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.

“Protecting yourself is as easy as grasping the magic latent around you,” Carrow explained after bringing Nezael back to the great hall. The bodies had been taken away and without the crowd, it was their magic room once more.

Carrow demonstrated weaving a spell with his hands and arms, sliding them across the magic in the room. Nezael watched the waves move in tandem with Carrow for a few passes before Nezael followed the motion with his own arms.

“You can use magic from within yourself,” Carrow amended as he folded his arms behind his back to watch Nezael, “but you’ll only endanger yourself that way by leaving yourself prone to exhaustion. Use what the elements freely provide. Air is plentiful. Bend it to your whim.” When he was happy with Nezael’s motions, he brought his arms back in front and snapped them through the air with purpose. Magic lightning burst across his fingertips and shot out, crackling through the air and into the wall.

It was done so quickly, Nezael jumped and then could only stare in awe.

Necromancy took magic from inside the caster because raising the dead required an exchange of energies. Since that was what Nezael was training to be, it was the only way he knew how to use magic. He’d never considered manipulating magic outside himself. Unfortunately, this took him a few tries. Any time his own magic came bubbling to the surface to aid him, Carrow caught his hands unafraid and told him to try again. Frustration threatened to undo the lesson entirely until finally, lightning struck from Nezael’s own fingers. It had not the whipcrack of Carrow’s own, however, but a rather weak spark. It still left its own mark on the wall at least, and from the look of pride on Carrow’s face, Nezael could have sworn he’d done more.

“Better,” Carrow said and gently drew his fingers through Nezael’s hair. “No more being spooked. One day, you’ll need to protect yourself as much as it pains me to admit.” His hand drew downward until he’d cupped Nezael’s cheek. “Do your errands, my blossom, and be back before it grows dark. We’ll have more lessons after supper.”

Nezael leaned into Carrow’s hand before he took it back. “Will you not come with me?”

Carrow adjusted the lapels of his coat, a slight upturn of his lips in a smile. “If only I could afford a stroll in the forest. I must focus on our new skeletons. See to your own errands.”

Nezael watched Carrow leave before he tried the spell once more. Alone, he let his own magic surface. It buzzed pleasantly through his veins and as it collected across his fingertips, and he whipped it toward the marks on the wall. The arc it made from his arm and outward unfurled all the way to the ceiling like white-hot ribbons before it struck true. The wall smoldered and Nezael smiled to himself. That would surely protect him, no matter what way he used the magic.

Even if it wasn’t quite protection he desired.

~

Errands meant helping the skeletons in whatever they needed. Isabella, of course, wanted her herbs, insisting in the utmost importance getting them by tonight, but when Nezael collected his things, it was Agatha dragging him out of the tower for a quick market run before any herb scrounging. Agatha was the tower’s cook even though she’d lost her sense of taste and smell when she became a skeleton. Unlike Isabella and Bellamy, she was raised after Nezael came to the tower. He’d helped clean her bones and had been a rapt audience when his lord did the necessary magic to raise her, but he’d been so young and it was so long ago now, he still couldn’t grasp what all his lord had done specifically.

Agatha was a stout woman, half a head shorter than Nezael himself, but her presence was loud enough to fill the whole room. She hardly spoke about specifics in her life before she was raised, but she always had a story to tell about all her recipes and Nezael loved listening to them as she cooked. She always made sure Nezael tasted everything for her and frequently sneaked him desserts she baked late into the night.

Seen as they were headed into town, Agatha dressed in layers of robes to give the appearance of a squishy body beneath it all and had her skull hidden under her hood and scarves. She’d even added a pillow to her chest to, as she put it, give her the bosom she’d once had.

“I think that’s what we miss most,” she’d said as she’d stuffed the pillow into the robes, “the tangible pieces of ourselves we lost. Nothing magic can do will replicate what we once knew so well.”

Thankfully, most people didn’t look closely whenever Nezael ventured into town with a skeleton. It helped he looked as normal as could be. It was colder today too, the air biting more than it had yesterday, and everyone had cloaks and scarves obscuring any notable features. Agatha blended right in.

