Though Nezael kept an eye out for danger, again and again he found himself relaxing simply being in the forest by himself. The leaves had changed to honey oranges and yellows with red splashed between them. The sun was vibrant today too, penetrating the foliage and sheathing the twisting footpaths in dappled light. Even the ground was aglow with changed leaves, creating a mosaic of colors Nezael would have happily shuffled through if he didn’t have a job to do.
“Focus,” he told himself quietly. “Vistarium herbs.”
Over the years while assisting Isabella when she scrounged up herbs, Nezael had learned one thing: herbs with magical properties hummed. It was a hard sound to parse in the chatter of the forest or even in the town if he had to go that far, but one of his lord’s lessons had been to hone his ability to listen. He set his feet, held still, and closed his eyes to do so. Not to the soft chatter of animals scurrying as they prepared for the winter to come, not the soft coos of birds as they fluffed up their nests, but to the soft twinkle magic made against the threads of reality.
In places such as the forest, the magic ran through everything and made it somewhat difficult to sort through. Other places, like the town, were a little more barren, but magic lingered there too. Except if the herbs absorbed magic, he was searching for an absence. Silence.
The lack of any twinkle at all took him into the overgrown patches of grass and wildflowers and he kept his footsteps as light as possible to keep himself obscured. It led him across the forest and it was only when the sun was receding lower in the sky, making the shadows darker, did he come across the grove he was looking for. The magic inside was outright gone, making the whole place feel off.
Nothing stood out. The trees were bent protectively around the grove, long bare branches bending low as the muted reds and oranges covered the grass. Nestled at the base of those trees, however, were bushels of bright yellow petals. Actually, those were much brighter than they had any right to be this time of year and Nezael dug out the sketch Isabella had given him. There it was. Vibrant yellow petals soaking in magic to last through the winter. Supposedly was beautiful in bloom with snow dusted across it. In fact, according to Isabella’s notes, right after the first snowfall was the perfect time to grab the herbs—they’d be at their peak then—but their lord needed the wards now and Nezael got to work.
Honestly, out of everything from Lord Carrow’s teachings, Nezael liked foraging for herbs the most. He felt connected in a way he never had to the world around him. Life in the tower was isolating and it was easy to lose track of the days as a result. Out here, however? Gently folding branches back to find the correct bud within? Let him touch the world and be part of it in some fashion. He liked it. Maybe he should have been Isabella’s apprentice instead.
As he searched and snipped, collecting the fallen buds in Isabella’s jar, another sound began to echo through the grove. He ignored it at first, attributing it to nature being nature, but it continued long enough, it drew his attention. First came the woosh through the air, snapping against the magic past the grove, and then came the decided thud of steel cleaving wood in two. After a pause, the same sounds came again. Rhythmic, almost. Sometimes, between the sounds, was a husky hum lilting through the trees upon the air.
Curiosity got the better of Nezael—who in their right mind came this deep into the forest to simply chop wood?—and he ventured toward the sound. It led him gently around the bright yellow bushels, footsteps soft between fallen leaves, and he went from tree to tree to stay hidden. When Nezael was close enough he could taste the steel as it cut through the air, he pressed himself against the nearest tree and peered around it.
There was another clearing connected to a trail he’d never noticed before. A small wooden cabin had been built close to the dirt road and it looked neither new or old. Smoke billowed out of the stone chimney, but all the curtains were drawn across the windows. Nezael’s gaze shot to the middle of the clearing where another thud made him jump. A rather large stump was there, only a few paces away, with a pile of firewood. Poised with an axe aloft was a tall man facing away from Nezael. Wide shoulders, sculpted muscles along his bare back, and his tawny skin glistened with sweat underneath the afternoon sun. Low-riding breeches hugged the shape of his legs and his leather boots looked well-traveled. Glimmering russet hair was gathered at the back of his head, leaving waves long enough to tumble down his neck.
Nezael watched, entranced as the axe came down and the way the man’s muscles moved in tandem with the strike. If only he could trace them, memorize the way they moved for when he had to raise a human skeleton. Again and again, he watched the perfect arc the man made with his arms and how swiftly the axe came down so precisely. It was such a soothing rhythm, Nezael felt comfortable resting against the tree to keep watching.
The man must have been the woodsman for the town. There was more than enough firewood for one house in the pile and that wasn’t even counting the bunches already twined together near the cabin. Maybe Nezael could make an excuse to get firewood from him. Simply to appease his scientific curiosity of the man’s muscles, of course. As he thought of the ways to do so, the axe came down and was left in its groove in the stump. Before Nezael’s thoughts caught up to why, the man had turned to gather the fallen pieces.
Their eyes met.
Nezael shoved himself behind the tree, pulse roaring in his ears, and just when he thought perhaps he’d been fast enough, his heel cracked a twig.
“Hello?” the man called, voice tense, and everything felt like it stilled around them. Nezael covered his mouth to smother his sudden panicked breathing. “Is... is someone there?” The man hesitated and then came the soft sounds of his approach.
Nezael’s panic blinded him to all the spells he’d memorized to protect himself. He was never supposed to be seen and if so, deal with it so no one could say he was ever there and now here he was. Absolutely seen.
The man’s footsteps were light and careful, not like someone who wanted to hurt him, but Nezael wasn’t going to take that chance. He sucked in a breath and ran, uncaring about the racket he made through the brush. He knew the woods better than anyone; no one would find him so long as he got a head start.
