Twice Dead

by Caitlin Seal

  Madame Laroke stepped back and glanced nervously between Naya and the man. “There are a few more tests I need to run to make sure the runes have set properly. After that you’re welcome to—”

  “I believe your tests can wait until she recovers her senses.” The man pulled off his hat, revealing an angular face with a long chin and thick black eyebrows. His hair was combed back and held in place with some sort of oil. His skin was smooth save for a few wrinkles around the corners of his eyes. Naya frowned. The man’s features seemed familiar. “Do you know who I am?” he asked. Like Madame Laroke, he spoke Ceramoran, though his words were clipped by a faint Talmiran accent. Naya glanced at his feet. He wore slick black boots laced up the front—definitely not the boots she remembered seeing in the alleyway.

  Naya stared at him. She was certain they had never met, but there was something about him. “You’re Ambassador Valn,” she said after a moment. Dalith Valn was the ambassador assigned to represent her home nation of Talmir here in Ceramor. Her father had always insisted she keep up with politics, and she’d seen a sketch of Valn in one of the morning newspapers back home.

  Valn’s job was to facilitate communications and trade between the courts of Talmir and Ceramor. He also worked with the ambassadors from Banen and Silmar, two neighboring countries that, along with Talmir and Ceramor, formed the Congress of Powers. Together they enforced peace in all the lands between the Banen Islands and the Blackspine Mountains. Each time the Gallant docked in Belavine, her father had met with the ambassador to get his signature on the ship’s manifest.

  Valn nodded. “Yes, I wanted to come personally to make sure you had recovered.”

  “So you know what happened to me?”

  “There was an incident while you were traveling alone in the city.”

  “I was attacked.” How did Valn know so much? And why was he here? She could understand why the ambassador would be concerned about an attack on a Talmiran citizen, but it hardly made sense for him to visit personally.

  “Yes. I cannot begin to express how sorry I am that we could not reach you in time for a better solution.”

  “But I…” She remembered the burning in her chest, then the icy blackness and the song. It had felt like she was dying. But no, that was impossible. She felt fine now and there wasn’t a mark on her. Except…Valn continued to stare at her. The clawing, biting panic finally tore loose as she realized what he was implying. “No,” she whispered, but the confirmation was there in his eyes, and the pity.

  “No. That’s impossible.” She looked down at her hands. We could not reach you in time. There were no runes on her wrists, but that didn’t mean much. The undead could take different forms depending on the necromancer’s whims. She’s almost completely solid. That’s what Madame Laroke had said. Naya had heard stories about the other monsters that necromancers could make, the things they’d let loose on the Talmiran Army during the war. “No,” she said again.

  “I’m sorry, child.”

  Naya shuddered, finally noticing the signs she’d let herself ignore. She didn’t feel the need to breathe. Yes, she drew in air to speak, but when she wasn’t talking her chest remained still. When she pressed her fingers against her wrist, she felt no pulse. She should have had bruises on her knees and cuts on her hands from the fall. Her feet ought to have ached from the long walk up the hill. But she felt entirely fine—too fine, too normal to be real. A scream threatened to push its way up her throat.

  “What did you do to me?” Her voice was ragged. She took one step back, then another. There was a door to her left, and another behind her. One of those had to be an exit.

  “I resurrected you.” The necromancer hurried to put herself between Naya and the side door.

  “So I’m dead?”

  “Not at all. You’re a wraith—one of the best I’ve ever constructed.”

  Naya stared down at herself. The fingers holding the blanket were hers. Her right arm still bore the faded scar from when she’d fallen and cut herself as a little girl. But if what the necromancer said was true, then none of it was real. Wraiths were worse than other undead. The woman she’d collided with in the street earlier was an animated corpse. Such creatures were violations of nature, but at least they were corporeal. Wraiths didn’t even have true bodies. They were just ghosts, spirits that sucked energy from the living.

