She cackled again. “Not in years, but when I was alive and among the flesh, I can tell you I’ve had my share.” She tapped a finger on her teeth in thought. “I’ve no real advice, my little lord, except your heart is a fragile thing and so too is your body. Be kind to both. There’s more to this world than our dusty bones cooped up here.” She reached out and straightened the neckline of Nezael’s tunic. “I think our lords forgets this, surrounded by all our bones day in and day out.”

“Except me.”

Isabella paused and took her hands away. “Yes, except for you of the flesh variety. I am sure he never forgets this fact.” She pressed the container of cream into his hands. “I’ll leave this with you, but do tell your friend to take it easier on your skin or at least direct him somewhere less noticeable.” She pressed her cheek up to Nezael’s before drawing back. “Sweet dreams, my little lord. I am glad to see the smile gracing your face so brightly these days.”

Nezael couldn’t help but smile again as she left.

~

Next week, the days began with a dusting of snow clumping in the grass and among the branches, and before Nezael knew it, the solstice had come, heralding in the longest night of the year. It was then all the skeletons except Bellamy slumbered safely inside the tower walls. While Bellamy oversaw his brethren, wrapping them carefully in silks and quilts and applying the sleeping drought inside their skulls, Nezael tended to his lord.

It wasn’t often Nezael entered Carrow’s chambers and every time, Nezael tried to commit it to memory. Larger than Nezael’s own room, but somehow more crammed with books overflowing the bookshelves, a large table of maps of different countries and kingdoms off to one side, a larger canopied bed in the center, and notes for spells all over the place. The single large circular window in the room overlooked the front of the tower, the glass frosted over at the edge now from the chill. Candles were lit, twinkling bright in the coming dark, and afforded Nezael just enough light to help dress his lord in fine robes layered over one another. It reminded him of the old burial rites he’d read about, how often people of power were dressed in one expensive robe after another to keep them warm when the reaper came for them. Carrow was not dead, however; he simply needed to stay warm while he slept.

“Come summer, my blossom,” Carrow spoke as Nezael worked a sash around his torso to tie, “this will all change for us.” Carrow watched him diligently, arms loose. “No longer will we merely survive in this drafty tower or have to hide in plain sight.” When Nezael finished, Carrow cupped his face and tilted it upward. “We’ll take our world back once more. This I promise.”

For so many years, Nezael never questioned Carrow or his plans. Now, one of why nearly tumbled out of his lips—why wasn’t it simply enough they were alive? Happy?—but he bit it back. His lord knew what was best for them and he’d trained himself to trust the man. He nodded, turning his head slightly, and kissed the inside of Carrow’s palm. It made his lord smile softly and let go.

“I can’t wait,” Nezael said. “Maybe we could travel with everyone then.”

“Perhaps. It has been such a long time.”

Carrow turned for his desk stuffed in the corner beside them. Like everything else, it was covered in sketches of wards and sigils, both old and new, but what he searched for was in one of the locked drawers. Upon his touch, the lock twisted with magic and he retrieved a silver necklace from within. A tiny charm of a looking glass hung from it, glimmering in the candlelight. Carrow beckoned Nezael closer.

Nezael bowed his head and Carrow slid the dainty chain twice around his neck so the charm rested in the hollow of his throat. It was cold, but only for a moment before Carrow touched it. Magic softened the chill and Carrow turned Nezael toward the wardrobe where a long mirror hung. The charm looked nice there against his skin.

“Wear this while I sleep,” Carrow whispered into Nezael’s ear. “It will protect us.” He kissed Nezael cheek and the door opened.

Bellamy came in and was as immaculately dressed as ever. Real delight bloomed across Carrow’s face and Nezael watched as Bellamy dutifully helped Carrow into bed. The need to recharge his magic made his body weak and Nezael hadn’t realized it was so bad. Nezael helped cover his lord in quilts until the man was simply buried in them.

“I am quite warm, you two,” Carrow insisted.

“And yet you’ll still complain you’re cold when you awake,” Bellamy teased in return. He tilted himself toward Nezael and lowered his voice. “He always does.” As Carrow chuckled, Bellamy handed Nezael the small bottle of sleeping draught.

What Isabella had been working on all week. It put people in such a deep sleep, nothing could wake them but a burst of magic and life blossom petals. It was why Nezael had to stay awake; if he didn’t, both he and Carrow would sleep until the end of time, forever preserved in dreams. A little scary, now that Nezael thought about it. He unstopped the bottle. It smelled of chamomile and lavender and the surface shimmered.

“Here, my lord.” Nezael gently placed one hand at the back of Carrow’s head and offered him the potion. “Sleep well and I will be here to wake you come winter’s thaw.”

“Goodnight, my blossom,” Carrow whispered and then drank. It wasn’t long before his gaze softened and his eyelids shuttered closed. His breathing evened into a deep, slow rhythm, and he was asleep.

