《The Healer's Heir》 Chapter One If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Chapter Two ¡°I am quite well,¡± Idris insisted for the fifth time, except this time from the comfort of his own couch. The healer tutted and drew more aria sigils over his bare chest. Behind the healer, Lila stood mute, hands behind her back, while Willard rummaged in his medicine chest for the correct herbs. The Queen, still in her birthday finery, sat beside Idris, directing the healer. ¡°I promise, it was the wine and the heat. The excitement of the party.¡± ¡°It does no harm to be certain,¡± said Cressida. ¡°Correct, Willard?¡± ¡°Correct, Majesty,¡± he said, finally holding up the jar he wanted. ¡°This¡¯ll pep you right up, Idris. You want, I can brew it in a tea?¡± ¡°I think we might all want a little tea, actually, Master Willard,¡± said Cressida with a sigh. ¡°Do you mind?¡± ¡°Oh, not at all, Majesty.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not your place, Master Willard,¡± said Lila, flushed. ¡°I will brew tea.¡± ¡°If everyone keeps fussing, I am going to lose my temper,¡± said Idris. ¡°I am fine. I will sleep. Lila, I would like it if you escorted Her Majesty back to her own party ¨C¡° ¡°I¡¯ll make the tea,¡± said Willard, his eyes wide, and he removed himself. ¡°This is my fault,¡± said Lila, bowing her head. ¡°Your Majesty, I take full responsibility. Sir Idris is not well enough for parties and I failed in discouraging him from attending.¡± ¡°Nonsense, Lila, you are perfection incarnate,¡± said Cressida warmly, patting Lila¡¯s elbow. ¡°You and I both know that Sir Idris is a stubborn little worm.¡± ¡°¡¯Worm¡¯ is low,¡± he muttered as the healer sang his soft, breathy aria. ¡°Sick friends do not jeopardise their recovery for parties,¡± said the Queen. ¡°I am no longer sick.¡± ¡°The last time I saw you collapse from a single cup of wine, we were thirteen,¡± she said scornfully. ¡°Honestly, you are the worst. Kurellan told me you looked pale.¡± ¡°I always look pale.¡± Cressida slapped his arm. ¡°If I am sick, you cannot hit me, Cress.¡± ¡°I thought you were well,¡± she snapped, pinching his ear hard. ¡°Ouch.¡± ¡°Sir Idris is exhausted,¡± the healer determined, finally standing. ¡°He needs rest.¡± ¡°Your body has been through trauma,¡± said Cressida, as if it was the first time he was hearing it. ¡°You may feel much improved, but that is no excuse for dragging yourself to court functions. Do I need to have you strapped to your bed? You hate parties, anyway. I do not know what possessed you.¡± ¡°He¡¯s bored,¡± said Willard, returning with a tea tray. ¡°Willard,¡± Idris said firmly. ¡°What? You are,¡± the hedge witch said, snorting. ¡°Elsewise you wouldn¡¯t be gallivanting in the gardens at midnight ¨C¡° ¡°Willard.¡± ¡°You scold him like I do not already know,¡± said Cressida. ¡°¡¯Gallivanting,¡¯¡± Idris repeated, embarrassed. ¡°Plonking around with this stupid thing on ¨C¡° He knocked his prosthetic foot against the floor firmly. ¡°I would hardly call it ¡®gallivanting¡¯ ¨C¡° ¡°A tantrum now? Very mature,¡± she said, standing up. ¡°Well, I know when I am not wanted. Lila, a pleasure, as always. Master Willard, I hope you can calm this little baby down before his bedtime.¡± ¡°You did not have to make a big to-do about it ¨C¡° ¡°A ¡®happy birthday¡¯ would have been nice,¡± she said, and she stalked out of the room. It was quiet, and Idris let out a long, irritated breath. ¡°Thank you, Willard, that will be all,¡± he muttered. Willard rolled his eyes and sat on the couch, pushing a teacup into Idris¡¯s hand. ¡°I ain¡¯t your attendant, and you don¡¯t get to ¡®thank you¡¯ me and I disappear,¡± he said. ¡°Now drink your tea.¡± ¡°It was not all so bad as she made it seem,¡± said Idris huffily, closing his shirt and hunching his shoulders. ¡°Maybe it weren¡¯t, but maybe you should¡¯ve listened to old Lila, hmm?¡± When Idris said nothing, Willard sighed. ¡°Oh, you are a right grumpy sod today, ain¡¯t you? That¡¯s fine.¡± ¡°I am sorry, Lila,¡± Idris said in a low, soft voice. She nodded and gathered up his coat and waistcoat. ¡°It is quite all right, sir. I will hang these up to freshen them and perhaps for the next party, I come all the way to the door with you, hmm?¡± ¡°Perhaps, yes. Thank you.¡± ¡°There,¡± said Willard, patting Idris¡¯s knee. ¡°Better.¡± ¡°And I am sorry to you, Willard ¨C¡° ¡°Ah, nonsense. Drink.¡± ¡°I quite ruined your evening,¡± Idris said. ¡°It is a lovely night for stargazing.¡± ¡°There¡¯ll be many more. I think you gave Her Majesty quite the fright, though.¡± The Queen had been the worst affected by Idris¡¯s situation. She knew the trials and tribulations he had suffered after the first amputation, aged eleven, and been with him through all of that pain ¨C and then, to save his life, she had to inflict it upon him again. Her order was law, and she ordered it. The days she had sat reading to him and watching the healers administer bandages and aria songs were not purely for his comfort. It was her own special sort of sorry. ¡°I am such a horrible friend.¡± Idris nursed the cup. ¡°Dragging her from her party like this, and then biting her head off when she helped me.¡± ¡°We all have bad days, Idris.¡± Idris watched Willard tidy up the medicine chest. The hedge witch had not been in the palace long, yet he had adapted rapidly to palace life. He adored the hut that the Head Gardener had let him build out by the stables and would spend hours feeding his pigs and collecting herbs, but once that was done he changed right out of his old foraging clothes and straight into smart, practical apprentice attire, ready to tackle the stances and texts that Idris prepared for his instruction in aria magic. He had even allowed the barber to trim his tumble of blond curls and most days, he wore them tied atop his head in a ribbon. Boots were still a fight. Even now, he wore only his suede foot-straps to walk around in. ¡°Is Lila very upset that I interrupted your romantic evening?¡± Idris said. Willard raised his eyebrows and grinned at him, his smile showing the gap between his two front teeth. ¡°Master Dead-Talker, there was no romance involved. Just a little star-watching. You get to worrying too quick, y¡¯know. Prolly that¡¯s why your body is so sleepy all the time.¡± ¡°My body is sleepy because I abuse it too much.¡± ¡°You said it.¡± Idris reached down, unlatched the pins on his fake leg and shimmied his stump out of the cup. He was still adjusting to the shorter length ¨C only weeks ago the healers had taken two more inches off ¨C so when he attempted to cross his right leg onto his thigh, he misjudged and almost lost his balance. Carefully, he stripped the top sleeve and under-sock off and examined the skin beneath. There, in lines like grey veins, were hair-cracks of necrosis, radiating from the cauterised stump end. He sighed, touched the grey skin lightly. ¡°I will sleep,¡± he said. ¡°Lemme get your medicines,¡± said Willard, but Lila interrupted. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°No need. They are laid out at your bedside already, Sir Idris.¡± She picked up the prosthetic and the sleeve, and she squeezed his shoulder. ¡°Be careful getting into bed, won¡¯t you, sir?¡± ¡°I will be.¡± ¡°Here. Up,¡± said Willard, lending an arm. ¡°Good night, Lila,¡± said Idris, hopping towards his bedchamber with Willard¡¯s support. ¡°And I truly am sorry.¡± ¡°Please just rest. That is enough penance,¡± she said, but with a small smile. Lila used to conduct Idris¡¯s night-time rituals, but of late, he preferred to do it himself or have Willard assist. Tonight, he shooed Willard out almost immediately once he knew he had everything he needed. As he washed the stump in cool water, he listened hard for the inevitable conversation in the parlour. ¡°He is embarrassed,¡± said Lila¡¯s voice quietly. ¡°There were so many people there¡­ it is the talking that wounds him most.¡± ¡°Think he¡¯ll sleep?¡± said Willard. ¡°I do hope so.¡± ¡°I left some sleeping nettle in there. P¡¯raps he¡¯ll take the hint, eh?¡± ¡°Perhaps.¡± Idris sighed, dried off the skin with his towel and reached for the medicated bandages. ¡°Willard, do you think¡­?¡± Lila paused, then rushed on as if in a panic. ¡°His leg, he won¡¯t let me help anymore. Is it worse than I think it is? Worse than before? Or ¨C¡° ¡°I think he just wants to be more independent. It ain¡¯t much worse. Just shorter.¡± ¡°I worry.¡± ¡°Ey, that¡¯s all right, Miss Lila. Worrying is normal. I don¡¯t think he¡¯s that sick, personally. Think he needs to take it all a touch more seriously but¡­ ah, he¡¯ll be right as rain tomorrow.¡± ¡°I do hope so. Thank you for everything, again.¡± ¡°Ain¡¯t no bother.¡± The medicated bandages tingled. Idris did not take them off. He thought, again, of how traumatic it must have been for his friends ¨C for Cressida ¨C to have to ask the healers to strap him down and take those two inches, while he fitted and frothed at the mouth. He was glad to not remember it but he wished there was a way to talk to Lila about it without either of them being upset. Realistically, looking after himself was a small price to pay for what they had done for him. Lila had always been by his side and was dangerously loyal; Willard had given up his whole life and accepted a brand new one. And Cressida? Her father took in a child necromancer with one foot at the drop of a hat, given him the best healers, a seat at the table of House Naga, in exchange for fealty and duty. They were family. ¡°I am a terrible brother,¡± he whispered to nobody. He resolved to make it right when he woke. * ¡°Again,¡± said Idris. Willard shook out his arms and legs, dug his toes into the grass. ¡°¡¯S¡¯right knotty to do without the book, Idris,¡± he said, trying to catch a glimpse of the page. Idris held it out of his view and waved a hand for him to continue with his work. Willard sighed heavily. ¡°Fine, fine. What¡¯s it called, again?¡± ¡°This is The Attunement. Basic number one.¡± Willard looked over at Lila and Riette, some way away, working on their swordsmanship. Idris tutted, slapped the back of his wrist, and Willard jumped and loosened his arms again. ¡°Right. Attunement. Number one,¡± Willard said. The clash of steel on steel and Riette¡¯s shouts of encouragement rang through the soft summer morning. Idris settled on his blanket at Willard¡¯s side; from where he sat on the rockery wall, he could see past the hedge witch to the small square of grass that the ladies were using for sword practice. Riette lifted Lila¡¯s shoulders, helped her to swing slowly in an arc. ¡°¡¯S¡¯distracting, ain¡¯t it?¡± said Willard. Idris tutted and smacked the back of Willard¡¯s thigh with the book. ¡°Work.¡± ¡°Aye, m¡¯lord.¡± ¡°Stop. Just stances, please. From memory.¡± ¡°You can ask them to move,¡± said Willard, raising his arms and tilting his feet into the required angle. ¡°Unless, that is, you like watching.¡± ¡°I will hit you again, squire.¡± The addition of Riette and Lila¡¯s training to the usual outdoor lesson was not Idris¡¯s idea. He had been as surprised as Lila to find Riette at the door, and he could not very well send her away, even though she did admit she was early for their session because the training grounds were full. ¡°You¡¯ve spoken to Lady Riette, aye?¡± said Willard. ¡°One more word ¨C¡° ¡°Aye, m¡¯lord.¡± Finally, Willard relaxed into the stance, took the deep breaths required to fully feel and admit the aria. The fae aria was not strong in the palace, but most arias could be felt if the user concentrated hard enough. The bells that Idris had set up on their little travel post sang songs of the sun and of water, of earth and stone and, far away, the death aria, deep and mournful, resonating uniquely in his bones. He was trying his level best not to dive deep into the notes that had accompanied him since birth ¨C it was like trying not to think, but matters of his health required that he refrained. ¡°Into your stomach,¡± Idris said. ¡°Good. Gently, now.¡± He lifted himself on his left knee, nudged Willard¡¯s wrist. Willard, eyes closed, face serene, stood in an acceptable Attunement, feet shoulder width apart, arms raised beside his hips, palms up. ¡°Do you feel it?¡± asked Idris. ¡°In your bones?¡± Willard merely nodded. ¡°Can you hear it?¡± He nodded again. ¡°Shift into Traveller. Basic Traveller.¡± Slowly, Willard lifted his right hand to chest height, open palm, breathed deep again. ¡°Any word you speak, now, I will not understand,¡± said Idris softly. ¡°That is fine. I want you to try and ask the aria to collect. All you have to do is say, ¡®collect¡¯. It will burn a little, in your mouth, but that means it is correct. Nod if you are ready.¡± Willard nodded. The crumbs of fae magic that Willard had been able to do were few and far between. Idris knew next to nothing about fae arias; neither did Willard. In that way, Idris was probably the best teacher the hedge witch could have, having also gone through training with aria magicians who could not even begin to understand his attunement. Now and then, Willard could produce sparks or encourage a plant to grow an extra leaf, but that was as far as it had gone. Willard spoke. The sound that came from his lips, though, was a twinkling, unearthly sound that no human should have been able to produce. His right hand glittered with gold. ¡°Open your eyes,¡± Idris urged, excited all at once. Willard peeked, gasped, and it was all over. The aria pushed the breeze out harder, filling Idris with tingles, and the gold vanished, and Willard groaned, disappointed. ¡°Why¡¯d it go?¡± he said, shaking his hand. ¡°You stopped concentrating.¡± ¡°You told me to open my eyes ¨C¡° ¡°You should be able to cast with your eyes open, Willard.¡± ¡°Ugh, this is the worst,¡± the hedge witch said, plonking himself down on the blanket in a sulk. ¡°Why¡¯s it so finnicky?¡± ¡°Aria magic is its own beast,¡± said Idris, watching Riette and Lila spar. ¡°It is not a tame beast, by any means. You have to inhabit it, understand it, and direct it. Even then, it can be¡­ overwhelming. And that,¡± he added, smacking Willard¡¯s shin with the book again, ¡°is why you study your stances. Being overtaken by an aria is no laughing matter.¡± ¡°I am studying,¡± said Willard. ¡°It won¡¯t stick.¡± ¡°You study in tandem with your physical practice. The books do not teach you muscle memory.¡± He sighed, tilted his head and crossed his legs beneath him. ¡°How long¡¯d it take you to do it?¡± ¡°You mean, on purpose?¡± said Idris. ¡°That is a different question.¡± ¡°On purpose.¡± ¡°I was sixteen. I had been studying daily since the age of eleven. I raised a dog.¡± Idris shrugged. ¡°There were several mice and flowers before that but¡­ realistically, the dog was the first thing that mattered.¡± ¡°A big dog?¡± said Willard. ¡°Large. Hunting dog. His name was Madderly.¡± Idris frowned. ¡°He was a good dog. I did miss him.¡± ¡°Am I too old for this?¡± ¡°No. You have plenty of time.¡± Over the way, Lila¡¯s sword hit Riette¡¯s armour on the stomach, and Riette grinned and laughed and congratulated her, and Lila blushed and bowed low. ¡°She¡¯s getting right good,¡± said Willard. ¡°She is.¡± ¡°You gonna tell me what the whole thing is with Lady Riette and how you won¡¯t look at her for more¡¯n ten seconds?¡± Idris was going to scold Willard, but from the corner of his eye, he saw the Queen and her retinue approaching. ¡°I am surrounded by demanding women,¡± he muttered. Willard scoffed at him. ¡°That ain¡¯t no hardship so far as I can see.¡± He stood so he could bow low to Cressida. ¡°Your Majesty. Ain¡¯t it a fine day?¡± Cressida smiled, her parasol neatly tucked over her shoulder. ¡°It is, Willard.¡± Idris dipped his head, but did not get up. ¡°Majesty. Forgive me if I do not rise.¡± ¡°Forgiven.¡± She nodded at her ladies. ¡°A moment? Willard?¡± ¡°Oh. Aye. I¡¯ll¡­ study the book some more, in the shade,¡± said the hedge witch, scooping up his book. ¡°Traveller One,¡± Idris called after him. ¡°Shifting into Parallels of Focus, please!¡± ¡°Aye, m¡¯lord.¡± ¡°He only calls me that to punish me,¡± said Idris as Cressida sat. ¡°Can we talk plainly, Idris?¡± she said quietly. ¡°Without¡­ the defensive attitude, or the ¡®Majesty¡¯, or any of that?¡± He sighed, nodded. Cressida paused a moment. ¡°I am not going to let you deny it any longer. There is something you are holding back from me and I know better than to pry. Whatever it is, it is your business alone. But your behaviour is worrisome to me and I am frightened for you.¡± Idris said nothing. He had not told her about his continuing contract with the fae, to find the remaining Spirit Glass and destroy it. The treasurers had kept his secret, too, that he was inquiring about the Dead Walker pauldrons in the vault. She did not know he had Dravid Orrost¡¯s full confession, tucked away in his bedroom desk drawer. All she knew was that her best friend had fallen, injured, in protecting the kingdom and was not better, not yet. He did not want to worry her with any of this. She had enough to deal with. ¡°With that in mind,¡± she said, ¡°I would like you to leave the court. Just for a week or two,¡± she added, seeing him start and open his mouth to protest. ¡°To rest. To set your mind right. The stress is bad for you, and you cannot do any necromancy anyway. I want you rejuvenated and calm, so that we can start planning your work for the autumn. I am not sending you out to raise thralls and help farmhands if you are fainting on your feet at parties, there is no way.¡± ¡°And where would you wish me to go to?¡± he said, not holding back the bitterness. ¡°Your Majesty?¡± ¡°Honestly, Idris, you act like it is a prison sentence ¨C¡° ¡°I suppose the other courtiers suggested it? That I should leave? I should wonder what else they are saying about me behind my back ¨C¡° ¡°You stop it,¡± she hissed, and he was silent, but furious in it. ¡°This is exactly what I mean. This paranoia. Casually omitting details from me and then being upset when I learn them. I thought you were my best friend and we could share everything but apparently I am mistaken. Whatever monsters inhabit your dreams are acting through you in your waking hours and I am tired of feeling guilty about it.¡± This time, Idris bit his tongue. He watched Lila and Riette as they cleared up their equipment, smiling and joking together. ¡°I am sorry,¡± he said. ¡°I want you to be sorry and yourself,¡± said Cressida firmly. ¡°Please. For my sake, if for nothing else.¡± He nodded. ¡°I hear the Crescent Mountains are beautiful this time of year,¡± she said, standing. ¡°They have wonderful villas with private hot springs. I think being closer to nature might clear your mind, don¡¯t you?¡± She sighed. ¡°Take whatever carriage and supplies you want. Just¡­ come back better.¡± Idris said nothing. The Queen waited but, receiving no response, eventually she walked away. When Lila approached, confused, he said, ¡°Prepare a travel bag, Lila. We¡¯re leaving,¡± and gave her no other explanation. Chapter Three Idris departed three days later, with no fanfare. He took a small carriage and a trunk of belongings, and he left before sunrise. Willard and Lila drove the horses up front. The plan was to swap the horses daily to reach the Crescent Mountains within the week and not to stop for anything. Nobody had asked Idris what the catalyst for this sudden trip was, but this was mostly because he refused to speak to anyone about why he was in such a foul mood. He felt disrespected, mostly, and talked-down-to, and he did this not for his health but because his queen had demanded it. He did not know what it would fix, but he hoped by leaving, he could at least appease her. They had not been gone thirty minutes when the carriage stopped and there was talking outside. Idris looked up from his book, frowning. ¡°Lila?¡± he called. She opened the door. ¡°Sir, it¡¯s¡­ Lady Riette, sir.¡± He blinked, confused. ¡°What is she doing here?¡± ¡°She said she wants to accompany us. For safety.¡± Lila chewed her lip. ¡°Her family is from the Crescent Mountains, you know. It might be wise to have a guide.¡± Idris sighed, tried to think of the kindest way to send her back to the palace. ¡°I told her she¡¯d be bored,¡± Lila offered, ¡°but she won¡¯t take no for an answer. Should we clear a space for her to sit in the carriage?¡± ¡°That¡­ is probably the gentlemanly thing to do, Lila, yes,¡± he said, defeated. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°Maybe some company will be good, sir,¡± she offered as she shifted his piles of books. ¡°Maybe.¡± He sat back. ¡°Maybe the Queen is spying on me.¡± Lila said nothing, but she finished her tidying and turned to call Riette in. ¡°Sir Idris,¡± said Riette, settling down, ¡°had I known you were going to my homeland, I would have offered to join you days ago.¡± She was in her soldier¡¯s garb, today, but undiminished by the change. Idris gave her a small, pained smile. ¡°I did think the trip would be quite dull for any companions, good lady.¡± ¡°Do you know anything about the Crescentlands?¡± she said. When Idris hesitated, she grinned. ¡°An odd holiday, to a place you know nothing about.¡± ¡°It was¡­ suggested to me,¡± he said, and an air of dawning comprehension spread across Riette¡¯s face. ¡°I see.¡± ¡°It is not too late for you to leave the carriage. Breakfast at the palace today is going to be divine, judging by the smells from the kitchen as we passed.¡± He put his book down. ¡°Do you not have duties to attend to at the palace?¡± ¡°Not so many. I think it is good, noble work to protect the Court Necromancer on the road, don¡¯t you?¡± she said. ¡°Besides, Master Willard will start to chafe on you within the day, I guarantee it.¡± This time, Idris laughed. ¡°Well¡­ if you insist.¡± ¡°I know a lovely villa that is secluded and has wonderful views. You will not regret allowing me along for the ride,¡± she beamed. Interested, she studied the piles of books. ¡°I remember. Travel is¡­ not your favourite. Please, do not refrain from studying on my account. I will be here if you want conversational company. Otherwise, you do whatever you like.¡± The carriage journey itself was tolerable for the most part. During the day, Riette accompanied Idris in the box, either sleeping or pointing out geographical features to him through the window, and he studied and napped and rubbed medication on his leg. At night, Willard and Lila came into the carriage and slept while Riette drove. On the sixth day, Riette opened the door and left it open, and a marble of chilly yet delightfully warm air rushed in. Willard snored slightly softer and dug his head further against the seat back. ¡°Smell that?¡± she said. ¡°Mountain air. Come see.¡± Idris shifted from his chair and onto his crutches, and poked his head out. Before him was a startling, confusing landscape, the likes of which he had never seen. They were on a misty road, surrounded by wetland ferns and bushes; the rocks in clusters around them were grey and sparkling slightly silver. Vines and creepers curled from graceful, low-branched trees. Ahead was a sheer, towering cliff, like a mouthful of silver teeth, blasting upwards as if a giant had punched the earth and the rock had been frozen in time. ¡°Bells,¡± Idris whispered. Riette smiled. ¡°Isn¡¯t it beautiful?¡± He tilted his head to listen to the trickle of small waterfalls, the call of wetland birds. ¡°I had no idea places like this existed,¡± he said quietly. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°Not far, now,¡± she said. ¡°You should ride up front. The scenery is quite marvellous.¡± She helped him up beside Lila, who smiled at him and chivvied the horses on, and he watched as the Crescentlands opened up to him. There was foliage everywhere ¨C moss, trees, flowers, bushes, grass ¨C but in such a myriad of shades. He thought of Cressida¡¯s paintbox, the buttery yellows and fiery oranges, the sparkling greens and hushed greys, and he wondered how all of those colours had made it here and exploded across his vision. The houses sat on stilts, perched on haphazard staircase runs that curled up mountainsides. People collected water straight from the miniature waterfalls that tumbled down the cliffs and bubbling springs. Past the lowlands, the carriage climbed purpose-built blackstone roads. ¡°They say,¡± said Riette, as she rode her horse beside them, ¡°that the mountain cats used to pull the nobles up the blackstone in litters in the winter. The first DeTrentavilles built their mansion right on the cusp of the Crescent Mountains.¡± ¡°Is that your ancestral home?¡± said Idris. ¡°It has been many years since I have needed to be there,¡± she said, ¡°but yes. Crescent Crest is where my parents live. You cannot see it from here, and it is likely we will not see it at all.¡± It got cooler, the further up they went, and the air became dense with mountain spray. Rock hawks swooped past them, clutching at poached eggs. Eventually, Idris could see the snow-caps of the Harransee, far in the distance. They were higher up than he had ever been in his whole life. The trees were a mere carpet below them. The carriage entered a covered rock corridor, and the villas began to appear in secluded, quiet areas, some cut into the rock of the Crescent Mountains, some on the edge, looking down. The landlords called out to Riette jovially, inquired of her father and brothers. ¡°Is Lady Estray at the Silk House?¡± Riette asked, and they said she was. ¡°Is it open for visitors?¡± They continued on. The roads began to become private, again, surrounded by shimmering rock and lichen curtains. Then, in the centre of one of these bubble-like caves, Idris saw a house. ¡°Is that the Silk House?¡± he said. ¡°It is,¡± said Riette. The Silk House was a wide, dark-wood creation made mostly of verandas and patios, of pools and rockeries. Shafts of sunlight hit the western edge, making the purple maple leaves glow with inviting warmth. The house perched on an island set into the river. Beyond that was the waterfall, loud and icy, dropping down into a series of rock basins that seemed to fall the whole way to the bottom of the Crescent Mountains. Mist poured from its drop. It was an impossible place, held together by pure fancy as far as Idris could tell. By the time they reached the gate, it was prematurely dark due to the tall walls of the Crescent Mountains secluding the Silk House. Fireflies glowed. Willard shivered when he came out of the carriage. ¡°It is cold,¡± said Riette apologetically. ¡°Oh, no, milady,¡± he said. ¡°I¡­ the fae arias are¡­ loud.¡± ¡°It is also cold,¡± said Lila, ¡°and you have no boots.¡± Idris sat, quiet on the driver¡¯s step, taking it in. The air on his face was damp and freezing, mixed with natural steam; it smelled like sulphur and granite. Outside the bellow of the waterfall, it was rather quiet. Even the death aria seemed miles and miles away. Riette greeted a young, lithe woman ¨C Lady Estray ¨C and introduced her to her companions. Lady Estray was eager to welcome them and gave the tour of the house. Dining room, with a view of the waterfall. Two elegant suites, each with their own private hot spring balconies outside and ice baths, should they be required. A reading room, and a steam room, and rooms for Willard and Lila to be comfortable and separate. The house wound and connected down manageable small flights of stairs, both inside and outside, and a selection of bridges. It was larger than it looked from the outside. By the time Lila had brought Idris¡¯s books and trunk through, he was still mesmerised on the outside veranda, watching the waterwings splashing in and out of the waterfall¡¯s violent plunge. ¡°I have never seen a waterwing in real life,¡± he said, when she stood beside him. ¡°Only pictures, in Uncle Haylan¡¯s books. I always imagined they were all gone from New Borria. Are they not marvellous?¡± ¡°Tiny dragons, aren¡¯t they?¡± said Lila, as one smashed back out of the waterfall curtain, shook out its wings and swung itself back around for another attempt, its tail flicking. ¡°My, that one is hungry.¡± ¡°He has been struggling for a catch, actually.¡± Idris gestured to the small flutter of creatures, circling some way off. ¡°His brothers and sisters already took their fill.¡± ¡°This place is incredible,¡± she said, looking up to the top curve of the crescent. Idris kept his gaze on the waterwing, pounding his wings just to stay in flight, head trained on the cascade. ¡°I think he has it this time,¡± he said. It shot into the water, and was gone for two seconds, three seconds, and then, suddenly, out he came, fish in mouth, and sped back to his siblings, who immediately started bothering him for scraps. ¡°Well,¡± said Lila, stepping back slightly, ¡°I will leave you to your relaxation. If you need me, ring the bell.¡± ¡°I will. Thank you, Lila. And¡­¡± He was embarrassed to say it, but he knew it had to be said. ¡°And thank you for coming. It¡­ I know I have been¡­¡± ¡°Abrasive?¡± she offered, eyebrow raised. ¡°That. Yes.¡± ¡°It is quite all right. You have been through so much, these last few weeks. I cannot imagine.¡± ¡°I am going to rest here until I am kind enough to be your friend, again.¡± She smiled. ¡°Silly,¡± she said, punching his arm. ¡°You¡¯re my friend whether you are abrasive or not. Sir.¡± He smiled, flicked her shoulder in return. ¡°Go and enjoy the house, Lila.¡± ¡°You too.¡± It was surprising, how much a change of scenery reorganised Idris¡¯s brain. He sat in a wooden chaise longue, watching the little dragons flit in and out, and he realised how far from himself he had truly been. Being shut inside during his recovery was anathema to his desires. He loved the outside. He always had. He had been so focused on the setbacks that he had forgotten his purpose, everything his uncle had fought to keep him on this earth to do. The Court Necromancer protected the kingdom. The Dead Walker armour was dangerous. He had duties to perform. He had a contract with House Naga and with the fae. Time was ticking and he was the only person who could stop it. But for that, he had to be well. And he wanted to be well, so badly. He just did not know how to get well, how to purge the night terrors and the paranoia, how to stop feeling dread every morning when he woke. Being shaken from his palace routine had jarred him so thoroughly that he felt as if he were forever tumbling without a place to land, reaching into waterfalls to grasp for fish. He wrote his first letter to Cressida from the veranda. He drew her a sketch of the waterwings, begged her forgiveness for his rude behaviour, and he promised he would come back healthy. He set it on the desk in the suite, sealed it with his black wax and clematis stamp, and left a note for Lila to have it sent, and then he lay on the low bed on his side, gazing out at the waterfall spray, watching the shadows shiver across the wooden floor. Chapter Four The group had been at the Silk House two days when Idris unwrapped the texts he had hidden at the bottom of his prosthetics chest. In a velvet shawl was the full confession of Dravid Orrost; beside it were several books that the librarians would rather he did not have outside of the palace, books that theorised about magical weaponry, necrotic energies and the fae. The attendants of the Silk House brought him hot spiced tea and floral rice cakes, and he sat in a cushioned alcove by the veranda door and began to read. The confession was thorough. Dravid started with his understanding of his parentage ¨C Lord Orrost was his father and a low-ranking courtier was his mother and he would never know the throne that his siblings would stand beside ¨C and how that fuelled his desire to please his aloof father, and it spiralled from there. He trained as a knight, then became a general, and was close enough to his father that he was allowed into the war room during the conflict with Cressida¡¯s kingdom. He saw only opportunity in the war. It made him bitter and hateful. He loathed the aria magicians that his father relied upon, sneered at their magic as a cheap compensation for a good tactical mind. All of this was expected, until Dravid stated that he received word of a magical artefact that had been uncovered on the edge of the enemy kingdom and he might want to investigate. Idris shivered as he read and re-read the description. Dravid travelled to Outer Arbedes, a series of ancient ruins that had once belonged to the Imperial Kingdom, many thousands of years ago. The ruins were partially excavated long before even Idris¡¯s grandfather was alive and then left well alone, due to the fae that had claimed the site as their own through a mixture of time and fearmongering. In his confession, Dravid claimed that he stopped outside of Outer Arbedes to consult with a man who would only refer to himself as The Remaker. The Remaker lived in a hidden tower, the entrance impassable without an invitation and a sworn oath, and even as he sat and thought of that strange place, he could not pinpoint exactly where it had been or what it looked like. All he knew, he wrote, was that he entered, and when he left, he had a map and instructions. To my shame, he wrote, I know not what The Remaker looked like, whether he was man, woman or anything in between. The whole experience was a blur of nothingness. I returned to my retinue dazed but unharmed and I found the dagger the next day. Idris sipped his now cold tea thoughtfully and wrote in his own notepad, - Remaker - Tower - Outer Arbedes He sighed, watched the rain sprinkling from the edges of the veranda. Outer Arbedes might be a good place to start looking for the breastplate. But¡­ There was a knock on his suite door. Gently, he placed the confession under one of the cushions, stashed his notebook and called for the visitor to enter. ¡°It is only me,¡± said Riette, looking around for him. ¡°Down here,¡± he called. She turned, and smiled seeing him. ¡°You have countless chairs and pools to pass the time in.