Spirit's Oath (4 page)

Martin must have seen it, too, because he grabbed Miranda’s arm and pulled her back a step. “Best not to get too close to the cage,” he said, his voice slightly less smug than before. “I haven’t broken him to human company yet, and even trapped behind the bars, his reach would surprise you. That, and he’s very, very fast.”

As though to prove him right, the ghosthound chose that moment to throw himself against the bars. He moved so quickly Miranda’s eyes couldn’t follow. One moment he was pacing, the next the bars crashed as he slammed into them, his front claws slicing out into the air several feet in front of the cage.

The noise made them both jump. Martin recovered first, straightening his jacket with a glare. “I’m going to tighten those bars in a few days so he can’t fit his paw through,” he said. “Come, Miss Lyonette. I believe it’s time for dinner, and you don’t want to see that creature eat.”

Shaken by the ghosthound’s speed, Miranda let Martin lead her back past the other cages. But as they stepped out into the gardens, the fresh air cleared her head, and she turned on her host with new fury. “You shouldn’t keep that ghosthound caged,” she said. “He’s intelligent.”

Martin laughed. “No more intelligent than my hunting dogs, I assure you. He’s an animal, and a very well treated one. I take exquisite care of all my treasures. Once he calms down a little, I’ll move him to a larger enclosure.”

“He’s not going to calm down,” Miranda said, glaring at him as they walked across the lawn toward the house. “He hates you.”

“Ghosthounds hate everyone,” Martin said with a shrug. “He’ll come around once he realizes how good he has it here. As I said, he’s as smart as my hunting dogs, and animals are much better at recognizing a good deal than humans. In a month he’ll be docile as a puppy. You won’t even recognize him.”

Miranda doubted that very much, but they were entering the ballroom, so she was forced to hold her anger for the moment.

Martin delivered her to her family and took his leave. Miranda was surprised to see her mother smiling as he left. She’d been bracing for a lecture about running around unchaperoned with a man, especially one who didn’t come from a good family, but Lady Lyonette looked almost pleased as she laced her arm through Miranda’s and led the way up the stairs to dress for dinner.

As to be expected for such a large party, dinner was a grand affair. The dining room was as large as a normal mansion’s ballroom, and the long white-cloth-covered tables filled every inch. Miranda wasn’t sure what her family had done to deserve it, but the Lyonettes were seated in places of honor beside their host at the very first table at the front. Miranda was sandwiched between her mother and her elder sister with Alyssa thankfully confined to the far end. Her father and Martin sat together at the table’s head, and they spent most of dinner deep in a conversation that must have pleased Lord Lyonette very much, judging by his uncharacteristic smile. The servants brought out seven lovely courses, but Miranda was so worried she didn’t taste a bite. Her eyes never left her father, and the more she watched, the more anxious she became. Anything that made her father that happy couldn’t be good.

She was on the verge of giving in and asking Tima what she thought was going on when Martin stood, tapping his spoon against his crystal glass. When the room fell silent, he smiled out at the crowd. “Thank you all for coming,” he said. “I called this party in part to celebrate my company’s new alliance with the Council of Thrones to provide construction services for its new forts along the coast, but tonight I wish to make an announcement of a more personal nature.”

He glanced at Lord Lyonette, and Miranda’s father stood with a smug smile that sent Miranda’s stomach straight through the floor.

“With Lord Simon Lyonette’s blessings,” Martin continued, “I am hereby pleased to announce my engagement to his second daughter, the lady Miranda Lyonette.”

The room broke into polite applause. Miranda heard none of it. All she could hear was the thundering of her heart in her ears as the rage washed through her. She grabbed her chair and shot up, ready to scream at the top of her lungs that there would be a marriage over her dead body, only to find she couldn’t move. Her mother and Tima were holding her down. Her mother’s face was furious, but Miranda couldn’t have cared less. It was Tima’s look that stopped her. Her elder sister’s face was stricken, and she gave her head a tiny shake when her eyes met Miranda’s. Miranda might not have cared about embarrassing her family in front of everyone—they deserved no less after this stunt—but Tima was another matter. Angry as she was, Miranda respected her older sister, and so she bit her lip and forced herself to stay silent. When the rest of the room stood up to go congratulate their host, Miranda stood as well and, flanked by her mother and elder sister, quietly walked out of the hall.