  The rough wool blanket prickled her fingertips. She didn’t feel like a ghost, or a monster. She felt solid, and at least more or less like herself. She took another deep breath. This had to be a nightmare. Maybe she was still lying unconscious in the alleyway. Naya squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself to wake. Nothing changed.

  “I realize you may consider the process distasteful,” the necromancer said. “But there are a few things you should know. I’ve condensed the runes and scribed them to a network of bones in your left hand. I’m hoping this configuration will allow for greater flexibility in the bond’s outer limits and—”

  “Thank you, Madame Laroke, but I don’t think now is the time to discuss the details of your work,” Valn said, his words tinted with scorn.

  The necromancer gave him a look Naya couldn’t interpret. “Of course,” she said.

  Valn turned back to Naya. “I imagine you’ll have many questions.”

  She did. Dozens of them banged against her tightly pressed lips. A part of her wanted to charge the too-calm ambassador, then wrap her hands around his shoulders and shake him until he told her it had all been a mistake. That she wasn’t really dead and he hadn’t really let this necromancer strip her bones and drag her soul back into the world. “Why would you condone something like this? If I really died, then why didn’t you leave me dead?”

  She didn’t want to die. But surely it would have been better to face the Creator’s judgment now than to live on as some twisted abomination. Necromancy was forbidden in her homeland. She would never be allowed to go back, not like this. Her old life, sailing the oceans with her father, was gone. Her old dream of someday joining the merchant guild and traveling the world, bringing home bright treasures and stories of strange places, was dead. The thought filled Naya with a nausea-like tingling.

  “I’m afraid your situation is complicated,” Valn said. “But I want to assure you that things are not as bad as they seem. I’ve made arrangements. And if you give your consent, I think you can have a most productive future here. Your ship’s captain regrets he could not deal with this matter personally, but his business in Talmir could not wait.”

  The captain. Her father. He couldn’t have left her. “What arrangements?”

  Valn glanced at the necromancer, and Naya saw distaste in the way his lips pursed. “Leave us. I need to speak to the girl alone.”

  The necromancer said, “I don’t think that’s best right now—”

  “Go.” Valn’s voice was quiet, but there was a hard edge to his tone.

  The necromancer scowled, then lowered her gaze. “Fine. Call me if she shows any signs of instability.” To Naya she added, “There are clothes on the counter if you wish to get dressed. The fit won’t be exact, but they should do for now.”

  Floorboards creaked as the necromancer retreated upstairs. Valn crossed to the back of the room and turned away, giving Naya the chance to dress. The clothes on the counter were foreign things, but at least the shoes Naya found on the floor nearby were her own. The skirt the necromancer had left her was patterned with interlocking rectangles and lines. The neckline of the shirt dipped uncomfortably low, and the red vest wasn’t any help in covering what the shirt didn’t. All of it felt too loose, and far too thin. Still, it was better than the blanket. “You can turn around,” she said.

  Valn turned, then strode to the staircase the necromancer had taken. He checked it, paused as though to listen for any conspicuous sounds above, then nodded. He met Naya’s eyes. “How much do you know about your father’s true wo
rk in this city?”

  Naya shivered. She wasn’t cold, but something in Valn’s voice made her want to snatch up the blanket and wrap herself in its comforting warmth. “My father is a merchant.” Valn had switched back to Talmiran and Naya did the same.

  “True, but Hal Garth came to Belavine for more than trade and profit, as I think you may have suspected.”

  “I…” She had wondered why they’d spent so much time in the Ceramoran capital. There were other ports they might have sailed to that offered the chance for similar profits, and her father had no love for Ceramor or its necromancers. “I asked, but he wouldn’t say.”

  Valn nodded. “I’m not surprised. Why don’t we sit?” He motioned to a pair of stools pushed up against the counter. Naya perched on one, trying not to look at the array of knives and chisels spread out nearby. Valn sat across from her. “You asked me before why I didn’t let you die and go to your place by the Creator’s side. Simply put, we could not afford to lose you. We have too few trustworthy assets in this city as it is.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You’ve studied the Treaty of Lith Lor?”

