by S D Simper
“This forest is massive, according to my maps,” Casvir replied. He returned to his horse and began unloading various bundles and crates, most of which Flowridia realized she hadn’t seen before. “I would prefer to set up camp while there is still light.”
Flowridia moved to unload what few items burdened her own horse, until Casvir handed her a large, rolled up bundle. “This will keep you warm,” he said. On the ground, he placed what appeared to be a large crystal. It illuminated, flickering in various shades of yellow and orange, and the heat it generated was a pleasant thing in the chill evening air. He turned his attention back to her. “Will you be comfortable sleeping outdoors?”
“Very much so,” she replied softly, and a faint smile pulled at her lips as she untied the knot keeping her bedroll intact. It unraveled all at once, and she spread it smoothly across the unkempt forest floor.
Casvir rolled out his own but simply sat upon it, at the opposite side of the warming crystal. Flowridia found it amusing how different camping was among different members of the ruling class. Etolié shrunk her tent and treated it as an extension of her own bedroom, whereas Casvir seemed content to embrace the outdoors.
Speaking of Etolié . . . Flowridia stood up and smoothed her skirts. “Imperator Casvir, I’ll be right back.” She gave no explanation, content to let Casvir think she needed to relieve herself or do some other private, lady thing and stepped away from camp.
Her feet snapped twigs, and Flowridia kept her hands out, her fingers brushing past ancient, thick trees as she stepped alone into the forest. The smell of damp wood settled into her mind, nearly intoxicating, and the cacophonous night creatures grew louder the farther she stepped from Casvir’s camp.
When the flickering crystal became only a small speck in her vision, Flowridia dared to withdraw the mirror sequestered in her pouch. She tapped the glass, unsurprised when it began shining. It lit her face, casting her shadow across the trees, and within moments she saw Etolié’s familiar, relieved face. The Celestial’s bloodshot eyes suggested sobriety. “Flowers, it’s been over a week—!”
Flowridia placed a finger on her lip. “I’ve hardly had a moment alone since leaving Staelash,” she whispered. “I don’t have much time, but I’m safe. We’re still traveling.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m not quite sure, but neither is he.” Flowridia shivered in the cool night air, but the joy of seeing Etolié’s face—even so irate and worried—was unquestionably surreal. “How are things at home? How are you?”
“Things are fine. I’m coping. Lara says her council is debating whether it’s worth finding a replacement for a certain general who won’t be named, and in the meantime, they want Marielle and I to appoint a new third for our oligarchy. She’s pushing for Zorlaeus. Terrible idea.”
“He is about to be her husband,” Flowridia offered, but Etolié shook her head, visibly irate. While sober, the Celestial adopted a far different persona than the wise-cracker Flowridia had come to love.
“He bears the stench of foreign leadership. Nox’Kartha owns ten percent of the gold that goes through the embassy, and I refuse to give them any more of us.”
“Then, who else?”
“Between Thalmus and Sora?” Defeated, Etolié blew out a breath. “Neither of them want it. Thalmus refused outright. I told Sora she never had to show up to meetings and that she could just second everything I say. That’s what—” Etolié cut herself off, smiling curtly. “That’s what someone else did, and the arrangement worked well.”
Flowridia saw anguish in Etolié’s bloodshot eyes, and while the journey with Casvir had been unexpectedly delightful thus far, she longed to stand by the Celestial’s side and comfort her.
“But what about you? Casvir isn’t holding you for ransom?”
“No, Etolié. He’s a perfect gentleman.” Odd to say, but technically true. “I should go back, otherwise he’ll suspect something. But give my love to everyone.”
“I will. Stay safe, Flowers. Call again when you can.”
The mirror dimmed. Darkness swamped her vision, her eyes having adjusted to the bright light of the mirror. A strange coldness enveloped her, a sudden chill from the woods. In the distance, she could faintly see the flickering crystal, and she made careful steps towards it, acutely aware of every snag on her skirt and caress of the leaves against her hair.