It was a testament to the love and respect she had for her sister that Miranda made it all the way back to their rooms before exploding.

“
What was that?
” she roared, turning on her mother.

Alma Lyonette blinked innocently. “I’d have thought you’d be happy, dearest. It is an excellent match. Martin Hapter might be low born, but he’s very rich, and it’s not like you had any other offers waiting.”

“And you never thought to ask
me
?” Miranda cried, stepping up until she was right in her mother’s face.

“Of course not,” Alma said, all innocence gone. “You’ve proven time and time again that you care nothing for the standing of your family or the proprieties of society. If I left the matter in your hands, you’d die an old maid. You should be on your knees thanking your father for finding someone willing to take you.”

“This was why you dragged me out of the Court?” Miranda said. “To marry me off?” She stopped and thought for a moment, gritting her teeth as the pieces clicked into place. The new house, her mother’s sudden willingness to associate with someone who wasn’t from a noble family, her father’s unexpected appearance. It was just the sort of nicely tied-up little deal that her mother excelled at, and Miranda couldn’t keep the growl out of her voice as she met her mother’s eyes. “How much is he paying you?”

“More than you’re worth,” her mother growled back. “The world is changing. These last few years have been very hard on your father. The Council’s expansion hasn’t been as good to the Zarin nobility as it has to opportunists like Mr. Hapter. But Hapter’s still low born; he needs a noble to get in to the kind of society he thinks he’s fit to run with.”

“And I’m his ticket in?” Miranda said. “You sold your own daughter for what? A big house?”

“Don’t you dare speak to me that way, young lady,” Alma snapped. “I have to think of the family. Think of your sister. Unlike you, Alyssa is ready and willing to make a good match. The Merchant Prince’s nephew is her age, and with the sort of money Hapter can throw around, even the main Whitefall family isn’t out of reach. I’ve let you run wild for years, and now I’m asking you for one sacrifice to make all our lives better.”

“You sold me like a horse!” Miranda screamed.

“You should be happy we could sell you at all!” Alma screamed back.

Things might have gone very badly then had Tima not pushed herself between them. “Mother,” she said softly. “Enough. Let me talk to her.”

Alma closed her eyes. “Yes, Trintima, you talk some sense into this ungrateful girl.” She took a deep breath and turned to the door, but as her white-gloved hand closed on the handle, she glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t you dare ruin this for us, Miranda. You’ve ruined enough, and I will not see this family suffer for your indulgences any longer.”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Miranda shouted, but Tima held her firmly as their mother left, shutting the door behind her with a slam that rocked the paintings. When she was gone, Miranda slumped against her sister. Tima helped her to the padded chair by the window, and then sat on the footstool beside her, taking Miranda’s hand between her own soft, delicate fingers.

“You knew,” Miranda said. It wasn’t a question.

“I did,” Tima confessed. “But Miranda, it really is for the best. They handled it terribly, I’ll admit, but Father really is in a bind. You have to understand it from his point of view. The Lyonette family has been one of the richest in Zarin for years, but then the Council came and the bar for who was rich got higher and higher. There were appearances to keep up, and Father’s money couldn’t support them. He’s deeply in debt to Mr. Hapter.”

“And I’m his way out,” Miranda said, grabbing the arm of the chair so tightly it creaked.

“If Father goes bankrupt, it will ruin Alyssa’s chances at a good marriage,” Tima said, her voice calm and matter-of-fact. “We don’t always get to choose our fortunes, Miranda, and honestly, it’s not a bad match. You’ve never cared for noble birth anyway, and with Hapter’s money, you’ll be the richest of all of us. He’s very progressively minded; he doesn’t even care that you were a Spiritualist.”

“Am,” Miranda said, sitting forward so fast that Tima jumped. “I
am
a Spiritualist. I took an oath, Tima. An oath I will never, ever foreswear.” She thrust out her hand, and the rings on her fingers glowed like lanterns in the dark room. “I’m already bound. Bound to my spirits and bound to the Court, and I will never, ever give up those ties, not for Mother, not for Father, and certainly not for Alyssa.”

Tima dropped her head to kiss her sister’s hand. “I know you’re angry,” she said. “But it will be better for everyone if you just accept it. What Father did is within his rights. The law is on his side, Miranda. If you throw a fit, it will only make things worse.”

