Delphinium- or A Necromancer's Home

by V. M. Jaskiernia

“I will remember.”

  ***

  He had not been home in over fifteen years. The latter half of his childhood was spent being raised in the royal court, with his adulthood at University, though Ophion had taken care of him for several years before the roi and reine. They had traveled the whole of the realm, Ophion a wandering doctor never staying very long in place until he had become royal physician, but in all this time they had not returned to the capital Spadille. Pierre remembered parts of his early childhood here, but his mère had died the day before his seventh birthday, and much of her and his père was not clear to him. Ophion had at least spoken often of his mère, the two being siblings, but he knew far less about his père.

  Now they would be at the château in the early afternoon. Elizabeth was not with him today, the two no longer allowed alone in the carriage after that first day, but they were usually together (with a third party present). If not with her Wolfram was usually at his side, discussing cræft or medicine, but the boy was not there either today. Pierre sat alone with only Pluta purring by his ear.

  Pulling aside a curtain he looked out into the fields and hills. His mère had begun teaching him politics when he had been little. He had always been asking who all the men that papa was meeting were. She had pointed out their names, their station, and how his père was their protector and the man that set the rules. It had sounded very exciting and he wanted to know more, but Félicien himself never liked to talk about what he did. In fact, it seemed that the duchesse was more the one to know what things were happening and why, and now that Pierre was older he was almost certain of it.

  No wonder that her death had pushed Félicien to return to Faery. Save for his children there was nothing here for him.

  At the castle Pierre had continued his studies in politics, but few of those lessons stuck in his mind over the years. It had been a time of much change, and his focus had been on both his magical and medical lessons, not to mention his new home, family, and friends, to bother with what an old comte might be doing in his old city. He would need to re-learn much now and how it has changed over the many years he had been away.

  Five

  Elizabeth thought she was used to opulence, having been both at court and raised in a manor, but the Château de Piques was another thing entirely. It made sense in a way, the castle was made in an older style more to defend than to relish, and her family ruled a county not an entire duchy. She was certain the roi’s château in Cœurs was also elaborate, but only family were invited there.

  Pierre took her arm and helped her from the carriage before turning around to look at his home. Lizzy looked up to see his pained smile.

  “I’ve forgotten,” he said so softly that Lizzy supposed she was not to hear. He squeezed her hand and she returned the gesture.

  “Your Grace!” a new voice then called, “I welcome you upon your return home!”

  They turned to a man waiting near the entrance. He wore fine clothes of black and silver, in a style more often worn in Italaviana, and a great smile split his dark beard and curled moustache.

  “Yes, lord?” Pierre asked. The other man’s smile faltered but he opened his arms in welcome.

  “It has been many years, Your Grace, but I knew you as a child.”

  “Forgive me but I remember little of my childhood here. Would you do me the kindness of reminding me?”

  “Always, Your Grace. I was your father’s young steward after Lord Dorian died. And now I am yours.”

  Pierre’s eyes lit up and he began to grin as well. “Vivien! Of course! Thank you for all the years you have aided Piques. I hope to relieve some of your burden.” He let go of her arm to cross the road and embrace the other man. Lizzy stayed where she was, a little uncertain of what to do.

  “Shall you have lunch now?” Vivien said, beginning to lead Pierre inside. “Leave the unpacking, everything will be sorted for you of course. What will you wish to eat?”

  “That would be wonderful, thank you. Any food the kitchens have is fine, mostly I wish to speak and discuss matters with you privately before I meet the other advisors. Please join me.”

  He then turned to her and raised a hand to call her over. “Lizzy, love, come with us. Your company is always wanted as well.”

  They waited for her to join them, Pierre holding out his elbow and so she could take his arm again.

  “This, Lord Vivien, is Lady Elizabeth Anne of Eichel,” he said, introducing her, “And dear Lizzy, this is Lord Vivien Launcelot, my steward, and a cousin once removed.”

  “A pleasure, Lord Vivien.” She inclined her head, but did not curtsy. Her station was above his.

  “The pleasure is all mine, Lady Elizabeth.” He did bow to her and she thanked him.

  “Please, follow me, Your Grace, my lady. We shall take luncheon in a sitting room, and have a short discussion as desired. I am sure you are tired from your journey.”

  As they walked Pierre could not stop looking around at the home. His eyes widened as images brought back memories. At one point he turned in the wrong direction automatically and, upon apologizing, was informed that that direction lead to his childhood room and bed.

  Along the way a servant caught up to them and handed Vivien a letter. The steward read it over and frowned, crumpling it up without an explanation. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow to Pierre, but he shook his head, unsure of what that was about.

  They ended up in a sitting room that already had some light lunch set out. Sandwiches, tea, and desserts were to their choosing. They each picked a few small things to nibble on and Elizabeth went ahead and poured for each of them.

  “Tell me some of Piques since I left,” Pierre asked. “I know broad strokes, but to hear it from you shall be best.”

