by Caitlin Seal
Talmir’s policy on necromancy is more complicated than people like your father have been led to believe.
She wasn’t sure what to make of everything Valn had said, but that hint was enough to convince her that she was moving in the right direction. Naya continued to mull over Valn’s words and Delence’s warning as she left the palace and took a tram up the hill toward the Bitter Dregs Café. Even this early in the afternoon, many of the tables were full. Wraiths, undead, and a handful of living members of the Necromantic Council sat talking and relaxing over drinks and plates of food.
Naya wove through the small crowd to a table near the back, where Lucia waited. The necromancer looked up and offered Naya a thin smile as she approached. “How did it go?”
Naya groaned as she sat down and accepted the cup of dark tea Lucia pushed across the table with her good arm. The other arm was still wrapped in plaster from when she’d broken it during the night of the coup.
“Salno Delence is a terrible human being,” Naya said. “I managed to get to Valn, but apparently Delence had left a servant to spy on the dungeon entrance. I only got a few minutes with Valn before Delence barged in.”
Lucia winced. “Ah. Well, you’re still here. Should I take that as a good sign?”
Naya shrugged. “If you mean how Delence hasn’t locked me away or tried to execute me, then yes. But it’s going to be hard to get anything done with him keeping such a close watch on me.” She felt suddenly exhausted by the day’s events. She wished Corten were here. He would have known what to say to make this business with the Congress feel less huge and terrifying. If he were here, then maybe she wouldn’t even have to go to the Congress. The two of them could sneak away somewhere and just…live. She imagined a little house on the Ceramoran coast, and Corten’s body warm beside hers as they lay on the roof and watched the stars.
The impossibility of it made her chest ache. There would be no more rooftop nights or warm afternoons spent watching Corten’s fingers shape molten glass into cups and bowls and smiling ducks. Corten was gone and it was her fault. She had to fix that no matter the cost. Naya raised the teacup to her lips, letting the liquid touch her skin until the strong, smoky flavor of it washed through her senses. It wasn’t as comforting as actually being able to drink the tea, but it was better than nothing.
“Miss Garth, Lucia, there you are.” A tall, thin man with neatly trimmed brown hair sat down in the table’s last unoccupied chair and offered them both polite nods.
“Earon,” Lucia said, returning the other necromancer’s nod.
Earon Jalance smoothed the front of his suit. The aether around him was bright with nervous excitement as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. “So, were you able to speak to our, ah, friend?” he asked Naya.
“We got in,” Naya said. “But I didn’t learn much before Delence showed up. He wasn’t exactly happy to find me there, or to find Lieutenant Selmore helping me.”
Jalance frowned. “You would think the man would show more appreciation after all the Council did to help him.” He sighed. “Well, Lieutenant Selmore knew the risks.”
Naya didn’t like the dismissive tone in his voice. “There has to be something you can do to help her.”
“Hmm. I doubt Delence will be interested in meting out punishment himself, what with the whole delegation leaving tomorrow,” Jalance said after a pause. “Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to ensure that whatever discipline she’s assigned is light.” He tapped the table with two fingers in an impatient gesture. “Now, please tell me you learned something worthwhile.”
Naya wrapped her hands tighter around her teacup, enjoying the familiar feel of smooth porcelain. Like Delence, Jalance knew what she was. He’d been the one to carve her a new bone after Valn captured Lucia. He knew the runes for her binding had come from one of three journals Lucia wrote more than thirty years ago. Back then Lucia had been an apprentice helping resurrect undead soldiers for the Mad King’s army. She’d experimented with magics far stranger and more complex than anything allowed by the current Ceramoran king.
Now Jalance was very, very interested in learning if more of Lucia’s work had survived the purges after the war’s end. “I think our suspicions were right,” Naya said. “I think someone from Talmir is hiding a cache of necromantic works.”
“Did he say who?” Jalance asked.
