by Rosie Scott
“The request for a contract with the Alderi, yes,” Cerin replied. “The underground does not have a monopoly on assassination contracts. There are other assassins, and Terran will find them.”
“And they will fail, Cerin, because I protect you with my life and always have. Do you remember when we first saw each other after years apart a decade ago? You had assassins after you then. We have had assassins after us throughout the years. Even if Terran succeeds in hiring one, we have never been safer. We are always together. All of our friends protect us with their lives. If someone even gets close, Azazel will hear them.”
“Will you truly protect me with your life?” Cerin asked after a moment. “There was once a time when you could have proved that to me, but you let him go.”
A slice of pain cut through my heart as I remembered my decision to release Terran in Nahara. It seemed Cerin was more hurt by that than he'd let on, even still. “I protected you then. I just also protected him. I didn't want either of you to die.”
Cerin exhaled roughly. “You are going to have to choose, Kai. We are moving ever closer to Chairel. The day rapidly approaches when one of us dies, and if you are still caught in the middle of it, you could be hurt.”
“I have already chosen,” I insisted, squeezing him tighter. “I chose you.”
“Then why are you protecting him?”
“I'm not.” I hesitated, swallowing emotion before it could overcome me. “Letting him go in Nahara was a decision of mercy.”
“Mercy will not win us this war.”
“No. I know.” I turned my face toward Cerin's shirt, kissing him once through the fabric. “I have grown, Cerin. I am no longer under the impression that Terran will change. His loyalties now lie with his wife and children, just as mine are with you. The next time I see my brother, I will kill him before he can get to you. I promise you this.”
Cerin's hand came up to hold my forearm warmly, but he said nothing.
“Do you believe me?” I asked.
“I want to believe you, but I know that saying you will kill Terran is easier than doing it.”
“It is. But I have said for years that it will happen. I won't enjoy it, but I will do it to keep safe everything we've worked for and everyone I hold dear.” I nuzzled into his shirt, and Cerin relaxed just a bit in my arms. “Will you look at me?”
Cerin did so, turning until we faced each other. As was always the case when he looked at me, his gaze softened.
“Is there a reason you believe we will see Terran before we get to Sera?” I asked, rubbing both of his forearms softly to comfort him.
“I don't want to argue,” Cerin said reluctantly.
“I'm not trying to argue. I just want your honest thoughts and opinions.”
An exhale blew through his plush lips, and he admitted, “I have a bad feeling, Kai. Much like you did before we lost Jakan and Anto. I don't know what it means. I just know something is coming, and it revolves around Terran.” Cerin's piercing silver eyes had an edge of anxiety as he added, “When we learned that Cicero went to Sera, that feeling got worse.”
He'd said all of that reluctantly as if I would disagree. When I nodded, then, my lover looked somewhat surprised. “I thought the same thing,” I admitted. “I'd like to believe that Cicero wouldn't turn against me after our time in Eteri.”
“You'd like to believe it,” Cerin repeated, “but you don't.”
“No. No, I don't.”
Twelve
I awoke the next morning when Cerin pulled out from under my arm to stand up from the tiny bed we shared. Bright yellow sunshine spilled over the bed from a nearby window, warming me in places that weren't covered by blankets and furs. I hadn't heard the knock at the door, so I only watched as Cerin stumbled over to the front door to answer it.
When the door opened, the rectangle of sunlight which was suddenly cast over the floor at Cerin's feet gave away the shadow of a tall man. Cerin pulled a pale hand through his long black hair, finger combing it as he greeted, “Morning.”
“Good morning,” I heard Azazel reply. “I'm sorry for being this early. I didn't know you'd still be asleep.”
“We shouldn't have been,” Cerin commented, before moving to the side to welcome him. “Come on in. I'll make you some tea.”
“Thank you.” Azazel walked in, smiling as he watched me sit up in bed to greet him. “Morning. I like what you've done with your hair.” He motioned toward it as he came to sit down on the edge of the bed.
