full burn, and the giant hadn’t even done anything yet.
“A lava spirit,” she said, not bothering to hide the amazement in her voice. “I’ve never met a wizard who could take one as a servant, not even Master Banage.”
“You still haven’t met one,” Eli said. “Karon isn’t a servant. He’s my companion.”
“But,” Miranda gaped, “how do you control him?”
“I don’t,” Eli said, grinning. “I ask.”
The enormous, burning spirit looked from Eli to Miranda, then back again. “You’re keeping strange company these days,” he rumbled.
“Only temporarily,” Eli assured him. “Now, I was hoping you could do me a favor. I need these doors open.”
Karon glared at the doors. “That’s a powerful command they’re under. I may have to kill them.”
“At this point, that might be a mercy,” Eli muttered. He looked at Miranda, whose distress was obvious, and he sighed. “Be gentle, if you can. The Spiritualists have always been a bunch of bleeding hearts.”
Karon nodded and turned to the doors. Miranda could feel them shaking through the marble, still too scared to open even when faced with death. As the lava spirit stepped forward, Nico and Eli retreated behind one of the support pillars, and, a moment later, Miranda followed. The hall shook as the lava spirit positioned himself in front of the trembling doors. Karon pounded his fists together a few times, getting them white hot. Then, with a hiss, he slammed his glowing hands into the quivering metal. The doors screamed when he made contact, filling the air with the bloody stench of iron. Melting gold flowed in glowing rivers down the door’s surface as the remaining scrollwork and flourishes dissolved under Karon’s fire like marzipan dipped in steam. Karon ignored the wealth flowing around him and wedged his glowing fist deeper into the iron’s screaming heart. At last, the terrified metal could hold no longer, and the doors began to slip away. Iron dripped like wax from Karon’s fingers, falling in large, hissing black drops to splash against the stone floor. Back in the hall, Miranda huddled behind Eli, cringing away from the splatters of liquid metal and the smelter blast of Karon’s heat. Her left hand clutched the empty finger where Allinu’s ring normally rested. Never in all her life had she wished so hard for her cool mist spirit.
At last, the heat faded, and Miranda felt the thunderous stomp of Karon stepping back. She peeked around the corner. All that was left of the golden doors of Mellinor was a gaping hole, its melted edges bleeding liquid metal onto the blackened, cracked floor.
Karon looked over at Eli, who was admiring the wreckage from a distance.
“Good work,” the thief said, nodding.
The lava spirit’s face rippled in what Miranda guessed was a smile. Eli strolled forward, stepping without hesitation over the still-smoking metal. “Very good work indeed,” he said, grinning up at Karon. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like it if you could hang around a bit longer. I have a feeling I’ll need your help again sooner than I’d like.”
Karon nodded and squatted by the ruined doors, watching with intent as Eli stepped over the smoking threshold.
Beyond the circle of Karon’s ambient glow, the throne room was as dark as the treasury had been. Miranda stepped forward, squinting against Karon’s glare, and, as her eyes adjusted, the room began to take shape. The first thing she noticed was that the royal banners that had lined the far wall were gone. So were the elegant lamps, chairs, and end tables that had once ringed the open room. In their place, the entire contents of the treasury—golden statues, jewelry, weaponry, overturned chests of embroidered silk, everything—had been stacked along the walls in sloppy piles. But most upsetting of all was what lay directly ahead of them. At the far end of the room, at the foot of the dais steps, the gilded throne of Mellinor lay on its side, broken and splintered, as if it had been kicked off its perch. In its place, standing like a trophy at the top of the tall dais, was a squat, gray pillar.
CHAPTER 22
The two swordsmen stared at each other long after the sounds of the footsteps of the fleeing wizards had faded. Coriano held his white sword delicately in front of him, the blade shimmering with its own pearly brilliance. Brighter than the lantern at the bounty hunter’s feet, the sword glowed like the moon in the dark, empty treasury. Josef kept his eyes even with it, letting them