When the pyre had burned down, he helped Ezekiel gather up the bones and ashes and place them into a receptacle.
Gabriel cleared his throat. “Are you going to take the ashes home?”
“I have to take something,” said Ezekiel. “I was sent here to retrieve her body.”
“What will you tell them happened to her?”
“The truth,” said Ezekiel. “That she was bitten by a revenant and changed. That’s the only way they would accept her cremation.” It wasn’t customary to burn bodies, because at the end of the world, all souls were supposed to go back into their bodies and be taken up into heaven for the last judgment. The only bodies burned then, were the revenants’.
“But won’t that be difficult to explain? How will you reconcile it with the story of her falling from the balcony?”
“I’ll say that she was confused with someone else,” said Ezekiel. “I’ll say it was one of her maids that fell.”
“Oh,” said Gabriel. He supposed that worked.
Ezekiel started back for the carriage. “Why are you here, anyway?”
Gabriel went after him. “Why am I here? Seriously? I’m here to offer my support in the face of your tragedy, of course.”
Ezekiel shot a withering glance over his shoulder.
Gabriel caught up to the other man. “You’re distraught. You need someone to be there for you.”
“Not you,” said Ezekiel. “You only drag my soul deeper down into condemnation.”
“Oh, will you stop that? It’s ridiculous to be so caught up in thinking that you’re a sinner. You’re nothing of the kind. Now, just drop it.”
Ezekiel climbed up into the carriage. On the way here, he and Gabriel had sat together in the front, taking turns with the reigns. Honor’s body had been in the back. “We’re all sinners, Gabriel. Even you.”
Gabriel started to climb up after him. “Who says we’re sinners?”
Ezekiel glared at him. “You can ride in the back, you know. There’s room.”
Gabriel ignored that. He sat down next to Ezekiel. “I’m serious. Who says so?”
“God says.” Ezekiel gathered the reins up and signaled to the horses, who began to trot.
“You ever hear God speak?” said Gabriel. “Because I sure haven’t. All I hear are the holy men saying it, and I don’t see why they know what God thinks any more than we do.”
Ezekiel furrowed his brow. “The holy men know because they read the scriptures.”
“Do they? Do they really?” Gabriel snorted. “Most of the holy men don’t even know how to read.”
“But the scriptures do say so,” said Ezekiel. “I have read it myself.”
“So, who wrote the scriptures?”
“God.”
“Men,” countered Gabriel. “Men before the Scourge. They had holy men too, and their holy men made up just as much nonsense as ours do.”
Ezekiel sighed. “If that’s what you want to think, I can’t stop you, but I know what I believe.”
“And you believe that you’re a dirty, evil sinner just because you like sucking cock?”
Ezekiel winced. “You don’t have to be so vulgar.”
“I don’t think you’re dirty or evil.”
“It isn’t me that is,” said Ezekiel. “It’s the sin. God loves sinners. He hates sin.”
Gabriel felt frustrated.
“Listen, it’s called faith,” said Ezekiel.
“It’s called stupidity.”
Ezekiel’s jaw twitched.
Gabriel’s shoulders slumped. “Sorry.”
Ezekiel didn’t say anything.
“I didn’t mean to… you’re not stupid.” He sighed. “Let’s change the subject, okay?”
Ezekiel stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched.
Gabriel examined his fingernails. He was being an ass. Ezekiel had enough to deal with. His sister was burned to ashes, and the last thing he needed was Gabriel insulting him.
They were both quiet for a few moments, neither looking at the other.
Finally, Ezekiel spoke up. “I don’t suppose it matters if you’re here or not. I should really just head back home now. After today, I won’t see you.”
Gabriel sat straight up. “What?” He didn’t like that idea. He didn’t want Ezekiel to go anywhere. Sure, the man was annoying with all his concern about sin and guilt and everything, but he was also really hot in bed, and Gabriel hadn’t been with anyone like him. Ever. “You can’t go.”
“I’ve done what I came to do,” said Ezekiel. “I have Honor’s remains.”
“But you don’t know what happened to her. Isn’t that what you said to me when you first arrived? That you wanted to know exactly how she died?”
“I do know how she died. She was bitten by a revenant.”
“Yeah, but we don’t know why. Why were the revenants in the mansion? How did they get out of the dungeon? Why is my father keeping them?”
Ezekiel hesitated. He fiddled with the reins. “It doesn’t make any sense, does it?”
“No,” said Gabriel. “It doesn’t. And you should stay at court until you figure it out. You have to. You owe it to your sister’s memory.”
Ezekiel glanced sidelong at him. “If I stay, it will only be to sort this business out, you understand? It won’t be because of you.”
“Me?” Gabriel spread his hands. “What do I have to do with it?”
“This… thing between us? It can’t continue.”
It had to continue. Gabriel couldn’t conceive of letting Ezekiel go. He licked his lips.
Ezekiel turned away. “Don’t do that,” he muttered.
Gabriel chuckled. “You’re lying to yourself, you know. You want this as much as I do.”