¡± ¡°I like the floor. Thank you, though.¡± ¡°Look at you,¡± she said, putting her hands on her hips and grinning. ¡°Why, you look positively serene compared to even five days ago.¡± ¡°It is¡­ difficult to describe the particular magic of this place,¡± Idris said, his gaze again falling on the waterfalls, the rain, the mist and steam. ¡°A far cry from the palace, hmm?¡± she said, settling beside him on the cushions. ¡°From everything I am used to, actually.¡± ¡°Lila tells me you have been sketching dragons.¡± ¡°Only waterwings. They like it out by my deck. I think I might be close to persuading one to snatch a fig from my hand.¡± ¡°My father used to tell tales of water dragons migrating upstream to Crescent Crest for many years,¡± said Riette, sighing wistfully. ¡°Alas, all gone by the time I was a child. I do adore waterwings, though. I never understood why we chose mountain cats for our crest instead of dragons.¡± ¡°Probably the same reason the Eremonts chose a morning thistle.¡± ¡°Why did they choose morning thistle?¡± ¡°It is¡­¡± Idris tried to remember exactly how Uncle Haylan had described it. ¡°¡¯The understated hero of the medicinal world.¡¯ Every scrape and cut, morning thistle paste. Every headache, morning thistle root. You know if Willard tries to feed me morning thistle I can smell it before it even passes my lips? It makes me gag,¡± he said, over Riette¡¯s laughter. ¡°To hear my uncle talk, morning thistle would solve all of the world¡¯s problems.¡± ¡°The black clematis?¡± she said, frowning. ¡°I chose that. The clematis is a funny flower. It is particularly difficult to kill.¡± Idris tilted his signet ring so that Riette could see it. ¡°If you cut it back, it returns the next year with a vengeance. It is the plant that comes back from the dead. My father used to curse the clematis outside my bedroom window. I always rather liked it.¡± ¡°I see. And the pentagon is your casting hand.¡± ¡°Correct.¡± ¡°It must have been freeing,¡± Riette said casually, ¡°to make your own crest. To forge your own destiny.¡± ¡°Oh, I¡­ I do not have an official crest,¡± said Idris, feeling the heat in his cheeks. ¡°Only the sigil. It is the unfortunate part of having no family name to speak of. I have no claim to the Eremont crest. I can allude to it and it is a useful way for others to identify me, but¡­ it is no longer mine.¡± The sordid tale of his arrival at the palace was known only by few, and most of the people who had been directly responsible for his circumstances were dead. The understanding in court was that Idris was taken in by King Gael purely on the basis of his attunement, and the rest was conveniently forgotten in collective memory, or else it had never been shared. ¡°But you are an Eremont,¡± said Riette. ¡°Your uncle, he was blood family.¡± ¡°I was an Eremont. That much is true.¡± ¡°Who sits in Temple Hill?¡± ¡°Nobody.¡± Idris shrugged. ¡°Unless my mother returned and nobody deigned to tell me.¡± ¡°Do¡­ do your parents not¡­?¡± ¡°Speak to me?¡± he said. ¡°No. They do not. They are either deceased or choosing to ignore me. I do not know either way. They do not respond to my letters.¡± He gave a pained sigh, thought of the best way to explain it. ¡°It is not surprising. There are many questions I wish to be answered and I do not know if they know how to answer those, or if they are willing to look inside themselves and make admissions. Nothing that happened was what they expected. It is likely easier to pretend I do not exist.¡± If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°I am prying, I apologise,¡± said Riette, but Idris shook his head. ¡°It is a complicated situation. Technically, I am a ward of the kingdom, if that makes more sense. My parents did not claim me within the required time and the King drew up a contract to protect me, essentially. It stated that I gave up all claim to the Eremont line and Temple Hill in return for all of the medical treatment I needed, tutorship, room and board and diplomatic shielding. All I had to give was consent. That, and my promise that I would use my particular talents in service of the crown.¡± ¡°You were a child, though, were you not?¡± ¡°Eleven. Yes.¡± ¡°The contract?¡± ¡°Made binding by a kind of aria magic even rarer than my own. I cannot begin to fathom it.¡± ¡°Black bells, Idris,¡± said Riette quietly. ¡°It sounds worse than it is. I have not wanted for anything,¡± he said. ¡°The King always treated me like family. Uncle Haylan was granted guardianship and given leave to do as he pleased, but he chose to stay. He wrote to my parents every month and received only one response, after my sixteenth birthday, from my mother. I never found out what she wrote in that letter, but I swear my uncle had more grey hairs after he read it. He was particularly kind to me in the weeks that followed. Within the year, he had passed, and the Eremont seat at Temple Hill remained vacant.¡± ¡°What do you think it said?¡± ¡°That I am not my father¡¯s son, most likely,¡± he said. It was something he had not freely shared with anyone but Cressida. Even now, it felt strange leaving his lips, like a curse he was speaking against his own flesh. Once, he had spoken it to Uncle Haylan, and Haylan had said, ¡°Eat your supper,¡± and they never mentioned it again. ¡°I hold no ill will towards my parents,¡± he said into the silence. ¡°They did what they thought was best. They are probably embarrassed and ashamed and apologetic and know not how to speak with me about it. But the reality is that they have not been parents to me since I was seven. My mother went to the Imperial Kingdom and my father¡­ he went with her, I think, although I would not know. I hardly remember their faces. To claim me is to admit that something went wrong, either in their blood or their marriage. Healer arias have passed down the Eremont line for three-hundred years. I am their only son.¡± Riette was quiet. She gazed out at the dragons, swooping in for their lunch. ¡°It is a particular kind of cowardice,¡± she said at last, ¡°to shun your only child.¡± ¡°It is cowardice I understand. I do not blame them.¡± ¡°How do you claim a family name?¡± she said. ¡°Adoption.¡± Or, the other technicality, marriage, although he did not say it. The dominant line¡¯s name passed down. His mother was Eremont, his father some lesser branch of another healer house. ¡°And the King?¡± ¡°I think it was on his mind. He passed, though, before he could broach the subject with Uncle Haylan. Cressida was crowned and the matter was forgotten.¡± He smiled in what he hoped was a comforting way. ¡°She did give me Gleesdale, though, and I am assured it is beautiful, although I have never been. Green fields and quiet marsh, apparently. A small manor, with some acres for farming. I can go there if I wish, but I do not wish. The palace is home, and I have made my own family. A name is unimportant.¡± ¡°Is that why you left the ball?¡± said Riette, her face tinged with guilt. ¡°I did not think and I assumed ¨C¡° ¡°Bells, no, Riette. No. In truth, I would have liked to have the courage to approach your brothers and spend some time with your family. I¡­ I felt unwell, and had been feeling unwell since I entered the ballroom. Fainting on the dancefloor would have looked worse than fainting outside.¡± ¡°I can loan you some brothers?¡± she said, with a weak smile. Idris laughed. ¡°Are there many going spare?¡± ¡°Oh, at least seven. You can have them all.¡± ¡°I will not deprive you of your full stock of brothers, but I thank you for your generosity. Here, come feed the waterwings with me. I have some dried figs.¡± They spent the rest of the afternoon baiting dragons with figs, coaxing them further up the deck, holding out their arms in the hope one would be brave enough. When Lila came to check on them, Idris had a waterwing nibbling a fig not an inch from his finger; Riette shushed Lila and chivvied her inside so she could see. ¡°There, now,¡± Idris whispered to the little dragon, admiring its green scales and thick legs. ¡°A little sugar before your dinner, hmm?¡± The dragon¡¯s forked tongue flicked out, tickled the edge of Idris¡¯s finger, but when he saw he had an audience, he yelped and took to his wings again, circled, and snatched the fig away on his eventual exit. ¡°You were close that time, sir,¡± said Lila. ¡°Ah, I was. Tomorrow, perhaps. Little fiends.¡± He brushed down his knees as he stood. ¡°Is there something the matter, Lila?¡± ¡°Willard wants you,¡± she said. ¡°It¡­ he has questions, I think.¡± ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°I will leave you and your master then, Lila,¡± said Riette. ¡°I have bothered him for long enough.¡± ¡°We will dine together, tonight,¡± Idris said, and the soldier smiled and nodded. ¡°That would be nice. Thank you.¡± ¡°For now, I must tend to my apprentice¡­ although I do not feel qualified for it.¡± Lila followed Idris to Willard¡¯s rooms, on the lower level of the Silk House, with a view out to some of the blackstone deposits deep in the mountain. Willard was sitting on his little balcony, beside some of the moss that dripped with waterfall spray, and he turned to Idris and said, ¡°This is normal, ain¡¯t it?¡± Idris stared. Willard¡¯s hand was outstretched over the rail and the whole thing was glowing gold. ¡°I¡­ I do not think so,¡± said Idris quietly, hurrying in. ¡°How did you do it?¡± ¡°I was doing my stances and my hand things, like you asked,¡± said Willard, watching the spiralling lights around his fingers. ¡°I can feel the aria right strong here, ¡®specially near the moss and flowers. Well, I breathed in, and I did my Travellers, and¡­¡± He gestured to his hand. ¡°Are you concentrating on it?¡± said Idris, kneeling to examine the back of Willard¡¯s hand. ¡°Not so much.¡± ¡°Can you still feel the aria in your bones?¡± ¡°Aye.¡± ¡°But this¡­ this is not¡­¡± Idris wracked his brains, trying to think of how this was happening. ¡°You should not be able to speak to me if the aria is still in your body,¡± he said. ¡°I¡­¡± ¡°Remember Joa?¡± Joa claimed to be Willard¡¯s father and was also a fae prince. Their brief stint in the fae realm in the spring was not Idris¡¯s favourite memory, but he did recall the noble well ¨C thanks to Joa, the scar in Idris¡¯s arm was permanent. He nodded. ¡°He talked and walked around and all sorts when he did fae magic.¡± Willard shrugged. ¡°Mayhaps this is the same?¡± Idris sat and stared. Nothing happened for a few minutes. Willard stood, watching the light, and Idris, wordless, could do nothing but watch, either. Not even Magus Arundale could commit such a feat; it felt nearly impossible that a novice could manage it. Eventually, the gold glitter passed through Willard¡¯s fingers like sand, and he let out a sudden, long breath that sounded like the fae arias from the bells, and then it was silent. ¡°Interesting,¡± whispered Idris. ¡°¡¯S¡¯not ¡®interesting¡¯. It¡¯s weird,¡± said Willard. ¡°You don¡¯t do that.¡± ¡°Do it again.¡± ¡°Dunno if I can.¡± Willard returned to his basic stance, closed his eyes, took his breaths, but it did not matter how much he did it ¨C the lights did not return. ¡°Does this mean I have more reading?¡± he asked glumly. ¡°It does,¡± said Idris. ¡°Um¡­ Lila, are you still here?¡± ¡°Yes, Sir Idris.¡± ¡°Take note of these texts, for me? I will ask the librarians for them when I return.¡± ¡°Certainly, sir.¡± ¡°And¡­¡± Idris hesitated. ¡°I have some information about the Spirit Glass. Let us discuss it quickly, before dinner. I do not want Lady Riette mixed up in this awful business.¡± Once Lila had the list of books written down, Idris told them about Dravid¡¯s confession. ¡°You think this Remaker knows where the rest of the armour is?¡± said Willard. ¡°It is possible, but we at least have a place to start looking,¡± said Idris. ¡°Outer Arbedes,¡± said Lila, frowning. ¡°Where is that?¡± Idris tried to say it casually, but he failed. ¡°About a day from Marbury.¡± ¡°Where your folks used to live?¡± said Willard. Idris simply nodded. ¡°The Queen cannot sanction you to return to Marbury,¡± said Lila. ¡°It is hardly forbidden for me to go, but yes, you are right,¡± said Idris. ¡°The Queen also does not know about the fae bargain. If we go to Marbury¡­ it has to be on our own. What she does not know cannot hurt her. Her, or my family.¡± ¡°And Lady Riette?¡± said Willard. ¡°No, she cannot know. It is not wise for her to be part of this.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll need to plan this,¡± said Lila. ¡°Leave that to me. In the meantime, Sir Idris, this is meant to be a relaxation trip. Why did you bring those awful documents with you? Where did you even get them from?¡± ¡°Neither of those answers are relevant. Suffice to say I have been ignoring them during my healing and now that I am feeling better, it is important to have resources at my disposal that make this Spirit Glass destruction quick and painless. I am not having another healer take a third steak off my leg, thank you,¡± said Idris. ¡°Ain¡¯t sure it¡¯s steak from the leg,¡± said Willard, thinking hard, and then, ¡°not that it matters.¡± ¡°At any rate,¡± said Idris, trying to ignore the hedge witch, ¡°we may not even need to go through Marbury. I will need to see a map, but I think there is a forest road which takes us close to Outer Arbedes without entering Marbury proper. It has been a long time, though.¡± ¡°Can you think of a good excuse to visit Marbury that the Queen won¡¯t suspect?¡± said Lila. ¡°I can think of something,¡± said Idris, remembering the clematis outside his bedroom window. Chapter Five The best way to talk with Cressida outside of the palace was by manipulating scrying water. As a water aria magician, she could speak through the reflection; she and Idris had used it as a way to plan evenings where she had climbed out of windows to visit town taverns and go night fishing with him when they were much younger. Each courtier had a vial of water from her personal enchanted stock and they could use it as they saw fit when they needed a private audience. Idris barely ever needed to use his scrying water (he much preferred writing letters, anyway), so when her voice came through, he could already tell that she was worried. His explanation for why he was calling did not help. ¡°I do not see why Marbury is this sudden fixation for you,¡± she said, the water vibrating with each word. ¡°I think I miss my uncle,¡± Idris said. That was the truth. His days of post-amputation recuperation had been empty without Uncle Haylan and his mind kept drifting to memories of their time together. ¡°And¡­ I suppose I am wondering about the divergence again.¡± ¡®The divergence¡¯ was how they used to talk about his necromancy, when the word ¡®necromancy¡¯ made him want to gag. ¡°There must be records at Temple Hill. If I could find some and bring them to the palace, I can settle the matter definitively, and then I will know for sure.¡± ¡°It is tantamount to burglary,¡± said Cressida. ¡°It is trespass, certainly.¡± ¡°It was my home, Cress. Besides, I am sure that nobody is there. The healers in Marbury will hardly even recognise me. If I tell them I am there on the Queen¡¯s business, then¡­¡± ¡°Idris¡­ I do not care who your father is. It changes nothing. You are still my dearest friend.¡± ¡°Truthfully, I do not care, either. It is not as if either father has been particularly important in raising me. It would be reassuring to know, though.¡± He played with his fingers, glanced at the map that Lila had procured. ¡°It might be good for Willard¡¯s studies, if nothing else.¡± ¡°Will this make you better, Idris?¡± said Cressida, her voice sad and soft. ¡°Maybe. I swear,¡± he said, meaning it, ¡°that once I come back from Marbury, we will never speak of Temple Hill or the name Eremont or my father or any of that, ever again. You are my family, Cress. Marbury is¡­ it is a place where many secrets were kept from me and I am rather tired of secrets. I want to put a painful chapter of my life to bed.¡± ¡°Is Lady DeTrentaville going with you?¡± Idris hid his sigh. ¡°If she must.¡± ¡°She must, yes.¡± ¡°Then she will.¡± ¡°All my father ever wanted was for you to be happy and well,¡± said Cressida. ¡°It never pained him to have you dine at our table, or to watch us play and grow together. There was no pity there. I want you to know that.¡± ¡°I know that. He was always kind and I do not doubt his intentions. I am grateful for him, and Uncle Haylan, and you, Cress. I have¡­ I have been a bad friend, lately, and ¨C¡° ¡°Not a bad friend. A sick friend. A sad friend and a lonely friend but not bad. I still love you, you old wretch. A few weeks of your usual wallowing in your own misery will never be enough to turn me away. We are stronger than that.¡± ¡°I never said ¡®happy birthday¡¯ and I feel terrible.¡± ¡°There is next year.¡± Idris pursed his lips. He wanted to tell her so badly that there may not be a next year, that if he had to destroy all of the Spirit Glass he might end up hurting himself beyond saving, but instead he made his voice cheerful for her and said, ¡°If I even come to your party next year. You realise I made a special effort?¡± ¡°You are a strange, sad man, Idris,¡± she said, with her usual good humour. ¡°Perhaps I will not invite you next year, how about that?¡± ¡°Ouch.¡± ¡°I opened your gift this morning, and I want you to know I am wearing it.¡± Idris smiled to himself. ¡°I am glad. How does it fit?¡± ¡°You remembered that I have the smallest child wrists, so it fits perfectly.¡± ¡°Good. I should go,¡± he said, glancing to the fading light outside. ¡°How are the Crescent Mountains?¡± ¡°Beautiful, like you said. There are waterwings, here. They are wonderful little things. I shall miss them when we leave.¡± ¡°One day, you should come with me to the Imperial Kingdom. Their dragons are quite something.¡± The Queen sighed. ¡°Be safe, Rissy, yes?¡± ¡°I will be. Thank you, Cress. I will write another letter when I reach Marbury.¡± ¡°I look forward to it. Be well, Idris.¡± ¡°Thank you, Majesty.¡± The water, which had been holding a rather rigid mirror in the bowl, visibly loosened. Idris sighed and tipped it back into the vial. * The rest of Dravid¡¯s confession was informative. Idris read it, then absorbed it while he soaked in the hot spring outside his room. The Spirit Glass armour and weapons ¨C the Dead Walker set ¨C worked by strength of will and a not inconsiderable amount of life energy. Blood magic worked the same way, but the Spirit Glass was fae, and fae magic, it seemed, was rather loose in the wrong hands. Dravid understood that in using the Spirit Dagger he was likely taking years off his own life. He described linking with the dagger as a ¡®transformative, addictive experience¡¯. He followed The Remaker¡¯s instructions, taking the dagger into the depths of the woods and sleeping with the blade against his heart, drawing runes with blood from his fingers on his own chest. The dreams, he wrote, were lucid and terrifying. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Idris wondered what would make a man do such a thing. What would drive someone to make the Dead Walker armour in the first place, much less wield it? Was Dravid¡¯s desire for his father¡¯s affection so perverse that he was willing to abuse his own body for it? Or was it simply a lust for power? Beyond the dagger, Dravid used his father¡¯s network of assassins and spies to fill the towns he was going to hit on the way through to Veridia. Bartold, the old commander of Cressida¡¯s guard, ensured that Idris and Kurellan would be away when Dravid started his assault and that Idris would be a convenient scapegoat. There was still so much to learn, though. Idris rubbed the still-purple mark on his left shoulder where the Spirit Dagger had gone in, glanced at the line in his right arm where Joa¡¯s dagger had stolen the blood for his poppet. The likelihood that this endeavour would kill Idris had not left his mind. Destroying the dagger had almost been enough to end him. The burnt skin on his left hand had only recently healed. And¡­ And Willard had told him exactly how desperate the situation in the sewer way had been. When Lila had found Idris, there had been grey lines of necrosis in his neck, pulsing up into his right cheek. The exertion had dredged the necrotic energy in his aptitude right through him, from the residual necrosis in his leg. If it had entered his heart¡­ That and the disgusting fluid he had been spewing while he fitted, the fluid that Magus Arundale was still studying. I necrotised both of Dravid¡¯s hands, he remembered. Without thinking. He thought of the gold light swirling around Willard¡¯s fingers. The worst part about being a lone necromancer was that there was so much he did not know about his own magic. Stances and hand positions were universal; the magician adapted each to his own tastes and as the aria dictated. But a water magician could learn nuance from another water magician in a way that rarer disciplines could not. Idris, taught by sea magicians and stone magicians and healers, had only books to guide him and the turbulent notes of the death aria that only he could hear. ¡°The world is vast,¡± Uncle Haylan used to say, ¡°and time has stolen much.¡± Idris closed his eyes, sighed. What he would give for his uncle¡¯s wisdom, now. Once he was out of the hot spring, he catalogued his scar tissue. He found it comforting to resort to old healer lessons when the weight of the kingdom sat on his shoulders. Gently, he touched the lump in the bridge of his nose. ¡°Lila?¡± he called into the dim suite. She did not reply. Instead, he wrote her a note, put it on his desk, and retired to bed. * The route that Idris outlined to Riette was circuitous, and she seemed confused about why they would take the road to Outer Arbedes when there was a more direct route back to Veridia. ¡°Willard¡¯s studies are¡­ perplexing to me, at best,¡± he said. ¡°The fae energies there might help him make sense of his own attunement. A day or so of meditation near the ruins could do him wonders.¡± ¡°And what will you do while he is sitting in fairy circles?¡± she said, a knowing look in her hazel eyes. ¡°I will visit Temple Hill,¡± he said, like it was the most normal thing to do in the world. ¡°For?¡± ¡°I have to write a will.¡± This took the smile right off Riette¡¯s face. ¡°Idris, is¡­?¡± ¡°No, no. Everything is fine. All of this is working as it should,¡± he said, gesturing to his body. ¡°Or at least I think it is. The will is preventative. Everything that happened in Braemar rather rattled me and I think it is best to be cautious. However, all of my documents are in Temple Hill, and while the house itself is not mine, there are personal possessions and other scrolls which I need to organise. My parents will not be there and I doubt they will ever return from wherever they are, so there is no danger in collecting my trunk and being on my way.¡± He shrugged. ¡°I also promised Lila I would take her one day.¡± Riette nodded, finished securing her soldier¡¯s braid and sighed. ¡°I do not know Marbury very well,¡± she said, ¡°but if the Queen wishes me to travel beside you, I shall.¡± Lila knocked on the open door. ¡°I have the papers you requested, sir.¡± ¡°Perfect. Thank you, Lila.¡± Riette left, and Lila sat near Idris at the desk while he tidied the new documents into his chest. ¡°Sir Idris?¡± ¡°Hmm?¡± ¡°I thought all of your property belonged to the crown,¡± she said quietly. ¡°I did not know you¡­¡± ¡°There are items that are mine and mine alone,¡± he said, ¡°and I wish you to have them if I meet my untimely demise.¡± When she said nothing, he looked up, and was surprised to see that she looked upset. ¡°Dear me, Lila, it is merely precaution and a convenient excuse. Whatever is the matter?¡± But she shook her head and looked out at the veranda. ¡°Do I not have the right to divide my own property as I wish?¡± he said, walking over to her. ¡°Of course you do, I¡­¡± She blushed fiercely. ¡°It is right improper to be giving your things to me, sir. That¡¯s all.¡± ¡°Improper how?¡± ¡°I am¡­¡± ¡°You are,¡± he said, sitting on the chaise longue beside her, ¡°my friend. My friend who has taken excellent care of me and always been there for me.¡± ¡°And a commoner,¡± she said, as if he was being stupid. ¡°Oh, hush. There is nothing common about you at all.¡± ¡°I serve you.¡± ¡°You can leave at any time,¡± he said. At this, she pursed her lips and took a deep breath. Idris had tried to dismiss her several times ¨C it was uncomfortable business having a young female attendant, especially after his appointment to court ¨C and had made it clear that she was only beneath him in other people¡¯s eyes but that appearances had to be kept up. Every time he had placed a levy of dismissal into her hands, he had found it tucked in his desk or placed beneath his bed. ¡°People will talk,¡± she said tersely. ¡°People will talk whether I am dead or not. If it is not that I am secretly courting the Queen, it is that I am some depraved blood magician. You can handle a few malicious rumours, and I will be too dead to care.¡± ¡°I hate the way you talk about death, as if it means nothing,¡± she said. ¡°Bad habit, Lila. You know that.¡± He sighed. ¡°Mostly¡­ mostly my will ensures that I get the burial rites I choose, which does mean something. I will not leave behind a useful corpse for some other necromancer. If the worst happens to me, would you make sure I have a quiet little pyre somewhere pretty? That would make me very happy.¡± Lila brushed a tear aside and nodded quickly. ¡°I will.¡± ¡°Maybe here?¡± he said, looking out at the waterfalls. ¡°I would do that for you, sir.¡± ¡°I frightened you very much, didn¡¯t I? In Braemar?¡± he said softly. She nodded mutely. ¡°I am sorry.¡± ¡°I have seen you sick,¡± she said. ¡°I have never seen you that sick. Sometimes¡­ sometimes, in your fever, you woke and stared around as if you were totally blind, and¡­ and you cried for your uncle and tore at the sheets as if we were holding you hostage. Nothing could calm you, nothing would¡­¡± Idris took her shaking hand; she gripped his fingers fiercely and took a soothing breath. ¡°If I find this Dead Walker armour,¡± he said, ¡°it could be worse than that.¡± ¡°I know.¡± ¡°If¡­¡± He did not know how to ask, but he wanted to be plain. ¡°If you find me like that again, Lila, and the necrosis does not subside like it did last time¡­ you know how to give me a clean end, don¡¯t you?¡± Lila nodded again, held his hand with both of hers. ¡°And if it ever comes to pass that someone or something else has control of me,¡± he continued, ¡°you have to take my head clean off. It is the only way.¡± They were quiet for a while, sitting hand in hand on the edge of things. ¡°The waterwings are coming in for dinner,¡± Lila whispered. ¡°Did you ever get one to eat from your hand, like you wanted?¡± ¡°Dragons are willful,¡± said Idris. ¡°I do not think I will manage it tonight.¡± ¡°That means we have to come back one day and stay longer.¡± ¡°I think that would be very pleasant indeed, Lila.¡± Lila picked up the bowl of dried figs anyway, and she walked to the lip of the veranda and held out fruit until her arms were sore. Idris simply watched her, wondering how many more moments like this he had left. Chapter Six The county of Marbury sat nestled in forestland, and while Outer Arbedes actually marked the eastern edge of Cressida¡¯s kingdom it was considered less as real land and more like a thick, untouchable boundary line, as if the fae-controlled ruins were some cartographer-drawn curve that could not be crossed. Due to this and the density of the woodland, Braemar was the main entry for travellers coming from other counties and kingdoms. The route that Idris had marked on the map, however, took the carriage through the low hills and fresh-smelling trees of Marbury¡¯s Underwood, instead of back towards the arable land of the trade city. Technically, The Underwood was where Idris last had two feet. Part of Willard¡¯s studies was understanding the noble families of New Borria. Idris took the time in the carriage to give him the official family tree of the Eremonts, who had controlled Marbury for centuries. ¡°Why¡¯d they all leave, then?¡± said Willard. ¡°Opportunities. Eremont healers are considered some of the best in the world. My mother went to the Imperial Kingdom and my father followed. Uncle Haylan ¨C the last true heir of Temple Hill ¨C worked in many noble houses for many years as a travelling herbalist, although he knew aria healing, too, and was rather proficient at it. My great-grandfather Yanis Eremont actually worked in the palace, serving the Queen¡¯s great-grandmother.¡± Willard gave a low whistle, settled back in his chair. ¡°You got fancy blood, then,¡± he said. ¡°Coming from the son of a fae prince, Willard, I think that is a touch hypocritical.¡± ¡°What happens to Marbury with no Eremonts in it?¡± ¡°The lesser houses step up and caretake the villages and lands. House Meer and the Goldrivers, some others. My father, Obrin, was a Meer before he married my mother.¡± ¡°Lady Astridia Eremont,¡± Willard recalled. ¡°Correct.¡± ¡°Morning thistle and green boughs for Eremonts.¡± ¡°Something is sticking, at least,¡± said Idris mildly, his eyes wandering to the trees passing the carriage window. ¡°You should just choose a family name that you like,¡± said Willard, crossing his legs beneath him and moving the curtain so he could see the forest, too, ¡°and put those little water dragons on your crest.¡± ¡°There are no family names I like.¡± ¡°Make one up.¡± ¡°I am content with the name I have.¡± ¡°Feels fae-like for certain out there,¡± said Willard. ¡°Tingly in the wind.¡± He paused. ¡°Your folks must¡¯ve had dealings with the fae to live in a place like this.¡± ¡°The fae and the Eremonts keep to their sides of the line. The hunters had to be respectful, but the fae never bothered Temple Hill.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been having more and more bright dreams the closer we¡¯ve got.¡± The hedge witch tousled his loose hair. ¡°Hope I can use the songs here to get better at my casting.¡± ¡°I hope so,¡± said Idris. ¡°How¡¯re you going to start a-looking?¡± said Willard, turning back to him. ¡°Follow the death aria, probably. I know what the dagger felt like, and if I can find where it lay¡­ it should have some residual energy if it lay there for several hundred years. Then, I suppose we search for The Remaker. An invisible tower that cannot be breached.¡± Idris sighed. ¡°I do not know where to begin. We should start laying crystals as soon as we arrive.¡± ¡°Lady Riette is going to ask questions.¡± ¡°She is not an aria adept. We can make up anything and she will have to believe us.¡± ¡°You¡¯re fine with straight lying to her?¡± said Willard, raising an eyebrow. ¡°No,¡± said Idris, ¡°but I do what I must.¡± He knew the time they had in Marbury was dangerously limited. He was not going to get another opportunity like this, not sanctioned by the Queen at least. If Dravid was telling the truth, the secret to the Spirit Glass could be within the trees of his childhood. ¡°This is something else you have to learn about the nobility, Willard,¡± he said with a quiet sigh. ¡°Sometimes diplomacy is the same as dishonesty.¡± ¡°¡¯S¡¯not something I want to learn,¡± Willard said, frowning to himself. The ruins of Outer Arbedes were ten miles long and a mile deep. The first sign of the old temple complex was a series of crumbled pillars, moss-covered and forlorn, along the side of the road. Here, Riette stopped the carriage and looked in through the window. ¡°Are you sure about this, Sir Idris?¡± she said, her face troubled. Idris nodded. ¡°I am.¡± ¡°It¡¯s my fault, Lady Riette,¡± said Willard, smiling sheepishly. ¡°Ain¡¯t Idris¡¯s problem that I¡¯m a problem. I¡¯ll get out here, with you, and we can find a nice camping spot, aye?¡± ¡°Of course, Master Willard. I take it this means you are heading onward to Temple Hill?¡± she added to Idris, who nodded. ¡°Well¡­ I hope you find everything you are looking for there, Sir Idris.¡± ¡°I am sure I will.¡± He motioned to the bag beside Willard. ¡°Master Willard will be deploying some crystals, for protection. Will you mark their positions on a map? When I return, I want to collect and study the energy they have captured.¡± ¡°Certainly,¡± said Riette. ¡°Don¡¯t be long, ey?¡± said Willard, giving Idris a firm look. Idris smiled with more ease than he expected. ¡°I will hurry back. Documents are not as important as your progress.¡± Willard left the carriage and, with a sturdy tap from Riette¡¯s hand, the box began to move again. Idris sighed and closed his eyes. Spotty memories began drifting into his head. The Underwood¡¯s scent filled every pore. Was it really that long ago that he had smelled it every day? Every night as he lay down to sleep? It was as familiar as touch, as heartbeat. It was the most comforting smell he knew, the smell of the lands of his mother and her father and his¡­ He remembered it tinged with the edge of warm iron, of burning air. With a tearful breath, he opened his eyes, sniffed hard. Instinctively, he placed his hands on his right knee, reminded himself that nothing had changed. Everything had been different, back then, and it had no bearing on the life he had now. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. He could have chosen not to walk into The Underwood alone. He could have waited, like he was told to. Neither of those things would have made him a healer. In his blood, since he was born, he had been a necromancer. He just had not known it. Maybe it would have been another year, or two, but the fact remained: he was not a healer magician of House Eremont. Nothing could have given him that. If he had not walked into the trees alone, he would have hidden himself, ashamed, of the thing he was, instead of being celebrated in House Naga¡¯s court. He might have made a home in Marbury but it still would not have been Temple Hill and his parents still would not speak to him. This is better, he promised himself. This is the best way life could have been. He had mourned this place, this smell. He had pushed it far from his thoughts and built something new. I suppose this is what necromancers do, he thought, without any humour. Drag up the long dead. Encourage ghosts. This is merely a ghost I did not expect. The road turned away from Outer Arbedes and towards the complex at Temple Hill, at which point Idris closed the curtain and shut his eyes. The carriage trundled along for a while until, with no warning, Lila stopped the horse, came down, and sat opposite him in the carriage. ¡°Would you like to sit with me?¡± she said softly. ¡°To see it?¡± Idris shook his head. ¡°I would not, Lila. But thank you.¡± ¡°Would you like me to describe what I saw?¡± He nodded. ¡°I saw,¡± she said, with a thoughtful air, ¡°a village, not ten minutes ago. Filled with people. They were gardening, in huge houses made of yellow glass. The air smelled like¡­¡± ¡°Like poppies?¡± Idris said. ¡°Yes. Like poppies.¡± ¡°We are here, then.¡± ¡°I think we are, sir.¡± ¡°We are at the foot of a curving road,¡± he said, knowing it in his heart, ¡°lined with perfectly shaped cedars. From here, you can likely already see the raised platform where Temple Hill sits. The wall. The clematis.¡± Lila nodded, watching him carefully. Idris let out a long, tired breath and closed his eyes. ¡°Nobody has challenged you?¡± he said. ¡°Nobody.¡± She paused. ¡°There is a house, by the trees, and a woman is sitting outside of it. I think she wants to speak to whoever is inside the carriage.¡± ¡°She will be the groundskeeper.¡± ¡°I can tell her you¡¯re sick?¡± Lila offered, but Idris shook his head. ¡°I will speak to her.¡± Lila got out, opened the door wide and pulled the steps down. Idris took up his cane, swallowed the gummy taste in his mouth and descended, slowly. It was how he had described it ¨C the trees, the road, the peek through the branches at the low wall on the hill ¨C and there, to the left just before the road began to curl up the hill, was the comfortable little cottage that the groundskeeper lived in. Its tiled roof lied about its age, shown in the lichen on the white walls of the house and the haphazard state of the garden wall. The woman who sat outside the cottage hesitated, then she stood from her rocking chair and approached the wall. She wore the olive-green shawl of the Eremont herbalists wrapped around her shoulders and the comfortable work-robe that the rest of the garden cultivators wore, but she was speckled with dirt like she had recently completed the digging of a trench. Idris did not hail her. Instead, he walked slowly towards the cottage wall, his heart hammering. The closer he got, the more the woman seemed like she was about to fall down, until eventually she stammered, ¡°Master Idris, is that you?¡± ¡°Hello, Polly,¡± he said, attempting another smile and failing at this one. Polly opened the gate, hurried out and wrapped her arms around him, and he held her tight and buried his face in her shoulder. ¡°My father said you were dead,¡± she whispered. Idris sniffed hard, rocked her. ¡°Alive,¡± he said. ¡°Last time I checked, anyway.¡± Polly pulled away, looked him up and down, then, satisfied, clasped him in her arms again. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be,¡± she said tremulously, finally letting him go and smiling. ¡°Oh, I should bow, but ¨C¡° ¡°No, none of that.¡± Idris used the crook of his elbow to wipe his eyes. ¡°I¡­ Polly, nobody can know I am here, but I am glad to see you.¡± ¡°You were this high last time I saw you,¡± she said, putting her hand at her waist. ¡°I did not get much taller,¡± he said with a weak laugh. She looked across at the carriage, then at his coat. ¡°Are your parents coming home?¡± she guessed. ¡°I do not think so.¡± ¡°Are you?¡± He pursed his lips. ¡°Polly, everything is¡­ is so very complicated, but¡­ oh, how do I begin¡­¡± ¡°If you are not dead,¡± Polly said quietly, ¡°then¡­ the other rumour must be true.¡± Idris waited for that to sink in. The people of his mother¡¯s county had no idea what had happened to him, only that Haylan had ridden like a man possessed out of Marbury with his nephew tied to his back, and neither had returned. There must have been rumours. ¡°You are¡­ The Puppeteer?¡± she said, her eyes sad. ¡°That is what the soldiers call me,¡± he said quietly, ¡°yes.¡± Polly put a hand to her mouth, turned briefly. With a deep breath, she turned back, took his hands comfortingly. ¡°I am glad to see you well,¡± she said. ¡°Your father?¡± he said. ¡°He passed two summers back.¡± ¡°I am sorry, Polly.¡± ¡°So, I am the new groundskeeper of Temple Hill,¡± she said, with a small smile. ¡°I just finished turning over the mulch on the gardens up on the ridge. The house is clean, and ready. If you¡¯re staying ¨C¡° ¡°I am not. This is a passing visit and I am afraid it will be my last, too.¡± He frowned, looked up the road. ¡°I take it my parents are not home?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Good. Polly, would you be so kind as to ensure that my attendant and I are not disturbed? We will likely only be in the house for the afternoon. I need some paperwork. It would not do for anyone to see me here. My parents would be upset about it, I think.¡± He knew that everything he was saying was confusing to poor Polly, and he knew that if he even started to explain it would take too long and upset her too much, but to her credit, Polly composed herself and nodded amicably, and even leaned past him to wave at Lila. ¡°Hello, miss,¡± she called. Lila bowed. ¡°Good afternoon, lady.¡± ¡°Let me lead you up the hill,¡± said Polly, moving back towards the house. ¡°I¡¯ll bring old Coalfoot round.¡± ¡°That awful beast is still alive?¡± said Idris, frowning. ¡°Oh hush, Master Idris. Coalfoot is a gentleman.¡± ¡°A gentleman who almost killed me,¡± he said to Lila, who smiled. ¡°Come, Sir Idris,¡± she said. This time, he did climb up onto the driver¡¯s bench. Polly trotted beside them on Coalfoot, a curmudgeonly stallion who had never taken much stock in anyone but Polly, and the groundskeeper pointed out the improvements and maintenance she had been undertaking on the grounds of Temple Hill. The cedars were sentinels to stretches of wildflowers, but on the hill itself there were terraces of cultivated ground where the Eremonts tended to their morning thistle and dawn tubers. The stone lanterns had all been replaced but one set, the oldest set, up by the gate in the low wall which encircled the house itself. The left lantern still had the crude carvings that all of the children of House Eremont were encouraged to make ¨C their first crest. Idris could still see his, etched inexpertly beside the opening. Polly opened the gate so the carriage could come through. It rolled along the tiny pebbles of the courtyard and came to a stop beside the stables, and Idris finally tilted his head to look at his old home. Temple Hill was built between the pillars of the ancient healer temple that once sat there. The pillars shone bright white, still clinging to sections of their roof in parts. The house was designed to mimic the temples as much as possible. Imitation pillars staunchly propped up the roof of the long building, half-set into the walls like the house had been dropped through existing structures and melted against them. The clematis Idris¡¯s father had so hated had now taken over most of the bottom floor, clinging to the white-brick walls as if in everyone¡¯s absence it had claimed the real estate it had always wanted. The wide windows on the bottom floor had the shutters closed; the round windows in the top floor were bare and cracked open. Just beyond the courtyard were the private herb gardens of the Eremonts, where every morning Idris had watched the old groundskeeper collecting medicines into his basket. The aria bells on the posts of each corner of the wall sang the melodies of his dreams, sweet, clear healer arias, soothing to all. They made Idris¡¯s heart squeeze. Polly waited breathlessly beside Coalfoot, her hands behind her back, her face flushed. ¡°Is it¡­ to your liking?¡± she said. Idris nodded. ¡°Just how I left it,¡± he whispered. Nothing was different. The azalea bushes still bloomed. The steps to the front door still gleamed. All it was missing was his mother, tying Uncle Haylan¡¯s shawl around his waist, and his father brushing the horses for their tack. Lila held out a hand to help him down. Her touch was grounding; Idris gave her a grateful smile as he gathered up his cane again. Polly, pleased with his approval, unlocked the heavy iron doors on the front of the house and pushed them open. ¡°Take all the time you need, Master Idris,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll keep any curious villagers away.¡± ¡°Thank you, Polly. I will not forget this kindness,¡± he said. She smiled. ¡°Don¡¯t be silly,¡± she said. ¡°This is your home. You can come back any time you want.¡± She held out the keyring for Lila. Idris did not correct her. He smiled and she moved to give their horse water, and he and Lila stood on the steps of Temple Hill and looked into the cool, dim hallway. ¡°I¡¯m right here,¡± said Lila quietly, linking arms with him. ¡°Thank you, Lila.¡± They stepped over the threshold together. Chapter Seven The only surviving memory Idris had from the immediate aftermath of discovering that he was not a healer was of the entrance hall of the house. He remembered waking up from his faint, seeing the light on the tiles coming through the windows, hearing his uncle giving orders above him to healers that were rushing to and fro. Their shoes squeaked on the freshly washed floor as they grabbed towels and pitchers of water. Everything smelled of wild limes. His uncle¡¯s shawl, wrapped right around Idris¡¯s shivering arms, was soft and warm. The tiles did not smell like limes, this time, and the air was still and silent. The candles in the sconces were dark. The room seemed¡­ smaller. Lila rubbed his forearm soothingly, waiting for his next move. ¡°Where do we start?¡± she whispered. He turned his head to the right, to the room which was his bedroom. The door was open. ¡°My mother hated when I left the door open,¡± he said. ¡°It aired the room so nicely, though.¡± He unhooked his arm from Lila and wandered over to the doorway, peered in. The bed was made, with his spring blanket draped invitingly over the sheets, and the desk had the texts he had been studying tucked tidily into a pile in the corner. ¡°This is where you used to sleep?¡± said Lila. He nodded, gestured to the window. ¡°See the clematis?¡± ¡°I see it.¡± ¡°It is toxic. But¡­ but it has its uses.¡± Idris entered the room, cracked the window slightly. ¡°You can use it for headaches. The seeds, they can soothe burns.¡± He took in the view. There, the gardens. Beyond that, the wall. He could see into the village from there. ¡°We should plant some,¡± Lila said. ¡°We can take seeds home. I wonder if the Head Gardener could cultivate black ones for you?¡± Idris smiled softly, shook his head. ¡°The things I left here should stay here, Lila.¡± Slowly, he left the window, walked back out to the hall and tried to get his bearings. ¡°My father¡¯s study should be the first place we look,¡± he said, when Lila caught up. ¡°Uncle Haylan may have had some papers but I am sure my father kept everything to do with the estate, his work and our belongings. Failing that, there is a small library, and my mother¡¯s workroom.¡± ¡°What specifically are we looking for, sir?¡± said Lila. ¡°Anything that mentions me by name, or anything which indicates a visitor who would not give a full name or dwelling. If The Remaker lives near here, this is the only place he could get medical aid.¡± ¡°Then, I will start in your uncle¡¯s room, if you will point the way.¡± Uncle Haylan¡¯s suite sat on the first floor, above Idris¡¯s old room. They tried several keys before they found the correct one, and Lila passed him the ring so he could unlock his father¡¯s study. Idris crossed the tile, past the private parlour and the library, to the back of the house where his parents¡¯ suite covered the whole rear of the floor. The carved iron door still invoked a chill in his spine. As a child, an invitation to the Master Suite meant he was in trouble. The morning thistles on the handles were hard on Idris¡¯s palms as he gripped and pushed. Beyond, the room was dark. The attendants had draped the furniture with heavy cloths to protect it, in case the Eremonts ever returned to Temple Hill, giving the impression that the room was inhabited by several funerial shrouds. He remembered comfortable, golden-wood chairs and tables, handsome rugs, processional robes hanging on mannequins, but none of those things were recognisable. The tall windows that overlooked The Underwood had their embroidered curtains drawn closed. Idris moved past the dust sheets, through to the back corner of the room where the desk and a few cubby holes sat. Once he had gathered up the sheet, he began flicking through the scrolls and papers. Nothing but requisition orders unsent, receipts unsigned. Sucking his cheeks, he sighed and tried to focus himself. The will he had to write was only part of the problem. The second piece of information that eluded him was whether The Remaker even existed. Idris knew his family kept logbooks of treatments rendered and payments, so that if the patient ever returned they could check on their previous history with ease; the issue was how to determine where this man might be. The door to his father¡¯s study was beside the desk. Idris found the correct key, unlocked the door and entered. Once, he had been taken into the study. All he remembered about it were the shelves and shelves of triangular cubbies. The smell of old, untreated parchment made him sneeze as soon as the door opened, and he spent a minute drying his eyes before he ventured in. It was less a study and more a repository for anything and everything his father had to keep on paper. Luckily, there were labels on the cubbies. Idris walked the rows, checking the labels. Most of the papers were treatises on certain plants or seeds, reference diagrams of diseases and broken bones, books on aria stances and conducting the healer songs. Willard would have enjoyed rifling through the shelves, finding new flowers to make teas and mashes from; Idris wished he could take the collected knowledge off the parchment and stuff it into a box for the hedge witch to savour. Eventually, he came across a stack of square shelves which held a variety of shabby chests. Idris leant his cane against the wall, pulled one out; it was heavy and puffed a cloud of dust out when he set it on the floor. Inside were thirty blue-covered journals. Idris took the first, opened it to the middle. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. ¡®¡­ lesions along the inner thigh¡­¡¯ Treatment records. Idris put the first back, pulled another at random, checked the date printed on the first page. It looked like his father had kept them routinely, methodically, for several years, likely even before he had become an Eremont. But there must have been hundreds in the chests on the shelves. ¡°Black bells,¡± Idris whispered, staring at the task before him. He replaced the chest, took the one from the bottom shelf and looked in the final journal, scanning for his own name. Eventually, he found an entry, dated some weeks before his seventh birthday, where he was mentioned. ¡®Rash on both hands. Raised red lumps, pinprick sized. Patient (Idris Eremont) asked for description of activities in hour leading up to discovery of rash. I.E. claimed to have been foraging in the gardens. Described patch of red flowers, likely burning wort. Morning thistle paste applied. Patient was encouraged to feel for the aria to assist himself (adept) but I.E. claimed hands were too swollen and itchy to concentrate.¡¯ Idris set his jaw, placed the journal back. He assumed most of the entries about himself were the same, in some form. If The Remaker had visited Temple Hill, it would have been a relatively private meeting, Idris was certain of that. Maybe such entries did not exist in the study. Still, he found himself looking to the very top of the shelves, a place he would need a ladder to reach. He could not risk falling, so he stacked a few chests on the floor in a little staircase and climbed those, and he wedged his prosthetic foot inside one of the shelf cubbies to his right as he wriggled the top chest out of its home. It was dustier than the rest, and he coughed and sneezed as the particles sprinkled over his face. Eventually, though, he had his prize, and he carried it out of the cramped study, back into the main parlour. As soon as he flipped the lid, he knew he had found something secret. These journals were less well-read ¨C he could tell that by the lack of creasing on the spines ¨C and even the first entry was strange to Idris. ¡®Lord Eremont requested private consultation. Administered sleeping nettle. Performed blood extraction. Administered angel¡¯s salve.¡¯ ¡°Angel¡¯s salve?¡± Idris whispered to himself. ¡°Angel¡¯s salve is for¡­ for infections. Grandfather had an infection?¡± There were several entries for Lord Eremont, all with similar descriptions. He recalled his grandfather as a strong, terse man, not as a frail invalid with a recurring, serious illness. But every entry was short and precise in this way, never naming the patient¡¯s ailment, only describing the treatment, so that nothing could be discerned unless a trained healer read them. Then, some pages in, Idris felt his breath catch in his throat. ¡®Patient L.A.E. Administered moon¡¯s tea.¡¯ Moon¡¯s tea was for pregnant women. Why would his father write an entry about treating his own wife? Why would he write her name as Lady Astridia Eremont, instead of Astrid? Surely the pregnancy was not secret, that made no sense. Then, Idris noticed that there were ridges of paper that seemed to indicate torn out pages. He sat silent, on the floor of his parents¡¯ private parlour, fingers touching the torn edges. At first, he wondered if maybe the pregnancy was kept secret to stop Lord Eremont finding out. That would be understandable, if there had been no marriage, yet. But his father did not seem the type to be secretly wooing ladies from more prominent families than his own ¨C Obrin Eremont was always cautious, careful, well-spoken and well-behaved ¨C and besides, what did it matter if they married anyway? Idris did not remember being kept away from other families; he knew he had been loved, in his parents¡¯ own, quiet way. The only other alternative made his head spin. He took a long, steadying breath, told himself that it did not matter, but the question kept running through his brain. What if Obrin was not his father? Idris had guessed it, many times ¨C dreaded it, even. But there, in his hand, there was a thin line of proof. Why else would the preceding pages be removed? If his parents were not yet married, it would make sense for Obrin¡¯s journal to call her by her full, titled name when he treated her. It would make sense why he had to write it down in his secret medical journal. What if¡­? There were so many terrible conclusions to jump to that Idris felt exhausted. He imagined his poor mother, scared and sobbing, as his father (the man who had pretended to be his father) had comforted her and given her the tea and told her everything would be all right. He wondered what she must have been thinking. Maybe she asked Obrin to help her get rid of the pregnancy. Maybe she asked him to marry her to save her pride. Maybe Obrin stood before Lord Eremont and asked for Astridia¡¯s hand in marriage, knowing full well that if Eremont refused, Astridia¡¯s life was ruined. ¡°Sir Idris?¡± Idris tore himself from his spiralling terror, turned to the door. Lila was there, looking in. ¡°I found some papers,¡± she said. Then, ¡°You are as white as a milk worm, sir. Is everything¡­?¡± ¡°I¡­ yes,¡± said Idris, rousing himself. ¡°Yes. I am probably having a reaction to the dust. What did you find?¡± ¡°Some notes with your date of birth and general well-being. Your mother¡¯s, too. It seems your uncle wrote a lot about you, about your milestones and achievements. There are folders full.¡± ¡°Choose a chest from the study,¡± he said, getting up. ¡°Keep them in one of those. You can tip one out, if you wish.¡± ¡°I am going to move to the library,¡± she said, ¡°but¡­¡± She paused, frowned. ¡°There is a locked box in your uncle¡¯s room. It has your name on it. Well, not your name, but¡­¡± Idris clutched the journal, nodded. ¡°I will get it open. Thank you, Lila.¡± ¡°Nothing in here, sir?¡± ¡°Nothing of any importance.¡± ¡°The Remaker?¡± ¡°Not yet. But I fear that even if we had a week, we would not have time to go through all of my father¡¯s notes.¡± His voice caught oddly when he said ¡®my father¡¯s¡¯, as if it was a bad omen. ¡°I have not even started with my mother¡¯s.¡± ¡°It¡­ it is awful sad in this place, Sir Idris,¡± said Lila quietly. ¡°All dark and closed up like this. Do you think your mother and father will ever come back?¡± ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°If they were going to come back, they would have already.¡± ¡°Then what will happen to this house?¡± ¡°Another healer family will take it over. The Meers, maybe.¡± He shrugged. ¡°It hardly matters. It has been an empty shell for years.¡± ¡°I wish it could just be yours.¡± ¡°It cannot be. Even if it could be, I am not sure I would want it. I will go and open that box, Lila. If you need me¡­¡± ¡°Of course, sir.¡± He left the Master Suite, journal pressed to his chest, and walked quickly to his uncle¡¯s rooms. Lila had left them tidy enough. They were not dust-sheeted; like his own room, they were made up tidily as if the day Uncle Haylan left he had assumed he was returning. Idris stood, paralysed, in the doorway. Everything was so familiar. ¡°Be brave,¡± he told himself, and he stepped through. He passed the armchair where he and his uncle used to sit to read, and the pipe stand where Haylan used to lay his worst habit at night, and he looked right at something he had never seen before. It was a simple wooden box, with a keyhole on the front, varnished and carved with a single inscription. Master the Third Idris placed the journal softly on the desk beside the box, and he sat in Uncle Haylan¡¯s tall chair, and he gazed at the wooden lid, feeling numb and small. ¡°I am sorry, Uncle,¡± he whispered, took the box in both hands and slammed it against the edge of the desk. The first time, it did not open, but that was fine. Idris internalised the vibration, the pure simplicity of smashing something. It did not feel good, and it did not solve his fear, but there was release, like draining a cyst. With a small grunt, he bashed it again, and a third time, and a fourth, until at last, with a scream that burned his throat like a spell, the top of the box burst open and the contents spilled out onto the desk top. Gasping, teary, Idris reached out and picked up the first piece of paper. Dear nephew, it began. Chapter Eight Dear nephew, I do not know when I will give you this box. At this current hour, you are eight, and your parents are in the Imperial Kingdom, and you are mercifully fast asleep after a rather difficult day. Rest assured that whatever you find in here is yours alone, and has been shared with nobody else, and if ever you need to speak to somebody about its contents, I am an impartial and patient arbiter. Please, realise that while the information I am about to give to you is difficult and will likely change your life, it does not change this: your family loves you, and blood does not make the man. Firstly, the good news. You are an Eremont. You are the heir of Temple Hill. Everything that is here is yours, if you want it. If you do not want it, you do not have to feel guilty. I would understand that once you have digested this note, staying in Marbury might feel like a punishment or a judgement. Secondly, the bad news. You are not, unfortunately, a healer adept. I do not know what you hear, when you tell me you hear the songs and they help you sleep at night. It is not what I hear, or your mother, or your father. It is something else that will not rear its head, no matter how many times we attempt a casting or a stance together. The movements we have practised should, by now, have allowed you to at least heal yourself of minor cuts and scrapes, but alas, there is nothing. Sometimes, when I place the bells beside you, the music I hear¡­ it is not the music of the Eremonts, or the Meers. It is yours, though. And whatever it is, it cannot be changed by will alone. Perhaps by the time you read this, none of this is news. I expect that when the time is right to present this box to you, it will be after whatever you are is revealed to us. Whatever happens ¨C or, to you, happened ¨C that day, it does not change that you are my nephew and that I love you. It may change how you feel about yourself. None of this is your fault, Idris. Your mother would rather I did not write this and that I had not collected these scraps. Likely, your father will be relieved. He is a good and kind man, and he raised you well, despite it all. But he is not a brave man. If he could tell you this, I am sure he would have already done so. We have spoken many times about what that conversation might be like, but I fear it will never happen. Here it is, then. You are not Obrin Meer¡¯s son. Idris increased his grip on the paper until the words creased and ate themselves, and he closed his eyes tight and wished he could unread what he had read. Instead, he cried, and he felt, to his shame, relief. ¡°Thank you, Uncle,¡± he whispered. ¡°Thank you, thank you.¡± When he had collected his wits again and had stopped crying enough to be able to read again, he smoothed out the paper and continued. Your father ¨C your blood father, mind, not the man who raised you and loves you ¨C is a man I do not truly know. I remember him, but his family name was never imparted to me and his visit here was brief and confusing. Regardless, I will recount what I remember, in the hopes that someday, you may be able to find him. I repeat, though ¨C this man is not your father. Not in the true sense. He did what all animals do and created a life. That part is not difficult. Flowers can reproduce. Worms and birds and fish can conceive children. The difficult part, your true father, Obrin, did. He stepped forwards and he cared for you and your mother. He nursed you when you were sick and he was the first person to see you walk, to hold you once you were born. He loves you so keenly that the knowledge of your blood father likely gives him sleepless, rage-filled nights, as it does me. Do not ever doubt him. Please do not be angry with him. He has done all he could do. Before Obrin was married to your mother, he was a healer here at Temple Hill. As the first son of one of the healer families, he was sworn to the care of your grandfather and mother as a live-in healer. He was always rather sweet on my sister and I long expected they were talking about marriage and having a family before this happened. My sister ¨C your mother ¨C is a particularly skilled magician, and as such she often visited other noble houses to treat their kin and was sought out by visitors to Temple Hill. She was also, to my sincere sorrow, rather na?ve. Men would woo her with as little as a smile and a kind word. She was not promiscuous, mind, but she fell in and out of love like the seasons. Perhaps she enjoyed the attention, or the freedom. Whatever it was, she grew out of it rather quickly once that spring rolled in. A man arrived here, complaining of a terrible cough. It was terrible ¨C it rattled and was ever so persistent ¨C and I was surprised that he had managed to ride here with the affliction. Your mother ushered him into the nobles¡¯ suites and spent some time administering medicines to him, and he stayed with us for two weeks while the symptoms cleared. I tended to him, once or twice. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. There was something about him, Idris, which felt¡­ strange. He did not behave in a rude or uncouth manner, or make odd conversation, or do anything awful of any sort. Truthfully, he was pleasant to be around and he told the most fantastical stories, with a soft, almost timid voice. He was, in fact, rather handsome, if pale, with straw-coloured hair and grey-green eyes. There was a birthmark that was curious, just under his left ear, shaped a little like a wolf¡¯s tooth. I say this so that if you look, you have some identifying features. But when I sat with him, I felt like somehow all of this was a bizarre game to him. As if he was ten steps ahead of every other sentient creature in the county, like he could see what was going to happen next and we were all dancing to his particular tune. It made me uncomfortable but I could not explain why. I thought maybe he was not a noble, like he claimed to be, and he was perhaps a charlatan trying to see if there was anything worth looting in the village, but Astrid claimed he was just a recluse and unused to company. Regardless, I allowed Astrid to continue his treatment. I did not like to be around him. That was likely a mistake on my part. Not three weeks after he left, your mother found out that she was pregnant. I believe Obrin when he tells me that he had not lain with your mother before then. He has no reason to lie about this. I also do not think that your conception was without consent. If your mother had been harmed, she would have told us immediately. She was na?ve but not stupid. She knows the difference between right and wrong. Obrin did the right thing and he married Astrid as soon as they found out. Our father was pleased and never knew the truth. I almost never knew the truth. They were so very careful about the information I have here. Shamefully, I discovered everything over the course of years and by prying into things I should never have looked at. Your mother has never told me for sure and if asked, she says you are an Eremont and that is that. You look like an Eremont. That helps, I presume. She is probably ashamed. Denial is easier than the truth. But there is no denying that you have not presented any healer magic, ever, and I do not think you ever will. Idris ¨C there is no mathematical way that you could be Obrin¡¯s son. When your blood father left us, he rode towards Outer Arbedes. I have looked for him in recent years in the surrounding villages and never seen him. I will not set foot in the ruins, and I believe that if he intends to stay hidden that he counts on that particular statement to protect himself. He told us his name was Layton but I have neither heard of nor met a man named Layton before or since. If you need further proof, find enclosed your father¡¯s personal journal notes of Layton¡¯s time with us, dated (and torn from his private writings, which I am not proud of). Please also find enclosed your father¡¯s own testimony about how no further pregnancies occurred during their marriage, even though they tried to provide you with a brother or sister; he believes he is infertile. That is all, I think. Tomorrow, I will wake you for breakfast, and we will have fruit and fresh bread, and we will tend the gardens like always. I will show you which herbs are going to make the anti-inflammatory paste that we will simmer in the afternoon, and when the day is over, I will read to you and you will sleep soundly once more. Nothing will change, Idris. Nothing that has happened before you read this letter was out of pity or duty. We did it all because we love you. And we will continue to love you, and walk with you, and teach you, until the day we are too old to do those things anymore. I have known who you are since you were four years old. It has not altered my opinion of you or your mother in any way. I know you will be reading this in the future and you will have questions. I will answer them. If we dined together before you read this, we will dine together again the day after. I will not hide from this, nor from you. I am not going to leave you, Idris. You are my nephew, my family. I love you, regardless of who your blood father may or may not be. Whatever magic you create, it will be yours, and I will be proud of it. All of my love, Master the Second (your uncle, Haylan Eremont) Idris sobbed into his hands. He stamped his single, real foot hard, repeatedly, into the floor until he was sure he was going to break the tile, and then he sat, with his head in the crooks of his elbows, for what felt like days. Uncle Haylan always knew. He knew, when he came into The Underwood that day, that if Idris had tried to heal himself, he was going to fail. He knew when he petitioned King Gael for aid. He knew when Idris had asked him, timidly, what a necromancer even was, and why the arias had punished him for not doing what he was told. And yet¡­ He had stayed. ¡°Sir Idris, are you -?