  Naya frowned. What did that have to do with anything? “Of course. The treaty ended the War of Betrayal, and it created the Congress of Powers to ensure that no Ceramoran ruler could ever raise another undead army.”

  “Correct. When we signed the treaty thirty-two years ago, our King Lohen sought to eradicate necromancy entirely. But a few clever liars convinced the rulers of Banen and Silmar that it would be better to show mercy and set restrictions rather than outlawing the necromantic arts outright. They argued that the elimination of Ceramor’s army, combined with the reparation payments, and the execution of the Mad King and his generals was punishment enough. So Ceramor’s necromancers were allowed to continue their work under the watch of the other Powers. Ceramor was allowed the protection of our defensive alliances and a place in the Congress of Powers.

  “Ever since she took her father’s place on the throne, Queen Lial has fought to uphold Lohen’s ideals and to protect her people from the threat of another undead army. But as memories of the war fade, our allies grow less willing to help us monitor the Ceramoran necromancers and enforce the restrictions. If the restrictions weaken, I fear it will only be a matter of time before the necromancers break the treaty to raise another army and march on Talmir. Your father and I are part of a group working in secret to find proof that Queen Lial can use to convince others of this danger.”

  Naya clutched the edge of her stool. “You’re saying that my father is a spy?” She’d always known he had secrets. But she’d never imagined anything like this. It sounded absurd. And yet the more she thought about it, the more she realized it made sense. It would explain their frequent visits to Belavine, and the trips he made alone into the city. He’d made sure she learned to keep ledgers, barter, and gauge the markets. But he’d also taught her ciphers, politics, and languages. “What does all this have to do with me?”

  Valn’s expression softened. “Your father intended to bring you into our work. The day you were attacked, you were supposed to meet with me.”

  “You’re the merchant Selleno?”

  Valn smiled. “In a manner of speaking. That house is a place where we can conduct our business without drawing suspicion.” His smile fell. “Unfortunately, we cannot guard against all threats. We’ve had trouble with some of the locals, but until now they haven’t been so bold as to kill in broad daylight. From what my agents uncovered, we know you were followed from the docks by someone who decided your father was asking the wrong sorts of questions. They went after you as a warning.” He brushed his fingers over the counter, like he was trying to get rid of some invisible stain on the smooth black stone. “I’m sorry we couldn’t protect you, but rest assured my people have dealt with the one responsible.”

  There was a finality in what he said that made her shiver. “If you and my father are trying to stop the necromancers, then why would you hire one to bring me back?”

  “I understand your doubt. It was not an easy decision. But as I said before, our resources are stretched thin. If you can help us in our mission, then I think the Creator will forgive us this transgression.”

  Naya twisted the fabric of her skirt between her fingers. Her father had always hated such nervous habits. But she couldn’t seem to stop. She felt like a lifeboat caught in a tempest, her ship already smashed by the waves. Horror spread through her as she thought about the way her fingers had seemed silvery-blue and nearly transparent when she’d first awoken. It was all so wrong. And yet Valn’s words shone in her mind like the half-glimpsed beam of a lighthouse, a promise that shore and safety still existed somewhere within her reach. “Help how?” she asked.

  “Your father meant for you to train under me, so we’ve already made arrangements to explain your absence from the ship. This attack changes things, but I’ve found a cover that should allow you to remain in the city without drawing unnecessary attention.” He pulled a folded document from his coat pocket and handed it to her. “The embassy records will show that Naya Garth left the city at her father’s behest to tour several orange groves and meet with various Ceramoran businessmen whose goods the Gallant might carry back to Talmir. Meanwhile, a Talmiran servant girl was crushed by a horse cart near the docks. The official report will say that Lucia Laroke witnessed this tragic incident and decided to revive the girl. The girl’s old master, wanting nothing more to do with her, has agreed to sell her contract to Madame Laroke, who is in need of an assistant. As the ambassador between our countries, I will ensure this potentially delicate transaction is completed smoothly.”

