a novella by

S. Jean

Forevermore

Copyright © 2024 by S. Jean

Star*Cadets

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover art, design, & illustrations by S. Jean

For those of us with

tragedies in our hearts.

~

Content Warning

This is a story of necromancy and skeletons and as such, dead bodies and gore are to be expected. Also within are sexually suggestive scenes, abusive mentor relationships, and the devouring of hearts.

Read with care!

One

Delicate

Birds were delicate, their bones even more so. Too much magic and they would crack, turning to dust, and never again would fly across the breeze. This tiny thing was splayed on a plate made from lapis lazuli, each bone accounted for and arranged in such a way, its once wings were spread to remind it of the days it flew upon the air. That was the trick, after all; when the bones remembered the life they once had, magic takes to the hollow holes left behind and fills it with the desire to move again. Knowing how much magic, however, was tricky. Animals were easy in the grand scheme of the spell, at least. Their lives were once based on desire and instinct, making them altogether simple.

Humans were another matter entirely.

Nezael hadn’t quite tried a human skeleton just yet; not for lack of wanting, however. His lord simply told him it wasn’t time yet and the most Nezael had done was assist the process. Before he tried his own, he had to prove proficiency in simpler animals. And so, today was a test to see how he’d do with one of the most fragile sets of bones: the innerworkings of a bird.

His lord and master, the Great Sorcerer Carrow of the Thorns, watched Nezael work, standing behind him as a statue never once blinking as though to make sure he caught everything Nezael did (and didn’t) do. It took everything Nezael had to focus on the bird and not the potential failure or success.

Taking a deep breath, he let the magic coil inside of him and pressed a gentle finger against the delicate bone that once made the wings. Mouthing ancient spells Carrow had penned himself, Nezael’s magic flitted through his veins as though called. The bird’s wings needed more magic than the rest of the body because the feathers no longer existed. Which, honestly, was a shame. The bird had once proudly displayed a vibrant red plumage and Nezael hated he’d had to peel the feathers and skin back to carefully extract the bones from within.

Just as well. With winter so soon, the bird wouldn’t have survived. It was too late for it to join its brethren in migrating, having lulled itself into a false sense of security at Nezael’s windowsill because of the crumbs he’d left for it. All he’d wanted was to listen to its song while studying; he hadn’t meant to doom it. The poor thing relied on him instead of its own instincts and now it lay here on the slab. Perhaps its un-life would fare better...

Magic twitched and frayed against the distraction and Nezael clenched his jaw. Focus, he told himself.

At his coaxing, the magic stabilized and followed his finger. It threaded itself as a vibrant light cocooning itself around the bones to recreate the once muscle and tissue of the wing. It became a web of shimmering lines until it drew too soft and translucent for the naked eye to see. All it took for a sorcerer like Nezael and his lord, however, was a little more focus, and he saw past the reality of the bones and to the glimmering feathers he gently fashioned from the dormant magic threads. Without them, the skeleton bird simply wouldn’t fly. Each time he finished a feather, he wove it into the unseen muscles and moved onto the next. Very soon, he had brought his finger across the entire body and all the way to the other wing. He sat back in his chair and gazed at his work in its entirety.

Currently, all the threads were slack against the bones, appearing almost like a shroud, but as far as he could see and quantify, it was all interwoven. Moment of truth. He looped careful fingers underneath the unseen threads and pulled them taut toward the core of the bird. The bones shuddered, rattling against the lapis, but remained whole. Good start. Nezael breathed in, gathering what magic lingered in the air, and gently blew a soft breath over the bones.

It took away any bit of magic not yet settled and what was settled, the breath sealed it within the hollow bones. He withdrew his hands, letting the magic go, and waited. At first, he thought he’d tightened all the spells too quickly and it failed to catch, but then the bird was up on its legs, shaking feathers no longer there. The motion made the bones rattle, disconcerting to those not used to it, but to Nezael, music. The bird even chirped, a sound made from the vibration of magic against the bones, and it trilled its usual soft song for him.

Nezael’s lips stretched into a smile and he offered his finger to the bird like he had so many mornings before. On instinct with memory woven into the bones, the bird hopped up like it always did and gently pecked his hand, searching for stray crumbs.

