Three
Herbs
The tower was thick with tension the following day and Nezael did his best to tiptoe around it. He played the part of a good apprentice with his lord and helped him hone spells and wards for the winter to come. His focus was shot, however, having to forgo breakfast because Carrow immediately drew him into the great hall for lessons. Carrow was sharp and short today and Nezael had to keep from flinching whenever Carrow snatched his hands to show him again and again how to draw the ward correctly. It didn’t help Nezael’s thoughts were set firmly on last night—furthering the distraction—and as a result, Carrow’s temper led the lessons.
“Wrong.”
“Stop. Do it again and do it right.”
“I shouldn’t have to reteach you this, my blossom.”
And then long stretches of silence as Nezael struggled to concentrate under the piercing gaze of his lord. By the end of the day, when Nezael’s body was weak, aching from all the attempts and all his constant failures, he managed to do a single ward correctly. It felt too late in the day to do something so simply, but it softened some of Carrow’s hard edge and he let Nezael eat dinner.
Once more, Nezael had to force himself not to rush through the meal and savored each bite like it would be his last, especially since his lord silently watched him eat too.
The skeletons kept to themselves, their own preparations keeping them busy, and they had no soft words to share. Nezael didn’t blame them any. He was the one who incurred Carrow’s wrath and so he would have to deal with it.
Thankfully, after the first day, Carrow’s warmth began to return in pieces until finally, he was the lord Nezael knew and adored. Nezael’s magic concentration returned in turn and the woodsman became a happy memory only to be played with in dreams, buried beneath the desire to be a good apprentice. The tension washed out of the tower and it became the home Nezael had come to know so well.
When Nezael wasn’t cornered into lessons to better protect himself and experiments with his skeletal bird—he could now control the trajectory of its flight—he was with Bellamy, learning how to knit.
Bellamy had been confused at first when Carrow made the decision—so had Nezael—but self-sufficiency was hard to come by and Carrow wanted to make sure no more money was wasted on frivolous purchases. Yorick’s mittens were safely hidden in Nezael’s room for the day Nezael would take them back. Sometimes, before he drifted off to sleep, he’d retrieve them just to breathe them in. While the clove scent faded day by day, it helped him dream of Yorick again. Maybe when he returned them, he’d have his own gift to give. He just had to figure out knitting first.
Unfortunately, knitting was... well, it did its job. It worked Nezael’s hands and kept his thoughts from straying, lest he miss a stitch. Bellamy performed it effortlessly, comfortable in the library couch beside Nezael, and spoke as much as he could as his hands worked seemingly on their own. The yarn quickly became strips and combined into a scarf coiling down his lap. Nezael couldn’t quite work as fast until after a few days of struggling, he thought of it like weaving magic.
The spell was deceptively simple. Once he got a hold of the basics, however slow he was at them, he pushed thought and intent into his knitting needles and guided them on how many stitches across and then how many rows. Then, all he had to do was watch it as his magic did the rest. Eventually, his concentration would fray and he'd have to stop, but it worked seamlessly. Bellamy scoffed when Nezael explained it to him.
“Magic defeats the purpose, little lord,” he teased.
Nezael waved him off dismissively. “My method is just as valid.”
Especially because his method made Carrow’s smile return when Nezael took an evening to explain how he’d used what he knew of necromancy as a base to moving the needles on their own. Bellamy still scoffed at the whole display, insisting knitting wasn’t to be automated, but Carrow stayed delightfully interested. He never tried it himself, but over the week, he watched Nezael weave the magic necessary, sometimes offering another way to do it that worked better.
By the end of the week, Nezael finished his scarf of dull reds and browns, and also the second, secret scarf he’d worked on at night until he fell asleep. This one was for Yorick and made from greens and whites cabled together. It stayed safely tucked away with the mittens until Nezael could go out to his cabin again.
The morning after finishing his project, Nezael joined his lord in the library and presented his scarf to Carrow. Gently, his lord drew his fingers across the yarn and his eyes tracked the magic still settled within.
“Perhaps I have been too harsh,” he mused. “You are learning, albeit differently than I had considered.” He gently wrapped the scarf around Nezael’s neck and smiled softly. “Come spring, you may truly be ready to raise your own human skeleton.”
