’s aid, but he has received good payment for what he’s given. I’ve kept my end of the deal. Slaves flow from my camps to the Dead Mountain every day. Now it’s his turn. He promised to make me a king of the Council, and I will hold him to his debt.”

“And you shall be king,” Sezri said. “Offering them the swordsman was nothing but foolish arrogance and impatience.”

“Call it what you will,” Izo said. “I did what I had to do to make the Council move. If that upsets your Master’s deal with Sted, that’s not my problem. I’m not about to sit back and give up what I’m owed so your Master can pay another.”

Sezri clenched his fist. Izo’s arrogance was going too far. Inside him, he could feel the strength of the seed building, ready to lash out, to show this pathetic little man the true power of the Master. But before he could even think the command, the beloved voice filled his head.

Enough, Sezri.

The demonseed closed his eyes, nearly crying as the Master’s voice rolled across his mind.

Let the human do as he likes. All will be answered. Now, go and find a spirit you can devour without raising alarm. Your strength will be needed soon.

“Yes, Master,” Sezri whispered, bowing his head. “All will be as you command.”

The voice chuckled, sliding over his soul like a hand stroking a cat. Such a good child.

“What was that?” Izo’s voice snapped Sezri from his euphoria, and the demonseed glared in disgust at the tiny, human spirit on his makeshift throne.

“Do as you like,” Sezri said, turning on his heel. “King Izo.”

There was a scrape behind him as Izo stood up. “I hope you’re going to check on Sted.”

Sezri didn’t answer. He simply stepped into a shadow and vanished, sliding through the dark until all he could feel was the seed inside him and the fading power of the Master’s voice on his soul. He stopped when he reached the forest just beyond the city. There, in the dark shadow of the trees, he began to hunt for a spirit that would suit the Master’s purpose, unaware of the pair of animal eyes watching him from branches above.

Nico sat in the dark in the corner of the small house, her coat draped over her head like a funeral shroud. Directly across from her, the tall man in the brown coat sat on a bench by the fire, staring at her. Outside, bandits were laughing and drinking; inside, the room was silent except for the low hissing of the coals. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other since the woods.

None of this would have happened if you’d just accept my gifts. The swordsman’s dead and it’s all your fault. You know that, don’t you?

Nico closed her eyes and buried her head in her knees.

Across the tiny room, the door opened, letting in a swirl of cold, smoky air before shutting again. Nico glanced up. A man wearing a green silk coat, green ballooning pants tucked into tall, polished boots, and a short blue cape with silver lining was standing in the entrance. He looked startlingly out of place, but the man sitting by the fire nodded a familiar greeting.

“Sparrow.”

“Tesset,” the foppish man replied as he bolted the door behind him.

The man in the brown coat, Tesset, waited until Sparrow was finished before asking, “How did it go?”

“The usual way,” Sparrow said, unhooking his cape with a shrug. “Wonderfully, then horribly, and finally stopping somewhere just short of acceptable. Izo’s no idiot, but he’s not subtle enough for politics. He played his hand straight and strong. Unfortunately, though not surprisingly, the Spiritualist and Monpress mucked things up. I had to make some large concessions, but I think we ended up with the better deal in the end.”

“What kind of concessions?”

“He wants his welcome to the Council issued by Whitefall himself,” Sparrow said, flopping down into a chair beside the fire. “Here, by the end of the month.”

Tesset winced. “That’s a tall order. Sara will have your skin.”

“I don’t think she’ll care one jot when she hears what she’ll be getting in exchange,” Sparrow said, grinning wide. “Not just the thief, but the Heart of War. Plus freedom to search for Slorn and all the other little things we’ll wring out once Izo’s prancing around in his crown like a little girl playing princess.”

Nico’s head shot up, and she wasn’t alone. Even Tesset’s eyes went wide.

“The Heart of War?” Tesset said. “You mean the great awakened sword?”

“You know of anything else with such a pretentious name?” Sparrow yawned. “I just got back from having a look for myself. No wonder no one recognizes it. It looks like a piece of junk. Great big dented black metal monstrosity, almost as bad as those Fenzettis Sara made us hunt down last year. It didn’t even glow. Even the cheap awakened swords glow, but I didn’t see a thing.”

