Free The Spirit Thief by Rachel Aaron

little. “Opening the spirit reveals the strength of a wizard’s power,” she whispered. “Remember when I told you that a wizard’s true power is control? That’s because all wizards are born with more spirit, more energy than normal people. However, that energy is generally locked away shortly after birth by the child’s own self-defense mechanisms. Having your spirit wide open all the time makes you vulnerable. Spirits are attracted to power, you see, and not all of them always mean you well. With training, wizards can learn to open their spirits, sometimes a little, sometimes all the way, depending on howmuch power you need to display. This is a vital part of getting a spirit’s attention when you start really working with them.”
    “But,” Marion said and frowned, thoroughly confused, “I thought you said you couldn’t control people?”
    “Well,” Miranda smiled smugly, “what I just did is more of a trick on my part than any kind of real magic. Normal people can’t feel a wizard’s spirit even if it’s open full blast—not consciously, anyway. However, I’ve found that with just the right feather touch even the most spirit deaf will feel a slight pressure without knowing they feel it, and step away.”
    “So,” Marion shivered, “that feeling just now, like someone was stepping on my grave, that was you?”
    “Yes,” Miranda said, nodding. “A bit unconventional, but dreadfully handy.”
    “Must be,” Marion said. “What would happen if you opened it all the way?”
    “Let’s say it would be very uncomfortable for everyone involved.” Miranda smiled. “Come”—she grabbed the librarian’s hand and pushed through the last line of people separating them from the throne room—“let’s do what we came here to do. We’ve wasted too much time as it is.” She tallied the time inwardly and winced. The note was probably dead asleep by now. Still, any clue, anything at all, and this would all be worth it.
    Though the crowd was better dressed, the throne room was every bit as packed as the hall outside, and buzzing just as intently. Miranda stood on tiptoe, looking around for the Master of the Courts or anyone who could help her, when she heard the solemn sound of metal on stone. It must have been a signal, for all at once the whispers died out and the crowd fell silent. All attention was nowon the tall, slim figure climbing the steps of the dais. When he was one step from the empty throne, he stopped and turned to face the crowd. As his face came into view, Miranda caught her breath.
    After Marion’s story, she wasn’t sure what she was expecting. A bitter, weather-worn exile, perhaps, or a smug, spoiled prince enjoying his triumphant return. Whatever she’d expected, the man standing on the dais was nothing like it. He was, however, undoubtedly a prince. Tall and handsomely dressed in a dark-blue coat, he projected the confidence of someone used to being obeyed. A waterfall of golden hair hung down his back, swaying gently as he bowed low to the crowd. His fine-featured face was almost feminine in its beauty, and Miranda swallowed despite herself. He certainly didn’t look like someone who’d spent the last ten years exiled in the desert.
    The golden prince looked out over the sea of people, a benevolent and humble expression on his lovely face. He held up his hands in a welcoming gesture. Miranda could almost feel the crowd leaning forward to drink him in as he began to speak.
    “Citizens of Mellinor!” His voice rang out through the enraptured room. “I come before you as a criminal and an exile. Many have asked me how, seeing this, I come to stand before you today, and so, first, before you all, I must confess. Eleven years ago, I was banished for being born a wizard, in accordance with the ancient law. Yet, despite this, and because of the deep love I bear this country, for the past eight years I have disobeyed my father’s order and lived among you. For Mellinor’s sake, I