Lord Carrow exhaled behind him, reminding Nezael he was there, and the tension stole out of the room with the breath. Two hands gently combed Nezael’s feathery black hair from his forehead and Nezael followed the motion, tilting his head back. Carrow’s hands were warm today, tingling with latent magic. He pressed a kiss to Nezael’s forehead and his lips were just as warm.

“What did I tell you?” Carrow murmured, his voice its usual rumble deep in his throat. One of his hands trailed down Nezael’s neck, its soft touch tempting Nezael to shiver, but he kept his composure. As Carrow rested his fingers against Nezael’s collarbone, he offered his other hand to the bird. It happily hopped from Nezael’s finger to Carrow’s and he drew it closer.

“Talent and potential. Your worries were unfounded, my blossom.” He smiled, his amber eyes twinkling with magic, and the bird took its first flight through the great hall. It flew up to the rafters and settled happily beside the skeletal corvid Carrow had raised long ago to act as his eyes outside the tower.

They both watched the bird go until it was settled in and once it was, Carrow gazed down at Nezael again. “You should have more confidence.” His fingers gently pressed into Nezael’s neck.

“I shall endeavor to be so,” Nezael said, letting his lord feel his throat as he spoke. Another test. Magic carried across the body when cast and though Nezael knew he had dispelled it from his own fingers, many sorcerers forgot to let it go from their voice as well. If not released, the magic could continue unregulated through speech alone and form a mind of its own. “All of my success today has been because of you, my Lord, so it is only apt I thank you for this and more.”

“Mm.” Carrow released him. “You’ve done exceptionally well this year.” He swept to Nezael’s side to lean on the ritual slab they’d been using as a desk and allowed Nezael to stand. His eyes tracked Nezael’s every move and Nezael studied him the same.

His lord was a tall man with broad shoulders and long elegant limbs which Nezael could have watched for days as they weaved magic. Never a movement out of place; he truly deserved the title of Great Sorcerer. Always dressed in the finest clothes one could weave on magic alone with protective enchantments imbedded into the fabric. Today, he wore his smokey gray coat with fur lining the inside with his usual black tunic, breeches, and boots spelled to glide on air if he wished when he walked. The coat was trimmed in glimmering gold that hid all manner of counter spells within. Not a seam was out of place. The muted colors never distracted from his eyes shining like ambers and from his vibrant honey brown waves he kept brushed back so it trickled down around his neck.

Nezael wasn’t quite as perfect or finely put together as his lord. While Carrow was tall and commanded a room on presence alone, Nezael was of middling height and a shrinking violet in comparison. He’d stopped growing a head shorter than his lord and wouldn’t bulk up with weight despite attempts otherwise. Carrow had once said sometimes magic was the culprit. Given how young Nezael had been when he began weaving his own spells, it likely curbed much of his growth to further augment his magic instead. Although Carrow never expressed regret over this because steeping Nezael in magic while he was young made him worthy to be the apprentice he was trained to be.

In contrast to his lord’s honey brown locks, Nezael’s hair was a soft black with texture that reminded him of feathers. His eyes were softer than Carrow’s sharp stare and were a subdued cherry compared to the brilliance of his amber. He wore simple tunics and breeches from town, not yet been given his own garments woven from magic. Maybe soon, when Carrow felt Nezael was a true necromancer like him.

It had to be soon given the way Carrow gazed at him with all the hunger of having an eager student and all the delight in the world of that said student having passed one of the most fragile tests.

Nezael couldn’t help the pride swelling in his chest. It must have shown. Carrow’s eyes darted to his and Nezael forced himself to keep eye contact. “Yes, my Lord?”

Carrow shook his head, his smile so warm and inviting, Nezael could have stared at it all day to memorize it for as long as he could. “Oh, naught is amiss, my blossom.” Carrow reached out and cupped Nezael’s face in his hands. “Isabella wanted your assistance once you were done in here. I have meetings to attend with visitors coming in, so do right by her and please, stay out of sight, hm?”

“Of course.” Nezael smiled and his whole body warmed when Carrow pressed his lips to Nezael’s forehead again. “Are many coming this time?”

“Enough to keep me wary.” He dropped his hands and stepped away. “Perhaps soon we’ll be able to do more than simply hide. See to Isabella now. I must prepare.”