Miranda slumped into the chair. Hating the rest of her family came easily, but she couldn’t bring herself to hate Tima. Even so, she couldn’t do as her sister asked, either.

“I’m not marrying Martin Hapter,” she said, standing up. “Father might have the law on his side, but Hapter’s not stupid. He doesn’t want a bride he’ll have to drag into marriage. I’ll just go tell him it’s not happening.”

“Miranda,” Tima said, but Miranda was already marching out of the room. Everyone else was still in the dining room downstairs. Lots of people tried to congratulate Miranda when she came in, but Miranda just pushed by them, her eyes on the man at the crowd’s center. Usually, moving through such a press would be difficult, but these were nobles, and they weren’t used to being shoved aside, so she made it to the front without much trouble. Her father gave her a killing look as she approached. Miranda ignored it, pushing her way forward until she was standing at Martin’s side.

“I need to speak with you,” she said in her best no-nonsense voice.

“Can it wait until this is through?” Martin said without looking at her or dropping the smile he was flashing at the elderly lady who’d reached for his hands.

“No,” Miranda said, grabbing his arm. “It can’t.”

Martin sighed and then smiled indulgently at the crowd. “It seems my future wife has something urgent to tell me,” he said. “Dessert will be served on the terrace; please enjoy yourselves.”

The crowd began to titter at the implications of a soon-to-be bride dragging her husband off, but Miranda ignored the sound just as she ignored her mother, who was trying to get her attention, and her father, who was blatantly grabbing for her arm. She focused on nothing but getting past the crowd as she led Martin through a side door and down a hall to the office he’d shown her earlier during their tour. The band was just striking up as she shoved him inside and locked the double doors. She was dangerously angry, and her spirits were picking up on the feeling, turning in their rings, so Miranda forced herself to stop and take a deep, cleansing breath, letting the calm Master Banage had spent years forcing her to learn wash over her before she turned to face her fiancé.

“I don’t know what kind of rubbish my father’s been feeding you,” she said quite calmly. “But I am not for sale. I am not marrying you.”

Martin leaned on his expansive desk. “Is it because I’m not noble?”

“No,” Miranda said. “I don’t care who your family is. I’m not marrying anyone. My life is being a Spiritualist, not being a wife.”

“I knew that might be a problem,” Martin said. “But all marriages are compromises.” He raised his chin, and his face changed. Suddenly, he was no longer the affable host but a shrewd, hard businessman. “I know women like the fantasy of marrying for love,” he said. “But this is a business transaction, Miss Lyonette. Your family needs money and my business needs a noble connection. You are the link that solves both these problems, and as such, I am willing to be very lenient with you. It’s true I can’t allow my wife to be something as crass as a Spiritualist, but though your father neglected to tell me you’d already taken your oaths, I find I don’t mind much. I like Spiritualists, and I will not ask you to give up those spirits you have already bound or your connections to the Court. Indeed, I look forward to forming closer ties with your Rector, Etmon Banage.”

“Maybe you didn’t hear me,” Miranda said. “I’m not marrying you.”

“You say that now,” Martin replied. “But the truth is you have no choice in the matter. I’m not a cruel man, Miranda. You’ll find me a very easy husband. I will never demand anything from you that you are not willing to give. When we marry, you will be free to keep lovers so long as you are discreet. You’ll have a substantial allowance, the freedom to travel as you like provided you play hostess to at least six major parties a year to further my business ties. And you’ll be able to bring your family to heel, since their well-being will now depend entirely upon your favor. Really, I don’t see how I could sweeten this deal much more.”

“What part of ‘I’m not marrying you’ don’t you understand?” Miranda cried. “I don’t care how sweet a deal you offer. I’m not interested.”

Martin took a deep breath. “You are stubborn, aren’t you?”

“I get that way when I’m being forced into absurd situations,” Miranda snapped, but Martin didn’t seem to be listening. Instead, he reached in his suit pocket and drew out a small velvet bag.

“Your father got this at my request,” he said, walking across the room to where Miranda was standing by the doors. “It’s tradition in noble families to pass down wedding jewelry, and while I got you something much larger for our actual wedding, I thought you’d appreciate the gesture.”