Something softer touched her cheek. Flowridia gasped, met with the sight of only faint shadows and stars fighting to peek through the cover of branches.
“Lady Flowridia?”
The warming crystal disappeared, covered by the silhouette of Casvir as he approached her.
Heart pounding, Flowridia stepped toward him, but flinched when she accidentally brushed against the cold metal of his armored chest. “I thought I felt—” She cut herself off, berating her own foolishness. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
Demitri, she realized, had followed, and he nudged her before standing on his hind legs to lick the bottom of her chin. She lifted him into her arms, startled by his weight. Her familiar had grown, but she managed to keep him snug in her arms. She followed Casvir back to camp.
“Next time, bring Demitri with you,” Casvir said, his soft voice rumbling. “We are not the only residents of these woods, and I am contracted to keep you safe.”
Flowridia nodded, the wording of his request less than benevolent, but the promise of safety still of some comfort to her racing heart.
At the camp, Flowridia sat on her bedroll and withdrew an apple from the chest of food. “I presume you’ll be keeping watch tonight?”
“I will.”
Demitri’s nose nuzzled her hand. So will I.
“Demitri, Imperator Casvir is perfectly suited to keep watch. You should sleep.”
He’ll just read all night. I’ll keep watch.
“I don’t think reading a book dampens his senses. Our safety is guaranteed in our contract, remember?”
Your safety. Not my safety. I’m keeping watch for me, not you.
From the corner of her eyes, Flowridia saw Casvir glance up from, as Demitri predicted, yet another large book, the title of which was obscured by his enormous hand. “You may assure Demitri that his safety is linked to yours. Were he to die, your connection to the magical world would sever, and then you would be of no use to me.”
The statement unnerved her, the reminder that his care was hardly altruistic. But, feeling shy, she didn’t dare to comment.
I don’t like him.
“You’ve mentioned,” she whispered.
He can read my thoughts. And yours.
“I think he’s just particularly good at reading people, Demitri.”
“One who can predict his opponent will never lose a fight.” In rapid sync, Flowridia and Demitri turned toward Casvir’s voice. The man kept his attention on his book.
Flowridia’s smile flickered in tandem with the crystal. “See?”
This is supposed to reassure me?
Flowridia simply kissed him in response. Exhausted from riding, she settled into her sleeping bag, and though her thoughts drifted to Ayla and the ear around her neck, she passed out within minutes.
* * *
But she just as quickly awoke from tender and erotic dreams, Ayla’s touch lingering at her lips.
The flickering light of the crystal was all that met her eyes. High above, if she focused, Flowridia could see a star or two daring to reach through the recesses of trees. Her grip on the blanket tightened, her body chilled despite the crystal’s warmth.
When Demitri’s steady breathing met her ears, she curled herself around his soothing fur. She realized, then, that Imperator Casvir watched from opposite the crystal. But he just as quickly looked away, his quiet voice mixing with the sounds of night. “My apologies. Your sleep has been fitful for some time. I had debated waking you.”
Flowridia shut her eyes. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”
“I am not bothered.”
Still, shame settled hot on her face. Flowridia pulled the blanket over her head and prayed that sleep stole her quickly.
“There is no shame in sorrow.” Casvir’s voice only caused her to tense.
Tears stung her eyes, and she let a shaky sigh escape from her lips. No, no. Not here. Not now. Not under the cold night sky with nothing but a De’Sindai and a sleeping familiar for company. Ayla was dead, but she was not gone. Crying was foolish.
Instead, she forced her breathing to steady, clearing her mind of cold fingers and predatory smiles. That emotionless void settled. Within her came the awareness in her soul of an artifact far away, resonating against something powerful within her.
Yet, with meditation came a welling of something hollow expanding inside of her. She forced her mind to clear and felt that same energy from beyond crackling within—stronger than she had ever felt before. It fluttered like a butterfly in her stomach, weightless and light. When she sighed, the pressure abated.
“Lady Flowridia, open your eyes.”
