A burning sensation raced through Nezael’s body knowing how intently Yorick was watching him.

“Nezael…”

The spell to make objects float was simple. Bodies were decidedly less simple than objects, but Nezael drew the magic threads around the body the same anyway. They became soft glimmers weaved together as a kind of burial shroud. Once Nezael was sure it’d be steady, he drew the threads upward with him as he stood. The body floated off the ground, suspended on magic alone.

“Nezael: look at me,” Yorick said louder.

And Nezael couldn’t. Not until Yorick gripped his chin and forced him to. There was nothing to see there. A skull stared back at him, but Nezael felt the heat of his glare regardless.

“You can’t be serious,” he whispered. “You’ll trap him here with you for the misfortune of following us? Just to prove you can? Does he truly deserve that fate?”

Had Yorick truly deserved his fate was the question Nezael asked every day. The one hidden behind this one now as the regret pulled Yorick’s voice taut.

“Better me than our lord,” Nezael said, words heavy on his tongue. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you? Truly?” The anger lashed out and Nezael flinched. “Forcing him—”

“I did not force you,” Nezael growled and Yorick stilled. “I gave you the only choice I could give. Die or stay with me. I will give him the same. If you now think you can do better elsewhere, then go. My magic is not so weak you’ll fall apart without me.”

Nezael wanted to take back the words as soon as he’d said them. They were unfair. Yorick would be struck down by would-be heroes without a thought, no matter how kind he might have been. Beyond that, the words dredged up thoughts and feelings he’d buried over the spring to make this work. Once more, Carrow’s machinations attempted to push them apart. Except this time, it was evident the hurt was still there. Bleeding over. Festering unseen for the both of them.

“You can come with me,” Yorick tried, his voice so small and quiet.

“There’s nothing out there for a necromancer such as me,” Nezael whispered and looked away. What would Carrow do if he tried to run now? What would happen to the skeletons here he’d come to adore as though they were his own? Even the town would not be spared should Nezael attempt escape. Carrow knew how soft Nezael was and he’d willingly use it against him. Like he already had. “I am Lord Carrow’s apprentice and that is all I’ll ever be.”

It hurt to say it so succinctly, but Nezael wouldn’t have anywhere to go. As soon as someone learned he was a necromancer, he’d be executed on the spot and he wasn’t quite quick enough with magic like Carrow to avoid death completely.

Yorick stared at him, finally silent, and walked away.

It was deserved. All the regret. The anger. The sadness. It burned inside Nezael through the entire trek back to the ritual room and threatened to overrun every time he had to catch the body, his attention too frayed to keep the spell tight like it should have been. Once inside the ritual room, Nezael buried the feelings the best he could so he could be the necromancer his lord wished him to be.

The clothes came off with a spell as Nezael gathered the instruments from Carrow’s workshop (and Carrow’s magic gleefully showed him which tools to use). Isabella helped him gather the correct herbs from her stores, but she gave him no advice. No soft words. Nezael didn’t want them. Not anymore.

Before the first incision, before Nezael took anything hidden beneath the skin, he paused and stared at the freckled young man lying there on the plinth. An undeserved fate befalling him for nothing more than being curious.

“Hello,” Nezael whispered, drawing his fingers softly along his cold cheek. “I know not if you can hear me as you are, but… what do you want?” He felt silly asking it aloud, but he owed the young man that much.

After a silent moment, the ghost of a touch fluttered across his hands in response. Acknowledgement something was there. Nezael smiled softly.

“I can let you go, if you so wish. But, if you are not tired of living, I can invite you back into the body you once called home. It will be… different. All you need to do is tell me.”

The words Nezael should have asked Yorick, but by the time he even knew what was going on, Yorick had already been carved open. Still, Nezael wished he’d asked, even if he wasn’t sure Yorick would have said no. Not the way his soul had wrapped around him like the lover he’d been as Nezael rested beside his skeleton. Not how quickly his soul came when all the magic set itself against the bones. Yorick had risen so easily, saying no had never crossed the man’s mind.

Even if he now regretted it.

This soul, the one Nezael should have been focusing on, was shy and soft. He hadn’t left his body. The softest touch trailed up Nezael’s arm and a breath ghosted against his ear.

“My name is Cassius,” the voice whispered and Nezael repeated the name to himself. “And I am not yet through with this world.”