“How do you know it’s real, then?” Tesset said. “Sara won’t be happy if you make her pull strings for a bluff.”

“Who do you take me for?” Sparrow scoffed. “I tried to pick it up, but I couldn’t even move the hilt. Couldn’t even wiggle it. That sword has the weight of a mountain, just like Sara said. Fortunately, its wielder is still breathing or we’d be in real trouble, paying through the nose for a sword we can’t move.”

“Josef’s alive?”

Both men turned to glare at her, but Nico didn’t care. Her relief was like a crushing weight on her chest, grinding every other concern into dust. “Is he all right?”

Sparrow considered a moment before answering. “He’s alive for now, and less bloody than I’d expect. But seeing as he’s under the questionable care of Izo’s surgeons, all of whom seem to be bandits no more intelligent or sober than the common rabble, that’s all I can say for now.”

Nico took a deep breath, and Sparrow chuckled.

“This must be what they call ‘loyalty among thieves,’ ” he said. “Your concern is truly touching, but I suggest you worry less about the swordsman and more about yourself, darling. Of every piece of this expedition, yours is the most expendable. The only reason you’re alive right now is because of Slorn.”

Nico shrank back into her coat. “Slorn?”

“You’re something of a consolation prize,” Sparrow said, taking off his boots. “Slorn’s research on demonseeds and the corresponding nature of the spirits they inhabit is priceless. However, with the death of his current experimental specimen, my mistress is worried he’ll drift out of the field. That’s why we’re giving him you. Sara has long known of Slorn and Eli’s friendship and the coats he makes to hide your… condition. Your job will be to keep Slorn happy, give him something to study once we bring him back to Zarin. Assuming, of course, we can find him at all.” Sparrow frowned in annoyance. “He’s being very difficult at the moment. But don’t fret, darling. If nothing else, we’ll trade you in to the League. Sara just loves having Alric owe her favors.”

He spoke so fast his words made Nico dizzy. He reminded her of Eli when the thief was making a particular effort to be as difficult as possible. Still, his point was clear enough. She was a payoff, either to Slorn or to the League. That alone gave her leverage, and if Eli had taught her anything, it was that leverage was never something to waste.

“If I cooperate,” Nico said slowly, “will you make sure Josef gets what he needs to heal?”

“Of course,” Sparrow said. “Considering we need his carcass to haul the Heart of War, he’s safer than you. Though don’t go getting any ideas. This can be as pleasant as you choose to make it. Sit in your corner like a good girl, don’t give Tesset any excuse to do what we pay him to do, and everything will be nice and smooth.” He reached into his waist pocket and pulled out something that looked like a blue glass ball on a leather thong, which he proceeded to roll between his fingers. “I’ve got to report in and get Sara to agree to all this, and then I’m going to bed. Tesset, since you never seem to sleep anyway, you’ve got night watch.”

Tesset nodded, never taking his eyes off Nico as Sparrow stood and climbed the ladderlike stairs into the house’s upper loft. There was some commotion as he settled into bed, and then a blue glow flashed in the dark. It shimmered for a moment, cold and watery on the cabin’s pointed ceiling, before vanishing as he threw his covers over it. If she strained her ears, Nico could just make out Sparrow’s hushed voice speaking as though he were having a conversation. No matter how hard she listened, however, she couldn’t make out the words. Eventually, she sat back against the wall and turned her attention to Tesset, who hadn’t moved an inch from his seat by the fire.

Unbidden, her eyes went to the smooth, unmarred skin of his throat, and the black arm she kept buried against her chest began to itch and tremble. How had he done it? She’d felt the connection open, felt the demon as it started to eat him. How had he pushed it back?

Across the room, Tesset’s eyes flicked from the fire to meet hers again. “You’re wondering how I stopped you?”

Nico froze. Could he read minds as well?

“Go on,” he said. “Ask. The first step toward knowledge is a question.”