  “If I may begin a little further back, then, Your Grace. I was sixteen when Lord Dorian died. It was the middle of the time of the last great plague, and Cousin, Lord Ophion, was off doing as much as he could as a young doctor. It hurt him deeply that he could not save his father, but death gets us all in the end… He was Lord Dorian’s true heir, but never desired to be steward. He preferred medicine to politics, though would have done as his father wished of him.

  “Your parents would still be with us for another year, and Duc Félicien knew that Ophion, while knowledgeable, did not wish to be steward. He gave me the title instead though I was not of-age or truly that well learned yet. He took to seeing things as a fée and decided that their majority was enough. A few protested, but there was no one else with Ophion away, and I was better than no steward at all. I did as best I could and learned as I went along. I kept the title even after the plague. It pains me to confess, but perhaps only in the past five years have I become truly comfortable in my role, and that may only be because of His Highness’s presence.”

  “You were trained, if hastily, as a steward and not a duc, I can see how a missing duc would make this troublesome and overburden you.”

  Vivien only nodded. “I was thrown into the role of steward rather unexpectedly, and then de facto duc. When I was allowed to essentially return to being the steward I was more comfortable.”

  “And you may stay in that role,” Pierre replied. “Father—that is, His Majesty—taught me my politics. I may have been a student of medicine for the last few years, but I am not ignorant. I may, though, need a bit of time to catch up on what has been going on.”

  “Of course.”

  “And my advisors?”

  “There is myself, of course. The prince also brought his brother-in-law along when he first moved here, and His Future Grace Charlot was the second to become an advisor, given his own learnings as duchy heir. He stays for you, though will leave in the upcoming year for I hear that the duc and duchesse Carreaux wish him to inherit.

  “Both of Comte Feuilles’s sons are here as well. They have each been living here permanently since their assignment. The elder is wed, but has not returned to his family home. Comte Bladeren’s eldest child is my wife, her brothers too young to
helpful to His Highness, though the eldest son came soon after hearing you would be here, to help you and to learn from you, as he reaches his majority soon. His Highness was not averse to my wife’s help, though she is not officially a part of the council. Her brother wishes to be, but that shall be your choice.”

  Pierre nodded, sitting back to take catalog of the information. Something seemed not quite right and he asked, “Both of Feuilles’s sons are here? Has he any other children?”

  “No, he does not. He is also a widower.”

  That he kept neither man at home was troubling, or foolish. Perhaps both. Charlot had stayed for such a time, leaving no direct heir to his duchy, but he was kin to Hélaïse. Family made that understandable. Feuilles had no such connection and it would have been prudent to keep one child close by, the heir especially now with him married.

  Vivien nodded and confirmed the suspicion. “Comte Feuilles has had his eye on the duchy for some time now, but was subtle with Prince Aimé here. I believe even his father wanted to be duc, but your grandmother’s deathbed decree kept him at bay. It is rumored that your father visited her in her last days to confirm himself alive and Duchesse Cunégonde asked that the stewards hold Piques until the heir returns.

  “Both of his sons were chosen as advisors by His Highness, believing that the comte would let one come and the other stay. And they are good at their job, do not misunderstand, but that Feuilles sent both his children here makes me believe he hopes to overtake the rule soon.

  “Comte Bladeren, on the other hand, is quite content and doing well with his county.”

  He would need to keep tabs on Feuilles. Spadille was in Feuilles, to want to become the duc of the whole of Piques— Feuilles may have been behind the attempt on his life.

  “And what of the note that you received as we were coming here?” Elizabeth asked. Her voice was light, as if she were merely curious, but Pierre saw her narrowed eyes.

  Vivien’s smile faded, whether at Elizabeth being the one to ask or the question itself unknown, but he pulled out the paper and smoothed it out.

  “It is from the margrave, informing me that he will be here tomorrow early morning with his family to greet you and attend the council’s meeting. He states that he will also be one of his advisors.”

  “That title was dissolved many years ago,” Pierre replied. “Père did not have a margrave.” Not that he needed one—fée raised Félicien would be his own liaison between the planes. “Who reinstated it?” His paternal grandfather and grandmother had exiled their margrave and margravine after Félicien’s disappearance as a child, in part because they did not, or perhaps could not, aid in the return of their son. The title left with them.

  “Duc Félicien. As a dying decree two years ago he gave the titles to those that had taken care of him and were his family in Faery. It was written and signed, confirmed to be in his hand and therefore made law. They very rarely come to the estate, living in the Duc’s Forest and on the side of Faery more often than in this plane.”

  He had more family. That should not have surprised him, his père had been a child when taken to Faery, surely someone had to have taken care of him and helped him grow up. But that had never crossed his mind before, beside a few adventure stories his time in Faery was not brought up very often. If the current margrave and margravine were kin, he would meet with them soon.

  “And what are their names? Do you know much about them?”

  “Lord Elwin is the margrave, with his wife Lady Rhianu as margravine. They have a daughter.” There was more, it was clear in his eyes, but he said no more about them.

