It was how Nezael lost insistent pursuers who followed him from town. Though he’d once loved when Yorick teased him about being a nymph, he now hated it because it was how many saw him now. A flighty nymph with a coy smile who disappeared into the woods. And, if Carrow commanded it, Yorick or Bellamy would be ordered to kill any stray person lost in the woods from trying to follow Nezael. Then the body would become bones in a pile to make something new, bereft of all soul and thought. A mindless soldier ready to one day burn the land.

Nezael wouldn’t mention this poor soul to Carrow.

The ward accepted them through, obscuring the woods behind the veil of magic, and Nezael breathed out. A headache bloomed behind his eyes, drawing deep from his overall exhaustion, but he forged on instead of the summertime nap he would have partaken in if it’d been the year before. Lord Carrow would want his assistance after last night. Nezael already smelled the blood on the air wafting from the tower.

He’d wanted to forget the poor soul his lord had invited to stay the night, but now Nezael had to acknowledge the man was there. Bones and all.

The tower greeted Nezael as it always did, its doors thrown open wide today to usher in the breeze, but unlike the sundrenched paths before, there was only darkness pervading just inside. Bellamy waited for him at the doorway. His friendly demeanor had returned, but Nezael knew differently now. It had always been a rouse, hiding the sad man underneath it all. It buried Bellamy’s own guilt and continued to do so.

“Ah, there you two are.” Bellamy waved Yorick over and Nezael let him go with the bag of herbs across his shoulder. “I see you were able to get all what Izzy needed.” Bellamy nodded, checking the bag, and left it with Yorick. “I am to show Yorick”—he said the name so much softer than anyone else’s, like he was admitting his own guilt in Yorick’s creation—”our summer defenses. He will be in charge of their upkeep.”

Anything to keep Yorick away from Nezael. Honestly, Carrow could do whatever he wanted to Yorick and Nezael would have to watch in horror. As Yorick learned early on, he went without a fuss. No broken bones like he’d endured the first time he’d hesitated listening to Carrow’s orders. Nezael had healed the bones in secret, whispering apology after apology in the dark and Yorick had tended to Nezael the same when their lord found out.

Nezael walked alone into the thoroughfare and followed Carrow’s magic tugging him softly. The great hall was lit in soft candlelight as the first storm clouds of summer began to hide the cheerful sun. Soon, rain would pelt the windows, ghosting another chill through the drafty hallways, but for now, an appropriate gloom settled over the room.

There was a body yet again upon the plinth. Another one wrapped in bloodied linen floated, suspended in place as though waiting its turn patiently beside his lord.

Carrow hadn’t changed a bit since waking. Ever invigorated from his sleep over the winter, the man had returned to necromancy with a certain glee and sought Nezael’s help far more often than he had before like Nezael truly was ready for all the truths and lies necromancy brought.

Today, like all days dealing with a cadaver, Carrow’s hands and arms were stained with blood as he extracted everything useful from within. He gleefully ripped out the innards and organs because it was his body to do with what he wanted. Some fascination putting those who thought Carrow simply an eccentric sorcerer in their place. Many mercenaries faced that fate.

Nezael avoided the smile Carrow gave him as he approached and peered over the body instead. This was the mercenary who had dined with them to talk plans. Nezael didn’t know what those plans were. When he came in to serve them wine and food, they had already moved on. The mercenary, upon seeing Nezael, decided instead to talk about what he’d do to Nezael if he could. Though Nezael’s body had burned with embarrassment hearing such things said aloud, Carrow simply urged the man on, amused, and eventually invited the man to stay the night with Nezael.

Despite all the man’s big words, his touch had been featherlight like he was afraid to do all the things he’d said. Bravado to mask his uneasiness with Carrow, Nezael supposed. Or he was spurred on to say such things because it amused his lord. Whatever the case, the man had quickly drunk the wine Nezael brought for him. Maybe he’d been hoping to steel his resolve. All the wine did, however, was put him to sleep and then stopped his heart.

Sleep was a mercy. The potion could be done without it and Carrow preferred it that way to not be wasteful; dead was dead, whether it was painless or not. Nezael, however, refused to serve it without the sleeping draught. Last night, he’d left the man slumbering happily in the guest room. Sometime later, the man had died.

Guilt gnawed at Nezael’s stomach and he glanced at the body suspended in the air. Didn’t know that one, at least. Perhaps a spy or some would-be hero catching wind of rumors Carrow cared naught to squash. Let the bodies come, he insisted. He’d put them to use.

“Oh, my little blossom,” Carrow murmured. “Why so dour?” He ushered Nezael closer with a bloodied hand. “You’ve been so cold to me lately. Did you not have fun last night?”

“It was a simple night,” Nezael said. Carrow knew what hadn’t happened. He knew everything Nezael did in the guestroom with all their invited guests over the months. The mirror was enchanted. Nezael had gone through great pains to learn if his own was enchanted and thankfully, it was not. He hoped it stayed that way.

Carrow smiled nonetheless and shrugged. “Men are often so full of their own words to hide a lack of action.” He indicated the body before them. “I’ve muddied his memories enough, he won’t remember the night, but he’ll keep his wonderful talent for organization once we raise him. One more step toward a new life.”

A fleeting promise, but Nezael nodded.

“Come and help me.”

Nezael paused and glanced at himself. “I should change, then.”

“Perish the thought, my blossom.” Carrow’s hand was quick as it caught Nezael’s arm. Fingers tight, he pulled Nezael in front of him. From behind, Carrow pressed his bloodied hands against Nezael’s shirt. “We have many shirts such as this.” Carrow dragged the shirt downward, letting his nails rake across Nezael’s flesh, and Nezael let him. It was easier that way. His lord pressed a kiss to Nezael’s exposed neck. “Let me see this one ravaged. You are so incredibly stunning feral and bloodied and I will have it to memorize.”

