“It’ll be fine, my little lord,” Bellamy whispered as he drew a reassuring hand through Nezael’s hair. The tower below was alive with the activity of skeletons returning to their posts and preparing the place for their true lord’s awakening. “The first time is always hard.”

Nezael paused at Carrow’s door. “How many first times have you seen?”

Bellamy didn’t answer and the silence thickened the air between them. He wouldn’t even look down at Nezael before he took Nezael’s hand and pushed it to the ward in the door. The glyphs on the surface began to turn like a wheel, the outer ones started first one way, and then the next section the other way, until they were all turning. Eventually, they began dissipating one by one and the magic entered Nezael’s arm as power. Thick and true, it shot pain through his arm and made his vision blur with bright spots. He wanted to draw his hand away, but Bellamy held it there until the ward was no more.

Nezael steeled himself with a deep breath and pushed the door open. The woven spells and wards snapped as he came through alone. Magic parted like curtains, revealing the sleeping form of his lord.

Exactly as Nezael had left him months ago.

The same handsome face softened with blissful sleep. Carrow hadn’t aged and nor had he changed one bit. It almost reminded Nezael of a sleeping prince, but what Carrow could be the prince of wouldn’t come. Then, there was a soft thought like a whisper to leave him there. Did he truly need Carrow? Nezael dashed it aside as soon as it emerged and shook his head. Without Carrow, Nezael wouldn’t be here—he was sure of it. That was that.

“I am here, my lord,” Nezael whispered, lowering himself at his lord’s side.

He crushed the life blossom in his palm and mixed it into the decanter itself to dissolve. The liquid took on a spectral hue, shining like a prism as Nezael swirled it, and he poured as much as he could into his own mouth. Magic collected there, bright and warm from his own throat as a spell, and Nezael reached over to press his lips to Carrow’s. As the spell required, the waking draught flowed from Nezael and into his lord, tingling his lips with warmth as it went.

And that was it. Nezael’s legs folded beneath him, leaving him on the floor with no strength left to give, but he didn’t outright fall. Carrow had caught him and drew him close. His opened eyes twinkled like firelight as magic hummed across him. He brushed Nezael’s hair back with his hand, smiling.

“Oh, my blossom,” Carrow whispered and Nezael’s body shivered hearing his deep voice again after months of silence. “I didn’t think this would be so hard on you.”

“Good morning,” Nezael tried, but his voice was a soft sigh mimicking words. His body couldn’t hold him up and he stopped trying. He was content there across his lord’s lap, he was sure, but then Carrow stood like he’d never been asleep. Magic traced the air after him, threads trailing from him to the bed, and each one brushed up against Nezael as they snapped to let Carrow go. His lord bent low, gently gathering Nezael into his arms, and with no effort, lifted him off the floor.

Carrow’s touch was incredibly gentle, his voice soft against Nezael even though Nezael couldn’t for the life of him remember what Carrow had said, and between blinks, Nezael was in his own bed, changed into sleeping clothes and covered in blankets.

“Rest, my blossom.” Carrow kissed Nezael’s hand and left it over the edge of the blanket. “You have done enough.” With careful fingers, he pulled the chain of the necklace he’d given Nezael months ago over his head. Magic sparkled as it went. Nezael reached for it sleepily, but Carrow caught the hand and kissed it again.

“Sleep,” Carrow insisted, his gaze never straying from Nezael’s. His eyes were so mesmerizing. The twinkling amber with a golden halo of magic glowing in the irises. The necklace disappeared into Carrow’s coat and Nezael’s eyelids began to fall.

“I will wake you anon, but you must rest and recover.” Magic followed Carrow’s voice, gently settling across Nezael as yet another blanket. Once it had settled, Carrow leaned over Nezael and kissed him on the forehead.

And that was it. Sleep dragged Nezael under as ordered and magic tingled across his entire body. It fluttered up and down, reminiscent of kisses, and all Nezael dreamed of was Yorick himself chasing the sensation. Up and down Nezael’s skin like he’d done so many times before.

Eight

Necromancer

Nezael awoke to golden sunshine peering through his windows. It cast a shimmering hue across his entire room and he felt revitalized beneath its light. Magic hummed through his veins anew, soothing the exhaustion from last night, and he was just so warm. He made to close his eyes again, relish in spring’s first rays of dawn, when he noticed Bellamy watching him from his desk. All sleep snapped away in an instant, reality reminding him of last night and how he’d roused everyone from slumber, and Nezael propped himself up on his elbows. Bellamy merely watched him, turning over a silver chain in his hand. Around and around it went almost rhythmically, until he came to the end of the chain where the charm of a looking glass lay. Then he began turning it anew. Nezael felt his throat, finding his own gone. Right. His lord had taken the necklace.

“Good morning,” Nezael said and Bellamy twitched as though he hadn’t noticed Nezael awake. “Is something the matter?”

A soft sigh resounded from Bellamy’s skull and he stopped turning the chain over in his hand. “Our lord wishes your presence in the great hall as soon as you wake. As such, I was sent here to await you.” He turned and slid a plate toward Nezael from the other side of the desk. A simple helping of eggs and sausage, all seasoned with Agatha’s usual flair. “Agatha sent me with food.”