I reached up to my hair, feeling a mess of tangles and frizz. “I haven't done anything with it yet.”
“Exactly. It looks like you're hiding birds up there.” Azazel laughed as I threw Cerin's pillow at him in response before he politely put it back.
“Cerin,” I spoke up, watching my lover remove some dried pork from a kitchen cabinet for breakfast. “Can you give us a few minutes?”
Cerin didn't turn to look at me as he put a pot of water over the fire next. “So you can murder Azazel for his insult?”
“Yep.”
“Sure. Give me a second.”
Azazel chuckled at our banter. His black eyes looked down at his hands as he said, “You can stay, Cerin. My request may also concern you.”
“Oh?” I questioned, starting to brush through my hair with a comb. “Is everything all right?”
Azazel appeared humbled and uncertain. His hands played with the blanket beside him as he asked, “Will you teach me necromancy?”
My mind connected his sudden interest in it to Calder's admission the previous night, and I found myself amused. “Is this because of Calder?”
“Maybe,” Azazel admitted, embarrassed. “I've just been thinking, Kai. You said you wanted to take me to see the world. I want to be alive and healthy for however long that takes. Cerin will be with you. Calder will be with you. I keep thinking of how depressing it would be to grow old while you continue on as you are. Particularly now that we have proof you are growing immortal.”
Azazel's simple request warmed my heart. His reasoning for wanting to learn death magic reminded me of the problems Silas and I once had while we had been romantically involved. Different lifespans were the cause of so much heartache in the world. Necromancy truly was the only method of attempting to fix the limitations of nature.
“Proof of immortality?” Cerin spoke up, pulling the pot of boiling water from the fire. His eyes met mine for a split second before he started pouring the hot liquid into three mugs. “What's he talking about, Kai?”
“Do you remember when you and Nyx came to aid us on the battleship during our fight a fortnight ago?” I asked him.
“Of course.” Cerin walked over, handing a mug of fresh tea to Azazel before giving me my own.
“Azazel nearly lost both hands that day,” I told him. “I had to heal him as best and quickly as I could to prevent it from happening, which included giving him excess energy with that life spell I created in Eteri.”
“The spell worked?” Cerin questioned.
“Worked wonders,” I replied. “But it took a lot of energy. Between that and healing him, I drained my own life. Many times over.”
Cerin observed me carefully as he sat on the bed beside me. “You're saying it should have killed you and it didn't?”
I nodded. “You remember how I passed out saving Theron near Whispermere. I drained many times more than that for Azazel, and though I was fatigued, I didn't come close to losing consciousness.”
A smile of both happiness and relief lit up my lover's features. “Hell, that's fantastic!” Cerin leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. “I'm so happy, Kai. It doesn't seem like you're too upset about it.”
“I'm no longer ignorant as to what to expect with necromancy,” I replied. “Eteri put any unknowns to rest between dealing with Hades and the necromancers of Glacia. I'm just not surprised. I will forever use death magic. If this is a side effect, so be it.” I turned back to Azazel, who was still patiently waiting for an answer. “You d
on't usually like things that affect the mind, Azazel.”
Though Azazel drank ale, he never got drunk. Also, I remembered how he'd been quick to correct Cyrus about doing drugs back in Mistral during our conversation about ferris. I figured his reasoning for both were related.
“I like to be in control of myself,” Azazel explained. “I'm cautious, Kai. You know that.”
“I know,” I agreed, “but you've seen the way leeching highs can affect us.”
Azazel's gaze didn't falter. “I'm willing to risk it,” he said, his voice gaining just a tinge of desperation. “I'm one hundred and thirty-six years older than you, and you've already added to your life. I need to catch up.” After I said nothing for a few seconds, he asked, “If you don't wish to teach me, can I at least know why?”
“Azazel, I will teach you whatever it is you want to learn,” I promised him. “But magic is finicky. You seem so dead-set on learning necromancy. I'm afraid of breaking your heart if I cannot teach you.”