“No. But there are only so many people who could have gotten access to the lab Lucia worked at. We’ll find a way to track them.” Naya tried to infuse the words with more confidence than she felt. She hadn’t wanted to involve anyone else in her search. And she still wasn’t sure how she felt about possibly handing Lucia’s other journals over to the Council. But when it became clear that she’d need help getting to Valn, Jalance had been her best option. The man kept a secret library of histories and forbidden literature related to the Mad King’s War. As she’d suspected, he’d been more than eager to aid her when she’d made her proposal.
Jalance looked between Naya and Lucia. “The Council won’t be able to offer you any more help once you leave Ceramor. But there are several people here who would be happy to pay you for whatever you find.”
Assuming she could track down the missing journals, and that no one in Talmir decided to kill her for the crime of being undead. Naya nodded to Jalance. She didn’t care about the money, or the risk. She just needed to get Corten back.
Corten fell for what felt like eternity. Wind rushed and colors flashed through the darkness, vanishing before his mind could make any sense of them. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the impact.
But it never came. The wind died abruptly. Instead of the shock of crashing into the ground, he felt his feet settle gently onto a hardwood floor. When he opened his eyes, he found himself standing in his room above the glass shop. Naya lay on his bed, her features twisted in pain and her skin fading in and out in patches. Her dark curls were spread across the pillow to frame a pretty oval face with delicate lips and wide, intelligent eyes. Corten’s chest tightened.
“You don’t understand. I’m not who you think I am,” Naya said, her voice raw.
Corten took a step back. “What’s going on?” The edges of the room wavered. This had to be a memory, like when he’d seen the image of his parents. Even as that thought crossed his mind, anger filled him, as fresh and sharp as the day he had first learned her secrets.
“Ever since I died, I’ve been working as a spy for the Talmiran Embassy,” Naya said. “I helped kidnap Delence. When the guards came for Lucia, they were looking for me.”
Corten tried to take another step back, but his feet seemed locked in place. That day she’d confessed, Corten had told himself that Naya—or Blue, as he’d known her then—was confused. She had to be. There was no way the person he’d come to love had been toying with him this whole time.
“But she did toy with you,” a voice whispered from the dark. “She lied and she used you and—”
“No. That isn’t what happened,” Corten said. He clenched his fists so tight his nails dug into his palms. Naya had lied to him, yes. But she hadn’t done it to hurt him. She’d made mistakes, and she’d had the courage to face those mistakes. She’d risked everything to undo the damage she’d caused. Seeing that courage had made him love her all the more. That was why he’d followed her into the burning embassy. He’d wanted to help her stop Valn. Valn, who was a poison, the sort of person who twisted everyone around him toward his own ends. Corten had imagined that if they could only get rid of Valn, then he and Naya could start fresh, together.
The shadowy figure appeared again, materializing from around the corner of a faded and flickering bookshelf. “Is she why you struggle? How could you ever trust someone like that again?”
Corten shook his head. “Why are you doing this?” he asked.
“So you will see,” the shadow answered. “You cannot stay here. You cannot
return to life. Even if you could, you would only find more strife and suffering. It is better to travel on and accept your death.”
Corten frowned. “What are you?”
The shadow didn’t answer.
“Why can’t I stay here?”
The room flickered, and whispers hissed at the edge of Corten’s hearing.
“The fringe isn’t safe. You must go,” the shadow said.
“Go where?”
As if in answer, Corten felt the wind rise, pushing at his back. The walls of the room faded and shadowy grass pushed up through the floorboards, shattering the illusion of memory.
“Go!” This time the shadow’s voice was like a trumpet in the hollow darkness. “They have found you!”
Something black and twisting tore through the far wall. Shining claws. Writhing, impossible limbs. Mouths everywhere that went beyond black into something empty that Corten’s mind refused to process. Thought left him. He turned, and letting the wind guide him, he ran.