Nezael took the plate, stomach growling fiercely, and sat cross legged in bed to eat. Yep, Definitely Agatha’s. He’d missed it so much. His and Bellamy’s breakfasts could never compare. Maybe he could sneak her to Yorick’s cabin and they could cook together. He’d like to see it. Both of them side-by-side as they traded dish ideas back and forth. It’d be sweet.

The silence in his room, however, dug into him, and he glanced up at Bellamy again. The skeleton was still staring. Distant.

“Are you well, Bellamy?” Nezael tried, worry squeezing him tight.

“Our lord has found you a skeleton.”

Excitement shot through Nezael and he almost threw his plate aside with his blankets. “So soon?”

“Our lord wished not to delay.”

Bellamy’s voice was so muted and cold, it stole the excitement out of Nezael. He gently placed his half-eaten breakfast on the desk and reached out to touch Bellamy’s hand. Magic glinted off the chain upon his touch, and with a puff, it exhaled and was gone.

“What aren’t you telling me?” he tried.

Bellamy never once looked away until now. “Everything will be fine.” He slid the necklace into his jacket, leaving it out of sight, and straightened his lapels. “Remember that no matter what, my little lord.”

Nezael looked up at the skeleton. “Why do you have my necklace?”

“Lord Carrow has finished with it and saw fit to have me hold onto it.” Bellamy beckoned Nezael up and revealed the garments behind him. “He also weaved you your own necromancer robes. Please, get dressed and meet him downstairs. He expects you any moment now.”

There was urgency in Bellamy’s voice and though Nezael wanted to take time to admire his new garments, he hurried for Bellamy’s sake. The tunic was in muted red tones and wrapped snug around his body and had a black cowl holding onto a large hood. Gloves went up the length of his arm and tightened near the top with magic gems sewn along the insides. Bellamy helped affix the ornamental golden spine to the back, along Nezael’s own spine, and magic ghosted across it once Bellamy folded the rib pieces against Nezael’s torso. Magic armor—it would stop blows so long as it remained enchanted. The gold shimmered and Nezael liked the skeleton motif. The last to go on beyond simple dark leggings and boots was a black sash dusted in silver like stardust. It resembled the one his lord wore.

“There now,” Bellamy breathed. “Our little lord is now our little necromancer.” It felt like he smiled as he reached out to squeeze Nezael’s shoulder. “See to our lord now. No more distractions.”

Nezael wanted to feel ecstatic. His lord saw fit to weave him his own necromancer robes and he was getting a skeleton of his own this day. Yet Bellamy’s voice chilled him all the way through. This was not a happy occasion and Nezael couldn’t figure out why.

Perhaps Bellamy himself was tired. He walked stiffer as they left Nezael’s room. Yes. That had to be it. It made sense. He’d been up all winter, after all. Believing it eased the fear and Nezael hurried through the tower by himself. It teemed with renewed magic, thick on the air, and Nezael could practically taste it.

The skeleton—his skeleton—awaited and he’d make it wait no longer.

The tower’s main thoroughfare was cold. Someone had left the door propped open. Golden light spilled in and no one sought to close it as the tower aired out. Footprints tracked in from outside to the great hall at the very end and though fear prickled Nezael’s insides, he pushed it down. His lord was careful when he made skeletons. Surely, this was no different.

He entered the hall, slipping through the crack in the door left open for him, and all the warmth fled his body. There was blood everywhere, but most of all concentrated in the long streak dragged from the door he’d slipped in through and up to the wooden plinth in the center. His breakfast came up fast, but he swallowed it down, forcing in a shaking breath. Skeletons were made from the dead. Blood was sometimes a byproduct.

His eyes tracked forward to the plinth, where his lord stood, arms up to the elbows dripping in blood, staining the white shirt he wore. There was a smile on his lips, but it held no warmth, even when he trained it on Nezael. Near him were tables clearly rolled in from elsewhere given how mismatched they felt to everything around them. Atop them were stone trays and Nezael had to swallow down his breakfast a second time seeing what was upon them. Organs were potent ingredients, his lord had always said, and there they were. Slick with blood still dripping down the sides.

Nezael’s gaze finally darted to the plinth and the body atop it.

“Come, come,” Carrow invited. “Don’t just stand there gawking.”

Nezael hardly heard him over the racing of his pulse, but his legs lumbered forward so distantly from his own wants. His breathing became rapid, the cold air of the room snaking down his throat with each one, and it only worsened the closer he came to the body on the plinth. Tawny skin still mostly whole, but streaked with blood from incisions to extract the organs. Between his legs had been eviscerated, smeared in blood and gore where nothing else remained. Nezael’s gaze traced up the body, his own shivering in fear, and he ignored everything he knew. Everything he’d touched with lips and hands both, until he came to the face.

The whole world became distant and gone in an instant. Silent, save for the sound of his pulse.

Because it was Yorick laying on the plinth.

The sound Nezael made was not one he could ever repeat. A strangled gasp of terror, revulsion, and panic all but smothered beneath his hand.

“You’re not too late, my blossom,” Carrow said. “Your skeleton is still there. I merely started the process because I know excavation is hard at first.” He traced a bloody finger down the chest already carved open. The chest Nezael had traced with his fingers and lips both just yesterday.

“Where—” Nezael swallowed back a retch. “Where’d you find him?”