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?”
Carrow tilted his head toward Nezael, eyes wide with delight. “Oh, the first thing I should have told you about skeletons is that your first one is made easier if it’s someone you already love.” He paused, watching Nezael, and all Nezael could do was freeze under his lord’s stare. “Bellamy was like a brother to me. When he fell, it was only natural I raise him as my first because I could not bear to leave him in the dirt.”
“H-He wasn’t dead,” Nezael whispered.
Carrow shrugged. “Humans are incredibly fragile creatures.” His gaze drifted to Yorick’s legs and Nezael couldn’t look. Not again. “Oh, my blossom. My blossom.” He came over and turned Nezael’s chin to face him. His hands were cold and slick with blood. “I thought you’d be happy. Why are you so sad? I found you a skeleton.”
Why was he sad? Yorick was cold. Yorick’s lips were pale. Yorick’s blue eyes were already gone on a tray, blood running down his cheeks from the holes left behind. His once vibrant hair lay slack, crowning his head with dried blood clumped between the strands. He’d never speak with his own voice again. His laugh would change. Every bit of him all but gone except for the skeleton within. A life torn apart and discarded because of Nezael. All because of him.
It made tears fall. Made every part of Nezael numb with horror.
“Come now,” Carrow whispered as he wiped the tears with his thumb. “I’ll help you.” His lips pressed to Nezael’s jaw softly. “I promise.”
Detaching himself from his body didn’t work, but Nezael still felt outside himself as Carrow led him to the other side of the plinth. Every step was real. Right there. But unreal at the same time, like his body couldn’t decide if it was. The first thing he had to do to connect himself to the skeleton—to Yorick—was to connect himself to the heart. The once core of a human from where blood flowed into it and out of it to make the body function. He had to eat it. Let his magic absorb it.
It was soft as Nezael’s teeth pierced it. As what blood remained inside gushed into his mouth and down his chin. The way it ran down between his fingers as he held it there. Each time he swallowed, his lord pressed a lingering kiss to his throat. Nezael didn’t know how long it took or how many times he almost retched it back up only to find Carrow’s hand at his back to coax it back down. Only, it was done. His vision blurred, staring down at Yorick. Feeling his heart in his chest. Whether it was his or not, he didn’t know. Only it was there. Apparent and loud.
Carrow slowly cleaned off Nezael’s fingers, lips cold against each one.
“There,” Carrow murmured. “It wasn’t so hard now, was it?” He angled Nezael’s head toward him, his eyes alight with bright magic that flickered, and he pressed his lips to Nezael’s.