Nezael still watched the slight rise and fall of his chest, worried. What if it’d been too much? Before he could voice the sudden worry—he’d never gone an entire winter without his lord’s guidance—Bellamy pressed a hand to Nezael’s shoulder.

“It’s done,” Bellamy said and drew Nezael a step away.

Magic blew out the candles around them like a sigh fluttered through the room. The power continued around them like it was alive, and webs threaded across everything. They were bright, glimmering all sorts of colors like a prism, and weaved together glyphs and wards all across the room and more importantly, Carrow. Bellamy took Nezael back step by step, as though not to disturb the process, and soon they were out in the hall. Magic continued along without them, building fortifications, and Bellamy sealed it all in by shutting the door.

Immediately, a ward formed upon it, bright and golden. Nezael was tempted to touch it and learn how exactly it’d been made, but Bellamy caught his hand.

“Leave it,” Bellamy said. “Our lord’s magic is gathering what is inert around us to refill him and also protect him.” He faced Nezael, tilting his head. “Ever since he found you, he hasn’t slept like this. It’ll do him some good.” It felt like Bellamy smiled, the sound of his voice shifting into something light. “You are young yet. You won’t need something this drastic for a long time.”

Nezael raised his eyebrows. “All because I’m young? That’s it?”

“And well gifted in ways our lord is not despite his desire otherwise,” Bellamy said. “You’re coming into a mastery of your magic he’d only achieved well into his years. Our lord was truly blessed the day you arrived.”

Nezael watched Bellamy, hoping for more—he hardly knew the circumstances of how he came here or much about his lord’s past—but Bellamy turned and headed down the hall. Nezael hesitated and glanced at Carrow’s door. The ward had grown into an intricate network of runes etching the doorway in gold.

He supposed the past was past. Nezael hurried after Bellamy and followed him down the stairwell.

“What now, then?” he asked as he caught up. “Normally, our lord has things for me to do.”

Bellamy shook his head. “And I do not. I am going to do my usual: knit and read. You go eat what Agatha made and then join me in the library when you’ve finished.” He glanced back at Nezael and once more, it felt like he smiled. “There are tomes our lord left out for you to read. Perhaps you could start by learning a thing or two.”

Nezael couldn’t help but snort. All he ever did was study.

“Or,” Bellamy said with a laugh in his throat, “do what your heart desires. This time is yours, my little lord, and not mine to dictate.”

Bellamy left him there, mulling over the words, and Nezael peered out the window across from the stairs. Darkness had covered the gardens and it was much too late to go out now, but maybe he could tomorrow when the sun emerged. Do what his heart desired. The thought put a smile on his lips and he decided yes, that was what he’d do, and headed to the kitchens to dine on the supper Agatha had left him before she slept.

Five

Snow

Snow still had yet to fall in earnest and after a rather enlightening breakfast (Nezael burned the bread trying to toast it and the oatmeal turned out runny), Nezael had no idea what to do with himself. Bellamy easily found comfort in the same monotony, especially since he was using his library access privilege to knit in the comfiest seats in the tower (according to him). After testing the wards, he was already three books in and was knitting a blanket. For lack of anything else to do, Nezael tested the wards too—even the ones outside—finding them strong still.

Nothing to do left him listless. The idle thoughts led to thinking of Yorick and those thoughts egged him to act, even though he’d never left the tower during the winter.

Do what your heart desires.

Nezael certainly knew what his body desired. Maybe that was enough and it drew him down to Isabella’s chambers, looking for a reason to leave.

Her stores were full—courtesy of himself and Yorick. He chewed on his lip, looking them over one more time, and they remained full no matter how long he stared. He glanced at Isabella’s sleeping form in her bed, wrapped in glinting magic, and then back to her stores. He mouthed an apology for disturbing it and took a jar. She had gathering bags all over the back wall of her room and he dumped half the jar’s contents into one, resolving to come back for it later. No one would ever know.

Well, except the cat. It rubbed up against Nezael’s leg and he bent down to pet its forehead. Magic reacted in kind and the cat headed back to sleep next to Isabella. It’d watch over her; it always did.

“Our secret,” Nezael whispered.

He raced to the library. “Bellamy!” he called out as he entered. Bellamy peered up from his project, the yellow and orange yarn gliding from needle to needle as he worked. Nezael held up the mostly empty jar. “We didn’t finish gathering.”

Bellamy tilted his head. “Truly?” he asked. “Izzy’s usually so good at that.”

“I should gather the rest before the snow comes.” Nezael pressed the jar close as Bellamy watched him with suspicion.

“It’s due to snow any time now,” Bellamy argued slowly. “Our lord—”

“He’ll never have to know,” Nezael insisted, pulse pounding in his ears with each lie. “First sign of snowflakes and I’ll run home.” There was a chirp from the top of the bookshelves and he gazed upward. His little bird was there and he smiled at it, happy for its intrusion. He held out a finger for it and it came, settling eagerly upon it. “I even have my bird so I can send you a message if I cannot return in time.”