The thing behind him howled, and the darkness seemed to pulse and writhe in response to its anger. Corten’s lungs burned as he tried to get away, away, awa—
The world twisted again. Color flooded into the black and gray, and suddenly the grass beneath him was the faded gold of early autumn. The sky was blue, streaked with wisps of cloud. Up ahead his younger brother, Bernel, ran toward the cliff’s edge, clutching a small wooden box in one hand.
“Damn you, give it back, Bernel!” Corten shouted, his breath coming in gasps.
Bernel spun, taking a few steps back and holding the box up. “What, this?” he asked. His tone held a laugh, but there was something hard and angry in his eyes. “Careful, Corten, my palm’s awfully sweaty. Wouldn’t want it to slip.” Bernel shook the box for emphasis, making its contents rattle as he dangled it over the cliff.
Corten slowed, stopping several paces from his brother. The grass was still damp from the previous night’s rain. The air was clear and bright, and the leaves were just starting to turn. It was the morning of the town harvest festival and he did not have time for this. “All right, fine,” Corten said. “You’ve had your joke. What do you want?” They stood on a sloping grassy field that dropped off abruptly to offer a dramatic view of the farmlands below. Their family’s lands stretched out behind Corten, the house hidden beyond a copse of trees.
Bernel tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes. “What do I want? I want to know why everything good always happens to you.”
“What are you talking about?”
Bernel shook the box again. “This! You were going to give it to Sasia, weren’t you?”
“So what if I was?” Corten glared back at his brother, clenching his fists. Honestly. At fourteen, Bernel was only a year younger than him, but sometimes he acted like such a kid.
“I told you I liked her!”
“So? That doesn’t mean she belongs to you. You can’t just claim people like they’re the last slice of cake, Bernel. When has Sasia ever even said three words to you?”
“That’s not the point! You always get everything! If she thinks you like her, then she won’t even look at me.” Bernel turned toward the cliff. “Well, if you’re going to take her, you’ll have to do it without this.”
Corten cursed, imagining the rosewood box sailing over the cliff, shattering on the rocks below and spilling the little moonstone pendant out to who-knew-where. He’d spent a half year’s pocket money on that thing. His parents wouldn’t mind if they knew it was a gift for Sasia. His mother had been hoping to make a match of them. And while Sasia and Corten had never had much in common, Sasia was sweet and pretty. Most importantly for Corten’s mother, Sasia came from a family whose wealth and bloodlines dated back even further than Corten’s own. If she showed him favor, then maybe Corten’s mother would stop pestering him constantly about the family lineage and he could go back to focusing on his apprenticeship with Lucia.
Of course, if he lost the pendant with nothing to show for it, he’d only earn himself more grief. And it wouldn’t matter if it was Bernel’s fault. Bernel would gaze at their parents with those wide, innocent-looking eyes and all would be forgiven.
Corten sprinted toward Bernel, grabbing his brother’s arm just before he could throw the little box. They grappled, all Corten’s attention focused on the box even as terror rose up deep in his mind.
No. Not this. Not again.
“Let go!” Corten shouted.
The world slowed as Bernel’s grip on the box finally loosened. Corten took a step back, triumphant. Then he heard the rattle of pebbles falling down the slope, felt his foot slipping as wet dirt and loose rock crumbled under his heel. He tilted back, and back. Bernel’s eyes widened. His hand was still outstretched where it’d been when Corten tore the box free. Corten tried to reach for his brother, but his fingers caught only air.
Then he was falling, the sky blue above him.
The scream tore from his throat. He flailed, trying to grab hold of something, anything. His back hit the rocky slope, sending pain like lightning jolting through him. His body twisted and the world became a spinning chaos of pain.
Then blackness.
Corten found himself on his hands and knees, gasping for breath as the shadowy grass rustled all around. The pain was gone, but his arms and legs still trembled with the shock of it. He pushed himself to his feet. His thoughts were fuzzy, his limbs weak, as though something vital were trickling away from him. Shame and horror rose thick in his throat. Of all the stupid ways to die. Stumbling off a cliff in a fight over a trinket for a girl he didn’t even care for. He should have stood up to his mother. He should have let Bernel throw that stupid necklace over the cliff.