“My flesh is weak, perhaps, but this desire for you is an abomination—”
“There you go again. Would you stop?”
“My point is that I’ll be investigating what happened to Honor, not dallying with you,” said Ezekiel. “And if you try to tempt me, I will stop you.”
Stop him, huh? Gabriel’s breeches suddenly felt tighter. What was it about this man? He seemed to have power over Gabriel even when he didn’t mean to. Gabriel slid his hand onto Ezekiel’s thigh. “I think I might like it if you try…” He arched an eyebrow.
Ezekiel took a shuddering breath. “Move your hand,” he said in a strangled voice.
Gabriel didn’t move his hand.
Ezekiel flung it off. “No more of that. I only want one thing from you, and that’s for you to arrange an audience with your wife.”
Gabriel felt deflated. “My wife? Why?”
“She’s the one who knew about this secret chamber in the first place, isn’t she?”
Well, that was true. Leah had brought it up.
“Okay,” Gabriel said. “We’ll talk to her.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Michal entered the receiving room flanked by her servants. Her father was seated in his throne at the center of the room. Michal approached and fell into a deep curtsy.
She wasn’t sure why she was here. Her father rarely summoned her. It was even more rare for him to want to see her formally. Generally, their meetings took place in his study. Her father seemed to like that better, possibly because, with no one to hear him, he could be free with his insults.
She raised herself up from the curtsy, her head bowed.
“Welcome, daughter,” said the emperor. He always used a very presentational voice in the receiving room. It was deeper and louder than his regular voice, and he enunciated quite distinctly. Michal thought he sounded stupid, but she kept that thought to herself.
She bobbed her head. “Your Eminence.”
The emperor took a deep breath, puffing up his chest.
Michal wasn’t sure why he did that. In her opinion, it also made him look stupid. It wasn’t as if there were that many people in the room for him to be presentational for. Only her servants stood behind her, and only half of the council members were in att
endance. Her father had a few servants as well, and there were clerks and advisers. But the room hardly contained fifteen people. Certainly, the emperor’s theatrics were overkill. Her mouth tugged into a grimace, but she fought to keep her expression calm and respectful. Her father wouldn’t appreciate it if she appeared disrespectful in the receiving room. Some things were simply not done.
“I have an announcement, my daughter, an announcement that concerns you especially,” said the emperor.
Inwardly, Michal groaned. The last time that the emperor had made an announcement like this, he’d wanted to marry her off to the regent of Tenness, and Michal had turned him down flat in front of everyone. Didn’t he realize that she was the necromancer’s intended now? She couldn’t be married off.
The emperor turned away from her and spoke pointedly at one of his servants. “It concerns others too. It is quite a momentous announcement. But I see that very few others are here to hear it.”
The servant fidgeted. “Your Eminence, you gave me only hours to gather everyone for an audience. If I’d had more time—”
“Silence.” The emperor’s voice echoed through the room.
The servant trembled.
Michal rolled her eyes. Why did he have to be so dramatic? Couldn’t he just get on with it?
Her father cast her a glance. I saw that, it said.
She trained her gaze down at the floor. She was actually trying not to make him angry right now, but even when she tried, she wasn’t very good at being a dutiful daughter. It was no wonder she’d mostly given up on even attempting it.
The emperor turned back to his daughter. “As I was saying, it is a most momentous announcement. It has been a generation since such an announcement has been made in these halls. We must count ourselves lucky to be witnessing history unfold before our very eyes.”
What was he talking about? This didn’t sound like another marriage proposal.
“Why I had not thought I would ever be making such an announcement to the court,” said the emperor. He peered around at the paltry audience. “Such as is represented, of course.”
The servant cringed.
“But no matter that we are small in number,” the emperor continued, “we are here in the fullness of our hearts, ready to receive the news. God has seen fit to see that we be blessed with this historic milestone, and we are all prepared to receive it.”
Now, Michal was starting to get bored. She was beginning to feel as if her father was repeating himself. What was this announcement and what did it have to do with her?
“I am pleased to tell you all,” said her father, “that my son Simon has sent word to me. He has been gone from court, as you may know, for some time at work on something that he has been most secretive about.”
This was about Simon? Oh, what did her awful brother have to do with anything historic? And what did he have to do with her? Simon was her least favorite sibling. He had been spoiled and coddled by his mother, who was also bitter than Simon wasn’t the heir. Simon had been raised jealous of his brother, Gabriel, and he had a permanent chip on his shoulder. Because of that, he really wasn’t a pleasant person to be around.
“Imagine my surprise,” the emperor continued, “when I got word from Simon that he had succeeded in raising the first necromancer in fifty years.”
What?
The emperor beamed out at the others in the room and paused meaningfully.
After a few moments, the gathered realized they were meant to react, and they all began to applaud.
Not Michal, though. She didn’t applaud. She swayed on her feet, frightened that she’d lose her balance. Simon had raised a necromancer? But… there weren’t necromancers anymore.
The emperor gave her a nasty smile. “And you, my daughter, are now the necromancer’s intended, so you have your husband.”