  ***

  The duc’s rooms were not his as of yet. Aimé and his wife Hélaïse would still be officially governing for the next year or so and their belongings were in that suite. Pierre was here on temporary adjustment after much time away for school, here for the summer with perhaps a return to the castle come autumn, and then a return in the winter. He would discuss the exact dates with Aimé at a later point. Pierre was not certain what duties he would have right now, if any, but given the briefing he had had with Vivien, this would not merely be a vacation. That did not bother him, with having the power to do things it would be a pleasure. It was while he had been away and immersed in learning many other things that this part of his life had become less of a priority.

  For now, he stood in the guest rooms that had been given to him for his stay this summer. They were elegant, often reserved for visiting nobles, which in a way he was. It reminded him in size of his quarters at the palace. The closet was far larger than he was used to, university meaning a small space for several people, so there would be a lot of empty space for now. Perhaps he would make this more of a study in the future. He could put his journals in there as well.

  A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Shoes tapped with nerves against the stone when he did not reply right away.

  “Yes?”

  Wolfram entered. He shut the door, hesitated, and then turned the key that was still in the lock. “Your Grace, if I may, please, see Salome…” He looked for the trunk and upon seeing it at the foot of the bed would not turn his gaze away.

  Pierre gestured that the young man could go over to it. He dug into his pocket for the chest’s key and handed it over to Wolfram.

  With relief the boy rushed over and opened the trunk. The silk at the top was set aside, and in the remaining fabric and cushions a young woman lay curled up in a thin nightdress.

  “Is she…” He did not reach out though wanted to dearly.

  “Exactly as she was when we left,” the lord of death said softly. He placed a hand on Wolfram’s shoulder. The girl’s soul was tentatively linked to him, he had renewed the connection of magic by giving her blood every few days in secret during their trip, and as long as he kept that up she would be fine.

  “I promised you, Wolfram.”

  “Thank you.” He finally reached out to her and stroked her cheek. Pierre stood and walked back over to the window to give them some privacy.

  The Mists of Death were called Akhlys. It was Mora’s land within Thanatos, the plane of the dead, and a place where all the dead in Noctuina began their afterlife. Other spirits of the dead were said to reside there as well, but he had only met and known Mora. When one died they were surrounded by the fog as their lives and actions were judged. The mists then cleared and one either found themselves in a dream or a hell until they were reborn again in this world. There were other possible scenarios, some stayed tied to Noctuina and found themselves in their physical places of death, or could temporarily cross over into the realms of the living, but those were special cases that often involved ritual or passion. Mora’s suitors, and her lords, could pull back a spirit from the mists, but once they were beyond that it was impossible. Pierre had returned to life those who had died even years ago, so the time spent in the mists could be long, but it differed for everyone.

  Wolfram stroked Salome’s hair, and then after glancing at Pierre, bent down to kiss her. He replaced the silk to hide her and shut the trunk, locking it with the key before putting it in his own pocket.

  He stood and straightened his attire. “My lord, if I may help you dress, or aid with whatever you need?” It took Pierre a moment to realize the title lord was being used to mean lord of death, not as someone refusing his claim to Piques. Aloud no other save Mora has address him as such. He would have to make sure that Wolfram did not slip up and say the wrong word in the company of others.

  “Have you actually taken up the duties of valet as well as doctor’s apprentice and suitor of death?”

  “You have done much for me,” Wolfram replied. “I need to pay my dues.”

  “That will be acceptable. Help me choose something for tonight’s dinner then.”

  They continued to discuss necrocræft as they looked through the trunks and Pierre tried on clothes he was sure he had not owned before. Someone from the castle must have commissioned sets for him, he remembered a head maid insi
sting on getting some new measurements now that he had returned from University. It was not unpleasant that new things sometimes appeared in his possession, but he did not often have any choices in the matter.

  “Your Grace, may you tell me of Familiars? Your familiar is what you first return from the dead, and it is a special case, yes?”

  “Oui. An animal is chosen based on personal preference, usually, and you must kill it. It is not pleasant in the slightest, and the only redeeming factor in what I had done to Pluta was that I knew she would come back. The animal enters Akhlys just as a person would, then gains knowledge and magia. The practitioner then returns them to life. They are essentially immortal, new daimons in a way, reborn of Akhlys. Most choose to die when their masters finally do, though.”

  “Must it be an animal?” Wolfram asked.

  Pierre turned to look at him at the question. “I have heard of a case where the familiar was human,” he said slowly. “What are you thinking?”

  “That I can bring Salome back now. I do not have a Familiar yet, but I have some knowledge. If the first resurrection is guaranteed then it will not take me months or years to have her back.”

  The lord nodded. “This is true. But you did not kill her, I did. Your familiar must be your kill. That I have not heard otherwise.”

  “Is this magic not about straining against the conventions of what a human should be able to do? I wish to at least try.” Pierre raised an eyebrow, but nodded. He himself had performed acts of the cræft that had taken others longer than he to do, or were thought beyond the scope of the magic.

  “I cannot guarantee she will become a familiar, or that she will return to life. But I do not think it will harm any future chances of bringing her back. I will help. Give me some time though, I wish to asses your skill and make sure you have enough knowledge. I would also like to know what her illness was so it is cured upon her return so this shan’t be all for naught.”

  “Thank you.”