“It’s fine,” Nezael insisted and continued.
“Bellamy said all our lord’s experiments stay deep in the forest,” Yorick said as he walked in stride beside Nezael. “But… thank you for keeping the charms going. The town may never know, but it means a lot to me.”
Nezael nodded, but did not smile. It was through no act of altruism; simply self-serving. A way to assuage the guilt eating him up from the inside. One day, Carrow would come for the bones in town and no one—no charms, no magic spell, not even Nezael—could stop him. Nezael buried the feeling, let the guilt burn him until he was nothing inside. It was easier that way.
The walk back was bereft of any meaningful conversation. Nezael preferred it, especially now. He was sure he and Yorick had plenty to say to each other, but neither wanted to parse the thoughts into words. What was done was done. Easier to bury it like everything else.
The afternoon sun was as bright as the morning had been, making the green leaves glitter when the wind rustled through them. There were a few other travelers on the road, but their pace was quick while Nezael kept his and Yorick’s slow. They came to the path leading into the wards too soon for Nezael’s liking, and like always, Nezael feigned a break to drink some water.
Yorick’s fingers grazed Nezael’s side and he paused.
“Someone’s been following us,” Yorick said, his words almost silent if not for the magic linking them together.
Nezael gulped down some water and made a show of dousing his head as though to cool off to give himself a reason to turn. A young man flinched out of sight too quick for Nezael to see much of him. Most people interested in propositioning Nezael directly did sometimes follow him away from the crowd because of their own shyness, but not once did they jump to hide behind a tree when Nezael noticed them. Muggers would have already charged Nezael, thinking him vulnerable, only to be met with a tall skeleton’s fist.
This one likely wanted something else, but Nezael didn’t want to bother.
“He’s skittish,” Nezael whispered. “Once we’re through the ward, we’ll lose him and he’ll lose us.”
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?”