¡± Lila did not finish her sentence, though. Idris lifted his head, pressed the balls of his hands into his eyes. ¡°I am a bastard, Lila,¡± he whispered. ¡°What do you mean? What happened?¡± ¡°Obrin Eremont is not my father,¡± he said, and when it came out it hurt, even though he always intrinsically knew, even though it was true. He started crying again. Lila dragged the big armchair across the floor and sat beside him, and she put her hand on his back and rubbed his shoulders comfortingly. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± she whispered, over and over. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter, Idris.¡± It did not matter, not really. But he wished so desperately that the box had not sat there, untouched, for years. He wished that Uncle Haylan had sat him down, said it all out loud. The shame he had grown up with, the bitter disappointment, need not have stooped his shoulders, softened his voice. He might have been different had his uncle been able to explain. ¡°Please don¡¯t tell anyone,¡± he said to Lila. ¡°I won¡¯t say a word.¡± ¡°We¡¯re done.¡± He sat up, dried his eyes. ¡°I have everything I need.¡± ¡°You¡¯re certain?¡± she said, and he nodded. ¡°I know where to find our answers. It is not here.¡± He scooped the papers back into the broken box, placed the journal inside, too. ¡°We need to be in Outer Arbedes.¡± They said goodbye to Polly at the door of Temple Hill, apologised for the mess they had left. In the back of the carriage, with the chest of documents at his feet, Idris cried until his eyes were sore. Chapter Nine Framed by the dark, brooding cliffs of Outer Arbedes, Willard the hedge witch became Willard the fae princeling. With his curls atop his head and his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, he created light. Idris watched him for an hour while the sun set. He did not speak. Willard likely did not know he was there, but he shifted his stances fluidly, eyes closed, his arms golden. It was as if Willard had discovered magic, somehow. It was nothing like what Idris did, or the Queen. It felt to Idris as if he had been playing at arias the whole time, and he was now witnessing a master conducting the orchestras he thought he knew. I cannot teach him a thing, Idris thought. Eventually, his brow damp with sweat and his arms shaking, Willard opened his eyes, blew out the last notes of the aria and watched the light fade from his outstretched fingers. He looked just as surprised as Idris was. ¡°How does it feel?¡± Idris asked softly. The tall, decaying walls of the ruins dampened his voice. ¡°Like¡­ I dunno, Idris,¡± Willard said. ¡°How long you been here, anyways?¡± ¡°A while. You looked happy. I did not want to disturb you.¡± ¡°How¡¯d my stances look?¡± ¡°Fine.¡± Willard¡¯s shoulders dropped and he looked carefully at Idris. ¡°You well?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± Idris cleared his throat, tried to clear his thoughts. ¡°I think you should move to the intermediate hand positions. The arias here are good for you.¡± ¡°Your face is all puffy,¡± said Willard. ¡°I expect it is, yes. Temple Hill was dusty.¡± Willard came over to sit beside him on the fallen doorframe. ¡°I put the crystals down, like you asked. Lady Riette has the map. What¡¯re you hoping to find out here?¡± ¡°I¡­ I am almost certain that The Remaker¡¯s invisible tower is out here.¡± ¡°But what¡¯re you gonna do when you find him?¡± said Willard. ¡°Ask him for directions to the armour? I dunno if he¡¯d give ¡®em.¡± ¡°I honestly have not thought that far.¡± Ask him why he did it, Idris thought furiously, holding the tears back. Ask him why he chose my mother. ¡°Willard,¡± he said, ¡°have you forgiven your father?¡± Willard blinked; his round face worked through a few conflicting emotions. ¡°I ain¡¯t had a proper chance to talk to him,¡± he said. ¡°I¡­ I think I weren¡¯t ever properly cross with him. Maybe only a little. I don¡¯t know what goes on in fae princes¡¯ heads, y¡¯know? I do think he loved me mam. I think in a roundabout way, he loves me, too. Why¡¯d you ask?¡± Idris shook his head. Voicing anything he thought he understood right now would cause fresh tears, and he did not want to cry anymore. Now, he was angry. He was angry that he had been created by a creature who did not care about him, who did not care about his mother, who did not worry what he wrought on others. If Layton was The Remaker, like Idris thought, then there was only one thing ¡®remaker¡¯ could mean, and that was that Layton was a necromancer. But the leaps of logic still made Idris¡¯s head hurt, so he tried to bury them beneath his task, beneath his duty, beneath everything else. ¡°Maybe I can ask him, here,¡± said Willard, looking around them at the navy night, the towering ancient buildings. ¡°Things are right fuzzy ¡®round the edges, here.¡± ¡°The death aria here is strong, too,¡± Idris said. ¡°I bet. Idris¡­ you sure everything is fine?¡± said Willard. ¡°You don¡¯t sound like yourself.¡± ¡°I¡­¡± Idris did not know how to explain everything. ¡°It was a difficult day,¡± he said. ¡°Lady Riette is clearing up the camp. I told her we should move to where the strongest accumulation of aria energy is, so we should start looking for the crystals soon.¡± ¡°Aye.¡± Willard stood, pulled his sleeves down. ¡°S¡¯nearly night, though.¡± ¡°I do not think I will sleep well here, Willard. I can work through the night.¡± Riette and Lila emerged from the shadows with the tent and supplies they had taken from the carriage. Willard instantly offered to carry the bindle, and Riette sat beside Idris and showed him the map they had drawn. ¡°Willard placed crystals within the mile,¡± she said. ¡°I think he used them all.¡± ¡°Good. Thank you. We should get moving.¡± Outer Arbedes was forbidding even in the daylight, on account of most of the ruins still being covered by stubborn ceilings and second floors that refused to rot away. At night, the moonlight was split by giant geometric statues, old awning struts that once shielded the buildings from the rain. The shadows clawed. The buildings were huge, as if giants had lived there, with doors that ran taller than the royal ballroom and hunks of foundations larger than Willard¡¯s hut. Fae glitter burst in odd corners, warning them away from protected spaces. Willard walked ahead, singing fae songs to warn his kin of invaders. Occasionally, the broken flagstones tried to trip Idris; he had been walking all day and his prosthetic was starting to feel cumbersome. Even though no aria bells hung to sing the songs of the magic that dwelt there still, Idris felt them thicken the air like soup. In his bones, there was the death aria. It sung to him from the marrow, flushing through his blood; it was difficult to hear anything over the low, mournful notes that only played for him. It was the first time he had felt the aria since Braemar, at least this strongly, and immediately he felt nauseated by its resurgence, as if with every crest and swell it was tossing him across an unkind sea. The first crystal glowed golden, filled with fae energy. Idris instructed Willard in the correct way to store it, now it was full, in the lead-lined trunk, and Willard shut it away. ¡°We are deeper in this place than I want to be,¡± said Riette, after Willard had grabbed the second golden crystal. ¡°Are we safe, sir?¡± said Lila quietly. ¡°The arias themselves cannot hurt you,¡± said Idris, trying to speak quietly, aware that the noise in his head did not translate to noise outside of it. ¡°The fae?¡± said Riette. Willard shook his head. ¡°Nah. Fae don¡¯t want to fight us. They just want to be left alone. We respect ¡®em, they¡¯ll respect us.¡± They had not reached the third crystal when Idris felt it. It was a tingle that the death aria did not normally produce but that he was intimately familiar with, but oddly, he felt it only in the scar on his shoulder. ¡°Here,¡± he said. ¡°We can camp here.¡± Everyone stopped, looked at him. ¡°It is rather exposed here,¡± said Riette, glancing upwards. They were in some sort of courtyard, with a deep pit in the centre where there may have been a pool or fountain, once-upon-a-time, and now only contained rotting leaves and curling roots from ambitious trees. ¡°We have not collected the crystals, yet.¡± ¡°We should not go too far from the carriage,¡± said Idris. ¡°This is a good, central point.¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± Riette sighed, lowered her pack. ¡°There, perhaps? In that building?¡± At the edge of the courtyard was something that looked like it was a warehouse, once. Idris nodded. As Willard and Riette set off to put up the tent, Lila gripped Idris¡¯s arm. ¡°Are you well?¡± she said, her eyes troubled. ¡°It will pass. Nausea.¡± Idris spat. ¡°Many people died here. I am out of practice.¡± ¡°It has been a trying day, regardless,¡± said Lila, assisting him across the broken stones. ¡°You should rest, sir.¡± He shook his head. ¡°There is work to do.¡± Their small camp was a puddle of homeliness in an unforgiving place. Riette lit a fire and they shared the food they had brought from The Silk House. Willard left out a plate for the fae, near the old pool, and reminded everyone how to appease the invisible spirits. Idris sat mute, filled with everything. Every strange shadow and cool chill of night air made the death arias bulge in his chest. He felt cruelly gripped, like he was on the edge of a deep pit and below, all that waited was a fall into forever. ¡°Sir Idris should retire,¡± said Riette eventually, her eyes stern. It was the first thing he had truly heard for an hour. He blinked, glanced up at his companions. ¡°I will not sleep,¡± he said. ¡°Not even if I am dog tired. The arias are¡­ invasive, tonight. I ¨C¡° He dry heaved, gripped his stone seat hard. Lila immediately stood and grabbed the water skin. ¡°No,¡± Idris said, holding up a hand, his head suddenly spinning, his scar throbbing. ¡°No, I¡­ let me¡­ just excuse me, for a moment, please.¡± He got up shakily, hobbled out of the camp and back into the courtyard, and when his legs failed him he simply fell to his knees and let the aria work through him. It tore through his windpipe, pounded in his skull, and then, suddenly, he vomited onto the broken stonework. Once his stomach was empty, he wiped his mouth and eyes, felt the clamminess of his own forehead. Whatever had left him was black and tarry. He spat, but there was no more. Now it was gone, though, his head felt clearer. He wondered if it was something the Spirit Dagger had left behind in him, some fae poison he did not know of. His mouth tasted bitter, but not in the usual way ¨C like he had drunk fermented, salty wine. The scar still fizzed on his shoulder. Have I been holding onto that poison since Braemar? ¡°Sir Idris?¡± said Lila quietly. ¡°I will take that water now,¡± he said, his voice weak. ¡°Was it¡­ the regular kind?¡± Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. ¡°No. The irregular kind.¡± ¡°I thought all of that was gone.¡± ¡°I think it is all gone now.¡± He took the skin, sipped the water. ¡°I should have purged back in Veridia. The healers should have¡­ anyway, that does not matter. I am not qualified to tell real healers what to do.¡± ¡°There is wine, if you need to cut off from the aria, sir.¡± ¡°No.¡± He sniffed, tried to get back to his feet. Lila slid her arm under his armpit and shouldered his weight. ¡°Thank you, Lila. No, I¡­ I need to feel it, else I will not find him.¡± ¡°You can find him in the morning ¨C¡° ¡°I will not. I will do it tonight.¡± ¡°I will not presume to tell you what to do, sir,¡± she started. ¡°Then don¡¯t,¡± said Idris firmly. Lila pursed her lips and said nothing. He did not speak to his companions when he returned. Instead, he went to his tent, closed the flap and made plenty of noise as he took off his fake foot, so they knew he intended to sleep. When he was done and the stump was medicated and soothed, he lay in his cot bed, flat on his back, and he stared at the canvas until it blurred. Nothing mattered. Not the pain in his right leg, in his hip and knee and stump, not the lump of tears in his throat that would not go, not the headache, not the queasiness. He could scream and sob and tear the tent down and it would mean nothing. He had asked his uncle, years ago, why the arias had punished him. The look on Haylan¡¯s face, then, was a look that haunted Idris for years. The idea that his aptitude was a punishment was abhorrent to Uncle Haylan. ¡°There is a lot of good a necromancer can do, Idris,¡± he had said. What good? Idris raised dead soldiers to fight wars and was shunned for it. He replaced workers that had fallen in the Queen¡¯s battles and acted like that was enough. He interrogated criminals. He frightened people. Most days, he frightened himself. And it was good? ¡°Blood cannot be evil,¡± said Uncle Haylan, once. ¡°It merely gives us the tools to choose.¡± The Remaker, then, he chose. He chose to give Dravid Orrost the Spirit Dagger, or at least the location of it. He chose to make another awful thing like himself, leave it somewhere in the kingdom to fend for itself, to wonder and self-loathe and be alone. I will burn his tower to cinders, Idris thought, clenching his jaw so hard that he could hardly breathe. With him inside. The rage was worse than the aria, but they fed each other until Idris¡¯s gut churned and the tent span. At last, he got up, collected his crutches and coat, filled his pockets and ventured back out of the tent. He needed air, or he needed his answers. Either would be fine. It was black dark; Willard sat, hunched, by the fire. ¡°Idris,¡± he said, turning. ¡°No sleep?¡± ¡°Not yet.¡± Idris limped past. ¡°I still feel dreadful. I will wander awhile so I do not disturb you with my retching.¡± ¡°Well, lemme come with,¡± said Willard. ¡°No. I cannot go far,¡± said Idris, lifting a crutch. ¡°I will return.¡± ¡°Aye.¡± The hedge witch settled back down. ¡°Shout if you need me, ¡®ey?¡± ¡°I will.¡± Idris propelled himself across the courtyard and, once he was certain that Willard could not see him anymore, he slid into the shadows and further into the ruins. He did not much care if he wandered into a fairy circle or bumped into something dire out there. Mostly, he wanted to be alone. Willard would advise him against facing The Remaker on his own, or else he would alert Riette; it was better to do it quickly and be done with the whole sorry mess. The throbbing in his shoulder that tingled and tugged at him reminded him about the Spirit Glass; the callouses on his hands burned against the crutches. The shadows and the structures enveloped him. The mead halls and entryways of the past dragged him through. After a while, he saw the next crystal. He forced his body over to it, knelt. The crystal was warm to the touch, less golden than the others. There was a formless, grey smoke curling inside, too. Were there places in Outer Arbedes that even the fae would not go? If that was true, he might be closer than he thought. Idris rested for a moment, leaning against the foot of some long-gone statue. If he closed his eyes, the death arias swept past him like a warm breath. He tried to hum one, but as always, the melody did not work in a human mouth. The further he went, the worse his shoulder hurt. He did not bring the map, so he assumed he was way off the trail of the remaining crystals, but it no longer mattered. If he was lost in the ruins, then he was lost. Perhaps The Remaker would take pity on him and save him. He kept placing his crutches down, swinging forwards, placing his foot, placing his crutches. The sounds of owls and rats stopped worrying him. A place like this was a necromancer¡¯s domain. Eventually, exhausted and sweaty, he turned his head and saw a doorway, smaller than the rest. The roots that had grown over it had been cleaved with something ¨C probably a sword ¨C and inside there was a lantern, unlit. Dravid, Idris thought. He used his left crutch to brace and ducked his head, and blinked for a moment to get used to the darkness in the new room. The lantern was not as old as the rest of Outer Arbedes and there were clear tracks through the hall. Idris¡¯s shoulder felt like it was bleeding acid and the searing pain in the middle of his head would not go. He moved slowly, gently. It did not take long before he saw what he thought was the Spirit Dagger¡¯s eventual resting place. The room was shaped in a pentagon, with a low ceiling and a raised walkway to approach the centre, where a stone bier sat with a skeleton laid on top. Candelabra and funerial vases sat around it but those were long ago rendered useless. The skeleton had its hands crossed on its chest. Idris resisted the temptation to investigate the death aria further ¨C he did not know if he was well enough to be doing necromancy, yet ¨C and instead looked up at the carved tableau in the rock behind the skeleton. The scenes were eroded and faint, covered in cobwebs; it was difficult to tell what was intentional and what was not. Still, there was an image that Idris knew he had read about, before. A man, with a skull for a head, taking off a helm. Idris took a deep breath, glanced at the bones on the bier. Was this the last man to use the Dead Walker armour? And why was he here? He propped his left crutch against the bier, lifted his hand, and immediately felt a wave of pure, unadulterated death aria, blasting in his head like a full orchestra had crammed into the funeral room with him. He gasped, clenched his fist and stared at the bones, and he felt the energy wafting from them, an updraft of magical energy. ¡°A necromancer?¡± he whispered, unable to think without speaking. ¡°Are you¡­ one of¡­¡± He took the crutch again, breathed hard. If he had the strength to dive, to conduct, he would find out what had killed this man, how long ago, and how painful it must have been, but he had no strength and no will to do so. The skeleton on the bier was him. It was some errant necromancer who had wandered too deep into powerful things he knew nothing about. If he had wielded the Spirit Glass, it had killed him. He did not need magic to tell him that. Idris left the parlour, shivering and disoriented. For a few more minutes, he kept going only because it was something to do, because the aria demanded it. Then, not knowing why, he stopped, and he breathed slowly and clearly for what felt like the first time in hours. ¡°I need to get a grip on myself,¡± he whispered, pinching the bridge of his nose, feeling the bump. ¡°Where am I, now?¡± He gazed up, into the cracked rafters and crenelations of the old ruins. It looked like some sort of garrison. Skeletons of ballistae struts were abandoned on towers. The paving beneath his crutches was neat, even if it was decaying. The aria here felt¡­ different. It was still a death aria. Most death arias were low, mournful, trudging along on their own without any sense of purpose or direction. This one felt¡­ crafted. Idris was not sure if ¡®personalised¡¯ was the right word. If he listened hard, he thought he might be able to understand it. ¡°Protection?¡± he murmured. ¡°Or¡­ no, not protection¡­¡± He limped a little further, towards what looked like a breach in the wall, except several feet taller than he was and only wide enough for two men. The aria continued, controlled and serene. ¡°Warding,¡± he said. ¡°A curtain. This is¡­ this is a death curtain.¡± He had read about death curtains and never had the need to make one for himself. In theory, the curtain kept out other necromantic energy, meaning that other people¡¯s thralls could not pass the line. He wondered how far it extended and how deep it was. Carefully, he knelt, laid down his crutch. ¡°Maybe¡­¡± he whispered, and he loosened his shoulders and took a deep, cool breath, right into his stomach. The sheer power that surged through him was alarming, at first. When the arias were as strong as this, it was usually best to work in pairs, but he had never had that luxury. Instead, he breathed again, deeper, longer, letting the beats and the melody untangle themselves in the hollow chamber of his body. The key was concentration. He kept his eyes open ¨C he wanted to see the hole in the wall ¨C and picked up on a recurring motif in the aria. Arias did not usually repeat. They went on and on but they did not have themes or direction. A cluster of notes that returned, bar after bar, meant manipulation. The tune, though, was unfamiliar, something Idris had never conducted himself. In the state he was in, emotionally and physically, a Nexus of Control would be impossible, and besides, the last time he had managed it, it had almost broken him. Instead, Idris wondered if he could simply unravel the tune. If he could latch onto the spell, follow it, let it move him, then surely he could dislodge it, just a little, just enough. Gently, he opened his mouth and he sang the tune. This time, the stilted humming did not appear. The true, sad sounds of the aria pushed, burning, through his lips. Idris kept singing the same refrain, over and over. The sweat on his brow and in the small of his back was familiar. He raised his right hand, made a pentagon with his fingers, his palm up. He knew the melody. Now, to sing it out of tune. ¡°Loose,¡± he whispered. The sound that exited him was not his own voice, nor any word perceptible to human ears. He pinched his fingers together and pulled, like tugging on an invisible string. In the wall, there was a chink of light. Then, as he opened his mouth to widen the hole, there was a fierce, startling pinch on the top of his ear. He gasped. The aria, monstrous, shoved itself out of his skin, causing a ripple in the air that skittered stones away and left him choking. Lila slapped him clean across the face. Idris gripped his cheek, stared stunned at her. ¡°Black bells, Lila,¡± he said. ¡°Oh, black bells yourself, sir,¡± she said. ¡°What are you doing? Why are you out here in the dead of night? Don¡¯t you know we¡¯ve been looking for you?¡± He did not. He swallowed, trembling, cold suddenly. ¡°I know where the tower is,¡± he said. She said nothing. She knelt in front of him, jaw hard, eyes shining. Idris weakly gestured to the wall. ¡°Beyond there. Invisible to the naked eye. A death curtain. I¡­ Lila¡­¡± He felt terrible for what he was going to say and do next, but he did it anyway. He took her hands. ¡°Lila, I must go alone.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t do this,¡± she said, her voice tearful. ¡°My father ¨C my blood father ¨C he is inside. I know it. But Willard and Riette, they cannot know it. I have to know. I¡­ I have to ask him.¡± ¡°The Spirit Glass ¨C¡° ¡°When I return, which I undoubtedly will,¡± he added, seeing the fear in her eyes, ¡°I will know where it is. This is not about the Spirit Glass. You understand that.¡± Slowly, she nodded. ¡°I¡­ here.¡± He rummaged in his pocket. There, still, was the scrying water. ¡°Take this. If you go more than two full days without hearing from me, you call the Queen. It will respond when you tip it into a cup or a bowl.¡± Lila gripped the vial, frowning. ¡°Hear from you?¡± ¡°I will not be able to come out once I am in, not until I have done what I mean to,¡± he said. The next item he produced was a small bag of knuckle bones. He often used them for practice, to work on form and function of arias, and had kept them on his person for years. Realistically, he should have replaced them several times, but they were one of the final gifts that Uncle Haylan had ever given him. ¡°If this rattles,¡± he said, pressing the bag into her hand, ¡°that is me. I am¡­ rather attuned to the contents, probably ridiculously so. Keep it against your heart. If you do not feel this rattle once a day, then I am in danger.¡± She nodded. ¡°What are you going to do when you find him?¡± Idris sighed. ¡°I¡­ I do not know, Lila. But this could be my only chance. It will look like¡­ treason, I assume. But know this: I hate that man, Lila. I have never hated anything or anyone. Not like this. I hate him. I hate what he did and what he took from me and my family. There is nothing he can offer me.¡± ¡°You are acting on impulse, it does not have to be like this ¨C¡° she said, but he shook his head. ¡°You are hurting. I understand. But¡­¡± ¡°Even if you do not agree with what I am about to do,¡± he said, ¡°you cannot follow me. The curtain will not let you.¡± Lila said nothing. Idris got up, taking only a single crutch. Already, he could hear Willard calling, ¡°Idris?¡± There were lanterns, too. To her credit, Lila did not stop him. He limped on, to the hole in the curtain, and he used his free hand to slide his fingers inside the gap. The curtain was hot, like everything to do with necromantic energy, but not unpleasant. Idris pushed and it gave, tearing itself upwards as he pushed. He heard the notes drop, as if a cat was walking down a piano¡¯s keys. Without looking back, he stepped beyond the curtain and let it close behind him. It was black dark in the gap. He turned and was surprised to learn that he could see through the curtain, back out into the world beyond, without it being disturbed. Lila picked herself up off the cobbles, took the crutch off the floor and gathered herself, tucking the bone bag into her shirt. ¡°Sir Idris?¡± cried Riette, from some way off. Beyond the curtain, her voice sounded like Idris was hearing it from underwater. Willard appeared, with a torch in hand. When he saw the crutch, he seemed troubled. ¡°Miss Lila ¨C¡° ¡°He cannot go far with only one,¡± she said, her voice shaking. ¡°But I do not know where he was heading.¡± ¡°Nothing else?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°¡¯Ey now, Miss Lila, we¡¯re gonna find him,¡± Willard said reassuringly, putting a hand on her shoulder. Lila nodded, closed her eyes. ¡°Like you said, he can¡¯t go far. Why, he left all his books, he¡¯ll be bored silly.¡± She laughed once, then put a hand on her mouth. The sadness was not feigned. Idris watched with guilt icing the sweat on his back. Willard rubbed her back. ¡°I¡¯ll go on to the other crystal, you keep going. Aye?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Lady Riette!¡± he shouted, walking away. Lila looked once at the gap in the wall where the curtain sat. Idris breathed the aria, wiggled his fingers. She blinked, touched the spot in her shirt where the bag of bones sat. ¡°I¡¯ll keep them off the trail,¡± she whispered. ¡°You do what you must, Sir Idris.¡± He took that as consent, and he started to walk. Chapter Ten The hallway had torches in sconces that Idris would have lit, had he been carrying flints or a spark stick. He trailed his free hand on the wall and trusted the ground under his single foot. The death aria was not gone, but it felt less insistent, more like background noise than anything else. The gaps between brick and cement under his fingertips were wide. Whatever the hallway led to, it was going to be large. At the end of the hall, he could see a gentle, orange haze. Idris took the hand from the wall, placed it instead on the hilt of his grandfather¡¯s stiletto dagger inside his coat. He was not going to be surprised. It was slow going, with only one crutch. By the time he reached the light, he was too tired to go much further. The torchlight flickered, illuminating a deep staircase, with a rail, that jutted out at an angle, then tucked itself inwards. Idris frowned. Another pentagon. To his left, however, was an entryway into some kind of waiting area. A series of chairs settled around a low table, in front of a roaring fireplace. It was large, with a low ceiling ¨C larger than Idris¡¯s rooms in the palace. Carefully, Idris took the stairs. The rail was stone; he was forced to let go of the dagger to use it, which he loathed. Everything was eerily quiet. There were no windows in the staircase wall, only more torches, their lights pooling on the black bricks. On the next floor was a dining hall, the table long enough to seat ten, with a runner decorated with ravens and silver pentagons. The floor after, a practice room, the floor marked out in chalk for stances, with shelves and shelves of scrolls and books. Idris recognised most of the marks on the floor, but he did not dwell on them. When he reached the next floor, the stairs stopped. The room ahead was a parlour. Couches and tables lounged on rugs and by vases of flowers. Here, there were windows, letting the soft moonlight in. Somehow, this room was higher up than most of Outer Arbedes. Idris entered slowly, placing his hand back on his dagger. The rugs muffled the tap of his crutch on the brickwork. The fireplace was lit here, too. Then, as if appearing from nowhere, a man stepped out from an armchair and held up both of his hands in a gesture of peace. Idris took hard, forced breaths, gripped his crutch tight. The man blinked a few times, smiled somewhat timidly. ¡°I opened a bottle of wine,¡± the man said gently. ¡°I would very much like to share it with you.¡± Idris said nothing. He could not. His body felt stiff and awkward. He gazed upon the man with the straw-coloured hair and grey-green eyes and he wanted, so much, to pull the dagger from its sheath and run at him, and plunge the blade into his chest at least once, probably twice ¨C But he could do none of it. ¡°I saw you coming,¡± the man said. He gestured vaguely to an item on one of the tables that Idris could not properly see. ¡°That was some rather impressive aria work, at the curtain. I thought perhaps I would have to lift it for you, but you managed very well on your own. Please¡­ please, do come and sit. You look liable to fall if you stand any longer.¡± The man moved, seemingly to grab a chair, but Idris, at the man¡¯s impetus, took the dagger out and held it as threateningly as he could manage. ¡°Do not approach me,¡± he said. He was surprised how much his hand shook, his voice. The man stopped, raised his hands again. ¡°You do not need that here,¡± he said. ¡°I mean you no harm.¡± The sheer whirlwind of the day was affecting Idris¡¯s purpose. He forgot, for a moment, why this even had to happen, why he was threatening this man. He wanted, just once, to say ¡®father¡¯ and for it to be the right thing to say. His heart was louder than any aria he had ever heard. ¡°You are The Remaker,¡± he said. The man nodded. ¡°I am.¡± ¡°Your name¡­ your name is Layton.¡± The man paused, then nodded wordlessly. ¡°I should cut your throat out,¡± said Idris, choked with tears, ready to scream. ¡°That would be messy,¡± said Layton quietly. ¡°You jest with me?¡± Idris said, his skin burning. ¡°Do you know who I am? Do you know what you did?¡± ¡°I think,¡± said the man, ¡°you are my son. I know I disappointed you, most likely. And I would dearly wish to share a cup of wine with you and speak like gentlemen.¡± ¡°You think yourself a gentleman?¡± Idris laughed wildly, the tears spilling all at once. ¡°A gentleman who abandoned his child? Who brought a woman to shame?¡± At this, Layton looked disturbed. His thin eyebrows wrinkled. ¡°You have it wrong,¡± he said. ¡°No, I did not abandon you ¨C¡° ¡°You cursed me!¡± screamed Idris, letting the hatred spill out. ¡°You ruined me! Look what you did to me! Look ¨C¡° But the anger was too much, and he was too tired for it, and the dagger slipped from his fingers and he dropped to his knees and he sobbed, one hand on his face, and could do nothing else. Eventually, he looked up and he saw that Layton had moved a table and turned his armchair, so the chair was facing Idris and the table was between them. A cup sat at Idris¡¯s side; Layton poured some wine into it and then settled back into his chair quietly. For a man who was supposed to be an adult¡¯s father, he looked remarkably young as he sat, looking down across the table, as if the mantle of ¡®father¡¯ was a coat that did not quite fit. There was nothing inherently evil or malintent about him. He simply¡­ was. That was what made Idris feel impotent. He had all of this anger and hatred and trauma that did not fit on Layton¡¯s small, weak shoulders. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°We have much to discuss, I think,¡± Layton said. ¡°I will not insult you by¡­ by telling you that I am sorry, or that I want to make everything right. I do not enjoy seeing you upset and angry. If I can explain my position, I am certain that we can come to an understanding of each other. You are, after all, my blood, and I do not want any bitterness between us. Please drink with me.¡± Then, very timidly, he said, ¡°I am glad to see you, son.¡± Idris closed his eyes, trying to make it sink in. ¡°You can take any chair you like,¡± said Layton. ¡°Do you need assistance?¡± ¡°I can do it,¡± Idris whispered, and he opened his eyes and picked his crutch up again. There was an awkward, long silence while he dragged a chair to the table and sat in it. Layton¡¯s eyes remained on his cup the whole time. Idris put his grandfather¡¯s dagger within reach on the table. ¡°For the record,¡± he said, his voice still shaking, ¡°I do not want you to address me as ¡®son¡¯. It is an insult to me.¡± Layton raised his eyebrows but did not start. He pursed his lips, nodded. ¡°What did your mother call you, in the end?¡± ¡°My name is Idris.¡± ¡°A good name.