“I am most predisposed,” Azazel argued lightly. “I am Alderi.”
I exhaled thickly through my nostrils before lifting up a palm. “I will teach you how to leech,” I decided. “You know the difference between just saying a spell and actually summoning it since alteration works the same, so don't summon anything yet.”
“Okay,” Azazel agreed, mimicking my movement.
“The spell is absort la mana del life. It translates to absorb energy from life. This is not the death bomb, only the single funnel leeching.”
“You said absort with a T?” Azazel asked for clarification.
“Right.” I waited as he sounded out the spell a few times, getting used to its pronunciation. “When you summon the magic, it will hover over your hand like a fog. Do not force your hand, magic, or attention onto any one person unless you mean to use it. Go ahead and try it. I'll explain more afterward.”
Azazel watched his palm as he said, “Absort la mana del life.” We waited in silence for a few seconds. The longer time went on without black magic appearing, the more my heart broke for him. Azazel repeated the spell again only to get the same results. He glanced up at me, an expression of bewilderment on his face. “Am I saying something wrong?”
“...no.” Despite my answer, Azazel continued to try. Cerin and I watched in silence as spirits in the room fell.
“I don't...understand.” Azazel glared at his own hand like it'd wronged him. “I'm magically literate. I'm Alderi. You taught necromancy to thousands of my brothers underground.”
“Not all of them could learn it,” I reminded him.
Azazel said nothing for the moment, despondent. His hand fell back to the bed.
“I tried to teach Nyx death magic years ago,” I told Azazel. “She has the same black hair and eyes as you do, and her skin is many shades darker than yours. She couldn't learn it, either.”
“Nyx couldn't learn any elemental magic,” Cerin added, remembering a time when we'd tried teaching the elements to our friends in Nahara. It had been after the Battle of the Dead when he and I had been in charge of T'ahal's budding school of magic. The topic had come up one night while we had all spent time together. Cerin and I had tried teaching Nyx, Anto, and Jakan the elements, but no one had learned anything. Because I was a mage surrounded by other skilled magic users, it was sometimes easy to forget that elemental magic was tricky to learn to begin with.
“Perhaps you could learn the water element,” I suggested when the silence had stretched on.
“I don't want to learn water,” Azazel replied, putting his half-full mug of tea on the small table next to the bed and standing. “The other elements will weaken me. I only wanted to learn death to prolong my life now that I have things to look forward to.”
My heart broke for him as he walked to the door. “I'm really sorry, Azazel.”
“Some things are not meant to be,” he replied simply, his voice lacking energy. “Thank you for trying, Kai.”
“Stay for breakfast,” Cerin protested, standing as if to stop the archer from leaving.
“I appreciate the offer, but I think I'm going to take a walk.” Azazel left our small cottage without another word, closing the door quietly behind him.
Cerin sighed heavily once we could no longer hear his retreating footsteps. “Well, that broke him.”
“It broke me too,” I replied, feeling depressed. “Magic has never been interested in playing fair, Cerin. It makes me angry. I've never seen someone so desperate to learn necromancy. After teaching so many Alderi death magic in the underground, the fact that Azazel can't learn it when he means so much to me feels like a slap in the face.”
“He has the worst luck,” Cerin agreed sadly, taking Azazel's mug over to the kitchen to clean it.
I was quiet as I watched Cerin prepare breakfast, my mind stuck on magic. Now that I knew Azazel wanted to learn death so badly and couldn't, I was obsessed with the subject. I wondered if my birth father had ever gotten close to an answer for why the elements were so choosy with their wielders. I also pondered whether the predispositions of the elements could be changed. If more people studied magic as a science, perhaps we could find ways to tweak it to our wills. Arturian Kilgor had been fascinated with such subjects, and though I had his blood running through my veins, I'd never considered myself to be anything other than a battlemage. But over the last few years of this war, I'd made plenty of magical discoveries of my own. I had created spells and new words. I'd tweaked existing spells to get them to work as I needed them to, like the earth magic I'd used to dissolve the defenses of Quellden years ago.