Nezael’s heart soared. “Truly?” He sat at the edge of the couch, hardly containing his excitement as his lord leaned back to consider him. “You really think I’d be ready?”
Carrow shrugged and crossed his legs. “You’ve done a good job with the animals you raised. The cat remembers what it was like to be of the flesh and fur and the bird listens to your direction without hesitation. This scarf shows your mastery over weaving magic in ways I had not considered. So yes, my dear little blossom.” His smile widened with true warmth. “Come spring, we will find you a suitable skeleton and you shall show me you’re worthy of being called my necromancer.” He stood and gently cupped Nezael’s head in his hands. “As it happens, ingredients we need only bloom this time a year. I think I’ve kept you cooped up too long. You’re wilting in here.”
He bent and retrieved Nezael’s spell book from his other side and flipped to the blank pages, past all the other spells inscribed within. Touching his finger down a blank page, his eyes lit with magic and spells unfurled themselves on the page, detailing all sorts of spells related to raising humans and what was needed. Much more than simple will and intent.
“There we are. All I know myself for your perusal over the winter.” Carrow returned the tome. “First, I want you to gather the requisite life blossoms from the forest.” He turned the page to a plant sketch. It reminded Nezael of a little lantern. “They only grow in the autumn when plants release their own life to either die or sleep throughout the winter. Our stores have run low and we’ll need more for your skeleton and for our process of waking ourselves. Find as many as you can and also search for whatever else Isabella needs.”
After a pause, likely waiting for Nezael to commit the plant to memory, Carrow took Nezael’s back chin in hand to tilt his head to look at him. “Life blossoms are essential and rare. Take heed and search well, my blossom.”
“I will, my lord.”
~
The air outside was biting and howled as it blew through the trees which had lost much of their leaves since Nezael had been cooped up. He hurried into the forest, mittens smelling of cloves covering his hands while layers of furs and cloaks were wrapped around his slight form. He had no idea where to start looking for the life blossoms and neither had Isabella. The plant was incredibly particular about where and when it grew and while part of Nezael thought he should be worried, he wasn’t because there was someone who likely knew the forest as well as he did. Someone who he owed a visit to.
Or maybe that was the lie he told himself as his feet led him across the footpaths he’d traveled endlessly in his dreams just to spy Yorick again. Sunlight streamed down golden today, shimmering the frost left in the shadows between the trees, and it made the grove with the cabin warm and inviting.
Yorick was there again, performing the same swings, and Nezael stood at the edge of the forest, mesmerized watching his human body work and he resisted the temptation to run his fingers across it. When Yorick noticed him this time, Nezael didn’t run. He simply smiled and when Yorick gave him the same, Nezael took the invitation to come closer and was glad to find Yorick’s smile widening as he did so.
“I’ve come to return your mittens,” Nezael said, but made no motion to take them off.
Yorick eyed him and leaned against the axe. “It’s still cold. Hold onto them for a while longer.” He stiffened as Nezael produced the green and white scarf from beneath his cloak and wrapped it around Yorick’s neck.
“I made this,” Nezael said, gently tying it in the front and tucking it into his tunic. “Hold onto it for me too for as long as you need.”
Yorick smoothed his fingers over it, but his eyes never left Nezael’s. “I can do that.” When Nezael looked away, face too warm, Yorick chuckled. “I didn’t even know you knitted.”
“I didn’t until this week.” Nezael studied the axe. It was simply made. Nothing remarkable and nor was the blade spelled in such a way to prevent it from dulling. He became quickly aware Yorick watched him with the same curiosity Nezael gave the axe and he pointed. “Don’t you have enough wood already? Every time I’ve come by, you’re chopping more.”
“It’s not for me,” Yorick said, nodding to the cart loaded with twined bundles of firewood near his cabin. “One family wanted a few more bundles.” He nudged Nezael with his elbow. “You want to try a swing or two? You seem to like watching me.”
Nezael’s cheeks warmed. “W-What? I—”
Yorick winked, grinning, and Nezael fully turned away to make his cheeks cool off. “I think it’s endearing. Here.” Yorick gently took Nezael by the shoulders and turned him to the axe. “Take it with both hands like this.”