¡± ¡°An Eremont name,¡± Idris said. ¡°Of course. You are an Eremont, after all,¡± said Layton, lifting his cup. ¡°Is this amusing to you?¡± demanded Idris, and Layton laughed mirthlessly and shook his head. ¡°Not amusing at all.¡± He sipped, seemed to consider the taste. ¡°Your uncle told you, I presume. That is why you are angry, yes?¡± ¡°Nobody told me,¡± said Idris. It was silent, again. ¡°Oh,¡± said Layton, sounding thoroughly disappointed. ¡°Then¡­ that makes sense.¡± He put down his cup, placed his hands demurely on his lap. ¡°I came to Temple Hill to meet you, on your sixteenth birthday,¡± he said, looking right at Idris, now. ¡°Nobody was there. When I wrote to your mother, she did not respond. I had every intention, Idris, of being with you.¡± ¡°Before or after your magic took my foot?¡± said Idris furiously. Layton tensed. He blinked rapidly. ¡°Is that what happened?¡± he whispered. ¡°At what point were you going to come down from this tower and help me?¡± said Idris, shaking again. ¡°Sixteen was too late. By sixteen I was doing all of this on my own. When exactly were you going to come and be responsible for the mess you made? What¡­ what possessed you?¡± Layton said nothing. Something in Idris¡¯s words appeared to have upset him. His pale face seemed paler still; his eyes glittered with tears in the firelight. ¡°You are too upset to listen, and not yourself, I am sure,¡± he said. ¡°This all appears to be an awful shock to you, and I assure you, Idris, it was not meant to be that way. I had only good intentions ¨C¡° ¡°When you lay with my mother and forced me into existence?¡± ¡°There was no force,¡± said Layton tersely, his cheeks pink. ¡°I am not an animal. I will not speak to you while you are so tightly wound, it is pointless.¡± Idris picked up the dagger and stabbed it into the table so it wobbled. ¡°If you will not talk, then I will do what I said I would and cut your throat out. Maybe your corpse will be more forthcoming.¡± Layton closed his eyes, took deep breaths. Wordlessly, he took up his cup, drained it, poured a second measure and then, with a gravity unbecoming of such a thin, soft man, he stared right at Idris. ¡°I did what this family has done for generations,¡± he said. ¡°I passed down the bloodline, like I am supposed to. Like you will, one day. I chose a good, noble family for you, one I knew would raise you well, somewhere you would want for nothing. I was patient. I watched when I could. I wrote to your mother, often. Occasionally, she deigned to respond, but only occasionally. If I could have ridden down to Temple Hill and announced myself without fear of retribution or pitchforks or a stake to burn me on, I would have done it. You and I, Idris, we do not have that luxury, surely you know that? The people fear us. Your uncle would have killed me where I stood.¡± ¡°He would have been right to,¡± said Idris. ¡°Come now,¡± scoffed Layton, ¡°these¡­ idle threats? I can feel the necrosis in your leg, do you think I know so little about my craft that I could not make you scream and beg if I wanted?¡± This time, Idris was mute. The little man in front of him was fearsome in his anger. His sea-storm eyes lit with grey fire. And then, as if nothing had happened, it was gone. Layton composed himself, sighed and looked at the burning logs. ¡°Had I known,¡± he said softly, ¡°that your mother was going to renege on our deal, I would have come sooner.¡± ¡°What deal?¡± ¡°I told her I would come and get you. She said not until you were sixteen. Then, she reasoned, you would be ready for the truth and your training and all would be well.¡± ¡°Did she know any of this before she was pregnant, or after?¡± Layton closed his eyes, his face pained. ¡°After. There was not much time for the luxury of conversation before.¡± ¡°Just enough conversation to make her pliable,¡± said Idris bitterly, hating the implication. Layton sighed tersely. ¡°It is not as depraved as you make it sound. Do other noble houses not pick and choose as I did? Do you think your grandfather would have been proud to marry your mother off to a necromancer? Use your brain, Idris, I assume you have one.¡± He shook his head. ¡°I presume she is no longer on the continent.¡± ¡°She is not.¡± ¡°Obrin?¡± ¡°He is not.¡± ¡°Your uncle?¡± Idris sucked his cheeks. ¡°My uncle is dead.¡± Layton frowned, put a tongue in his cheek. ¡°When did you find me out?¡± ¡°This afternoon,¡± said Idris. ¡°You have been busy, today.¡± ¡°Do not tease me ¨C¡° ¡°I know, I am sorry. This is all¡­ raw, then.¡± ¡°Raw enough.¡± ¡°You do look like an Eremont. If anything had been even slightly suspicious, I suppose she might have let me train you. Perhaps she thought she could hide you.¡± Tentatively, he looked at Idris¡¯s right leg. ¡°Your foot. You said¡­¡± ¡°A fine gift you gave me,¡± said Idris. ¡°Would you like to take a closer look?¡± Layton shook his head, as if the suggestion was the most distasteful thing he had ever heard. ¡°Goodness, no. How old¡­?¡± ¡°Eleven.¡± ¡°Eleven. I see.¡± He pursed his lips again. ¡°Necrotising living flesh is¡­ quite advanced, actually.¡± ¡°That brings a great deal of comfort, I thank you,¡± said Idris, scoffing. ¡°Your training, then? Who trained you?¡± ¡°Others.¡± Idris did not want to tell this man about the palace and the Queen. ¡°My uncle, mostly. Books.¡± Layton paused. There was a funny edge to the atmosphere, as if the interview was over and what happened next was down to fate. ¡°Have you eaten, Idris? Are you well? You dragged yourself before me like food for birds and I did not even ask.¡± Then, ¡°Unless you do plan to kill me.¡± Idris was quiet. It was not the right time to be making those sorts of decisions. The day had been long. He was exhausted. Besides, he needed to gain Layton¡¯s trust at least partially if he wanted to know where the breastplate was, or anything more about Dravid Orrost and the Spirit Dagger. ¡°I am¡­ too tired for murder, actually,¡± he said. Layton gave a small, friendly smile. ¡°I could eat. And sleep. Perhaps in the morning, I will be more in the mood to kill you. Can you wait until sunup?¡± ¡°I think so,¡± said Layton, rising from his chair. ¡°It does not do, to murder on an empty stomach. Let me put a plate together for you. In the morning, we can discuss the means and motive for my death, if that pleases you?¡± ¡°That pleases me.¡± ¡°Excellent. Wait here, in the warm. Drink. There is time enough for bloodshed tomorrow.¡± ¡°Layton,¡± said Idris, as the man who was his father moved around the table. ¡°Hmm?¡± ¡°It would¡­ would have been nice. To have a tutor.¡± ¡°Well,¡± said Layton, and he laid a timid hand on Idris¡¯s shoulder, ¡°there is time enough for that, too.¡± Idris sat alone in the parlour, the warmth of the fire sticky on his skin, and he finally picked up his cup and drank. Chapter Eleven Idris woke in a comfortable room, adorned with tasteful tapestries of The Underwood and Outer Arbedes in bright shades of green, gold and navy. He lay for a while, gazing at them, noticing the sunlight. The only window in the room was above the bed, letting the summer sun slant through in a thin rectangle. A door at the far end of the room led to the stairs he had climbed to get there the night before. The furniture was scattered haphazardly around the floor, as if the person who had bought it had not expected the room to be so large ¨C the desk, chair, wardrobe and washbowl seemed miles from one another, separated by a sea of raven-patterned rugs. There was, however, beside the bed, a neatly organised pile of items with a large, perfectly tied bow on top, and a letter. Idris, It will not do for my murderer to be dressed in yesterday¡¯s clothes. Please accept this outfit as a gift. I think we are of a similar build. I do not know how you transport yourself but I assume the crutch is a temporary measure. This wheeled stool might aid you. Breakfast will be served in the dining room on the first floor. Pull the cord for water for your bath. Layton Layton¡¯s eagerness was oddly touching, in an unnerving way. Idris assumed he was more joyful at meeting his son than his son was, or than he dared to betray over the wine the night before. It was frustrating, too. Idris was not sure who he was supposed to be angry at ¨C Layton for his deception, his mother for the lie, or his uncle for keeping the secret even after their arrival at the palace. Idris placed his right knee on the stool and used his left leg to propel himself. It worked remarkably well. He made it across the room to the dressing screen, behind which was the bath and the aforementioned cord. When he pulled it, a spout in the wall opened, and hot water tumbled out and into the tub. As he bathed, he felt the aria for his connection to the knuckle bones, and he flicked his fingers at it. He hoped the bag rattled. There were no fresh bandages for his stump, or his usual medicines. Idris tied the end of his new trousers into a knot and hoped for the best, and eventually made his way, stool, crutch and all, back down the tower to the dining room. The place looked absurd, with Layton lit by torchlight sitting alone at the head of the table, his little plate of forest fruits before him. When Idris entered, Layton started and stood, and waited until Idris took his place at the table until he sank back down again. Idris placed the dagger down on the table and slid into his seat. ¡°Do you need to carry that around?¡± said Layton. ¡°I might need it,¡± said Idris flatly, selecting a slice of bread. ¡°I do not know you.¡± ¡°That is true enough.¡± Layton settled, touched the side of the teapot. ¡°It is still warm. Tea?¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°How did you sleep?¡± ¡°Well, thank you. The wine helped. The meal, too.¡± ¡°I apologise for the sheer number of stairs in this place,¡± said Layton, somewhat shyly. ¡°Stairs have not stopped me yet,¡± said Idris, casting him a reprimanding glance. ¡°Of course not.¡± ¡°It is¡­ quite a place, this tower,¡± he said. ¡°This is our ancestral home,¡± said Layton, smiling. ¡°It has been here for eight centuries. We call it Raven¡¯s Roost. I will give you the tour, after breakfast, if you wish.¡± ¡°I would like that.¡± ¡°My, it is nice to have someone for breakfast,¡± said Layton, pouring the tea. ¡°It has been¡­ some time.¡± ¡°How long?¡± ¡°I think the last person I dined with was¡­ your grandfather. On the Vonner side, I mean.¡± ¡°Vonner?¡± said Idris. ¡°That is our family name. Vonner. With the crest of twin ravens,¡± said Layton, tapping the table runner. ¡°But goodness, that was many years ago, now. He did so dearly wish to meet you, but he departed this world when you must have been¡­ five, perhaps.¡± Seventeen years, this man had been alone. No wonder he was so amenable to a perfect stranger, sleeping and eating in his home. ¡°It must be strange, living in this large tower on your own,¡± said Idris. ¡°Do you have serving maids?¡± ¡°No. It is just me. Me and my thralls,¡± Layton corrected. ¡°They are wonderful but I do not trust them with food preparation. I make all the meals; they do the rest.¡± ¡°I saw none on my ascent last night.¡± ¡°I sent them away when I felt the curtain tearing. I did not want to startle you. You may see some, walking around today, making beds and cleaning windows.¡± The very fact that Idris was sitting with another person, discussing thralls and family, was exhilarating. He had never had anyone to talk to about his necromancy who truly understood it, who saw it as a beneficial tool rather than a disgusting abhorrence. There was so much he could learn, so many questions he could have answered. The crippling feeling of displacement that had haunted him since the age of eleven was, miraculously, gone, all at once. It was not that he had forgiven Layton. He was still angry and upset and unsure. But this was an opportunity he could not waste. ¡°I will¡­ put off the murder until after the tour, I think,¡± said Idris, placing a fig in his mouth. Layton smiled. ¡°Good. I am rather looking forward to the tour. I never have guests.¡± While they ate, Layton pointed out items in the room. The teapot had once belonged to an Imperial Kingdom host, who gifted it to the tower after the residing necromancer had assisted with crossing Outer Arbedes. The rug had been woven by a several-times-great-grandmother, some three-hundred years ago. The raven crest on the wall had been forged by royal weavers when the tower was being built. Every item was somehow part of a grander family than Idris had expected. ¡°What happened, then?¡± he said, when Layton had finished explaining how the silver service was a gift from a prominent family in the Salt Lands. ¡°Pardon?¡± ¡°Why did you have to cloak this place, if the Vonner were so respected?¡± said Idris. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. Layton fiddled with his spoon, tapped his foot on the floor. ¡°Necromancy¡­ fell into disrepute,¡± he said delicately. ¡°After the war with the fae. People still sought out necromancers, of course, for various deeds and problems, but¡­ but promoting ourselves or serving in noble families became distasteful. That, and some of our aria-kin got rather ahead of themselves when trying to make people take notice of us. It only takes a little bad blood for the limb to rot,¡± he said, then cleared his throat and said, ¡°metaphorically speaking, of course.¡± ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°Raven¡¯s Roost has been protected for two-hundred and fifty years.¡± ¡°That is not long.¡± ¡°People¡¯s memories of what is out here on the kingdom¡¯s edge are mercifully short.¡± Layton stood. ¡°Come. Let me show you what you will inherit, once my murder has been achieved.¡± ¡°Certainly.¡± Raven¡¯s Roost was more extensive than Idris had imagined. As well as the public rooms, there were three bedrooms above the one he had slept in, and a private study-cum-library, filled to the brim with books that Idris presumed he had never had access to in the palace. Layton claimed he slept in the room above the library, which Idris was not permitted to enter, but they made their way to the very top floor, and Layton smiled and opened the door and said, ¡°Here is where the ravens sleep. Watch your step, it is windy.¡± Idris had left the stool at the foot of the stairs, so he used his single crutch to propel himself out onto the roof. The wind slammed into him; he raised an arm to shield his eyes and Layton laughed. ¡°I warned you,¡± he said, his tone good-natured. ¡°The death curtain does not prevent the air from entering, but it makes the tower unassailable. See the roosts, let me introduce you to our feathered family.¡± Idris blinked the dust away and finally saw what Layton was talking about. Between each of the tall, pentagonal spires which made up the top of Raven¡¯s Roost were the ravens themselves. Handsomely built wooden aviaries held space for hundreds of ravens, preening themselves and splashing in the birdbath. The prevailing sound was not of the wind, but of thousands of feathers rustling. ¡°Black bells,¡± Idris whispered. ¡°They are drawn to necromantic energy, you know,¡± said Layton. ¡°As are cats. You will see many cats in the basement.¡± ¡°There is a basement?¡± said Idris, stunned. ¡°Five floors,¡± said Layton, looking happier than he had since Idris had met him. ¡°For what?¡± ¡°Thrall housing. The kitchens, too, some storage and piping. And¡­ the vault.¡± Layton shrugged. ¡°The vault is actually rather empty. I keep it because I do not know what else to do with it. The coffers do run thin. Luckily, I live cheaply.¡± ¡°I would like to see the cats,¡± said Idris. Layton smiled. ¡°Of course. They are quite darling. I have never seen a rat or mouse in this tower.¡± The cats were friendly, plump creatures, clearly well-fed. At least ten of them made themselves known in the kitchens, and Layton assured Idris that there were kittens, somewhere, but he knew not where. The floor below, Layton paused before he opened the door. ¡°You have made thralls before, correct?¡± he said. ¡°Many.¡± ¡°Good. I do not want to startle you.¡± Layton opened the door. The room was colder than the rest of the tower and had no furniture, no seats, nothing. Thralls stood in orderly lines, their skin grey and putrefying, their heads down. The smell was abominable. Idris put his sleeve over his nose. Layton coughed slightly. ¡°There are fifty, here,¡± he said. ¡°More working upstairs, actually.¡± ¡°Where did you get them from?¡± said Idris. ¡°Corpses¡­ appear,¡± said Layton vaguely. It was then that Idris felt what his uncle had described in his letter. There was something intangibly unnerving about Layton. It made Idris¡¯s skin itch. ¡°There are corpses everywhere, when you learn to find them,¡± Layton said, his voice coldly casual. ¡°You can control these fifty, and the death curtain? All at once?¡± Layton¡¯s smile was soft and baffling. ¡°They are filled with my will. My will does not break. I do not have to concentrate on them for them to fulfil their role.¡± Idris thought of the farm thralls he raised last spring, and he nodded. The farm thralls did not need his continuous presence. The order that he had given the aria was enough ¨C work, fulfil tasks, and lie down to die when holding themselves together was too much. ¡°Ah, but the death curtain,¡± said Layton, animated again. ¡°That is itself a marvel of engineering. Join me upstairs, in the study, won¡¯t you?¡± Between the study¡¯s many shelves and worktables, there was a covered object that at first, Idris thought was a globe. Layton removed the cover and revealed the dodecahedron crystal beneath. It swirled with grey smoke. The structure that held it in place was written with a variety of ancient runes that Idris had never seen before. The same, repetitive melody in the death aria that he had heard outside mumbled out of it. ¡°This powers the curtain,¡± said Layton. ¡°I could do it myself, but it is tiresome. Instead, I funnel my will into this crystal when it is necessary to repair or bolster the curtain. Eventually, I will show you how to do this.¡± Idris nodded. Traipsing up and down the tower had worn him out, again. Layton¡¯s self-satisfied air deflated. ¡°I am sorry,¡± said Idris. ¡°I¡­ I am not myself, still.¡± ¡°I thought, perhaps¡­¡± Layton covered the crystal again. ¡°I thought I might watch you cast, a little. See what you have learned. But¡­ but you do look tired. How, might I ask, do you usually¡­?¡± ¡°Walk?¡± finished Idris, with a raised eyebrow. Layton nodded sheepishly. ¡°I have a false foot.¡± ¡°How did you make it here, through Outer Arbedes, with only one foot?¡± said Layton. Idris swallowed, pursed his lips. That was a good question. Perhaps Layton had seen Lila when he was watching the curtain¡¯s entrance ¨C maybe he knew about Willard and Riette, too. ¡°I took it off to sleep last night,¡± he said. ¡°My camp is not far, but¡­ I grew restless, and I simply did not put it back on. I often wander on crutches. I must have dropped the other one somewhere.¡± None of that was a lie. Layton frowned. ¡°You were not sleeping at Temple Hill?¡± ¡°I no longer live at Temple Hill.¡± ¡°And why is that?¡± ¡°I am a necromancer,¡± said Idris. ¡°Necromancers do not live at Temple Hill.¡± A strange look crossed Layton¡¯s face. ¡°Your uncle. Did he drive you out?¡± ¡°In a manner of speaking,¡± said Idris. ¡°I knew it,¡± Layton said, his voice cold. ¡°No matter. He is dead. He cannot harm you or me anymore.¡± Then, in a brighter tone, ¡°Let me escort you back to your rooms. How do you like them?¡± ¡°They are most comfortable.¡± ¡°Excellent.¡± Layton returned Idris to the bedroom, talking about lunch and tasks around the tower. Eventually, he said, ¡°Rest as much as you need.¡± Idris nodded, thinking. It sounded like Layton assumed he was staying indefinitely. ¡°I do have a request,¡± said Idris. ¡°If¡­ if I am going to be here a while.¡± The acknowledgement brightened Layton¡¯s smile. ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°My¡­¡± Idris gestured to his leg. ¡°I require medicines, daily, actually. There is necrosis left and it must be tended to. I did not bring anything with me, not bandages or salves, and it will begin to smell and itch and other unpleasant things. Do you¡­ leave the tower, ever?¡± ¡°Occasionally,¡± said Layton, ¡°when meat needs to be hunted or travellers need to be¡­ redirected. What do you need?¡± ¡°I can make a list.¡± ¡°With drawings, please. I can make a trip to Temple Hill and take whatever I need or send thralls to collect herbs.¡± ¡°You will have it by tonight.¡± Layton nodded. He hesitated, as if he wanted to say something else or move further into the room. Idris wondered if he wanted a hug. It passed, and Layton collected himself. ¡°You have free rein of the tower,¡± he said. ¡°Except my personal quarters and the vault. If you wish to read, you can select any book you desire. The kitchens are always open, too. But I must ask that you do not needlessly leave the curtain. Every time it is disturbed, it has to be repaired. There is nothing worth exploring out in the ruins, anyway. Everything you need is right here.¡± Idris smiled, but did not nod. Layton turned to leave. ¡°It will be easier to take what you need at dawn,¡± said Idris. Layton turned, interested. ¡°Nobody at Temple Hill expects visitors before dawn. If you start in the eastern fields, you will beat the rotation.¡± ¡°I understand. Thank you. Do not forget the list.¡± ¡°I will not.¡± Then, he said, ¡°Thank you, Lord Vonner,¡± to see what the reaction was. Layton laughed, blushed. ¡°Please, it is not necessary. Layton is¡­ fine.¡± He dipped his head. ¡°Master Vonner,¡± he said quietly, and he left. Master Idris Vonner. It sounded like a different person. Idris sat on the bed, in clothes borrowed from his father, looking at the tapestries, again. This tower, the resources¡­ he would have killed for them as a child, trying fruitlessly to revitalise dead flowers without any indication of what to do or why. Training here would have been a revelation. If Uncle Haylan had ¨C No. Uncle Haylan did the right thing. He had tried to prepare everything Idris needed to know but in the midst of tragedy, he had left it behind and never returned to Temple Hill. Why did he not say something? Idris thought, again, of the only letter his mother sent, Uncle Haylan¡¯s slack demeanour after. He knew. He knew that Layton had been to Temple Hill to collect his son. Maybe he regretted not telling Idris. Maybe he thought that it was not worth the trouble, once Layton had given up and gone home. What did Haylan¡¯s silence cost me? He felt for the knuckle bones, flicked his fingers, and sighed. ¡°Focus, Idris,¡± he whispered. ¡°Focus.¡± He knew the layout of the tower, now. He had information and options. What he needed to do was get down to the vault, or into Layton¡¯s room ¨C or, tinker with the curtain. As he wrote the list of medicines and drew the shapes of the leaves, he formulated his plan for the morning. Chapter Twelve Idris slept through the afternoon, so that he could do everything he had planned overnight. In the small hours of the morning, he heard Layton descend the stairs from his room and head further into the tower. Idris waited an hour. He spent the time building his leg out of the wheeled stool that he had destroyed. He used the seat as a platform to rest his stump on and threaded strips of his ripped-up shirt underneath. These, he tucked into the belt he had shortened with his dagger and tightened the belt around his thigh, like his old garter. The legs of his desk chair were about the right length, so he took one of those, dug a hollow into the centre of the seat with his stiletto and attached the leg with wads of parchment that he had chewed into a paste. It was wobbly and uncomfortable, but it would do for climbing stairs. The second thing he did was write a letter. Cress, Outer Arbedes. Layton Vonner, necromancer ¨C The Remaker. Gave SD to DO. Cannot write. L has the bones and water. I am safe. IYE Carefully, he left his room, crutch in hand, and began his arduous walk to the top floor. As he passed the library, he peered inside. A thrall was sloppily pushing a broom across the floor, his steps hard and lumbering. Idris frowned and kept on. He did not know if the thralls would alert Layton to his whereabouts; there were likely necromantic mechanisms in place that he knew nothing about. At Layton¡¯s bedroom door, Idris pressed his hand to the surface and listened hard. He felt no particular death arias, only the background noise he was becoming accustomed to. The ravens on the roof shuffled suspiciously when Idris approached. He tended not to use live birds for messengers, so it took him a few minutes to find one which might be amenable to him tying the letter to its leg and he found none; they cawed angrily at his disturbance, flew away when they heard his stamp on the tile. Eventually, he found a small, sleepy bird which did not struggle and, with a weary sigh, he grabbed it, apologised and broke its tiny neck. The other ravens rustled and croaked while he raised their brother back to a more obedient creature, placed the image of the palace and Cressida¡¯s window in its now-wonky head, and he tied the note to its leg and ordered it to go. The bird flapped its wings, its beady eyes filled with grey fire, and it became a speck of midnight against the black sky. The rest of the tasks were investigatory. Idris stopped by the library once he was certain the thrall was gone and pulled the cover off the curtain crystal. Curious, he pressed his hand against it and was stunned to feel how cold it was. Necromantic energy was hot, smoky. Something in the crystal managed to contain the heat. It probably meant that the crystal would not be easy to break. In fact, it was fused with the structure it was housed in so tightly that he could not move it at all. If he wanted to destroy it, he would have to drop it off the roof. The further down the tower he went, the more thralls he saw. It was unnerving, watching thralls that did not belong to him. Usually, he could feel the presence of one of his raised helpers before he saw them; here, he kept turning corners on the stairs, only to be startled by a grey-tinged, lolloping figure, dusting sconces or polishing tables. Idris wondered how easy it would be to claim one for himself, to manufacture a few thralls that Layton might be comfortable with. It would make traipsing around the tower a little easier and it might fool Layton for long enough to make him believe that Idris was staying, to relax some of his restrictions. Idris stopped by the kitchens to say hello to the cats, then he went to the bottom basement floor, where he and Layton had not been. Disappointingly, the wide opening to the vault¡¯s entrance way was covered by an iron bar wall. Beyond the bars was the vault door, a stone creation which, even from behind the gate, Idris felt hum with magic. The scar on his shoulder, like the pain in his phantom foot, began to ache. The breastplate. He stood, silent, hands gripping the bars, letting the pain settle in his scar. Everything in him that had been half-persuaded by Layton¡¯s shy smiles and excited air recoiled. This man, The Remaker, had a piece of Dead Walker armour, and had allowed someone who intended harm to the kingdom to wield a second piece. Whether or not that man was his father meant nothing. At some point, Idris knew he had to get into that vault and take the armour. His tasks complete, Idris returned to his bedroom. He dismantled the leg and stashed it under his bed and, as the sun began to rise, he took himself off to the library to start perusing the shelves. The books that Layton owned were volumes that Idris had only ever seen referenced in the palace texts. Every turn surprised him with a two-hundred-year-old original copy of The Economics of Necromancy, or a many-times-read tome of Cataloguing Necrotic Arias. Dazed, he collected as many as he could carry and placed them by the armchair he had chosen, and he had just opened one when he heard a voice. ¡°It is early for heavy reading like that.¡± Idris looked up. Layton was at the door, the hems of his trousers still mud-coated and sap-stains tinging the buttonholes of his shirt. ¡°I have never seen a copy of Trials of the Dead before,¡± said Idris. ¡°Forgive me, I could not sleep.¡± Layton waved a hand. ¡°If you want it, it is yours.¡± He tilted his head at the rest of the stack. ¡°A good selection. I would pair Economics with Practical Arias, though. Let me see if I can find it.¡± ¡°How was your journey?¡± said Idris, as Layton began wandering the shelves. ¡°Fruitful. You should have medicine for a week, at minimum ¨C as long as I picked the correct herbs.¡± Layton finally slid a book out, checked the cover. ¡°Here. Practical Arias and Stance Correction.¡± ¡°I have some questions about the tower,¡± said Idris. ¡°Certainly.¡± ¡°First, the death aria, here. It is constant, but not overwhelming.¡± ¡°A by-product of the surroundings and the curtain,¡± said Layton, sitting on a chair opposite. ¡°Oh, and the construction of the tower. It acts as a chimney. The aria comes through here, through the pentagon, and funnels upwards, dispersing itself around the area. Otherwise, I fear I would never sleep.¡± ¡°Is that what heats the place?¡± ¡°Oh yes. It is toasty in the winter months.¡± ¡°Secondly, besides the curtain, how do you protect this place from intruders?¡± Layton smiled. It was the first smile since he had entered and it was sharply edged. ¡°A variety of methods. None of which need concern you at this present time. The death curtain is enough.¡± He handed the book over. ¡°I have questions for you, also.¡± ¡°Go ahead.¡± ¡°You said you do not live at Temple Hill¡­¡± Layton paused. ¡°Where do you live?¡± ¡°That need not concern you at this present time,¡± said Idris delicately. Layton¡¯s smile did not waver. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. ¡°I did not see your camp, in Outer Arbedes.¡± Idris said nothing. Lila moved the camp. It was the only explanation. But if that was true, where had they gone? Layton sat back, crossed his legs. ¡°I did not see any camp,¡± he said. ¡°How did you get here?¡± ¡°I walked, I told you.¡± ¡°From where?¡± When Idris still did not answer, the coldness crept into The Remaker¡¯s eyes, like fingers of frost covering a windowpane. ¡°There are parts of your arrival here which concern me greatly, Idris. You are not being truthful with me. Have I not been kind? Accommodating?¡± ¡°You have provided the bare minimum which a father should provide,¡± said Idris. This observation, it seemed, riled his father. ¡°It is not difficult to adequately detain a man with a single foot,¡± said Layton, his voice sharp. ¡°A man who nobody knows is here. A man nobody would miss. What is your purpose for staying here? Speak plainly.¡± Idris put down his book, settled himself in the chair and took the stiletto dagger from the chest sheath, again. ¡°You know the purpose,¡± he said. ¡°I came to kill you. Why should I trust you? I do not know you. I do not love you.¡± He pushed the dagger home again. ¡°Men are allowed to change their minds. Perhaps I am on the way to changing it. I will tell you this: I do not have children, Layton. I assume I am your only heir. If you are intent on continuing the bloodline, it would be rather foolish to kill me.¡± Layton was silent, this time. His jaw worked for a moment. ¡°My home is in Gleesdale,¡± said Idris, returning to his book. ¡°Your camp?¡± ¡°Does it matter? I am here, now. I intend to stay awhile.¡± ¡°And then kill me?¡± ¡°Perhaps.¡± ¡°Then perhaps I will make you leave,¡± said Layton. ¡°Do it,¡± said Idris, looking right into his eyes. Neither man said anything, did anything. They stared at each other, trying to determine the best course of action, to find common ground. ¡°Layton,¡± said Idris eventually, ¡°you are the only family I have left. My mother disowned me. My¡­ Obrin, he has not spoken to me for years. My uncle is dead. Nobody waits for me at a window. You are quite correct ¨C if you killed me, or detained me, nobody would know, or care, or mourn that much. You likely have regrets. Maybe you think that your kindness to me, now, might sway me. Maybe it will. I have no reason to be here other than to exact a sort of¡­ long-brewed revenge over something I only learned two days ago. Do you truly think if I was going to kill you, I would have waited this long?¡± Layton did not reply at first. ¡°I would like transparency,¡± he said. ¡°Why would I be transparent with you?¡± Idris said. ¡°You are a perfect stranger to me.¡± ¡°And yet you accept my hospitality ¨C¡° ¡°Like I said before, it is the very least you can do for me.¡± Idris pursed his lips, then sighed irritably. ¡°We can have this conversation every day if you would like, father. We can dance around all of the bitterness and rancour. I have a right to be disappointed in you, to be guarded. You have a right to be suspicious. I wandered in here after twenty-three years without a warning, a full-grown man. You should be grateful there is not a dagger in your neck right now.¡± ¡°You would never do it,¡± said Layton. ¡°You are certain of that?¡± said Idris. ¡°You know nothing of what I have done. What I could do. It could be that I have killed thousands, had them march as thralls at my back. How would you know?¡± Layton was quiet. He frowned at the shelves, his cheeks pink. ¡°I have nothing to prove to you,¡± Idris said. ¡°You, on the other hand, have much to prove. All I want to do right now is read. If I can find you in a more agreeable mood this afternoon, I would be happy to do some casting with you. Otherwise, I would rather you left me alone.