Nico bit her lip. This could be a bluff, a trick to get her to reveal a weakness. But the man across from her didn’t seem like the tricky type, and Sparrow had made it perfectly clear she meant little to them. Underneath her coat, her arm was itching more than ever, and she decided to risk it.

“How did you do it?”

“I’ve already told you,” Tesset answered. “Back in the woods. You could not eat me because I did not will it.”

“I don’t understand,” Nico said. “Will stops spirits, not demons.”

“And what are you?” Tesset said.

Nico looked down at the floor. “A demonseed.”

“Wrong,” Tesset snapped. “The demonseed is what’s inside you. But you are a human, the greatest spirit of all. The spirit with will, who can control all others.”

“That’s not true,” Nico said. “A wizard can’t control another human.”

Tesset stood up, pulling his bench closer to Nico’s corner until he was almost on top of her. “We have a long night ahead,” he said, sitting down. “Let me tell you a story.”

“What kind of story?” Nico said, pressing her back to the wall. This close, it took all of her strength to keep her arm from lashing out again. She kept it pinned behind her, the long demon claws scraping at the back of her coat.

“The best kind,” Tesset said, settling in with no care for the danger of being so close to a demonseed. “A true one.”

He gave her a knowing smile and began.

“I was born in these mountains, and like all male children born here, I joined a bandit gang as soon as I was old enough to follow orders. I was a hotheaded boy with a small, closed mind and a knack for getting in fights. A good bandit, in other words. I was also a wizard, someone who could listen to the winds and trees passably well. A powerful combination, and one that landed me a nice position in Mel’s Red Fist, the largest and most fearsome of the bandit gangs at that time. I loved being in the Red Fist. This was thirty years ago, before the Council of Thrones was around to give bandits a hard time. Pickings were fat, and we were the richest, scariest guys around. That’s a heady thing for a kid, and I was deadly loyal to Mel, the man who’d brought it all together and the greatest fighter I’d ever seen.

“The day after I turned seventeen, we returned to our camp to find a man waiting for us. This wasn’t unusual. We often had vagabonds and deserters from other bandit gangs show up begging to join the Red Fist, but this man was different. He was the largest man I’d ever seen. He had no weapon, and he was dressed in rags and cast-off furs, but the way he carried himself made other fighters look like bumbling toddlers. He just stood there in the center of camp as we rode in, making our usual ruckus, and when we were quiet, he asked which of us was the boss.

“After a good laugh at the stranger’s expense, Mel rode forward and announced that he was the leader of the Red Fist. As soon as he said this, the stranger challenged him to a fight. He’d heard Mel was the strongest of the bandit leaders, having the biggest, strongest gang and a nasty reputation as a dirty fighter, and he wanted to see for himself. Mel said this was all true and accepted the challenge. While Mel got his ax, we stood around laughing and arguing over who would get stuck digging a grave for this idiot who was stupid enough to challenge our boss. The stranger, however, was still unarmed. Mel told the man to draw a weapon, and the stranger replied that he would if he needed one. This made Mel furious, and he charged, meaning to cut the stranger’s head off. The next moment, Mel was on the ground in a pool of his own blood and the stranger was walking away.”

Tesset shook his head. “None of us saw a thing. One second Mel was charging, the next he was down. He died a few minutes later. Of our entire gang, I was the first to recover, and the first thing I did was run after the stranger. I’d never seen a fight like that. Mel had always been my idol, the ceiling of how far a man could rise. Then this stranger appears and in one blow shows me that the top is further than I could ever imagine. So I caught up with him. He was moving slowly, like he was disappointed. When I reached him, he grabbed me around the throat and asked if I wanted to avenge my boss. I didn’t even see his hand move. I told him that I’d never seen a man move like him. Could he teach me, or at least tell me his name?”

“And did he?” Nico asked.