There was a sudden burst of activity behind Nezael as soon as he ran, but he continued sprinting and didn’t look back. Eventually, those noises ceased and it was only Nezael.
Not that he was going to stop running. Safety was the tower. He clutched his bag close, pressing the jar of definitely not enough herbs against his chest, and focused on keeping his legs moving. By the time he pushed himself into the bubble of protection around the tower, his legs wanted to give out beneath him. He let them, collapsing to his knees, and bent low to catch his breath. A few of the patrolling skeletons noticed him, but he waved them off. He was fine. No harm done.
Even if his heart hammered against his chest like a bird trying to escape.
Once he’d regained control of his breathing and managed to stand, he headed for the tower doors. He’d calmly tell Isabella he only found a few perfect buds and he’d go out again tomorrow. No need to alarm anyone that someone had built a cabin in a clearing just outside their wards. It wasn’t like a simple woodsman would be a danger to them.
He was still piecing the story together in his head when he pushed the tower doors open and promptly ran into Bellamy, his lord’s first skeleton and oldest friend. Bellamy was sturdy and surefooted with what Carrow had once called a dancer’s frame, and he caught Nezael around the shoulders without so much as wavering. Like Carrow, Bellamy always dressed exquisitely, although he leaned toward the richer colors like the mauve and red jacket he wore now. It reminded Nezael of the bards he’d seen in the town square, but Bellamy adamantly refused to play any instrument.
“Oh, my little lord,” he said, his voice with its usual velvety tenor. Nezael could have honestly listened to him talk all day. “What’s wrong?” Bellamy gently touched Nezael’s face, his bones cold. “Your face is flushed—”
“Nothing,” Nezael said, breathless. “I promise.”
Though Bellamy had no expressions, Nezael distinctly felt as though the skeleton gave him a suspicious look. With a shake of his head, Nezael pulled out the jar of admittedly too few herbs, and held it up. “Something was near the clearing I went to. I panicked. This is all I got. I’m sorry—I don’t want to disturb our lord with such frivolities.”
“Is that all?” Bellamy said. “Isabella will understand. What matters is that you were not harmed.” He tilted Nezael’s chin to look up at him. “Were you?”
“Just my pride,” Nezael admitted.
Bellamy chuckled. “There is always tomorrow.” He gently took the jar. “I’ll tell Isabella to save you the teasing. You compose yourself in the library. You know how Carrow would fret if he saw how flushed you are. Study what he told you to.”
The library was the only place he and his lord alone had access to. A sacred place where Nezael could relax by himself. He quickly nodded, understanding that Bellamy was trying to help. Bellamy squeezed his shoulder and headed off for Isabella’s workroom, calling out for her in a teasing way, while Nezael hurried through the hall. He slowed down immediately, reminding himself he had no reason to panic inside the walls of the tower, and afforded himself a deep breath.
Voices drifted out from the great hall at the end of the main thoroughfare and Nezael hesitated before he drew closer. There were many at once, speaking over one another, and Carrow’s sharp and quick voice answered them all. One peek couldn’t hurt. Nezael pressed up to the door and peered through the crack Bellamy must have been spying through the same.
His lord stood at the ritual slab, the lapis plate gone and so too anything else they’d been using to raise the bird. His presence commanded the room of people Nezael had never seen before and nor did he wish to commit them to memory. Mercenaries and travelers were all they were. Nezael did, however, take note of those laying on the floor, eyes dull. The effects of the truth serum Isabella had prepared. One lie was all it took. A pity, but there’d be new skeletons in the coming day. His lord would shuffle the bones to confuse any soul lingering on so they’d become perfect soldiers unaware he’d been the reason for their deaths. Maybe Nezael would watch the process. Maybe even raise his own.
For now, he headed to the library as Bellamy suggested. Every wall was filled with books collected throughout the years, ones Carrow penned himself or won from other sorcerers, and all were helpful in some fashion or another. The only book Nezael wanted right now, however, was his spell book. The one with the personal touches of his own spells that he needed to keep safe. It was in the central fireplace, burning as an enchanted flame only he could touch. Best way to keep it hidden.
As Nezael reached in, the fire hummed across his skin like kisses and released him as he withdrew with his book. Holding it close, he flicked a hand at the fireplace to ignite a real fire and the logs within burned bright. The room was soon sheathed in renewed warmth and Nezael settled in on the couches nearest the fireplace.
Try as he might, however, he couldn’t quite concentrate on studying. Endlessly, his thoughts drifted to the man in the clearing. The sculpt of his body. The way his muscles moved across his back in decided movements. Even the soft way he’d spoken—the voice now sending a delightful shiver through Nezael’s body—like he was afraid of spooking Nezael.
And yet, he had, and Nezael knew that he should have been frightened being seen at all, but a thrill moved through his body. It left behind a sensation that wasn’t altogether uncomfortable. Nezael settled in, thinking of the man entirely, and forgot all about his spells.
Two
Errands
The following morning, Nezael was able to swallow down breakfast before his lord came looking for answers, jar in hand. Carrow listened patiently as Nezael told his tale... well. Most of it. He avoided mentioning the woodsman outright and tried to blame his nerves on some silly forest creature spooking him, but Carrow wasn’t altogether convinced that it was nothing.