Flowridia obeyed. Swirling around her was a purple mist, caressing her fingers, seeping from the very pores of her skin. It teased of something dark, and when she gasped, it escaped with her breath. Flowridia sat up, the mist dissipating.
Demitri awoke. Across from her, Casvir stared, the intrigue in his gaze as piercing as his red eyes. Flowridia’s breathing grew hurried, and she stared at her hands, waiting to see if anything came.
Nothing. But then Casvir spoke. “Did you do that on purpose?”
Flowridia shook her head. “No, I—” She shut her eyes, releasing a steadying sigh. “I was trying to clear my head. I felt the artifact, just as before.”
“But you went deeper into that energy.”
Flowridia nodded, her hands trembling as she said, “What happened?”
“The most powerful branch of magic is born of pain, Lady Flowridia. Or, rather, to set aside that pain.” He did not smile, not quite, but something in his eyes spoke of interest. “Do it again, but take care to not touch your familiar. The living do not take well to this.”
Demitri inched back, visibly wary. Flowridia shut her eyes. After a few deep, steadying breaths, she felt her racing heart quell. The world grew silent around her; she focused on the energy waiting within.
When the same hollow expanded in her stomach, she opened her eyes. In her hands, that same mist appeared. She gasped. It vanished.
“Necromancy is called from an absence of feeling. For you to summon this energy by accident bespeaks . . . potential.”
Awareness struck her, a realization of what she had done. Flowridia remembered Thalmus’ mantra from long ago and repeated it to herself. “Necromancy is one of the great evils of the world,” she whispered.
“And who decided that?”
Surprised at the rebuttal, Flowridia brought her hands back to her body, pulling the blankets around herself as a fortress. She faced Casvir and said, “The gods. Sol Kareena, I suppose.”
“Gods are finite, and while I respect their power, I have no need for them. Sol Kareena teaches that the dead should remain dead, but only adopted that principle in the last thousand years—after the Solviran Civil War and the fall of the God of Death. One deity’s evil intentions do not bespeak them all. Before Sol Kareena’s time, they say that Chaos herself held a talent for necromancy and dictated the affairs of the dead.”
Chaos, the same Old God who caused the Convergence and destroyed herself in the process.
Casvir continued. “Sol Kareena teaches that it is evil, but once she had no stance. Her morals are not eternal. You are pledged to no god. What do you believe?”
In that moment, Flowridia realized she didn’t know. She remembered the blinding visage of the Goddess, one who issued a warning, who had stolen the love of her life with a single blast of holy light.
A love who, Flowridia knew, was an aberration in Sol Kareena’s eyes.
“Consider the economy of Nox’Kartha,” Casvir said, and the glowing red of his eyes reflected the emanating crystal. “Mine is a land of opportunity. Any one of my citizens can be whatever he or she wishes. Menial labor is done by the undead, giving the chance for living citizens—citizens who had spent generations on the same farmland merely surviving—the chance to be something greater.”
“I think that’s a benevolent use of it,” Flowridia said, sheepish in her posture.
“Consider something else: suppose I stop. The dead, useless sacks of meat otherwise, suddenly drop to the ground. My people—hundreds of thousands—starve within months. It is a fragile balance I maintain to support my citizens, and this balance would be upset were I to eliminate that which makes my economy even possible. There is no lower class, no peasants to toil the fields and be spat upon by high society. So, what is the greater evil? To relinquish the dead and live a so-called ‘respectable’ life or allow innocents to die?”
Flowridia frowned, even when Demitri came to sit in her lap. “I’ve been told my whole life that there are evil magics. But I think it’s what you do with those magics that makes it good or evil.”
Casvir nodded, his expression content. “But who dictates what is good and what is evil?”
“The god you pledge to,” she repeated, this time feeling uncertain in her answer.
“Finite Gods dictate finite morality. So-called ‘evil’ has been accomplished in channeling this magic. But that can be said of all things. The Theocracy of Sol Kareena has accomplished far worse with honorable magics,” he said, and Flowridia wondered if she imagined the chill in his tone. “As you said, it is how you wield it. I have yet to meet an altruistic necromancer, but I have met many a corrupt priest.”