If he had, maybe he wouldn’t be dead. He turned in a slow circle, trying to get his bearings. Lucia would sing him back, of course. Bernel would run and tell someone what had happened and then…
Corten blinked as reality cut through his foggy thoughts.
Wait. The cliff had been years ago. He spun, looking for the monster that had chased him, but there was no sign of it now. No sign of the shadow man either. Even the wind was dying, steeping the colorless world in a silence that was somehow almost as frightening as the beast’s howls had been.
What was going on? He’d been trying to escape, to find his way back to the place where Lucia’s portal had opened. But now with the wind gone, he wasn’t even sure which direction was back.
It is better to travel on and accept your death.
Corten shuddered. “Not yet,” he said, the words sounding odd in the hollow quiet. “I’m not done yet.” He turned and started walking in what he hoped was the right direction. The barriers between life and death weren’t absolute. Nobody knew that better than the necromancers. The monster had been chasing him away from the portal. The shadow man had tried to warn him away, and the wind had dragged him deeper into death. Something wanted to keep him here. Why bother doing all that if there was no hope of him slipping back through to the other side?
The next morning Naya and Lucia took a carriage down to the docks to meet the rest of the delegation. Lucia sat stiffly, clutching her plaster-wrapped arm to her stomach. Tears still shimmered in her eyes from saying her good-byes to Alejandra. Lucia’s lover had been far from pleased to have her traveling to a country where necromancy was punishable by death. She was even less happy knowing what Naya and Lucia planned to do. But in the end she’d given her blessing, along with the command that Lucia come home safe.
“Well,” Lucia said, wiping her eyes after a moment’s silence. “I suppose we’re really doing this.”
Naya nodded. Despite everything, she felt somehow lighter as the carriage rattled toward the docks. After three weeks of preparations and uncertainty, they were finally on their way. “Did you make any more progress on the diagrams last night?” Naya asked.
“No.” Lucia pr
essed her lips together, and the energy around her prickled with frustration. “I went back over those books we borrowed from Earon’s collection, but I couldn’t find anything new. It’s maddening. Every time I close my eyes, I swear I can almost remember the right runes.”
Naya shifted uneasily. Lucia had spent weeks attempting to reassemble the rune diagrams for a ritual she called a shadow walk. If they could finish the diagram, Lucia could sing open a stronger portal that would let Naya step physically into death. Lucia had sketched out a complicated set of modifications that would allow her to add two new bones to Naya’s bond as well. If her plan worked, the bones would act as a compass, one pointing Naya toward Corten’s soul, the other guiding her back toward life. Of course, it would only work if they could find the diagrams for the portal.
“And you’re still sure you can’t try sending me through an ordinary portal?” Naya asked.
Lucia shook her head. “That answer will be the same no matter how many times you ask. I’m not certain what would happen if you tried, but even if you did get through unharmed, you wouldn’t be able to take your bones with you. You’d have no way to find Corten, and I’d have no good way to call you back to life.”
“But—”
“No. We’re already taking enough risks.” The carriage hit a bump and Lucia winced, touching her broken arm. “I miss him too. But I won’t help throw you into death with no protection. If we can find my journals, we’ll try the shadow walk. Otherwise…”
“Otherwise we’ll find another way,” Naya said quickly.
Lucia gave her a small, sad smile. “Of course.”
Silence settled between them. Naya watched the city’s brightly painted houses flash past. Some foolish part of her couldn’t stop looking for Corten’s face among the people on the streets, or for a glimpse of him running across the rooftops above. She would catch sight of someone from the corner of her eye, black curls or the familiar curve of a smile. Hope would flare in her chest, only to sputter when she turned and saw it was some stranger who bore little resemblance to the boy she loved.