  Naya stared at the document. It was a ten-year servitude contract for a girl named Blue, making the girl a slave in all but name to whoever held her papers. “Blue?” Naya asked, not liking the sound of the name. “Won’t a Talmiran wraith draw too much attention?”

  “Not so much as you might think. Over the years a few of our countrymen have, in the face of sickness or dire injury, abandoned their faith and traveled to Ceramor seeking a chance at resurrection. You will be seen as a novelty at first, but the risks are less than if we tried to pass you off as a native of somewhere else.”

  Naya’s grip tightened, making the paper crinkle. Was Valn really asking her to become some necromancer’s servant? A bitter voice in the back of her mind whispered that it fit. After all, I’m just a dead girl whose father couldn’t be bothered to stay in town after his daughter was murdered. No, that wasn’t fair. Her father had a mission. If he trusted Valn to act in his stead, then he wouldn’t have wasted time loitering in the city.

  Valn leaned forward. “I can tell that you dislike the idea, but think for a moment. Who do you imagine will be more conspicuous, the merchant’s daughter who ought to be dead, or one more servant? Which one of those two will be able to blend in among her enemies and gather secrets to help shape her country’s future?”

  Hope flared in Naya’s chest. “You’ll still train me as a spy?”

  “Yes. We stand at a delicate point. In four months the Powers will convene for the Tenth Congress. Certain factions in Ceramor are gathering strength. Once they convince our allies to lift the restrictions, I believe they will seek to rebuild Ceramor into the terror it once was. We need the very best on our side if we’re going to prevent that fate. Your father has told me you are decisive, hardworking, and loyal to your country. Will you join us?”

  Naya tried not to hunch under the weight of the ambassador’s praise. Would her father really say all that? Hal Garth was a great man. He’d dragged himself up from work as a dock boy to become one of the queen’s most favored merchants. Naya worked hard to follow his example, but he’d never praised her efforts so openly. Then again, maybe that’s not why they want you, not really. If even half the stories she’d heard about wraiths were true, then their strange forms would make them perfect for the work V
aln described. And no one would expect a wraith to be working for Talmir.

  Naya closed her eyes. After two years traveling aboard the Gallant, it was hard to see herself as anything but a merchant. But when she imagined gathering information to protect Talmir, she felt a tickle of the same excitement that had gripped her every time she’d stood on the docks and looked out at the open sea. Maybe if she proved herself here, her countrymen would make an exception to the rules that forbid creatures like her in Talmir. She took a deep breath. “I’ll do it.”

  “Excellent.” Valn stood. “Tell Madame Laroke to take you to the embassy tomorrow morning to file the necessary paperwork. Celia will explain the rest to you then.” Before Naya could ask who Celia was, Valn had already donned his hat and retreated to the door.

  “Wait!” she called. But the only answer was the click of the latch closing. Naya stared at the writ of servitude and felt the dark menace of the foreign city pressing down on her.

  When the thump of shoes on the stairs announced the necromancer’s return, Naya was still sitting on the stool with her knees drawn up and her eyes locked on the document. “So it’s done, then?” the necromancer asked.

  Naya nodded. “He says you’re to take me to the embassy tomorrow.” She scanned the writ one more time before setting it on the counter. She could hear the soft patter of rain outside. When had it started to rain?

  “The embassy. Of course.” The necromancer pushed her glasses up her nose. “I suppose there’s no going back now,” she added, almost too softly for Naya to hear.

  Naya said nothing. The necromancer took a few steps toward her, then hesitated, smoothing an invisible wrinkle in her plain blue dress. Wisps of gray hair had escaped her bun. They hung lank around her face, making her look more like an exhausted schoolteacher than an evil practitioner of the dark arts. “There are a few more tests I should run. But I don’t think any harm will come from waiting until morning.”