¡± The talk of magic perked Layton up, only a little ¨C Idris suspected, though, that it would be enough. ¡°It was a long ride and I am quite tired, now you mention it,¡± The Remaker said. He stood, picked at brambles stuck in his sleeve. ¡°I will retire. Once I am rested, I am certain I will be¡­ calmer. Your herbs are in your quarters.¡± ¡°Thank you, Layton.¡± The man paused, and he left quietly. Idris sat with his heart hammering, his eyes not taking in a thing on the page in front of him. The camp was gone. It was not the only thing that might make Layton¡¯s paranoia worse, but it was a glaring hole in Idris¡¯s story. He hoped beyond hope that Cressida would get his letter and understand its meaning, and send aid, if possible. Eventually, his brain simmered to background noise as he devoured the contents of Layton¡¯s library. The knowledge imparted in the few books he had piled up was worth years of teaching that he had likely missed; most methods he came across were methods he had never seen or heard of before, even in other disciplines. Idris wished he had years to work on the books, but he had a matter of days if all went well. Perversely, he was quite excited to try the commands and have Layton at his side to do it. The casting room was purpose built for practice. Boxes of different-coloured chalk sat in the corners ¨C some shapes and lines were painted into the floor for ease of use, but others had to be created to check angles and placements. Before he even began, Idris hopped around the room, looking at the apparatus. There was wine, and a fresh spout for water, clean towels and lecterns for placing texts upon. Idris cleared a space in the centre of the room, drew the required lines around his knees and started working on simple stances. It had, after all, been a long time since he had worked uninterrupted like this on his basics, in a quiet room; since his illness, necromancy of any kind had been discouraged. It was not long before he heard, ¡°I have never seen a man cast from a kneel before.¡± Idris scowled and did not turn. ¡°I need two points of contact with the ground. I thought a man as accomplished as yourself would know that,¡± he said. ¡°It is still rather marvellous. How do you compensate for the dispensation of your weight?¡± ¡°I¡­¡± He did not have the need to explain his casting methods to anyone in the palace ¨C they either never saw him work or were laymen. ¡°Come and see.¡± Layton appeared beside him; Idris waved him forwards. ¡°See? My weight rests largely on my knees. It is difficult without my fake foot, but it is how I learned.¡± ¡°That must burn.¡± ¡°I get large bruises.¡± ¡°Your shoulders are so¡­¡± Layton frowned, waved a hand. ¡°Tight.¡± ¡°For the weight. Balance.¡± ¡°I see.¡± ¡°I have to make myself¡­¡± Idris shifted into his preferred, prosthetic-less stance. ¡°Tall. Allow the air to have free access.¡± ¡°Of course, yes.¡± Layton tilted his head. ¡°Fascinating. How do you accomplish a stance such as Half-Moon from there?¡± ¡°Uh¡­ with difficulty, actually.¡± ¡°May I?¡± Idris nodded. Layton moved to his left, helped to twist Idris¡¯s waist for a Half-Moon, and grabbed him under the arms when he started to fall. ¡°I normally strap my leg down if I have to do anything requiring off-balance stances,¡± said Idris. ¡°Or, I find another spell.¡± ¡°I wonder if¡­¡± Layton sighed, seemed anxious. ¡°I think I may have a solution, if¡­ if I am permitted to touch your¡­¡± ¡°My necrotised stump?¡± finished Idris, raising an eyebrow. ¡°If it is uncomfortable ¨C¡° He waved his hand, shook his head. ¡°Just¡­ move it wherever it needs to go.¡± Layton took two hands and turned Idris¡¯s shin inwards, so that his right knee pointed outwards and his base was more central. ¡°This should give you a little more control over your balance,¡± said Layton, striding all around Idris to check the angles. ¡°Looser shoulders for a Half-Moon. Raise your chin.¡± Idris slowly twisted, and found that the correction was better than he had hoped. The aria flowed centrally, still, when he breathed it in, and he was not focused on keeping upright like he normally was. Layton smiled slightly, moved a clay vase into view. ¡°Push,¡± he said. Idris took the aria in his head and said, with a hard palm-strike forwards, ¡°Push.¡± The spell charred. The vase shattered. Then he blinked, because he had never managed a necrotic strike from a Half-Moon before. Layton beamed. ¡°A worthy strike,¡± he said, collecting up the shards. ¡°Accurate.¡± Idris moved back to his haunches, feeling strangely excited. Layton watched him for a while. ¡°Do you feel well?¡± he asked at last. ¡°Yes,¡± said Idris quietly. ¡°I¡­ that was better. Thank you.¡± ¡°I have more clays, if you wish to practice with them.¡± ¡°I would.¡± He did not have much need to work with offensive spells, but he also knew that pacifism was a luxury he may not have for much longer. ¡°Layton,¡± he said, watching as his father gathered more plain clay objects from the shelves. ¡°I¡­ you do not have to help me. I have been rather proud these last two days, and with it I have been unkind.¡± But Layton shook his head. ¡°As have I.¡± He placed a few more vases across the room at varying distances. ¡°I am rather accustomed to my own company. I can be quite abrasive. Your arrival was a shock but I should have been more grateful for the opportunity I am presented with.¡± ¡°I am taking advantage of your hospitality,¡± Idris began. ¡°All things that a father should provide,¡± Layton echoed mildly. ¡°Come now, show me a¡­ a Half-Moon Sinister, with a drain.¡± ¡°A drain?¡± ¡°You have never performed a drain?¡± said Layton, turning. Idris shook his head. ¡°Ah. Then¡­ watch me.¡± He placed a fig in front of one of the vases, shifted into a stance. The way Layton stood when he conducted arias was powerful, for a wiry man. He seemed three feet taller, two feet wider, his arms and feet precise, his grey-green eyes narrowed and fiery. Idris heard the aria gather towards him, as if a flock of gulls surrounded Layton, and then Layton opened his mouth and, for the first time, Idris heard another necromancer¡¯s spell fizzle through the music. ¡°Give,¡± Layton said, his voice a jumble of notes and ash. The sound was electrifying. The aria shifted. Layton gripped the air in his right fist and pulled towards his chest. The fig, plump and bright, shrivelled to a grey husk. ¡°Black bells,¡± Idris whispered. ¡°Gentlemen should not curse,¡± said Layton, returning to his usual self. ¡°I¡­ you necrotised it?¡± ¡°Yes. Theoretically, I increased its own death aria. Sped it up.¡± ¡°You said ¡®give¡¯.¡± In response, Layton smiled and opened his clenched fist. A fig-sized ball of necrotic fire sat in his palm. Chapter Thirteen When the sun set, Idris could feel the bruises on his knees, the knots in his shoulders. Layton placed a final fig in front of him. He was drenched in sweat, trembling and hot, but the challenge had not been met, yet, and Idris, while he was certain that this kind of necromancy was highly frowned upon, wanted just once to achieve it. ¡°Half-Moon Sinister,¡± Layton said, moving behind him. ¡°Your body might not allow it. You are going to pull something, soon.¡± ¡°What do I need abdominals for?¡± said Idris, twisting. His side screamed with over-use. ¡°For Half-Moons. Do not strain yourself, Idris.¡± ¡°I have it.¡± ¡°You are going to pass out.¡± ¡°I said, I have it.¡± Layton did not sigh or protest. He settled on his stool, crossed his legs daintily. ¡°Poor form,¡± he said. ¡°Raise your right arm.¡± The whole arm shook, but Idris did as he was told. ¡°Unclamp your jaw, I will not tell you again.¡± Idris stretched his jaw. ¡°Better. Deep breath, now. Feel the aria around you, inside you.¡± The aria sang, low and beautiful. Idris pulled it through his lungs, let it momentarily soothe all of the aches in his limbs. ¡°Feel the aria within the fruit,¡± said Layton, his voice muffled beneath the death aria. ¡°Everything living is dying. Every living thing is music to us.¡± Idris breathed, his eyes on the fig, watering with the physical exertion. Plants had boring music, difficult to follow, but he could hear something like a plant-based death aria, plodding and listless. ¡°Take it,¡± said Layton simply. Idris filled his head with the fig¡¯s sound. ¡°Give,¡± he ordered, and he gripped and pulled. He felt, for a moment, something. The fig¡¯s music swelled, once, and the aria constricted, and there was the taste of charcoal on his tongue ¨C and yet the fig remained untouched, lying on the plate. ¡°Bells,¡± he gasped, letting the aria collapse out of him, and he fell onto his palms, breathing heavily, too tired to continue. His mouth and throat felt raw, his muscles liquid. If he stared at another fig for too long, he was sure he would go mad. There was a light, consoling pat on his shoulder. ¡°Something happened, that time,¡± said Layton, with surprising warmth. ¡°Let me take a look.¡± ¡°I grasped it,¡± said Idris, dropping onto his haunches and letting his head loll backwards. ¡°I¡­ I felt it. It slipped through my fingers.¡± ¡°Ah-ha.¡± Layton lifted the plate, rolled the fig. On the underside was a grey, wrinkled patch. ¡°Success, no?¡± Idris gazed at the dead flesh, checked his palm. Nothing. ¡°It likely wisped away on the wind,¡± said Layton. ¡°No matter. This is progress.¡± ¡°It is nothing,¡± said Idris, brushing his wet fringe out of his face. Layton watched him. ¡°You are stubborn,¡± he said, ¡°and rather demanding of yourself.¡± ¡°If it is not everything, then it is nothing,¡± said Idris firmly. ¡°And that is nothing.¡± ¡°Idris¡­¡± Layton frowned, laughed. ¡°You are funny to me.¡± ¡°Funny. Good. I am glad I make someone laugh.¡± Idris took the wine jug, took three big mouthfuls. ¡°I see less ¡®funny¡¯ and more ¡®tragic¡¯, but each to their own.¡± ¡°You will make yourself sick, drinking like that.¡± Idris did not reply and drank more. He did not want to feel the aria anymore; he was too weak for it. ¡°You are self-taught,¡± said Layton. ¡°For a self-taught necromancer, with a physical limitation, you are rather remarkable. And yet to see you casting this afternoon¡­ you get so angry at yourself at anything less than perfection.¡± Idris put the jug down, unstuck his shirt from his back. ¡°Necromancy does not allow for mistakes,¡± he said, feeling the dull throb in his stump, the itching in his phantom foot. ¡°That was the first lesson I learned.¡± Layton sucked his cheeks and looked abashed. Carefully, Idris used his crutch to drag himself back up, and, once he had his balance, he stood a moment regaining his composure. ¡°Bathe and rest,¡± said Layton. ¡°I will bring you a plate.¡± ¡°If I see a fig, I shall vomit,¡± Idris said as he left the room. ¡°Understood.¡± As Idris washed, he contemplated the day¡¯s contradictory events. There were plans he had to enact, items he had somehow to steal, and yet¡­ and yet the comfort of kinship, the innate understanding that beside him was a man who had been taught necromancy, who had access to resources yet unknown, and could show Idris the things he could only dream of doing¡­ It stopped every thought he had of revenge or duty to his Queen in its tracks. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. He liked hearing the death aria come from someone else¡¯s lips. He enjoyed the nuance in Layton¡¯s finger-positioning, in the tilt of his hips. Seeing another pair of eyes light up in grey fire while he worked¡­ It was better than he had ever dreamed. Idris was not alone, here, in Raven¡¯s Roost. There was a man who was willing to pass down all of the knowledge and experience he had, and ¨C what, for an artefact, he was going to throw that away? It was not the fact that they shared blood; it was that they shared magic. What would he truly lose by staying here? His palace position, for certain. Probably all of his friends. But those things were temporary in themselves. The lessons he could learn here were invaluable. The texts, alone, probably would bankrupt a kingdom that attempted to buy them. The time he would have to study, to practice¡­ To practice whatever debauched magic he had been sweating over all afternoon. Idris sank lower in the tub, until his chin touched the water. That kind of spell was the reason that people feared necromancy. The very idea that he could steal the death aria from another living thing, hold it as flames in his palm ¨C it was crude and terrifying. When would he ever need such a spell? Why would he wield it? Was the joy of mastery worth more than the comfort of innocence? And once he was done with that, what next? Everything living is dying. Every living thing is music to us. Idris shivered, though the water was warm, still. The path was open to him. How many irreversible steps had he already taken? Aching and confused, he got out of the bath, dried himself and began cataloguing the herbs Layton had procured from Temple Hill. Everything there was fresh and could be used, and Layton had provided the tools to work them; Idris was mashing the sleeping nettle into a thick paste when Layton opened the door with a tray of food in his hand. ¡°Still hard at work, I see,¡± he said, setting the tray on the bed. ¡°My, what happened to the stool?¡± ¡°It fell down the stairs,¡± said Idris, focusing on the end of the pestle. ¡°Ah. I suppose that was inevitable.¡± ¡°Layton¡­¡± He did not know how to ask his question properly. ¡°Is the pursuit of knowledge¡­ is that an inherently evil thing?¡± Layton raised his eyebrows. ¡°That is a deep and troubling question, Idris,¡± he said. ¡°Let me rephrase. What do you use your necromancy for?¡± Idris stopped pounding the pestle, watching Layton for his answer. Layton thought, then shrugged. ¡°For surviving,¡± he said. ¡°I can hunt, rather effectively, without a bow and arrow and with little wastage. The tower, thanks to the thralls, takes care of itself. I rarely get sick. The forest provides.¡± ¡°Why do you need to know how to steal an aria from another living being?¡± ¡°I do not. Not really. But if someone marched on my land, attempted to hurt me, do you not think I am entitled to defend myself with what my blood gave me?¡± said Layton, frowning. ¡°I am a thin, weak man, Idris. I cannot fight. But I can kill a man from thirty steps away if I must. Self-defence is not evil. Is knowledge of the correct way to shoot an arrow evil?¡± ¡°I¡­¡± Idris frowned, troubled, and returned to his work. ¡°I suppose not.¡± ¡°You are tired,¡± said Layton. ¡°Eat and sleep. Tomorrow, you will feel better.¡± Idris nodded. He found it amusing in a perverse way that in times of self-doubt, returning to the lessons his uncle had given him about herblore and medicine soothed him. He would never be a healer, not in the magical sense, but the days of his youth supplied him with a trade, even if everything else was lost. Idris sighed, made his poultices and pastes and dealt with his stump. Then, uneasy without the muscle memory of his pestle and mortar, he took himself off to bed. * Idris woke in a familiar place, in the sense that the dream was familiar, filled with trees flush with foliage. None of the scenery was recognisable but the quality of the light was noticeably yellow, like spring dawn. The leaves glittered. The disconcerting feeling that accompanied the familiarity did not come from suddenly being outside. It was that Willard was sitting in front of him. ¡°Is this¡­?¡± said Idris. ¡°A bright dream?¡± said Willard. ¡°Aye.¡± ¡°How are you doing this?¡± Idris whispered, looking around. It was clearly the fae realm. After Braemar, the Fairy Queen had taken his consciousness somewhere similar; Idris had assumed she had been able to do so because of the poppet. ¡°Where -?¡± ¡°Ain¡¯t important,¡± said Willard. He was not his jovial self. Instead, his face was still, his brows furrowed. ¡°Idris, where in creation are you?¡± Idris pursed his lips. Lila had kept his secret. In Willard¡¯s hand, though, was a bag. He raised it, shook it. ¡°These yours?¡± he said, rattling the knuckle bones. ¡°That¡¯s how. Now you answer my question.¡± ¡°I cannot,¡± said Idris. Willard scoffed, rolled his eyes. ¡°Right. Well, you¡¯re in those creepy ruins still, aye? ¡®Cause Lila sped us out of there right quick. Don¡¯t think I don¡¯t know she¡¯s a-keeping all your secrets. I ain¡¯t going to pry. She has her own reasons to do what she does. ¡®S¡¯why I came to the source.¡± He leaned forwards, his usually warm eyes stony and cold. ¡°This ain¡¯t diplomacy,¡± he said firmly. ¡°I ain¡¯t your boss or your servant. Thought I was your friend. I ain¡¯t stupid, Idris. I¡¯m common and poor but I ain¡¯t stupid. Whatever made you sad, from your old house, it¡¯s still inside your eyes. If you don¡¯t trust me, that¡¯s fine. But don¡¯t assume I¡¯m stupid.¡± ¡°I have never thought lowly of you,¡± said Idris. ¡°It just¡­ the situation is delicate, Willard. Listen ¨C I know where the breastplate is but I have to get it out without alerting the owner ¨C¡° ¡°But we couldn¡¯t come with you,¡± said Willard, raising an eyebrow. ¡°No.¡± ¡°And you couldn¡¯t tell nobody but Lila.¡± Idris said nothing. There was no way he could explain. ¡°I know how it looks,¡± he said, but Willard scowled. ¡°No, you don¡¯t. Is this big secret enough to lose all your friends over? What if the Queen marches on the ruins to find you?¡± ¡°The Fairy Queen is going to own me if I do not get this breastplate,¡± Idris said, beginning to feel annoyed. ¡°Then why¡¯re you doing it with no help?¡± Willard said. ¡°Last thing I knew, you were spitting up black gunk and you wandered off without your foot on. We thought you were dead, Idris.¡± ¡°What do you think will happen when I destroy the Spirit Glass?¡± Idris said, breathing hard. ¡°Everything will be fine? I am already dead. I have to steal from the Queen to get this done, and if I survive that, the process of dismantling the stupid material is going to kill me.¡± ¡°Steal from the Queen?¡± said Willard, frowning. ¡°She has some?¡± Idris sighed, shut his eyes. ¡°It is in the royal vault. But Willard, that cannot become common knowledge.¡± ¡°What else are you hiding for ¡®diplomacy?¡¯¡± said Willard. ¡°This is not easy for me, Willard ¨C¡° ¡°Nah, and you¡¯re real determined to make it harder.¡± He sighed irritably. ¡°Are you safe, at least?¡± ¡°I am.¡± ¡°There ain¡¯t nothing else you can tell us?¡± Idris thought. ¡°I sent a message to the Queen. She knows¡­ as much as you. Where are you?¡± ¡°Safe.¡± ¡°That is fair,¡± Idris muttered. ¡°Tell me what I can do to help,¡± said Willard. ¡°Protect Lila.¡± He nodded, silent. ¡°And¡­ if you see a man with blond hair and a birthmark under his ear¡­ stay away from him. Please.¡± Willard nodded again, did not question. ¡°I promise,¡± said Idris quietly, ¡°that when this is over, I will tell you everything. But¡­ not now.¡± And then he woke, and his skin tingled like he had pins and needles all over. Shaking, he felt for the aria, flicked his fingers and, although he did not know if the knuckle bones rattled, he was sure that a moment afterwards, the tingling sharpened, then diminished. He had to speed his work up. He got out of bed and returned to his pile of books in the library, and he put the pieces together. Chapter Fourteen Idris¡¯s body had not complained this much since he had started training as a child with Magus Arundale. His abdominals flushed with agony every time he lifted himself onto his crutch and his knees were purple and scabbing. Still, he made it to the dining room for breakfast, where Layton was already sitting, reading a scroll and chewing on pear preserves. ¡°Good morning, Idris.¡± ¡°Good morning.¡± Idris winced as he lowered himself into a chair, but Layton seemed not to notice. ¡°What is the plan, today?¡± ¡°Oh, the same as usual,¡± said Layton, still not looking up. ¡°Yourself?¡± ¡°Layton,¡± said Idris, with confidence he did not really have, ¡°what is a lich?¡± This finally prompted Layton to look at him. The Remaker¡¯s gaze was much like a bird¡¯s on sensing a predator. ¡°Let me explain,¡± said Idris, taking a slice of bread. ¡°I was reading, last night, and¡­ I keep coming across the idea of a lich. I think I might know what it is, but I have not received tutelage from a real necromancer before and I have never had the opportunity to ask. In your books, the idea keeps surfacing as some perfect end for a necromancer, and¡­¡± He did not have to feign the worry in his voice for the next part. ¡°The necrosis in my leg is not dormant, not really. It grows and diminishes, and I think eventually, it will eat me. And I do not want that, Layton. If there is a way to preserve my body, I will explore that road.¡± Layton¡¯s stance did not truly relax, but he seemed less suspicious. ¡°You were reading Medical Applications,¡± he guessed, and Idris nodded. ¡°I see. Well¡­ well, a lich is¡­¡± He frowned, sat straighter, and his tone became more comfortable. ¡°A lich is a necromancer who has achieved true mastery over the death aria by separating his soul and consciousness from death. Ascending, as it were.¡± ¡°The body?¡± ¡°Is maintained through careful meditation and application of certain spells.¡± ¡°How is that possible?¡± said Idris. ¡°Surely the body is going to¡­ corrode? Natural tissue cannot be maintained forever, not even through magic.¡± Layton shrugged. ¡°It is rather a mystery. Lichdom is frowned upon and those who claim to have achieved it are careful with their writings for fear of giving away enough to kill them. But, the body is essentially just a vessel. The true immortality that lichdom provides is in the storing of the soul.¡± The concept of a soul was not foreign to Idris. It was theorised in early aria texts that the ability to hear arias was bound to some unknowable internal force that left the body when it died; later, aria magicians discussed an essence in the blood as the means to perform spells, further cemented by the existence of blood magic, and the idea of a soul passed into the realm of being rather gauche. Idris, though, often wondered if the men he raised as thralls were truly empty vessels or if the remains of a soul were indeed what made it possible for him to reanimate the dead. Layton spoke of souls as if they had been bottled and could be sold in any common apothecary. ¡°I would¡­ caution you against lichdom, Idris,¡± said Layton. ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°It makes the lich quite mad, eventually. Paranoia and such.¡± ¡°In some of the texts, though,¡± said Idris, ¡°there was a¡­ a set of some kind of armour mentioned. If lichdom was linked to a magical artefact, I am certain it would be more manageable, aren¡¯t you?¡± Layton pursed his lips. ¡°Which texts?¡± ¡°I think it was Histories. Again, in Artefacts of the Borrian Isles.¡± ¡°You do read voraciously,¡± said Layton, a hint of a shadow in his eyes. ¡°Bad habit.¡± ¡°There was¡­ talk, of a set of armour,¡± he said at last. ¡°Rumours and superstition, I believe. They called it the Dead Walker armour.¡± ¡°That was it,¡± said Idris. ¡°With the man on the horse, wielding a staff. The text said that armour could prolong life to the wearer.¡± Layton¡¯s smile was thin and cold, like the skin of ice on a deep lake. ¡°Prolong life, perhaps. But it also strips the user of their very essence. All that remains is an animated skeleton, walking around in a glass suit.¡± A glass suit. Idris had not mentioned the material. He knows exactly what it is. ¡°You do not believe it exists, though,¡± he said. Layton gave a short laugh. ¡°Goodness, no. What a preposterous item.¡± ¡°Pity. I was quite excited by the prospect of having a new body, especially after yesterday¡¯s exertions.¡± ¡°I did warn you. How are the abdominals?¡± ¡°Hateful.¡± ¡°Perhaps fewer Half-Moons, today?¡± ¡°Perhaps.¡± ¡°The tower is all yours,¡± said Layton, standing. ¡°I have maintenance to do on the thralls.¡± ¡°I can assist,¡± said Idris, but Layton shook his head. ¡°They respond only to me, I am afraid.¡± ¡°Then I will be in the library or the practice room.¡± ¡°Be kinder to yourself today, Idris.¡± ¡°I will try.¡± Idris settled himself quietly for his breakfast. When he was sure Layton was indisposed, he crept to the room they had first met in. The chairs were empty and the fire was out in the grate, but most items that had been there three nights ago were still there, save the empty wine bottle and the cups. Idris went straight to the space where Layton had indicated that he had been watching the curtain. Sitting on the table was a wooden bowl, carved with runes. More runes. Idris knew little about the old languages. Runic magic was considered rustic and rudimentary, and Magus Arundale had always said it was a crude imitation of true aria magic. Aside from the Spirit Dagger, though, this was now the third place Idris had seen runes ¨C the grave site, the death curtain stand and the bowl. Was runic magic fae? Or¡­ a fallout from the fae wars? The tower and the artefacts within it had been there at least that long. Unsure, he pressed a forefinger to the bowl¡¯s edge. Death arias surged in his ears. Reeling, he let go. The bowl was practically sobbing. It was linked directly with the curtain. True to his word, he returned to the library and, quiet, he removed the cover from the death curtain crystal. The runes on the wooden structure did indeed look similar to the ones on the bowl. The bowl, the base, the dagger. Then¡­ Then the Dead Walker armour¡­ it was Vonner. Idris frowned, turned to the shelves. That would make some sense. One prominent necromantic family, out in distinctly fae territory. Where else would the fae go to create such items? Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. He wished, suddenly, that he could somehow contact Willard, ask him to reach out to Joa and ask the right questions. Perhaps it would have been beneficial to have one of his friends here. Without them, his plan was simpler. He returned to the practice room, recalled the spells he had read in the morning and started to work through them. He thought of Dravid Orrost, of the screaming in the sewers when the Spirit Dagger started to splinter, of the hot yet icy torment it drove into his shoulder. Focusing on those memories, he felt for the necrosis that sat at the base of his stump. It was always there, a low drone behind Idris¡¯s eyes. Most days, he could ignore it, and on some occasions it was actually useful to have unlimited access to the sound of a death aria. Since the Spirit Dagger¡¯s intrusion, it sounded¡­ darker. He wondered what it was about the necromantic spells in the dagger that haunted him. Perhaps it was the age of them. Regardless, its teasing, beckoning song made him question what he was about to do. I have to make Layton believe I am dying, he thought, steeling himself. It is the only way. Idris had no delusions about Layton¡¯s interest in him. For Layton, Idris was a guarantee, not a son. Everything he had seen and spoken about in the last few days was to do with the sanctity of the Vonner line and the protection of Raven¡¯s Roost ¨C not of him. The bloodline ran through him and would run further still, as long as Idris remained healthy and upright. So, if Layton believed honestly that Idris¡¯s life was at risk, then he would have to resort to extreme measures to save his son. Open the vault? Perhaps. The best way to deliberately hurt Idris was through the necrosis in his stump. Thankfully, being the only necromancer in the kingdom had meant that nobody could take advantage of it ¨C and, being the only necromancer in the kingdom, Idris paid attention to the deformity more than was healthy. The cracks of grey in his leg grew, when untended to, at a rate of an inch a year. The first year, it had been so gradual that even Uncle Haylan had assumed he was imagining it, until the healers came and tested Idris¡¯s blood. After that, the morning and evening rituals that stopped the necrosis rising had been mandatory. Idris crossed his legs beneath him, took a deep breath and placed his hand on his stump. He remembered the hunting trap, the fierce bite above his ankle, the blood. Accidents happened. Twice, apparently. He knew the theory and he heard the music. He had never attempted to cause necrosis on purpose. The grey skin, while he could not see it, seemed to radiate through the bandage and trouser fabric. Idris breathed the aria, let out a tear and said, ¡°Come.¡± He dragged his fingertips up his leg. There was a creeping sensation, like ants crawling on his flesh, but that was all. It did not hurt. He did not even feel worried. Idris removed his hand, let out the breath. Hopefully, that would be enough. He spent the rest of the afternoon working through simpler exercises than the Half-Moons ¨C Patterns of Weight and Motions of Command ¨C and as he worked, his stump throbbed uncomfortably. He did not check it. Instead, he relished the feverish sweat on his brow, how it dripped down his nose, how his body shook. By the time Layton came to check on him, Idris was sure he looked deathly. ¡°Idris¡­¡± Layton placed down a plate, came over and knelt before Idris. ¡°My word, are you quite all right?¡± ¡°I¡­¡± Idris wiped his face, saw how his fingers were shaking. ¡°Fine.¡± ¡°How long have you been working? What have you been practicing?¡± ¡°Oh, just¡­ Command. Simple¡­¡± Idris was surprised how sore his throat felt, how woozy he was. ¡°Maybe I am hungry.¡± ¡°When did you last eat?¡± ¡°Breakfast.¡± ¡°Goodness, child, it is evening, now.¡± Layton uncertainly placed a hand on Idris¡¯s brow and hardly touched his skin when he pulled away. ¡°You have a fierce fever.¡± ¡°Aria warmth,¡± said Idris dismissively, forcing himself back into a stance. ¡°No. No more of this.¡± Layton got up, picked up Idris¡¯s crutch. ¡°I must insist. Come.¡± Come. Layton helped Idris up, and almost immediately the room spun, and Idris¡¯s head lolled; he did feel awful. Did he do too much? As Layton dragged him out, orders were given to thralls for towels and wine, and before Idris knew it, they were in his room and he was laid gently on the bed. Layton dithered above the pastes and herbs that Idris had prepared. Idris blinked hard to keep everything in focus, to remember his purpose. While it would be nice to get real relief, he could not waste the opportunity. ¡°The¡­ red ones,¡± he managed to say. ¡°And the white¡­ milk substance. Those first.¡± Layton provided. Idris looked down at the herbs, mentally scolded himself in Uncle Haylan¡¯s voice and drank the sleeping nettle. In this quantity, it would make him not only drowsy but likely delirious, too. That was what he was hoping for. It tasted sharp; he remembered its unpleasant texture from the days after Haylan¡¯s death. After, he chewed the fire-ivy viciously. If he had not had a fever before, he would have one soon. He gestured limply to the wine. Layton poured a glass and Idris gulped it down, feeling the aria subside in his ears and bones, and then he lay, panting, uncomfortable in every joint and muscle. ¡°Are you sick?¡± said Layton. His uncertainty boosted Idris¡¯s confidence. ¡°I¡­¡± Idris started to untie the knot in the trouser leg. ¡°Help me?¡± Layton tugged at the knot, rolled the fabric up above Idris¡¯s knee and began unravelling the bandage. ¡°Oh,¡± he said at last, faintly. Idris shuffled up so he could see, and even he was stunned. The grey skin had risen a good two inches. The combination of the spell and the constant work he had done had driven the necrosis to pull up, through his veins, just as it had in the sewers, like lines of grey ink spidering beneath his skin. ¡°Oh,¡± Idris agreed. ¡°Tell me how ¨C¡° He instructed Layton in how to care for the skin, how to wrap the medicinal bandage, and then, exhausted, he slumped back in the bed. The sleeping nettle made his cheeks and gums feel numb. The fire-ivy burrowed under his skin, hotter than he had wanted when he planned his fake illness. ¡°Rest,¡± said Layton, more tenderly than Idris expected. ¡°What do you need?¡± ¡°I overdid it today,¡± said Idris, his voice heavily slurred. ¡°That is all right, Idris. Just tell me how to care for you.¡± ¡°I¡­ sleep. Sleep now.¡± He shuffled, pained, on the bedsheets. ¡°I¡¯m hot. Fever¡­ wrap me up.¡± ¡°Won¡¯t that make you hotter?¡± Sweating out a fever was a myth that Idris hoped Layton had heard. In truth, it was going to make everything worse. ¡°No. Sheets,¡± he said, and Layton obeyed, tucking him in tight. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°I will¡­¡± Layton fidgeted again, looking around the room, as if a nurse might appear from nowhere and save him from this nightmare. ¡°I will post a thrall outside the door and check on you hourly. How else can I assist?¡± ¡°Leave.¡± ¡°I can hardly leave you here, Idris.¡± ¡°Go.¡± Layton hesitated, but at last he stood and walked to the door. ¡°I will return soon.¡± Idris nodded and shut his eyes. The sleeping nettle helped him to ride out the worst part, the shaking and jaw-clenching, but the heat was cruel. He tried not to thrash the covers off. Sweat soaked everything. His stump itched. Not long after Layton fed him cold water from a spoon on his first visit, Idris vomited violently over the side of the bed. A few rogue black splatters mingled with the bile and remains of the sleeping nettle mixture. Suddenly, he was concerned. I poisoned myself like a damned idiot, he thought, unable to catch the breath he thought he needed. This is not worth it. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he croaked as Layton lay him back in the bed. ¡°No. You are sick. Idris¡­ Idris, I do not have the skills to tend to you. I can ride up to Temple Hill and get a healer ¨C¡° ¡°No.¡± That would ruin the plan. ¡°No. The tower¡­¡± ¡°The secrecy of the tower is not above your health.¡± ¡°I can¡­ I can manage. Just a fever. Sweat it out. Purge.¡± ¡°The fever is not what concerns me,¡± said Layton, his eyes flicking to Idris¡¯s stump leg. ¡°The necrosis is¡­ if it rises too much, I cannot help you.¡± ¡°Layton,¡± Idris whispered, smiling slightly, ¡°who is the Eremont, here?¡± At this, Layton cracked a small smile of his own. ¡°I shall defer. Apologies.¡± ¡°If I¡­ direct you¡­ can you let the blood?¡± This time, Layton blanched. ¡°From¡­¡± ¡°Yes. A small incision. Quite easy.¡± ¡°I¡­¡± He sighed, pained. ¡°What kind of blade do we require?¡± Idris sleepily instructed Layton in the construction of a tourniquet and examined the kitchen knives he brought up. ¡°No. Too¡­ too big.¡± He stretched out his neck, shivered, then patted the chest sheathe with his grandfather¡¯s stiletto in it. ¡°This.¡± Layton pulled the dagger, the morning thistle on its pommel dull in the lamplight. ¡°The point,¡± said Idris, gripping the sheets. ¡°Tourniquet first.¡± The pressure from the tourniquet was terrible. Idris retched again, groaned and cursed in the back of his throat. Layton held the stiletto, pursed his lips. ¡°The artery. Big one,¡± Idris said through clenched teeth. In one shaking hand, Layton held a bowl. With a deep breath, he sliced the artery. Grey, foul-smelling liquid spurted out. It smelled like stagnant pond water, if the pond had been tainted with human blood first ¨C like offal and rot. Idris vomited again into the sleeve of his shirt; Layton wrinkled his nose and turned away. ¡°Black bells,¡± he whispered. ¡°When it runs red,¡± Idris managed to say, ¡°suture the wound.¡± Once the letting was done and the tourniquet was off, Idris felt weak and stupid. Please let this be enough, he thought. ¡°You¡¯re a good surgeon,¡± he whispered. ¡°You are too sick to lie to me,¡± said Layton, wrapping the leg in bandages again. ¡°For a seven-year-old apprentice,¡± Idris said. Layton laughed, and for the first time it sounded honest. ¡°There we are.¡± ¡°I made a mess.¡± ¡°It is of little consequence.¡± He straightened up, patted Idris¡¯s knee. ¡°How do you feel, now?¡± ¡°Spent.¡± Idris wiped his brow. ¡°Wet.¡± ¡°I will take this shirt, hmm?¡± ¡°Please.¡± Layton stripped the shirt off Idris and then, frowning, he ran a cool finger over the scar on Idris¡¯s shoulder. It took everything Idris had not to hiss at the uncomfortable tingle that his father¡¯s touch created on that one wound. It was like, at Layton¡¯s touch, everything stopped and was thrown wide open, a window into the truth that Idris could not close. He was scared that Layton felt the tingle, scared that if he did, he would know it all. ¡°What is this?¡± Layton said. Idris put a hand on it. ¡°Battle scar,¡± he said. ¡°From the Queen¡¯s war?¡± Idris shook his head. He did not know how Layton knew about the war, but he assumed it must have been visible from Raven¡¯s Roost. At least he had not mentioned Dravid. ¡°People do not like necromancers,¡± he said. Layton understood. He backed away, shirt in hand, and left the room. Alone, Idris flung the covers off, letting the cool air settle on his sweat. ¡°Forgive me, Uncle,¡± he whispered. Chapter Fifteen When dawn broke, Idris felt the herb-induced fever break, too. The illusions that had kept him company all night dispersed. He no longer saw shadows of his uncle, wandering the room, or heard Lila¡¯s voice calling from through the wall. His stump did not hurt as much as it had. He had not slept, but that was not a problem. Layton had been true to his word and returned hourly, with water and wine and damp cloths. He came, finally, with a tray of simple breakfast foods. ¡°There is colour in your cheeks, at last,¡± he said, setting the tray down and pouring a cup of water. ¡°I think the fever passed. I am through the worst of it. Thank you,¡± said Idris, taking the cup. ¡°Shall I check your leg?¡± ¡°Please.¡± The necrosis had abated once more, back to its patches in the rough, calloused skin of the stump. Layton diligently checked each inch, measured against the lines of paint he had daubed on Idris¡¯s skin to mark the initial rise. ¡°We are in the clear,¡± he said, sitting back. ¡°You were a better healer than you think you were,¡± said Idris. ¡°Blood-letting is¡­ no joke. Especially from this monstrosity.¡± He raised his leg and released it, so his stump plopped like a dropped ham down on the sheets. ¡°You did not even have to strap me down.¡± The insinuation paled Layton¡¯s cheeks. ¡°Goodness, Idris, does that happen often?¡± ¡°Not anymore.¡± ¡°How do you manage this out in the kingdom?¡± Idris sipped his water, sighed. ¡°Poorly. I tend to myself, mostly.¡± ¡°Letting your own blood?¡± ¡°If leeches would drink it, I would not have to. But they will not.¡± ¡°You live alone?¡± ¡°I have¡­ an attendant.¡± Idris sighed. ¡°But mostly alone.¡± He could see the cogs whirring in Layton¡¯s head. Here, he had seen for himself the fragile mortality that the necrosis in Idris¡¯s leg had cursed him with; confronted with this on a regular basis, who would balk at the idea of lichdom, of magical armour which might make one whole? ¡°Will this kill you?¡± said Layton finally, turning to look uncertainly in Idris¡¯s eyes. Idris did not turn away. ¡°Yes. It is likely.¡± The Remaker shifted his jaw, frowned at the rough sutures he had put in. Carefully, he stood and collected Idris¡¯s breakfast. ¡°I made a bone broth,¡± he said, replacing the cup of water with the bowl. ¡°Drink as much as you can. It should settle your stomach. If you finish and are still hungry, there is fresh bread, too. When you feel like you can stand¡­ well, we will wait for that. Can I bring you any of the texts from the library?¡± ¡°I will eat and finally sleep. Thank you. You have been most kind.¡± ¡°Nonsense.¡± Layton took up the tray. ¡°I will not allow my flesh and blood to wither away in my home,¡± he said, his gaze firm on the empty cup. ¡°In our home. That is not the fatherly way to behave.¡± He sighed, squared his shoulders. ¡°You were rather brave, to entrust your care to a stranger the way you did.¡± ¡°You are not a stranger,¡± said Idris quietly. ¡°You are my father, are you not?¡± Layton¡¯s head snapped to him, shock in his eyes. Then, all at once, he smiled, like he had never heard a sweeter sentence. ¡°This was not the bonding time I expected, but I will welcome what I am given,¡± he said. Idris laughed. ¡°If I had known getting gravely ill would clear the air, perhaps I would have done it sooner.¡± ¡°Quite.¡± Layton moved towards the door. ¡°Sleep well, Idris.¡± ¡°Thank you, Father,¡± said Idris. Layton smiled shyly as he kicked the door closed. Idris spat the taste of bile that the word ¡®father¡¯ had pulled up in his cheeks and drank his broth. * The deception had been more effective than Idris expected. After his long sleep and another meal, Layton pulled up a chair, placed a pile of books on his lap and looked musingly at their covers. ¡°Lichdom,¡± he said. He flicked through the top text. ¡°I cannot say it will¡­ prevent the necrosis from spreading. Separating the death aria from your body, though¡­ that might work.¡± ¡°How would I do that?¡± said Idris, chewing a bread roll. ¡°It is a long, difficult, painful process. It could take ten years. I have here all of the texts which will assist you in your first few steps along that road, should you still wish to travel it. In the meantime, there is¡­ there is a less permanent solution. You asked me about the Dead Walker armour. I told you it did not exist. That¡­ that was not entirely true.¡± Layton patted the now-open book. ¡°This is a text that I keep in my private library. It was written roughly six, seven-hundred years ago, by our ancestor, Johannes Vonner. In it, he details how he assisted the fae in creating the Dead Walker armour, and its accompanying weaponry.¡± Idris said nothing. This was the text he had been waiting for. Layton put his tongue in his cheek. ¡°I am not¡­ comfortable with sharing this,¡± he said quietly. ¡°I told you it did not exist because I was unsure of your intentions. Anyone who asks me gets the same answer, for a very simple reason. The Dead Walker armour is and was coveted and powerful. It was so powerful that the fae eventually reclaimed the staff and destroyed a piece of it, rather than allow our family to keep it safely in our vault. I suspect they still have the staff. There are pauldrons, which are lost to time, and there is a dagger.¡± If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°Where is the dagger?¡± ¡°It was buried with the last wielder. He lies in Outer Arbedes.¡± Idris watched Layton¡¯s face, looking for the tell. The man was an adept liar, for someone who lived alone. There was hardly a twitch in his expressions to suggest that he had given Dravid Orrost full permission to take and use the Spirit Dagger. ¡°The final piece,¡± said Layton, with a heavy sigh, ¡°is in the tower. It is a breastplate, which I keep in a crystal-lined chest. On its own, it holds much less power than the full suit. I am not sure it would protect you the way it is supposed to.¡± ¡°What did this armour do?¡± said Idris. ¡°The staff worked much like Raven¡¯s Roost does,¡± said Layton, turning the book around and showing Idris the illustration. The picture of the Spirit Staff showed its pentagon head, the careful construction. ¡°It funnelled the death aria up and through, allowing the casting necromancer to focus fully on the notes he heard, and it amplified the effect. The stories say the staff could raise a thousand men with two notes and no stances required.¡± ¡°There was a dagger, too?¡± ¡°The dagger manipulated collected souls. Spirits, ghosts, call them what you will. It agitated the energy of a place until the souls manifested and could move at will. ¡°But the Dead Walker armour itself, it created a death curtain of sorts. It surrounded the wearer with death aria energy, making them painful to perceive and touch. The heat, it is said, melted swords and arrows as soon as they entered the aria¡¯s field.¡± Layton turned to another picture. Arrows bent. Shields bubbled. ¡°The true power of the armour, though, was that the glass used to create it was unbreakable, except under the scrutiny of a second piece of glass, much the same as it.¡± ¡°The armour could destroy itself,¡± said Idris, frowning. ¡°Not when it was all together. When all five pieces were under the control of a single user, it was indestructible, or so Johannes claimed.¡± ¡°But the fae¡­¡± ¡°The fae,¡± said Layton wearily, ¡°cursed the artefacts, in their own, baffling way. The price of all of this power was that it stripped your body clean of anything which made it mortal, or even human. Johannes was naught but a walking skeleton when he was done with it, when the fae smashed the helm with the staff they had stolen. He had his soul and his power, but¡­ everything else, it was gone. The Dead Walker set was literally holding his body together. When the armour was removed from him, he fell to ash.¡± Idris looked at the hill his left foot made under the covers, the flat valley of his right. ¡°Then¡­ then the armour, the breastplate, it will not save me,¡± he said. He could not hide his very real, bitter disappointment. Although his condition was not as severe as he wanted Layton to believe, it would have been a weight off his mind. ¡°I do not know, Idris. Nobody has worn the breastplate since Johannes blew away in the wind.¡± Layton closed the book. ¡°The power in it is much diminished as an item by itself. I doubt it can hurt you at the rate that it ruined Johannes. In fact, I doubt it can do much on its own at all. I have wondered, previously, if it could be¡­ reshaped.¡± ¡°Into what?¡± ¡°Anything I like,¡± said Layton. ¡°It is glass, after all.¡± ¡°A foot?¡± said Idris, half-joking, but Layton smiled placidly. ¡°Now that might be something,¡± he said. ¡°A glass foot, which protects your blood from harm. Which strips the death aria from your skin and prevents the necrosis rising. Is that not appealing?¡± Put that way, it was. ¡°You should not have to suffer, Idris,¡± said Layton, a frown creasing his brow. ¡°I did rather¡­ burden you, didn¡¯t I? You call our necromancy a curse and I cannot disagree from your perspective, not now, after what I have seen. If I had been with you, from a younger age, perhaps this would not even be a conversation we were having. But I was not. And, to my shame, the gift I gave you took something from you in a violent manner. Your sickness was frightening, and I cannot, in good conscience, let an opportunity pass me by where I could have eased your suffering a little more. Besides, dragging yourself up and down these stairs on one crutch is hardly living. A new foot, made with ancestral glass, could be just the thing.¡± ¡°The fae would have to shape it, though,¡± said Idris. ¡°How would you propose to do that?¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± Layton sighed. ¡°There are ways.¡± Idris knew them. A jaunt into a fairy circle was a one-way ticket to the fae realm, unless they agreed to return the unwary traveller ¨C those agreements were usually bound to the kind of bargains that he himself had made. A particular mushroom helped the transition. Failing that, it seemed that the bright dreams Willard claimed to have were a good method of communication with someone of fae descent. But was Layton really considering making a deal? ¡°I will conduct some research,¡± said Layton, with a comforting smile that did not quite sit happily on his face. ¡°In the meantime, you shall rest. Here are your books.¡± Idris did not read the texts. He lay in bed, gazing at the ceiling, wondering where to go next. Layton was willing to share the breastplate, but Idris did not yet have the glass required to break it. He needed to write to the Queen again and make an official request for the pauldrons ¨C that was not going to end well. Either that, or¡­ The staff still existed. He drummed his fingers on his stomach, frowning. The person who had the audience with the fae had to be him, not Layton. All he needed was access to the vault, and this was over. That thought felt less like a release and more like a prison. Idris was so close to being out of his deal with the Fairy Queen, so close to escaping Raven¡¯s Roost and forgetting about his father, and yet¡­ He liked the tower. It sang to him without other, invasive arias making him feel guilty. He liked the library and the resources, texts that could truly hone his craft. He liked the isolation, instead of the whispers and stares. Some moments, he even liked Layton. If nothing else, the man knew his struggles in a way that nobody else could. Leaving Raven¡¯s Roost meant explanations, letters to write, confrontations with his mother and Obrin and¡­ Idris sighed, wiggled his fingers at the aria, hoped it connected. Idly, he rubbed the scar on his shoulder. He thought that knowing who his real father was would mean nothing. Instead, it had complicated everything. He owed Layton nothing. Even so, the light in Layton¡¯s face when Idris was kind, or thanked him, or joked with him, was warm and honest and it made Idris want to be better. He had hated Layton, a man who had deceived the Eremonts for his own perverse reasons; now, he pitied Layton. Layton, who lived alone through fear, with no company but the long-dead and a handful of ravens and cats. Layton, who went to Temple Hill to collect a son who was not there. Idris had accused him of being unfeeling and that was not fair. What else was Layton supposed to do? Pine? What if Layton could be redeemed? Idris shifted his jaw, scolded himself for the thought. Now was not the time to make everything more confusing. He spent the rest of the day cleaning himself up, reorganising the herbs and lotions he had made. Around dinner time, he struggled down to the dining room, and was surprised to see that Layton was not there. Instead, there was a single thrall, wiping the table down. Idris turned, looked around. Nothing. He went to the library and Layton was not there, either. Curious, Idris ascended the stairs further to Layton¡¯s bedroom door. When he pressed his hand to the wood, he could feel the death aria, thick and pulsing, drifting from the room. What is he doing? Idris thought. He could not identify the melody. Tentatively, he knocked. The aria dissipated almost immediately. ¡°Layton?¡± Idris said. Layton opened the door a crack. His face was shining with sweat, his pale cheeks flushed, but other than that he was unruffled. ¡°I did not think you would be walking around,¡± Layton said, placing his body between Idris and the view of the room. ¡°I thought you would be dining. I went to see if there was anything to eat.¡± ¡°Oh my,¡± said Layton, seemingly confused about the time. ¡°I¡­ yes, you are right. The hour is late. I¡­¡± ¡°I can put something together,¡± Idris said, but Layton shook his head. ¡°A midnight snack, yes. Let us go to the kitchens. We can dine with the cats, this evening.¡± On the way, Layton closed and locked his bedroom door firmly, smiled amiably at Idris as they descended, inquired about his health. Idris answered automatically, his thoughts lingering on the closed bedroom door and the music beyond it. Chapter Sixteen ¡°I am uncomfortable with you speaking with the fae,¡± said Idris, as he and Layton ate warmed bread and butter by the wood stove in the kitchen. The orange glow of the windowless stone kitchen was homely, like a quaint little farmhouse room. The cats rubbed against Layton¡¯s ankles, purring and licking offered pats of butter from saucers; Layton barely looked up from them when he replied. ¡°The artefact is fae, and it is under my care. It is right for me to do so.¡± ¡°What will they do if they know you have it?¡± said Idris. ¡°They stole a piece to destroy it before, correct?¡± ¡°That much is true.¡± Layton sighed, selected a small scrap of cured meat and offered it to the largest tom, who took it delicately from Layton¡¯s fingers. ¡°Perhaps they will be accommodating.¡± ¡°What if I did it?¡± said Idris. Layton raised an eyebrow, looked at him. ¡°In your state? Out of the question.¡± Idris wondered if Layton would balk at the idea of Idris leaving Raven¡¯s Roost. Technically he could leave when he liked; diplomatically, that seemed difficult. Myriad reasons floated in Idris¡¯s head, a hundred accommodations he had to make. At least, he needed to apologise to his friends. ¡°They might consider me to be a more neutral party,¡± said Idris. ¡°The fae realm is not to be trifled with,¡± said Layton, with a firmer edge to his tone. ¡°As far as they are concerned, there are no neutral parties. There are threats and there is the fae. If we are going to do this, we need to be wary. Your health is paramount. I will not have the fae take advantage of your sickness.¡± A huddle of kittens, mewing, crept into the firelight. Layton smiled softly and laid down a fresh butter saucer for them. The kittens scrambled for the plate, all save a small, grey-and-orange bundle of fur, trying to push itself in and being thoroughly rejected. ¡°Now, now, none of this. We are family, and family shares,¡± said Layton to the kittens, lifting the runt to his lap and tutting at its brothers and sisters. ¡°Come, little one.¡± He took another piece of meat, tore it into scraps. ¡°Here. All yours.¡± The runt mewed and chomped at the meal. Idris watched, his stomach knotted. ¡°What if the fae attack Raven¡¯s Roost for the breastplate?¡± he said. Layton smiled to himself. ¡°The tower can protect itself. Worry not.¡± ¡°At least let me make myself plain,¡± said Idris. Layton waved a hand in a welcoming gesture. ¡°If I leave the tower, go into Outer Arbedes ¨C this is not my permanent residence and they cannot trace me back to Raven¡¯s Roost. You are linked to this place. The fae place a lot of stock in homes and land. They know this land is yours, because it is connected to theirs, and has been for hundreds of years. My home is¡­ separate. If they reject the suggestion, they cannot come down on you. I dread to think what they could do to this place if they levelled enough of their forces at it.¡± ¡°You want to go home,¡± said Layton quietly. Idris pursed his lips. ¡°It is not¡­ not the way you make it sound. I have a different life, out there. My attendant will be looking for me. If I am to stay here full time, Layton, I have to make arrangements. I cannot simply vanish.¡± Layton¡¯s face, though, was still. He stroked his finger over the kitten¡¯s nose, let it nibble his thumb. ¡°Stay?¡± he said hopefully. ¡°Yes. If¡­ if you will have me.¡± The Remaker¡¯s brow creased. ¡°I would like that.¡± Idris held out a piece of bread for the runt. ¡°Here, kitten.¡± It champed down on the crust. ¡°My, he is hungry.¡± ¡°Those left out in the cold are often the hungriest,¡± said Layton, as if from far away. The odd ice that Haylan had described in his letter slid through the cracks. Then, he brightened. ¡°He will grow strong. I will make sure of it. We should give him a name.¡± ¡°You are certain he is a boy?¡± ¡°Oh, certain. If we name him,¡± Layton added, cupping the kitten in his hands, ¡°that means you must come back for him.¡± Idris was not sure how he was supposed to respond to this. ¡°I can go?¡± he said. Layton laughed slightly. ¡°Nobody ever said you were a prisoner here, Idris. You may come and go as you please, as long as you return for your boy, here. And help to repair the curtain after you come back, of course.¡± ¡°You are bribing me with a kitten, like I am a child,¡± said Idris, with a gentle smile. Layton raised his eyebrows. ¡°Is it working?¡± ¡°Perhaps.¡± Idris considered the cat. ¡°I like Thistle.¡± ¡°Thistle.¡± Layton gazed down at it. ¡°Like the Eremont crest.¡± ¡°Then¡­ maybe Johannes?¡± said Idris. Layton nodded. ¡°Johannes Vonner the Second. A strong name. I approve.¡± Idris watched Layton coddle the kitten. Your name is Thistle, he thought. And I will make you strong. * Idris and Layton made several preparations for his departure. Firstly, Layton gave him clothes: a handsome summer coat in soft grey, with silver thread, and black trousers, complimented by a cool white shirt. The next thing he provided was a selection of tools in a cloth bag, much like Idris¡¯s travel magic pouch, filled with crystals and salts that he might need.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°This will allow you to dispel the curtain without having to perform the aria,¡± said Layton, giving Idris a ring. It had a chunk of crystal, swirling in the cast. ¡°It will only respond to you. This is for the fae.¡± Layton placed down a black gem. Idris frowned at it, and Layton smiled placidly. ¡°They will know what it is,¡± he said. ¡°Trade it for their promise that they will reshape the breastplate for you, to fit your specifications. Do not budge.¡± ¡°I will not.¡± Thistle the runt darted across the table to play with the black crystal; Idris snatched it out of his reach and blew out his cheeks. When he held the gem, it seemed to hum uncomfortably in the depths of his ears. Layton deftly scooped up the kitten and plopped him on his shoulder, like a tiny pauldron. ¡°I will take care of your boy,¡± said Layton. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°How far are you travelling?¡± ¡°Gleesdale. I will be back after three days, maximum.¡± ¡°While you are gone, I will complete my research,¡± said Layton. ¡°We will know, minimally, whether we should work on lichdom or the armour. Either way, you will be protected.¡± ¡°Let me bring back supplies,¡± said Idris. ¡°What food do you require?¡± ¡°I shall make a list. New linens, too.¡± To Idris¡¯s surprise, Raven¡¯s Roost had a stable. Layton led him out the back of the ground-floor parlour to a tiny courtyard, open to the sky, where two ponies grazed in their stalls. Idris did not care much for horses and they did not much like him, either, but if hard pressed, he could ride. Layton ummed and erred about Idris¡¯s leg before Idris explained how to tie the stump to the saddle; eventually, he was ready to go. Thistle, sleeping on Layton¡¯s shoulder, hardly even stirred when the horse snorted and began to plod away. As he went, Idris wondered if this was an elaborate trick. Maybe the death curtain would burn him up as he left the courtyard. The horse could easily throw him off and kill him. Each steady step to the gate brought up another dire situation in Idris¡¯s head until he thought it would be best to turn around and give up, and then he was at the gate, and he passed through it, and ¨C Nothing. The death curtain shimmered and he felt a warm breeze. When he turned, the tower was gone. All there was behind him was a crumbling courtyard wall. Tension rose from Idris¡¯s shoulders. I am out. He let out a long, slow breath. The stiffness in his muscles eased. Grateful, he patted the horse¡¯s neck and eased him on. In the morning stillness, Outer Arbedes was quiet and forlorn. Idris and his horse plodded down the paved street, under colossal archways; the steed seemed to know the way and twisted and turned artfully down old roads. Above, ravens cried. I could run, Idris thought. Ride back to Veridia, call for the Queen to send a unit to Raven¡¯s Roost. We could take the breastplate by force. The thought of Raven¡¯s Roost ablaze, though, was painful. Nothing in Outer Arbedes was recognisable as anything Idris had passed on his night flight, but he did start to see trees, eventually, and he assumed he was almost back at The Underwood. Could I¡­ Idris tried to shake the wish away before it had formed in his head, but it would not go. Raven¡¯s Roost, all of this land¡­ it could be his, if he wanted it. His blood had displaced him from the home he had known, stripped him of a name and a family. Even if he took the breastplate and Layton lost his life in the defence of the tower, that did not mean that Idris could not claim his ancestral home. The tower, with its ravens and cats, with its warm kitchen and airy practice room ¨C with its solitude, quiet and serene ¨C it felt like a place he had always known. Lord Idris Vonner of Raven¡¯s Roost. That was who he was. That was the name that the criers should be calling when he walked into parties. Idris drummed his fingers on his thigh as the horse took him up the rocky track out of the ruins. I do not know who I am, he thought. He had been Master Idris Eremont, third in line at Temple Hill. Then, he was Master Idris, invalid, child necromancer, ward of the kingdom. Only days ago, he had been Sir Idris of Gleesdale, Court Necromancer. Blood does not make the man, Uncle Haylan had written. But it took away so much. To have a home, a place where Idris was not whispered about or stared at, somewhere that was truly his ¨C was that not his right? Raven¡¯s Roost did not have to stay secret. He could lift the death curtain, invite attendants and servants, clean up the ruins and make a small village, there. The Vonner name could be respectable again. Idris sighed. ¡°I wish you were here, Uncle,¡± he whispered, his senses filled with the nuances of The Underwood once more. He wondered what it was about Uncle Haylan that Layton apparently loathed. Every time Haylan was mentioned, The Remaker stiffened and made flippant comments about how Haylan could not harm them anymore. As far as Idris knew, they had not had a confrontation; Haylan claimed to never have found Layton, in his years of searching, but that had been in a letter written when Idris was eight. Uncle Haylan had his secrets, Idris supposed. Maybe he had been successful after. The road through The Underwood towards Gleesdale was thin and dark. The trees pressed in and rustled. Idris watched the shadows for fae glitter, for poppets, and saw none. After some time, though, he felt uneasy, and the horse snorted and pawed at the ground. ¡°Easy,¡± Idris whispered, his heart in his throat. ¡°Hello?¡± he said, louder. Carefully, he unravelled his stump from the wrappings, twisted so he was sitting side-saddle and peered into the gloom. The only weapon he had was his grandfather¡¯s dagger and he did not feel comfortable getting off the horse to work a stance ¨C it would be too difficult to return to the saddle, after. He was too exposed, here. ¡°Willard?¡± he said, wondering if Lila had moved their camp out here for safety. ¡°It¡¯s me.¡± A twig snapped. The horse reared. Idris flailed, grabbed for the reins, missed, and was thrown backwards off the saddle. He hit his tailbone on the ground; the pain fizzed up his spine like a lightning strike and he cried out, tears in his eyes. Then someone grabbed his collar, hauled him up and slammed him against a tree trunk, and pressed a blade to his throat. Through the tears, Idris saw the shimmer of ashen hair. ¡°Riette,¡± he said, breathless, grabbing her wrist to steady himself. ¡°Riette, it¡¯s me ¨C¡° ¡°Where in the kingdom have you been?¡± she said, her teeth gritted, her face pink and wrinkled with fury. ¡°I¡­ it is a long story ¨C¡° She pushed him harder, cutting off his sentence. ¡°It¡¯s him,¡± she called into the trees. From behind her came Willard, his hair loose and unkempt, looking more like the hedge witch of old. ¡°Well let him go, eh?¡± he said to Riette, tugging her elbow. ¡°He may be compromised,¡± she said, not releasing her grip. ¡°He ain¡¯t. I know. It¡¯s fine to be mad,¡± he said, his touch becoming softer on her forearm and his eyes becoming harder. ¡°Let him breathe, aye?¡± Riette took a hard breath and let go. Idris rubbed his neck, glanced at the road. Lila had the horse by the halter and was watching the scene with her face pale and her eyes stony. ¡°I am glad to see you all, too,¡± muttered Idris, irritated. ¡°I am not above beating explanations out of stupid men,¡± said Riette, rounding on him again. Willard held her wrist tight. ¡°Nobody¡¯s beating nobody,¡± he said. ¡°Leastwise, not while he ain¡¯t got no foot on. That ain¡¯t a fair fight.¡± ¡°I do not have time to submit to a beating,¡± said Idris. ¡°Please, can we be more civil about this? I actually came looking for you, and I am glad to have found you. Or, I was.¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± Willard glanced at his companions. ¡°We¡¯re glad to see you in the flesh, too, Idris, although¡­ nobody¡¯s best pleased with you at the current moment.¡± ¡°How dare you?¡± said Riette, her fury still fixed on Idris. ¡°It is complicated,¡± said Idris. ¡°I was searching those ruins for a corpse!¡± she finally spat. ¡°Every day! And you dare ¨C¡° ¡°Easy,¡± Willard whispered, squeezing her arm. ¡°Let¡¯s¡­ let¡¯s go back to camp. We¡¯ll talk.¡± Riette tugged herself from Willard¡¯s grip and stormed off into the trees, leaving the hedge witch and Lila standing awkwardly on the road, watching Idris as if he was possessed or mad. ¡°It better be good,¡± said Willard, with an air of finality. ¡°I found my father,¡± said Idris. It was silent, then. Willard frowned, then the light of understanding dawned on him; Lila¡¯s knuckles whitened on the halter. ¡°Good enough?¡± Idris said, suddenly exhausted. ¡°The lady¡¯ll calm,¡± said Willard. ¡°You well?¡± ¡°I would very much appreciate a hug, Willard,¡± said Idris. Willard came forwards and wrapped his arms around Idris, and Idris shut his eyes and tried hard not to cry. Chapter Seventeen The camp that Idris¡¯s friends had set up was deep in the trees, set behind a low cover of hedgerows. Willard had put the aria bells up on one of the trees; laundry hung on another. The carriage was gone, but Riette¡¯s horse grazed close by and Idris¡¯s tent had become a shared dorm. A pot of water bubbled on a low fire. Before anything else happened, Willard did a cursory investigation of Idris¡¯s health. Idris submitted to a search, too, although nobody found anything out of the ordinary except the black gem and the ring. Lila wordlessly put the prosthetic on his leg and removed the pot from the fire; Riette whetted her sword on the edge of camp, her back turned. ¡°You¡¯ve been eating well, hmm?¡± said Willard at last. Idris nodded. ¡°Right, well¡­ well, let¡¯s hear it.¡± Idris shifted his jaw, watched a fly dart across the log. ¡°I found The Remaker¡¯s tower,¡± he said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Riette turn. ¡°It is in Outer Arbedes. He has the Spirit Glass.¡± ¡°Spirit ¨C ¡° Riette stopped. ¡°The dagger?¡± ¡°It is a breastplate,¡± said Idris. ¡°Brother to the dagger. The Remaker keeps it in his tower. It is under heavy guard and I cannot access it without gaining his trust, which is why I had to leave in secret. I could not jeopardise your safety. As far as I am aware, he does not know you exist. He thinks I am there to¡­ to learn necromancy from him, I think. It is not easy to explain.¡± ¡°There is more Spirit Glass?¡± said Riette. ¡°Yes. And it must be destroyed, or else the Fairy Queen will own my soul and I would rather she left it alone. I did not mean to deceive you, my lady. It¡­ it is a delicate matter.¡± He explained as much as he could bear ¨C about the death curtain and the letter he wrote to Cressida, and the vault, and the crystal in the library ¨C and his friends listened silently. He did not tell them about the day in the practice room or the feigned illness, or the cats or the ravens, or the quiet murmur of the death aria that lulled him to sleep in the tall tower room. ¡°He thinks I am out here to make a contract with the fae,¡± Idris finished. ¡°Realistically¡­ I need to ask more favours.