Flowridia nodded, her mind steadily processing his philosophy.
“We have a long way to travel. I will tutor you, if you wish to learn. You would do well.”
Her racing heart sped up again. Blood pounded in her ears. “I’ll think on it.”
“Consider your potential. A witch can be a fearsome thing.”
Flowridia knew that very well, thoughts of Mother invading her head. She recalled images of corpses shambling outside the door, half-eaten by fungal life. The dead in Mother’s garden had remained barely alive, sustained and thus slowed in decay by necromancy, and of course when she had stolen the life from Aura, causing her to shrivel and die.
“I will consider it,” she echoed, and she slid back into her bedroll.
Demitri’s cold nose invaded her space. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.
“I don’t know what I want,” she whispered.
Whatever you choose, I’ll help you.
“I’m surprised you approve of this.”
I don’t. Not if Casvir is involved. But since Ayla died, you haven’t wanted to do anything at all.
He wasn’t wrong, she realized. She had lived in a fog ever since. Too many distractions held her captive, sorrow having stolen her motivation.
If this is what it takes, I’ll support you.
Her lips brushed against his cold nose. “Thank you.”
* * *
Flowridia awoke with sore thighs. Apparently, riding horses took more effort than she might have anticipated. But she saw no use in complaining, and once they’d packed their camp, she let Casvir help her onto her horse.
Demitri elected to walk.
They went on their way. In the early morning, the forest could almost be mistaken for peaceful, with birds whistling high in the trees and a gentle, rustling breeze, one the leaves sang to accompany.
For hours they rode in silence, and Flowridia clung to every pleasant noise and smell. She felt at home, in a way, though the lingering chill of something dark prickled at her senses. But the trees were large, the smell of pine needles and damp earth intoxicating, and the clean air invigorated her in ways the manor never could.
Aimlessly, Flowridia realized she had begun to hum along to the harmonious forest. Nothing with a tune, simply notes that sang along wit
h the quiet breeze and birds, and it brought a smile to her face.
Another tone met her ears, and Flowridia realized that Casvir had begun humming along with her simple tune. Blushing bright, Flowridia stopped. Ahead, her duet partner ceased as well.
Silence ensued as she focused on the road, legs sore from the jostling saddle. The birds continued, as did the wind.
Though self-conscious at the attention, Flowridia centered herself before humming again, her breathy voice tangling with the breeze. Again, the pleasant baritone met her ears, and she smiled.
Still, an odd feeling lingered in the air. Flowridia gripped the reigns of the horse, as though that would protect her against whatever malevolent force might be watching. She recalled Ku’Shya, the great weight in the air before her shadow manifested, but found it was not the same.
Near evening, a new sound met her ears—running water. Flowridia glanced at the sky and deemed it dark enough to speak. “Imperator Casvir? There’s a river nearby. Could we camp there for the night?”
In response, Casvir adjusted their path in the direction of the running water. “We can.”
“Thank you. I haven’t washed my travel clothes since . . .” Rather than embarrass herself further with a response, she buried it behind a grimace.
“If I cared to smell you, I doubt I would be offended.”
Flowridia found his words amusing, though she knew he wouldn’t have meant for them to be so. She followed, and the trees barely seemed to disperse at the water’s edge.
Casvir easily stepped down from his horse and went to help Flowridia before she could slip off herself. She let him steady her, accepting his outstretched claw. “Thank you,” she said, thick brush cushioning her steps.
“I will give you privacy,” he said as she stole her small bag from her horse. “But keep Demitri at your side.” Then, he led the horses away, presumably to set up camp.
Once he had stepped out of sight, Flowridia pulled her dirty change of clothes from her bag. Her keen eyes quickly scanned the opposite shore, as well as her immediate surroundings, her demure heart shy of the prospect of leering eyes.