Nezael couldn’t remember the town’s name, but every week he would come down with one of the skeletons to get provisions for the tower. They never stayed long enough for anyone to recognize Nezael from previous weeks and though it was lonely, Nezael understood the need. Necromancy was a fringe magic art according to his lord, so it was best not to draw attention to themselves by dawdling around in the open. Summer meant selling potions, but the crowds were so thick then and sellers aplenty, no one bothered to memorize one seller over the other.

The town was built some time ago along the bank of the river sliding through the forest and as such, the entrance to town from the forest was across a wooden bridge. It had been decorated for the coming winter with dried holly plants fixed to the posts to ward off any lingering beast thinking to prowl into town. The paltry charm never worked on skeletons and Nezael doubted it would work if any beast really wanted into town. Even still, as he passed, he gently pushed a little magic into the holly buds to help.

Past the bridge, the road took them into the town’s center where it looked like a place so far removed from the forest. Wooden buildings sat upon stone foundations, glass lamps lined a paved stone road, and there were so many paths snaking through town with more buildings all over. The center had a large fountain with benches around it and while sometimes, Nezael wished he could sit and simply watch people go by, he always had to refrain to not draw attention to himself. Dried flowers had been hung from the lamp posts, bringing pops of color to them, and some buildings had been decorated in pine garlands for the coming winter.

Further away from the town were farmlands, but they were already finished with their harvests. Most of it had already been culled and sold, but there were a few farmers in the market looking to offload anything they hadn’t needed for coin. Agatha immediately honed in on them and with any luck, they’d have more than enough for Nezael through the winter.

Other sellers were open in various stalls and tents around the farmers and each one sold a variety of wares. From clothing, fabric, jewelry, magic charms—it was really anything anyone could sell to get rid of it before winter. Markets weren’t open once the first snow fell, and it was only a matter of days before it happened.

As they went, Agatha happily filled her basket with items traded for coin and she hummed as she moved from stall to stall. Further down the street, Nezael noticed the bakery’s doors open and caught the aroma of sugar in the air. Maybe he could convince her to fill up her pantries with little cakes so he had something sweet to eat this winter. Or at least something for the walk home.

“Come now, little lord,” Agatha whispered as she drew him over to a bushel of crops for sale a farmer had twined together. “Don’t go eyeing those sweets yet. You need more than that to last through the winter. Pick a bushel you like and I’ll teach you how to cook them fore I sleep.”

Every winter, Lord Carrow placed the skeletons into slumber. It was to help their bones not become brittle with the harsh temperatures. Slumbering also helped the magic latent in the tower strengthen them. The only skeleton ever left awake aside from a few patrolling ones was Bellamy. He was old enough his bones were calcified and hardy, years of magic wrapped around them.

And this year, Lord Carrow would be resting with his skeletons. Nezael’s stomach twisted thinking about it. In all his years at the tower, Nezael and Carrow had gone through the winters together using the private moments to study magic uninterrupted. Granted, being wholly alone with his lord sometimes was fraught with dealing with the way his temperament swung from day to day, but Bellamy was always there to help ground their lord.

With all of Carrow’s plans coming to fruition finally—and they must have been because he was entertaining mercenaries of all people—he needed rest so he could gather his own magic. Beyond Bellamy, Nezael would be on his own to learn or not learn whatever he wanted through the winter. It was equal parts freeing, but also frightening. What if his lord awoke displeased with what he did or didn’t do? What if—

“My little lord?” Agatha was looking at him, concern in her voice.

Nezael shook off his unease. “Yes. Um.” He drew his gaze over the offered crops and had no idea what they even were. He pointed at the one with the tall stalks of green. “I think this one will be sufficient.”

Agatha chuckled. “I’ll leave Bellamy and you good instructions.” She traded a handful of coins and took the bushel to string along her back. “Come, we should pick up some yarn so Bellamy has something to do. I’m sure he’d love to teach you to knit without our lord stealing you away to practice magic.”

As Agatha fussed over yarn colors and spoke at length about it to the shopkeeper and others like they were old friends, Nezael remained outside and peered across the moving crowds. There was someone selling firewood not far from the craft shop and they were carefully twined together, just like the bundles the man from yesterday had at his cabin. Thinking of him at all sent a flutter up Nezael’s body, making his cheeks warm, and he craned his neck to see if the man was even there.