“Then I shall begin,” Nezael murmured. “And… I’m sorry.”

By himself with none of Carrow’s guidance or even a skeleton to help, the process took so long with many back-and-forths between the plinth and the spell book he’d gone to gather from the library. In that time, the storm passed, leaving an afternoon sun making the room glow as Nezael worked. The skin came off easily now. The heart went down better, its blood bright red against Nezael’s fingers. Against Cassius’ pale freckled skin. On and on the ritual went until the organs were harvested, the waste magically folded into the tower to augment what little remained of the wards, and Nezael finally mixed his blood with Cassius’ for the life blossom heart.

Cassius’ skeleton was much slighter than Yorick’s was. Not the hulking bodyguard Yorick had become, then. Cassius would be something else entirely. Perhaps a spy to work quick through the night.

Nezael cleaned his hands and face with a basin of cold water he’d conjured into the room. He had no reason to look so feral if his lord was not there to see it. The water ran red in mere moments and Nezael left it be. Magic was continuing to coalesce around the skeleton, the gossamer shroud sealing it in as the soul touched what it had become. It could still fail. If Cassius rejected seeing his skeleton laid so bare, he would simply pass on and they’d have bones to use for something else.

Either way, Carrow would win.

The door opened. Air blew through the room, rustling the gossamer shroud. Nezael whipped around to look, expecting Carrow’s intrusion, but it was Yorick.

Relief washed through Nezael first; Yorick hadn’t up and left. But then devastation followed; he’d given Yorick the only out he could give him and yet the man stayed to be tortured day in and day out in a life he did not want in the least. Nezael’s eyes burned with tears as Yorick came up to him silently.

“Yorick—”

“Nezael,” Yorick murmured his name so softly, Nezael hesitated. He had his hands clasped together and after a moment longer, he held out a small flower from within. Yellow, it was bright and vibrant in the room growing cold and dim. “Do not apologize. I am being difficult with you the more time moves on.”

Nezael took the flower and realized what it was from. A blossom of the vistarium herbs he’d gone searching for what felt like years ago and only to find Yorick instead.

“I should tell you my plans, all of them,” Nezael whispered. “I want no secrets between us.”

“And I know you will share them.” Yorick cupped Nezael’s face and tilted him to look up. At eye sockets once holding his blue eyes. At a handsome face still handsome even as a skull with no skin or smile to speak of. “I want to stay with you, Nezael. You are right. I did choose. And I think, even if asked to choose again, I would choose the same. I willingly gave you my heart, after all. We will make this work.” His voice drew quieter. “Not like before, but I meant what I said.”

Nezael touched Yorick’s hand against his face. It felt warm, somehow like it had before during sleepy days in Yorick’s cabin.

“I am yours, forevermore.” Yorick bent lower and Nezael felt lips kiss his own. Magic had listened to his plea and fashioned itself into something tangible. All to remind him of what he’d lost. It would go no further than a soft kiss. The memory would fade, continue to do so as the days wore on, and the magic would cease trying.

“I love you, Yorick,” Nezael whispered it so quietly, afraid Carrow would hear otherwise. He kissed Yorick’s jaw, and forced the magic to part so all he felt was the skull against his lips. This was his Yorick now and he’d love him the same.

With a nod, Yorick withdrew, but he said no more as he walked out, leaving Nezael with the golden flower.

Nezael faced Cassius. The magic around him felt indignant now and Nezael chuckled. “I am sorry to have ignored you so, my dear Cassius. But what of you getting jealous? You hardly even know me.” He gently laid himself beside the skeleton as he’d done to Yorick upon the same plinth. He tucked the yellow blossom into Cassius’ ribcage, hoping to keep it safe within Cassius’ new heart. “Perhaps you and I could be friends?”

Because no matter what Cassius wanted, Nezael had already given his heart away. Even Carrow would come to understand that one day. To be Lord Carrow’s apprentice—his necromancer—Nezael preferred to be heartless anyway. It made it all easier.

Although, maybe one day, he’d find his heart whole again with the man he’d given it to.

~

About the Author

S. Jean (she/they) is a queer sci-fi & fantasy author writing whatever strikes their fancy at any given moment. When not writing or dreaming of what to write, they can be found dabbling in game dev and drawing!