She swallowed. Oh. Oh, no. This… this couldn’t be happening. She clutched the shoulder of one of her servants to stay upright.
“And,” said her father, “you will be his only wife, which you so desperately wanted.”
She thought she might vomit. She glared up at her father. “You knew, didn’t you?” All that talk to her about how she was going to be eaten, how she was a stupid girl who would get what she deserved. Her father had known what Simon was up to.
“Knew, daughter? As I just told the court, I was most surprised when I received news from Simon.”
She didn’t believe him. Of course he had known. As if Simon would embark on any kind of endeavor without first bragging to their father about it. Simon craved the man’s approval.
“You don’t seem pleased with the news,” said her father.
Her jaw worked. She couldn’t find words. She wanted to spit on him, scream obscenities.
Her father smiled. “Well, God works in mysterious ways, doesn’t he, daughter? You were disobedient to his laws that women must submit to multiple marriage. You wanted to be special. You wanted to be able to do as you pleased. You thought that because you were my daughter, you could skirt the rules.” His voice was now steadily rising.
Michal drew herself up. She didn’t want to be lectured in front of all of these people.
The emperor’s voice rang out. “Well, the Lord is no respecter of persons, Michal. He has seen fit to teach you humility.”
“Father, if you—”
“Go!” The emperor stood up from his throne and flung out his arm. He was angry, but he was even more presentational. “Get thee from me, daughter. Go to your quarters and repent of your sins. Ask for strength from the Lord to accept your new fate. Pray he is merciful. Pray your bridegroom does not devour you.”
Michal clenched her hands into fists. She raised her chin.
“Go!” The emperor’s face was red.
Michal went.
* * *
Darius rattled his chains as he shifted position. It was early morning, and the sky was growing lighter. His companion Simon was asleep still, but Darius was awake. He didn’t sleep much anymore. Sometimes, if he lay still and closed his eyes, he could slip into something like a dream. He’d quiet his mind, listen to the sounds around him, and fade away. But it wasn’t the same as before, when he’d been human. Simon had done something to him. And now, Darius was a necromancer. He was half a monster, half a man, and Darius wasn’t sure which part of him was going to come out victorious.
Simon wasn’t so much his companion as he was his jailer, even though Simon claimed that he would only be in chains for a short time. When they arrived in the capital city, Darius would be tested. If he passed the test, he would never have to wear chains again. Simon was confident that Darius would pass. He never spoke of the test itself. He only spoke of what would come after.
Simon would loose revenants on the city, and Darius would allow them to attack, and then he would corral them. Everyone would think that Darius was saving the city, and since Simon had made him, they would think Simon had saved the city too.
Simon wanted to do this because he had designs on the throne.
He was the second son of the emperor, but he thought that he should be the emperor.
What was more, his father agreed with him.
Simon wouldn’t shut up about that. It was his point of pride. He droned on and on about his brother, the heir, who was a faggot and sodomite, who spent all his time reading books instead of doing anything practical. He said that his father eventually realized what an embarrassment to the family his brother was. And then the emperor helped Simon hatch this plan.
For himself, Darius didn’t know much about faggots. He’d heard of them but never really met one, at least as far as he knew. And he’d never seen a book either. He knew of the idea of reading, but it was considered evil, a way for the devil to twist one’s brain and fill it with temptations. To Darius, Simon’s brother sounded like something from a story, something too exotic and strange to be real.
Of course, he was strange himself now. Necromancers were from stories as well.
All of it was far too strange for Darius to wrap his head around. He simply couldn’t believe what had happened to him. He felt as if he was trapped in a nightmare.
So, he didn’t focus much on the brother or the emperor or saving the city. He didn’t know how to think about such things. They were too foreign.
It wasn’t long before Simon awoke. Darius watched from his place, still chained, as Simon went about his morning routine. Simon went to the nearby stream to wash his face and hands. He came back with water dripping off his nose. Then he put together a meal of dried meat and fruit.
Darius watched the other man eat. Since his change, he hadn’t needed to eat anything.
After Simon finished his breakfast, it was time to get back on the road, but he didn’t unchain Darius entirely. He released him from the tree that bound him and helped him mount a horse, but then Darius was chained to the horse instead.
Darius was beginning to dislike his lack of freedom.
“Simon,” he said. “What is this test?” Supposedly, after he passed the necromancer test, he’d be able to go free. He wanted out of the chains.
Simon barely turned around on his horse, giving him a disapproving look. Simon didn’t much enjoy talking to Darius, and most of their time together had passed in silence. Then Simon turned back around, and nudged his horse ahead. He spoke, but Darius couldn’t make out the words.
Darius dug his heels into the flanks of his horse, urging it up closer to Simon. “I couldn’t hear you.”
Simon didn’t look at him. “You don’t know of the necromancer test?”
“No,” said Darius.
“Haven’t you heard stories about the necromancer’s wives?”
Wives? That was a ludicrous idea. As a necromancer, he wasn’t even human. He couldn’t have a wife. He made a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat.
“Perhaps the memory of the villagers is not very long,” said Simon. There was disdain in his voice.
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