All Nezael could do was follow his lord’s motion while locking his thoughts away so nothing mattered. Not the blood between his fingers. Not the red blooming across his shirt so he may never wear it again. Not the way his lord watched him, hungry like a beast waiting to devour him whole.

~

By the time Nezael washed off the blood, scrubbed his skin so raw, his own blood joined it in the heat of the bath, his body was exhausted, aching, and he forgot all about his adventures into town. He collapsed into bed, hair still damp, and tried to sleep it all away. Try to dream of the kisses that never came. He was starkly aware of its absence in the dark and wondered if he’d even slept. Morning came veiled by rain and soft thunder in the distance.

And with Yorick’s hand on his shoulder.

Nezael jolted, the touch of skin gone too soon and replaced with the fabric wrapped around his skeletal fingers.

“Nezael,” Yorick whispered, his hollow voice further grounding Nezael in the reality of what he’d done to Yorick. What was more alarming was that Yorick had ceased coming into Nezael’s room until he was fully awake at Carrow’s insistence. Yet here he was now.

“Get dressed.” Yorick dropped Nezael’s necromancer robes onto his lap. “Please.”

“What’s wrong?” Nezael swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Did something happen?”

“I found a body in the cellarage.” Yorick paused. “I… I recognize him from yesterday.”

Nezael dressed as quickly as he could with Yorick’s help to fashion the golden spine against his back for his magic armor. Its warmth fluttered across him, making him feel light, and they hurried down to the cellarage.

Full of dusty cobwebs, items which had long since lost their purpose, and food canned and preserved alongside Carrow’s casks of wine was indeed a body. A young man. The wards had gotten him, leaving his body there preserved for their taking, but still very dead. Bright blue eyes without the luster of life behind them. Thick blonde hair tumbled to one side and his pale skin was covered in freckles. He was slender, all soft angles, and reminded Nezael of himself. He wore a simple traveling tunic which hid glistening knives within. Breeches held nothing more than a bag of what he’d already managed to grab. He had no shoes to speak of, but Nezael wondered if he’d taken them off to sneak around without them.

Regardless, he’d made it here. Inside. Through the exterior wards only to be trounced by the internal ones.

“He was the young man who followed us out of town,” Yorick whispered.

Oh. Nezael’s skin washed cold with the realization. It didn’t quite answer the how, but Nezael hated himself all the more. If he’d let Yorick scare the man away, or even confronted him on his own, he could have stopped a senseless death. Nezael squeezed his eyes shut to push back the headache threatening to claw across his scalp. How many deaths was he up to now? It did him no good to count, yet he tried and quickly lost the number.

Yorick was kneeling beside him, skeletal hand pressed to the small of his back to keep him balanced. He needed it. So he could think. Decide what he wanted to do with the man. A proper burial? Or take him into their fold? What would he have wanted? What did Nezael even want?

Too many questions. Nezael wanted to go back to a dark room and shut it all out.

Until he heard footsteps echoing down the stairs. Yorick’s arm slid away and he stood, acting like the bodyguard he should have been and not the friend he was. Carrow came down with Bellamy at his heels and they slowed upon seeing Nezael kneeling on the floor. His expression lifted into delight once he sighted the dead young man.

“Oh,” he said. “I see Bellamy is correct. We’ve a new friend.”

“I don’t know how he got so far,” Nezael said.

The delight melted into concern, stopping Carrow in his tracks. He hummed thoughtfully before stepping beside Nezael. “I suppose you will simply have to replace all our wards. Your distraction this winter made them woefully weak, my blossom.” One hand gently reached out and drew itself through Nezael’s hair.

“Yes, my lord,” Nezael whispered, knowing any other response would dig his lord’s fingers into his scalp.

“But, for now, we have a new friend.” Carrow attempted to swoop down to gather the young man, but Nezael blocked him with an arm. Anger flashed in Carrow’s eyes, but Nezael didn’t draw back.

“He is not yours,” Nezael said slowly. “He’s mine.”

Without even looking, Nezael felt Yorick stiffen behind him. The subtle click of his bones and the softest gasp. Carrow raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, is he, my blossom?” He slid his gaze to Yorick, a mean smirk jutting across his lips, and once more, he drew his fingers through Nezael’s hair. Softer this time. “What makes you so sure?”

“Our skeletons of late have had more of my magic than yours,” Nezael said quietly. Carrow’s eyes narrowed. Nezael had noticed it from the first one after Yorick, but he’d been unsure about asking why. “Yet you always have control over them. If I am to be your necromancer, I feel I should have more of my own. I can do this myself. All of it. Let me prove it.”

Genuine surprise crossed his lord’s face before it settled into a haughty smile. He fully expected Nezael to fail. Maybe he would. “Raising someone you hardly even know is quite different. And this one, you don’t even have the pleasure of fucking beforehand.” His fingers drew downward along Nezael’s jaw before he tipped Nezael’s chin upward to look at him. “But, if you truly seek to ravage yourself attempting the feat on your own, he’s all yours.”

Before Carrow stood, he pressed his lips to Nezael’s. He knew what he was doing. He knew Yorick was there watching him. The kiss lingered longer than Nezael wanted it to and then all at once, Carrow had drawn himself to his full height and left. Bellamy lingered, words there in his skeletal visage until Carrow sharply called his name from above. He left as well, leaving Nezael alone with Yorick and the poor dead man.