Perhaps I didn't give myself enough credit. My primary concern with magic was its use in warfare, but I'd contributed a great deal to its development and understanding over the years. I didn't have a magical lab, but I'd never needed one. I loved Azazel to pieces, and his desperation to live longer stuck with me like a problem that needed solving. I had never been a person to sit helplessly on the sidelines. I felt the spark of determination settle in my gut.
“You know,” Cerin broke the silence, bringing two plates of spiced pork over to the bed, “I haven't said anything about this since I figured it was just coincidence, but you mentioned your energy reserves are growing, and I think mine are, too.”
I took a plate of food from him and met his gaze with intrigue. “Really? Why?”
“It's taking me longer to run out,” Cerin replied. “You know how I switch between magic and melee in combat. I've been doing that for years to keep my energy and stamina high. It's become a habit. A pattern. Over the past few years, sometimes I'll feel like it's time to leech, but I won't need to yet. It's like my reserves are growing past what my mind remembers as normal. Does that make sense?”
“It does.”
“Why would we just notice this now, though?” Cerin pondered aloud. “It's not like growth in power comes in spurts. We should have already noticed this.”
I shook my head. “Not necessarily. We spent years in Eteri worried about how powerful I am becoming. I'm sure that if I'd had a reason to drain myself then, I would have noticed a change just like I did weeks ago. You said yourself that you've noticed a change with you for years, but you discounted it as coincidence. I haven't drained myself to such a point since healing Theron. If it weren't for giving so much energy to Azazel, I would have never realized it myself.”
“You're right,” Cerin agreed. “Speaking of healing Azazel, I'm glad that spell you created worked. Why did you use it?”
“To keep him from passing out,” I murmured, my mind racing with thoughts. “Cerin...what if...?”
Cerin waited a moment for me to continue. He finally prodded, “What if...?”
“Hear me out on something,” I requested.
Cerin chuckled. “Okay.”
“There are six elements. Though there are four material elements and two wild cards, they are all considered elements. Why?”
“Because they all manipulate energy the same way,” Cerin
replied, a charming half-smile on his face as he watched my mind work from through my expression. “Energy is used to create the material elements, or it can be used to manipulate material things. Living organisms are material things. Life and death manipulate their energy. But energy is energy. Summoning a life spell uses the same resources as summoning an earth spell.”
“Right. Energy is energy,” I repeated. “But if all of the elements work the same way, why is death the only one to prolong the lifespan?”
Cerin hesitated, his eyebrows dipping toward one another in bewilderment. “It's not knowledge of the magic that prolongs life. It's the spell you use. It's not like a necromancer who only ever raised the dead would live longer. They would have to leech to do that, and on top of everything, their lifespan would depend on how much energy they absorbed.”
“Right,” I repeated. “How much energy they absorbed. Key word. The Kilgorian Law states a mage's reserves are pulled from the environment, then the weather, then the mage's own life. If I summoned nearly any spell, it would draw from those sources and transfer the energy into my magic barrier. If I were to dispel the magic without using it, it wouldn't absorb into my body. It would be released back to its original source.
“Leeching spells are the only ones that work differently because the magical language itself tells them to. I am not taking the energy out of someone's body and releasing it into the air. I'm transferring it from one body to another. I am overloading my body with life force. It is for this reason that necromancers live longer. One body is gaining the power of dozens. Hundreds. Thousands. Affecting its physical lifespan. Reversing the aging process through sheer power. Changing even the body's most complex anatomic structures to the point that even skin puts up great resistance, as we saw with the Icilic necromancers. They can still technically die. No matter how old the necromancers in Glacia were, they still disintegrated from the power of the sun. There will never be true immortals. But if it weren't for such a powerful act of god, those necromancers would have lived countless more years, continuously feeding themselves with new power and making themselves harder and harder to kill. And the enabler of such immense power? Energy. The same energy used for all other magics.”
