“It hurts like hell, but I’ll live,” Yorick whispered. “I’m alive. You’re alive.” He gently drew a hand through Nezael’s hair.
More tears slipped down Nezael’s cheeks. “It wanted food,” he whispered. “Only magic had already rotted away its offspring. If it’d been weaker, it would have died with them. I just… I don’t know what my lord’s magic was doing beyond carving bone from skin. this… this was monstrous.”
There wasn’t an answer and Nezael had no idea how he’d even ask his lord. He wasn’t even supposed to be outside, let alone this far. Never supposed to question him. He struggled on anything else to say and ceased trying altogether when Yorick kissed his forehead.
“We can come back tomorrow to deal with the bodies,” he said and Nezael nodded against him. “We both need rest.”
The adrenaline had run its course, washing right out of Nezael’s body, and he trembled all the way back to the cabin. Yorick, thankfully, remained as sturdy as ever even though he winced every time he moved the wounded shoulder. They reached his cabin as the sky streaked with the golds and oranges of dusk and Nezael hurried him inside so he could look at the wound.
Not too deep, but needed stitching to keep the skin together. Nezael was glad Isabella had shown him how to do so numerous times, insisting she wanted him to be prepared for anything. It wasn’t like Carrow had shown Nezael how to heal with magic yet.
Nezael had Yorick sit in his kitchen as he maneuvered around to find herbs to use, water to wash out the wound, and a needle and thread to tie it all back together. The wound washed out quickly, magic making it faster, and as it worked, Nezael made a paste from the herbs. His hands were gentle and quick, the stitching as neat as he could make it, and he left kisses after each one. Then went on the poultice, pressed against the wound with a strip of cloth to hold it there.
Once that was taken care of, Nezael checked the rest of Yorick. Bruises colored his skin, but nothing as serious as the shoulder. Good. As Nezael attempted to go to the sink to wash the rags he’d used for cleaning, Yorick drew him suddenly close until he was practically straddling Yorick’s lap.
“Thank you,” Yorick said into Nezael’s neck. He kissed it gently and Nezael drew his fingers through Yorick’s hair soothingly. “If you hadn’t helped, I don’t think I would have been able to do it.”
Nezael distantly realized Yorick would have died on his own and the thought made him cold.
“I was glad to help.” Nezael kissed Yorick’s head and then lower to his mouth for a deeper one. Yorick’s hand firmly kept him there until they both mutually had to part. “Rest,” Nezael said and slid off Yorick’s lap. “I’ll return tomorrow with something for the pain.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
Yorick smiled at him and Nezael knew then and there, this was all worth it. Damn Bellamy’s worry and whatever his lord might think. Doing this meant something and being here like this was more than the tower had ever given him. Real purpose beyond a vague taking the world back. His lord likely didn’t even know what that meant at this point.
After another chaste kiss, Nezael was out the door and into the blooming twilight to hurry home.
Seven
Arise
And so, on and on winter went. Not always as exciting as the beast in the hill, but Nezael found comfort in that nothing like that happened again. He continued visiting Yorick and—much to his own shock—they didn’t end up naked in bed together every time. Nezael learned various card games from Yorick that he gleefully taught Bellamy to pass the time. He tried to bring Bellamy to the cabin many times so the three of them could play, but the skeleton was insistent someone had to watch the tower. Yorick himself wouldn’t come to the tower again, saying it felt wrong even being there. No matter. Nezael happily spread his time between the two places. He even began trekking his spell book back and forth and soon, Yorick became a good sounding board for the magic spells Nezael was penning. Sure, Yorick never understood the nuances or exactly how it worked, but having someone who happily listened and wouldn’t interrupt him like Bellamy was nice.
It felt too soon when winter began to thaw and early spring flowers bloomed defiant against the frost. Birds returned to the woods, singing their morning songs, and Nezael’s own skeleton bird joined them with its own bone rattle cadence.
Nezael dressed lighter today, glad for the less frigid air, and as he headed down the tower to meet up with Yorick, Bellamy caught him before he left.
“You know what day it is, yes?” Bellamy asked.
Nezael hesitated. It couldn’t be. “I thought there were a few more days.”
“Tonight, everyone will wake by your hand. You must be back before dark. Yes, yes. I know you always are,” Bellamy interrupted Nezael’s thought before he voiced it. “But be back sooner. It takes time rousing everyone and you know it.”
“Of course I will be.” Nezael straightened his cloak and smiled. “I’ve a mind to trudge to town to get one of those spring cakes for our lord. You know how he loves them so.”
Bellamy didn’t look quite convinced that it had been Nezael’s plan all along—it certainly wasn’t—but he wasn’t outright lying. Nezael had intended to purchase the cakes eventually, he just hadn’t thought it’d be so soon. Carrow always brought cakes when he roused the skeletons to reward Nezael for another year together. Nezael figured he could do it too.
And Nezael brightened realizing he didn’t have to do it alone. He had a helper in mind and it would be remiss of him to not properly thank his helper. He just didn’t want to tell Bellamy that. Finally, Bellamy released a low sigh, and patted Nezael’s cheek.
“See to it then, little lord,” he said. “Be back before dusk.”
“I will.”
~
A reward was still a reward, even if it was given
first, right? And it was given so all-encompassing and rigorously, Nezael forgot all about the task at hand, lost in Yorick entirely. Until he roused from an afterglow nap and saw how low the sun was. Then all his plans came back in a rush and he swore, shooting upright on his elbows. The motion jostled Yorick below him and he winced.
“I forgot the cakes,” he breathed.
Yorick made a sleepy sound of his own, blinking blearily, and drew his hand down the curve of Nezael’s back, tracing his skin gently like it would coax him back down.
“Your pillow talk is usually about magic,” Yorick said, drawing Nezael closer even as he tried to untangle himself from Yorick and the sheets. It was almost a useless effort, especially when Yorick’s mouth found his shoulder and happily kissed it all the way up to his neck. “What’s this about cakes?”
Nezael resisted Yorick’s charms and shoved a pillow at him, making him laugh, and Nezael took his chance to crawl over Yorick to get to the edge of the bed. “My lord is waking tonight. I was going to get those spring cakes from town to celebrate.” He wrinkled his nose as he drew his gaze across the dim cabin. “Yorick, why do you always throw my clothes so far?”
Yorick grinned mischievously at him as he put his hands behind his head. “So I can watch you go get them.” He laughed again as Nezael threw the blanket over his head and hurried for his underclothes before Yorick recovered.
He’d just gotten them yanked on when Yorick spoke again, his voice meeker this time without any of the teasing.
“Your lord’s waking tonight?”
Even Nezael heard the unease and tried to ignore it as he glanced back at Yorick. The man wasn’t quite looking up at him like he feared the answer.