Tesset chuckled. “No. He dropped me on the ground and told me to go home. But Mel was gone, and I had no home to go to. So I kept following him. The man walked day and night, but somehow I stuck to his trail. Every time I caught up, I would ask him to teach me. Looking back, I was desperate. I’d based my whole life around being strong, and in one motion this man had blown away my entire idea of strength. I couldn’t let him just walk away. So I made a nuisance of myself and, finally, after a month of eating his dust, the man turned and asked me my name. I told him, and he shook his head. ‘That’s a weak name,’ he said. ‘From today, your name is Tesset. If you want to learn from me, I’ll give you six months. Anything you learn during that time is yours to keep. After that, we’re enemies, and if I ever see you again, I’ll kill you.’ ”

Tesset began to laugh. “I was terrified of course, but I didn’t want to look weak. I agreed, calling the man Master. He told me no man was master over anyone but himself, and that I was to call him by his name, Den.”

Nico’s eyes went wide. “Den the Warlord,” she whispered. “The man from the bounty posters?”

Tesset nodded. “Of course, this was before the war, before he betrayed the Council. But he kept his word to me, and for six months he taught me one thing.”

“One thing?” Nico said.

“Yes,” Tesset said. “It was something I’d always known, what all wizards know, but most will never understand.” Tesset placed his hand on his chest. “As a human, a wizard has will. This will is what gives him control over all the world save only the spirits of other humans. However, there is one human spirit a wizard does control.” Tesset thumped his hand on his chest. “His own. My body and my soul are subject to my will. Just as an enslaver can make a mountain rise up and walk to the sea if his spirit is strong enough, so can I make my body do impossible things by conquering my soul with my will. Once a man has mastered himself, he has no king, no conqueror, no predator but himself, and that, demonseed, is the answer to your question.”

Nico could not believe what she was hearing. “It can’t be that simple,” she whispered.

“It’s not,” Tesset said. “But that doesn’t make it untrue.” Faster than she could react, he lunged forward and grabbed her arm, the demon arm she’d been keeping pressed behind her. She pulled back frantically, but he was stronger than her, stronger than anyone she’d ever fought, and his grip didn’t even shake as he pulled her black, clawed hand into his own. The demon hand clawed at Tesset’s skin like a hungry beast scenting food, and Nico squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for eating to begin. But nothing happened. There was no roaring connection, no feeling of another spirit pouring into her. Nico cracked her eyes a fraction and then opened them in wonder at the sight of her clawed hand clutched between Tesset’s palms, his tan skin whole and sound.

Tesset’s dark eyes met hers, and when he spoke, his voice was an iron bell. “There is nothing you or your demon can do to me if I do not will it,” he said. “I am master of myself, and nothing can happen to me unless I allow it. Do you understand now?”

Nico stared at their clasped hands. “No,” she whispered. “Teach me.”

Tesset smiled and released her. “I have already taught you.”

Nico gaped at him. “No,” she said, grabbing his hand again. “You have to teach me how to do it.”

Tesset gripped her fingers so hard they ached. “I taught you as Den taught me,” he said. “It is so simple, yet it has taken me over thirty years to get to where I am now. But it is not a matter of strength or training or anything else won by hard work. It is a matter of understanding. A child could master it in one day if only their mind were free enough. To truly become master of yourself, you must be willing to throw everything else away. Fear, anger, doubt; these things undermine your authority. You must become as an enslaver to your own soul. Once you have achieved that, nothing can control or limit you ever again.”

Nico stared at him, bewildered. But Tesset just smiled, releasing her hand.

“It helps to find a goal,” he said, his gruff voice almost wistful as he leaned back to stare at the fire. “Mastering your soul becomes easier when you’re chasing something greater than yourself. Mine is to meet Den one more time before I die and finally fight him as an equal.”

“But,” Nico said, “he’s had that enormous bounty on his head for twenty-five years now with no news. How do you even know he’s still alive?”

“He’s alive,” Tesset said fiercely. “Wherever he is, I know he’s alive. Men like Den don’t die without the world knowing. One day I will find him, and then I will show him how much I have learned.”

Nico looked at Tesset as though she were seeing him for the first time, his brown hair touched with gray, his brown skin warm and dark in the firelight, his hawk-nosed face set with absolute determination, and she believed him. She licked her dry lips, thinking of what she would ask him next about how she could begin down the road to understanding what he’d told her. But before she could get the words out, she was cut off by the unmistakable sound of a door being kicked down, followed immediately by the sound of a dog snarling and a woman’s surprised scream.