¡± ¡°Another necromancer,¡± said Riette, her face still. ¡°Does he wish the kingdom harm?¡± ¡°I do not think so. I think¡­ I think he wants to be left alone, to live as he pleases. I understand that, at least. He will not admit to giving Dravid Orrost the Spirit Dagger but I have seen the place where it lay and¡­ and it was a powerful place. I suspect the breastplate has more power than The Remaker is letting on.¡± Idris sighed. ¡°But you are all safe, and that is what I wanted. I must apologise to you in particular, Lila,¡± he said. She shook her head. ¡°I could not dissuade you,¡± she said. ¡°It was useless to try.¡± ¡°You knew?¡± said Riette, turning to Lila. Lila said nothing; she simply poked the fire and ignored the conversation. ¡°Where is the carriage?¡± said Idris. ¡°We took it to Gleesdale,¡± said Willard. ¡°Figured we could sway your influence there, and it worked. This is our, uh¡­¡± ¡°Forward camp,¡± said Riette, glaring at him. ¡°So we could look for your corpse.¡± Shame warmed Idris¡¯s cheeks. ¡°I did not mean to ¨C¡° ¡°We were within our rights to be concerned,¡± said Willard, before another fight could break out. ¡°But we¡¯re all right glad we were wrong. It¡¯s a balm to see you safe and well, Master Dead-Talker.¡± ¡°Have you spoken to Her Majesty?¡± said Idris. Lila shook her head. ¡°I would not be surprised if she has already sent someone to look for us,¡± said Riette. ¡°I need a few more days,¡± said Idris. ¡°If I can get into the vault¡­¡± ¡°Why did you not just kill The Remaker?¡± said the soldier, with a soldier¡¯s logic. It was a good question. He had gone with full intent and somehow, it had waned. Was he stupid? ¡°He is the only person who can open the vault,¡± said Idris. She shrugged. ¡°A good stone magician could pull the bricks off it relatively easily.¡± ¡°I¡­¡± Idris swallowed the gummy taste in his mouth. ¡°I did not have the stomach for murder, when I got there.¡± ¡°We can take this tower this evening,¡± she said, her eyes confused. ¡°I will kill him. We tell the Queen what we need and she will come and ¨C¡° ¡°Enough people have died for this glass,¡± said Willard. ¡°We are all emotional,¡± said Lila, attempting to curtail Riette¡¯s thoughts, but the lady fixed her eyes on Idris and pursed her lips. ¡°The Remaker claims he is your father,¡± she said quietly, ¡°doesn¡¯t he?¡± Idris said nothing. The silence was strained. Discussing his family history with a noble lady, as raw as it was, had no appeal. He hated her anger and she was angry for good reason. While he had been ruminating in safety, she had been out searching for him, assuming the worst. Riette sighed, gazed out into the trees. ¡°He is not your family,¡± she said, standing. ¡°He is my blood,¡± said Idris firmly, and she turned and glared at him. ¡°That is not family.¡± ¡°That is rather easy for you to say ¨C¡° ¡°He abandoned you and you are willing to ¨C¡° ¡°You do not know what it is like to be me,¡± Idris said, his teeth gritted. ¡°Do not stand there and analyse me like you understand this. You do not.¡± ¡°Your family,¡± said Riette, her voice quiet and dark, ¡°sits right here. Here, in this forest, and on the throne. That man gave a bastard a dagger which nearly destroyed your family ¨C¡° ¡°Use the word ¡®bastard¡¯ very carefully from now on,¡± Idris hissed. Nobody spoke. Idris shook, his jaw aching. Riette did not look remotely threatened. She sheathed her sword, picked up a sack and walked off into the trees. ¡°That went well,¡± whispered Willard. ¡°I do not have time to explain myself to her ladyship,¡± said Idris, snatching up the black gem and getting to his feet.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. ¡°Whoa now, Idris,¡± said Willard, alarmed, jumping up after him. ¡°What¡¯re you doing with that?¡± ¡°I need to talk to Joa. Can you help me or not?¡± ¡°Calm.¡± Willard put his hands on Idris¡¯s shoulders, sighed. ¡°Tell me what you need.¡± Idris was not sure. He needed to tell Layton that he had made the deal, make it seem believable; he did not truly want the breastplate changed. That, and he had to get access to the staff, and find a way to get the breastplate out of the tower without Layton racing to apprehend him after. ¡°Lady Riette might have something,¡± he said quietly. ¡°We may need a distraction. Regardless, I must speak with someone in the fae realm. If we can find a fairy circle ¨C¡° ¡°Eh, we¡­ don¡¯t need to go that far,¡± said Willard with a shy smile. ¡°Leave it to me. I¡­ you should take a moment. ¡®S¡¯been knotty, these last few days, and I¡¯m sure you ain¡¯t had a second to really take it in, hmm?¡± ¡°I ¨C¡° ¡°There¡¯s been a lot of half-truths,¡± said Willard bluntly. ¡°I think now you should make them whole.¡± Obediently, Idris sat, again. Carefully, he told Willard and Lila about Haylan¡¯s letter and what he understood to be true about his parentage. He described Layton and the tower and what had happened there; he explained his plan, as simply as he could. Spelling it out, he realised he had failed. He should have stabbed Layton. Raven¡¯s Roost could have been dismantled and they could already be home. He was delaying, because¡­ Because¡­ ¡°I need to apologise to Lady Riette,¡± he said, into the quiet of the forest. Lila cut Willard a telling look. ¡°Lady Riette is, ah¡­¡± Willard scratched his head. ¡°She ain¡¯t slept well. It¡¯s no surprise she¡¯s wound up.¡± ¡°If she hits me, I deserve it,¡± said Idris, getting up again. ¡°I shall not be long, and I will not wander far. Not this time.¡± ¡°Put a boot over ¨C¡° Lila started, but he ignored her and walked away from the fire. It felt strange, wearing his prosthetic again. Idris picked through the trees with steady, measured steps, watching the hinges and gears in the shining ankle redistributing his weight and tilting the spindly toes up and down. It would be easier to walk the tower steps, he thought, and then shamed himself for it. He found Riette by a small pond. Her sack was bulging; when she saw him, she tensed, then relaxed and sighed. ¡°You scared away our dinner,¡± she said, straightening up from her crouch. ¡°I apologise,¡± Idris said softly. ¡°Can¡­ can we talk?¡± She said nothing. She looked at the skeleton of his false foot, sucked her cheeks and shrugged. ¡°Firstly¡­ firstly I am glad that you stayed. With Lila and Willard, I mean. I know that Lila can take care of herself but¡­ you did not have to be here.¡± ¡°I could not very well return to Veridia without you,¡± said Riette testily. ¡°You are aware that ¨C¡° ¡°That Her Majesty sent you to watch me?¡± he said. ¡°Yes. Or at least, that is what I assumed.¡± Her cheeks reddened. ¡°I¡­ it was not that way.¡± ¡°Regardless,¡± said Idris, sighing, ¡°I appreciate that you did not abandon my friends.¡± He sat on a fallen log, rolled the ball of his false foot on the ground, examining the cogs. ¡°I have been lonely my whole life,¡± he said. ¡°I understand that this admission probably seems selfish, but it is the truth. I do not expect you to know what that is like. Family has always been a¡­ a difficult concept for me. I could have killed him, Riette. I had the dagger in my hand and I¡­¡± Riette sat beside him quietly. ¡°I know loneliness,¡± she said. ¡°You have seven brothers ¨C¡° ¡°Seven brothers who flew from the nest as fast as they possibly could,¡± she said. ¡°Crescent Crest is a magnificently solitary place. My father is strict, and my brothers wanted none of his edicts and ideas about our station. I know loneliness, Idris.¡± She scoffed, shook her head. ¡°The idea of a noble family is not real family. It is meaningless action, all designed to protect the concept of honour. Who cares about fealty to a long line of dead ancestors? I am fortunate that I have my brothers, that much is true, but if I could throw my name into the sea ¨C¡° ¡°This is where we will always fundamentally disagree,¡± said Idris, feeling hot and confused. Riette watched him carefully, frowning. ¡°I would give my second leg to be an Eremont. I¡­ if I could wish it into being¡­ it is too hard to explain.¡± He pursed his lips. ¡°This man is my father, Riette.¡± ¡°He is just a man who made you ¨C¡° ¡°No,¡± he said firmly, looking right at her. ¡°No, that is not right. It would be one thing if there were scores of necromancers out there but there are not. We are alone. This is my one chance to understand this, to¡­ to stop feeling like an abomination. Can you understand that part of it, if you cannot understand it all? I thought I was an Eremont. I thought it for half my life. I thought these two hands, they could help people. I thought I was good and pure.¡± He did not know when he had started crying, but it felt honest, and he was tired of dishonesty. He held his hands on his lap, stared at the thin fingers, the dirt under the nails, the patches of healed burns. ¡°I thought one day, people would come to me to fix their coughs and colds. I thought I would live in Temple Hill and I thought, when I was older, it would be mine. And then, all at once, none of these things were true. These damned hands, Riette ¨C they ruined me. And nobody could tell me why because the truth was too difficult, so I believed, up until four days ago, that I was deformed. That¡­ that something had just gone wrong inside me and there was nobody to blame for that but myself and cruel fate. You cannot understand the relief, the sheer¡­ the giddiness of knowing that I am not a freak of nature, that I was not an accident and I am not evil and that someone, somewhere, even fractionally wanted me, and they wanted me to be this way, and¡­¡± He covered his mouth and screwed his eyes shut, and cried soundlessly into the back of his hand. Somehow, he had buried these thoughts. In the days following Haylan¡¯s death, it had been a necessary graveyard to build. If he continued to believe those things, day after day, every waking moment, he would never have got out of bed again. But those ghosts were restless, now. ¡°My parents gave me up,¡± he whispered. ¡°Because I am their shame. Layton wants me. He wants me to stay. And Riette, I¡­ I want to stay. And I am frightened of that. And I do not know what to do. I cannot hurt him. I want to but I cannot. If I stay, Cressida will¡­ she will cast me out, I know it. But Layton will always welcome me home, no matter what I do or who I am. How do I give that away?¡± Gently, Riette took Idris¡¯s hand away from his face, wiped the tears off his knuckles and used the heel of her hand to clean his cheeks. His fingers stayed in hers. ¡°When you lost your foot,¡± she whispered, ¡°who was there? Layton? No.¡± She brushed Idris¡¯s fringe out of his eyes. ¡°When your uncle passed, was he there? When there was war in the kingdom, did he seek you out, to see if you were safe? Who sat at your bedside when you woke with nightmares? Who soothed your wounds? Who fought beside you?¡± She turned his head so he was looking at her, and she reached into his heart with only her gaze, and he felt foolish and weak all at once. The part of Riette which made him tell her truths he would not admit to anyone else had found a deep foothold inside him; it was magic he could not hope to replicate. ¡°Lila and Willard, the Queen, Kurellan ¨C none of those people care if you are an Eremont or not. The magic in your blood does not bar you from their halls or their tables. It means nothing.¡± Riette placed her knuckles on the spot where the dagger wound still stained Idris¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Layton sent a man to kill us all, with a dagger that could have ruined the kingdom. And he is who you want to call your family?¡± ¡°I know what he did ¨C¡° ¡°What will he do when he realises that it was you who stopped Orrost at Braemar?¡± said Riette. Idris said nothing. He had not even thought about it. ¡°Idris,¡± she said, taking his hand in both of hers, ¡°blood is finite. One day, there will be no more Eremonts and no more DeTrentavilles and no more Nagas. Blood mixes and spills. But the love I see for you, every day? From all kinds of people, from all kinds of families, from aria-conductors and the aria-deaf? That is something that nobody can take from you. You are the only person who can throw that away. Is that something you want to do?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to feel alone anymore,¡± he said. ¡°You were never alone,¡± Riette said fiercely, gripping his fingers. ¡°But you put distance between yourself and the people you love because you did not believe yourself worthy of their love in return. When will you be worthy? When you own a secret tower? When you have a centuries-old necromantic family behind you? When you can trace your ancestry back to the fae wars and everyone bows and calls you Lord? Will that be enough?¡± ¡°Riette ¨C¡° ¡°Why do you think I stayed?¡± she said, her own eyes filled with tears, now. They sat, silent, with Riette¡¯s grip desperate on Idris¡¯s fingers. ¡°I did not come because the Queen asked me to,¡± she said eventually, ¡°although she did ask me. And I have not been searching Outer Arbedes every day and night because I thought it was my duty. And I did not invite you to talk with my brothers at the party out of pity or duty.¡± Idris thought of the birthday party, of the fireworks shimmering off the gold embroidery on Riette¡¯s capelet, of how she smiled when she saw him there. ¡°I have never known a man so incapable of believing in the goodness of himself,¡± she whispered, shaking her head. ¡°Sir Idris?¡± Idris tugged his hands from Riette¡¯s, wiped his face and turned. Lila peered around the trees. She looked once at Riette, then at him, and she did not comment. ¡°Willard is ready for you,¡± she said. ¡°Good,¡± said Idris, then cleared his throat. ¡°Thank you, Lila, I¡­ I will be there momentarily.¡± When he turned to catch Riette¡¯s eye again, she was already walking away, the sack over her shoulder, her braid swinging behind her. Chapter Eighteen Joy-of-Autumn bowed low when Idris approached the fire. ¡°Master Dead-Talker,¡± he said, his voice ethereal and calm, the silver crown in his waves of golden hair shining. Willard sat quietly against a tree trunk, his hands dug into the floor, moss and flowers growing up his arms like tight lace. He grinned at Idris¡¯s concerned stare. ¡°Been doing a-plenty of learning while you¡¯ve been away,¡± he said brightly. ¡°Fae magic is knotty. Don¡¯t want to be held in by stances and all that. Kinda¡­ whispers to me what it wants, how to do it.¡± ¡°This is my second visit,¡± said Joa. When he moved, the air seemed to glitter and skew around him, as if he had been cut from a painting. ¡°It is pleasant, to step outside of the fae realm for a spell. Come, sit. We have been discussing your, ah¡­ problem.¡± ¡°He ain¡¯t gonna cut your arm again,¡± said Willard quickly. ¡°Right?¡± ¡°Oh, of course not,¡± said Joa, looking troubled at the thought. ¡°That was¡­ a terrible misunderstanding.¡± ¡°I am glad your mother crafted such a fine poppet of me,¡± said Idris coolly. ¡°It is a shame about its foot, though.¡± Joa kept his face neutral, but there was a flash of fury in his eyes. ¡°How is the Fairy Queen?¡± said Idris, settling himself on the floor. ¡°She is¡­ herself,¡± said Joa, sitting on the opposite side of the fire. ¡°Lady Riette,¡± said Idris, about to introduce her, but Riette put her tongue in her cheek and put her sack on the ground. ¡°We¡¯ve met,¡± she said, pulling out a rabbit to skin. ¡°The Blackstone Lady and I have spoken,¡± said Joa, with a pleasant smile that hid multitudes. ¡°She threatened to cleave my head from my shoulders if I did not assist in the search for you. It was a grand visit.¡± ¡°I like fae better when they are quiet,¡± said Riette, tugging entrails out of the corpse; the death aria from the rabbit plunged deep and low in Idris¡¯s bones. ¡°And I like human soldiers better when they are dead,¡± said the fairy prince mildly. ¡°But we do not always get what we like. She did not believe me when I said you were safe, Dead-Talker. I thought noble ladies had noble manners, but I was wrong. No matter. Kin Willard tells me that you have located the breastplate.¡± ¡°I have.¡± ¡°I will not ask,¡± said the prince, holding up a hand. ¡°Suffice to say, you are requesting the use of the staff to destroy it.¡± ¡°I am. Or a piece of it. It is a tricky situation, though, and arriving with the staff would cause problems,¡± said Idris. ¡°I would like to know what you are willing to do to assist me.¡± Joa crossed his legs, his face pensive. In the quiet forest light, his resemblance to Willard was clearer than it had been in the fae realm, in the fear and confusion of their first meeting. Their hair shimmered the same way, and while Willard¡¯s curls were tight and bouncy, they parted naturally at the forehead at the same angle as Joa¡¯s. The fae prince¡¯s gentle lips, when pulled into a friendly smile, made Willard¡¯s smile. Idris wondered if his friends would see the same things, if they ever met Layton. Eventually, Joa turned to Idris and let out a long, slow sigh. ¡°We should talk in private, friend,¡± he said. ¡°Willard, do you mind?¡± ¡°Mind?¡± said Willard. ¡°Nah. You go ahead. Not sure how far I can push the bright bits out, though. Where¡¯re you a-walking to?¡± ¡°There is a gathering of violets not far from here,¡± said Joa, standing. ¡°Perhaps thirty steps. Concentrate on my image, it should maintain my appearance here.¡± ¡°Aye.¡± ¡°If we talk in private,¡± said Idris, remembering the events of the fae realm, and Joa smiled and shook his head. ¡°You are under special protections, Master Dead-Talker. I cannot harm you, and I cannot offer any new deals.¡± Riette squared her jaw and broke the spine of a rabbit over her knee. Joa¡¯s smile did not waver. ¡°The Blackstone Lady can watch with arrow nocked should she deem it appropriate,¡± he added. ¡°That will not be necessary,¡± said Idris, getting up and touching Riette¡¯s shoulder in a brief, calming flicker. ¡°I shan¡¯t be long.¡± He joined Joa, and they wandered for a minute before coming across the patch of violets the prince had mentioned. ¡°Apologies for my treatment of your¡­ guard,¡± said Joa. ¡°The Blackstone families and the fae, we do not interact, and for good reason. Treaties were signed, but¡­ resentment runs deep.¡± Idris nodded. Most old noble families had some disagreements with the fae from some time or another. The fae had been vicious during the many wars between them and the mortal realm ¨C stealing children, bodysnatching rulers, disappearing whole cities ¨C and New Borria¡¯s families had long memories. Out of the ruling houses of the continent, the Eremonts and the Meers were likely the two bloodlines that the fae did not quarrel with; he had no idea how the Vonners stood in fae estimation. ¡°You met your father,¡± said Joa, sitting in the violets. Idris chewed the inside of his lip and nodded. ¡°We have had¡­ dealings, before. He sits on the edge of our second-largest expanse of territory, and we keep his land quietly watched. He has been interesting to us, of late.¡± ¡°When did you know?¡± said Idris, sitting also. ¡°My mother saw it in your blood. You said Eremont and it was not a lie ¨C there is Eremont. But the dominant line is Vonner. She thought it best to keep that to herself.¡± Joa paused. ¡°There are not a lot of necromancers around. Where there is one, any other is likely to be kin. Father assumed you would be meeting soon.¡± ¡°The armour is¡­¡± ¡°Ancestrally yours. Yes.¡± Idris pursed his lips. He did not know how to feel about that. ¡°I know where the last two pieces are. The breastplate, and the pauldrons. But¡­ I can destroy the pauldrons by using them against each other, once I have access to them. The breastplate, I fear I cannot remove from its resting place without alerting other interested parties.¡± ¡°Noted.¡± ¡°I need... a distraction,¡± said Idris hopefully. ¡°And a way in. I need Layton to believe that giving me access to the breastplate is useful and necessary, and then I need to dispose of it quickly.¡± Joa smiled. ¡°Let me lay out my proposal.¡± * When Joa eventually left, he clasped Willard¡¯s shoulder tightly and kissed his crown. Willard smiled, sweat on his brow. ¡°Everything will be well,¡± said his father. ¡°I will go.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Joa shimmered out of existence like he had never truly been there, and the moss that had held Willard¡¯s hands so tightly against the ground suddenly crumbled like there had been a hard frost; the hedge witch winced and blew out a long, twinkly note of fae aria. ¡°That is quite something,¡± said Idris. ¡°I¡¯m right tired,¡± said Willard, wiping the sweat and resting his head against the tree trunk. ¡°It¡¯d be nice if he could just get a carriage over here.¡± ¡°There have to be some drawbacks to having a princely father, Willard.¡± ¡°Aye, I s¡¯pose so.¡± He peered at Idris. ¡°You staying tonight?¡± Idris nodded, glancing at Lila and Riette. ¡°If you will have me,¡± he said. Riette¡¯s face hid nothing ¨C she showed her simmering anger in her pursed lips, her squared shoulders ¨C but Lila¡¯s behaviour was troublesome. She was quiet and reserved, much as she was when she had first come to assist Idris at the palace, and she would not look her companions in the eye. Idris wished he could speak to her privately, ask her what was wrong, but he assumed she too was annoyed with him. By itself, that thought was invasive. Lila had always been by his side, through everything; somehow, he had even betrayed her trust. ¡°Let¡¯s keep you where we can see you, eh?¡± said Willard, wiping his palms on his thighs and getting up. ¡°I¡¯m starving.¡± It was getting into early evening, and the shadows were thick and deep in the undergrowth. Riette¡¯s collection of hunted animals roasted over an open fire. Lila passed out water from a filled skin ¨C the wine was gone. Willard filled the awkward silence with fae ditties about summertime flowers and rabbit lords, and Idris sat quietly beside the fire, wondering what Layton was eating for his dinner. ¡°What¡¯s he like?¡± Willard asked eventually, when the meat was cool enough to handle. ¡°Hmm?¡± said Idris, stirring. ¡°Who?¡± ¡°Your pa. What¡¯s he like?¡± Idris shrugged, looked back at the flames. ¡°He is... I do not really know. Quiet. Closed off.¡± ¡°Must¡¯ve been a shock to him, you just a-walking up like that.¡± ¡°It was.¡± Idris frowned. ¡°Probably it was more shocking that I approached him with a knife in my hand.¡± ¡°I do not know how he could have expected much else,¡± said Riette. ¡°He believes me to be a better man than I am,¡± said Idris quietly. ¡°That is the role I must play.¡± ¡°Ain¡¯t many people out there better than you, Idris,¡± said Willard. ¡°Believe me.¡± ¡°That would be nice if it were true.¡± Idris smiled bitterly. ¡°Good men do not tend to treat their friends as badly as I do.¡± ¡°First part of being good is noticing what things you do bad,¡± said Willard. ¡°Nobody¡¯s perfect, but we can all try to notice when we aren¡¯t.¡± ¡°What is it like?¡± said Riette, frowning. ¡°Knowing that he is here?¡± Idris sniffed. ¡°I... I cannot adequately describe. It is simultaneously exciting and infuriating. I want to slam his head against the brick wall at the same time as I want to make him laugh. I wish so desperately that I could... stand firmly on one side or the other. I hate him. But... but there is not so much to hate except his absence. He is not mean or spiteful. He is actually rather kind and awkward. I think he is simply very lonely and he does not know how to behave towards me. I am an adult. He knows nothing about me. That must be difficult.¡± ¡°Do you think he might hurt you?¡± she said. ¡°No,¡± said Idris, and he believed it. ¡°I do not. He wants an heir. He will not jeopardise that.¡± Lila still said nothing. ¡°Personally,¡± said Willard, throwing the bones into the fire, ¡°I think this might all turn out pretty fine.¡± When Idris raised an eyebrow at him, Willard smiled. ¡°You found family. Maybe once the whole glass business is done, you can get together again. Mebbe he could live in the palace?¡± Riette smiled pityingly at Willard. ¡°You have much to learn still, Princeling.¡± ¡°Layton could not come to Veridia, Willard,¡± said Idris. Willard frowned. ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°It is not the place for someone like him,¡± Idris said, and felt ashamed immediately. ¡°Someone like us,¡± he corrected. ¡°So when are you leaving us?¡± said Lila. Her voice was sharp and brittle, like flint, and her words struck Idris like a well-shot arrow. Her head was still down but her shoulders were shaking and her eyes were shut. ¡°Like you said, he is your family,¡± she continued. ¡°Why would you stay in Veridia any longer? You have an ancestral home, a noble bloodline. You¡¯re going to leave, correct?¡± Idris stared at Lila. ¡°I -¡± ¡°Everything you said,¡± she interrupted, glaring right at him, ¡°was all dung. How could people like us ever be important to someone like you?¡± ¡°Lila -¡± ¡°Family first is what you told me,¡± she said. Her eyes spilled tears. ¡°And then you left me here to lie for you like... like some loyal dog! We leave the things that are in the past in the past, correct? Then let me make it easy for you. I am not your family, Idris. I never was. I was convenient. I¡¯m just a stupid, common little girl who you can dispose of at will. Don¡¯t you ever come to me and ask me to help you again.¡± ¡°Miss Lila,¡± said Willard, stunned, ¡°come now -¡± Lila threw the bottle of charmed water on the ground. ¡°I called the Queen,¡± she said. Idris¡¯s face felt hot instantly. ¡°You did what?¡± he said. ¡°I called her yesterday,¡± said Lila furiously. ¡°To end this. To bring you home. And then that¡¯s where I¡¯ll be going, home. My real home. And you can go to your secret stupid tower with your hateful father because that¡¯s where ¡®people like you¡¯ belong, and people like us, we don¡¯t matter to you. Not at all.¡± She hurled the bag of knuckle bones beside the bottle and grabbed her sword. ¡°Lila, no,¡± said Riette, trying to grab her arm, but the girl would not be dissuaded. She tore herself away and stamped off in the direction of the road. Idris sat, feeling sick. She called Cress. The Queen was on her way. ¡°Take those,¡± he whispered to Willard, getting up. ¡°Where are you going?¡± said Willard. ¡°To get Lila.¡± ¡°Idris -¡± ¡°I am not leaving her behind,¡± Idris said, and he hurried into the trees. It did not take long to find her. She was on the road, walking doggedly but crying hard. ¡°Lila,¡± said Idris, trying to catch up. She turned, hand on her sword hilt. ¡°Go away, Idris.¡± ¡°There are traps in these woods, you know,¡± he said, half-joking. ¡°Why would you care?¡± ¡°Bells, Lila, why would I not? Please stop. I...¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sorry I called her,¡± she said, straightening her shoulders like he was going to fight her. ¡°I¡¯m not. I was scared. This is her job, not mine.¡± ¡°I am not angry.¡± ¡°I should have taken your stupid money,¡± she said, her face crumbling again. ¡°Why didn¡¯t I take your money?¡± ¡°I... I honestly do not know, Lila, but I am glad you did not,¡± he said. He did not know if he could make her stay. What could he promise her? Realistically, everything she felt and thought was valid. What else was she meant to think? ¡°Lila...¡± ¡°I will not be your crutch,¡± she said. ¡°And I do not want to burden you. You are your own person.¡± This was not the fight Lila expected; Idris saw it in her hesitation, in the fresh flow of tears. Idris closed his eyes. ¡°For my eighteenth birthday,¡± he said, ¡°you got me an ink bottle, made with glass from Istabrook.¡± She said nothing, so he continued. ¡°It is still the ink bottle I use. For my nineteenth birthday, you got me gloves, with sheepskin lining, for the cold halls, because you saw how my hands chafe when I use my crutches in the winter. For my twentieth, you... you went ice fishing with me. You caught the biggest northern pike I have ever seen and I lost my hipflask in the river, so for my twenty-first, you gave me a new hipflask.¡± He opened his eyes cautiously. Lila stood, paralysed, watching him. ¡°Do you know who else gives me birthday presents?¡± he said softly. ¡°Do you know who else remembers? That is not your job, Lila. Nobody else¡¯s attendants are expected to purchase gifts, or... or go on trips to the River Noctis on the coldest day of the year, just to fish. The only other person who celebrates my birthday with me is the Queen. I remember what I got you for your seventeenth. It was a dismissal. Sixty gold pieces and an official letter of commendation. Why did I give you that?¡± She sniffed, wiped her eyes. ¡°Because... because... you said I had done enough.¡± ¡°I did not expect you to give it back,¡± he said. ¡°I thought that was the best thing I could do for you. For my friend. For my friend who... who did not care about blood or necromancy or family names. I thought I could give you a life of your own. Lila, if that is truly what you want ¨C I offer it, willingly. Go if it pleases you. I would be happy to see you happy. If...¡± He could not deny it, so he blurted it out. ¡°If I stay with Layton, it is not because I am throwing you away. It... the opportunity, Lila... it has been just us for so long now, I know that. Me and you against the world. But the world... my world, it got so much bigger all at once. There is space in it for you, if you want it. If not... if not, I will be happy to let you go, if it is what you truly want.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t stay if I have to keep lying for you,¡± said Lila. ¡°Then... we will renegotiate the terms. A real contract. You do not have to be my attendant. I can pay you more. You will never have to lie for me again.¡± ¡°You swear?¡± she said. Idris took his grandfather¡¯s dagger, cut the pad of his thumb and let the blood run. ¡°I swear,¡± he said. ¡°You and your friendship are more valuable to me than anything. Than this,¡± he said, squeezing the cut so the blood welled. ¡°I meant it when I said it, Lila. You are my family. You, Her Majesty. Willard too. Our family can grow without pushing anyone out. I have a cat son, now, would you believe it?¡± She smiled, just slightly, then hunched her shoulders. ¡°I... was angry, when I called Her Majesty -¡± ¡°You did the right thing. It simply speeds up my plan.¡± Idris sighed. ¡°You did not eat. If you are taking the road, do you want to eat, first?¡± Lila glanced up the track, into the falling night. ¡°I do,¡± she said. As she passed him, she said, ¡°And then we can negotiate our contract.¡± ¡°My lady,¡± he said, turning to follow her. ¡°Oh, no,¡± she said, with a quiet laugh. ¡°Just Lila, please, Sir Idris.¡± ¡°Only Idris. Thank you. I was going to do this for your eighteenth, you know. Now I have to think of a better gift.¡± ¡°All I would like for my eighteenth is for you to be alive,¡± she said, nudging his ribs with her bony elbow. ¡°I will try.¡± ¡°A cat son?¡± ¡°He is adorable. His name is Thistle. You will meet him soon enough.¡± ¡°I did not take you for a cat person.¡± ¡°Cats are valuable assets to a necromancer. Did I never tell you about the Braemar strays?¡± ¡°Tell me tomorrow,¡± said Lila. ¡°Sir.¡± Idris supposed that meant he was allowed to stay. Chapter Nineteen Lila and Riette went to Gleesdale to collect the goods that Layton had written on his list the next morning, leaving Idris to impart Joa¡¯s plan to Willard. Willard dug his tongue into his cheek and nodded, frowning, as Idris drew maps in the dirt and listed the steps. ¡°You¡¯ll be safe though, aye?¡± said Willard at last. ¡°I think so.¡± Willard sighed heavily. ¡°How d¡¯you want me to stop Her Majesty?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± said Idris simply. ¡°Tell her the plan. Tell her the truth. It is about time she knew it. Let her know her role in this and direct her accordingly.¡± ¡°Not certain I should be directing queens, Idris,¡± said Willard, pulling a face, but Idris put a hand on his student¡¯s shoulder and smiled. ¡°You are the perfect man for directing queens. I would trust nobody else with this.¡± ¡°I hope you don¡¯t have to harm your pa.¡± Idris¡¯s smile faded. He nodded. ¡°Me too.¡± ¡°I truly hope he can come with us, after,¡± said Willard. ¡°It¡¯d be exciting, to have two necromancers around.¡± ¡°I would not use the word ¡®exciting¡¯ to describe it, Willard.¡± Idris gathered some belongings ¨C a second prosthetic and a pair of boots, a few books ¨C and Willard helped him to pile them onto Layton¡¯s horse. ¡°Idris,¡± Willard said at last, ¡°how d¡¯you kill a necromancer?¡± ¡°The same way you kill everything else,¡± said Idris. ¡°I mean¡­ ain¡¯t your blood filled with death arias? Is that enough to¡­ keep you alive?¡± ¡°No.¡± Idris frowned. ¡°At least, I do not think so.¡± He turned to Willard, smiled playfully. ¡°Want to test it?¡± ¡°King and Circle, Idris, no,¡± said Willard, wide-eyed. ¡°You stupid sod. Ain¡¯t nothing to play with.¡± ¡°I tease.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± ¡°Although, this old thing?¡± said Idris, stamping his false foot. ¡°My uncle used to say he was sure that the necrosis did just enough to preserve itself.¡± ¡°Huh?¡± ¡°Even when the healers cut off the foot, the necrosis remained. Uncle Haylan theorised that perhaps, the necrosis wanted to keep itself alive, so it did not eat me up, instead preferring a live host.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right knotty.¡± ¡°It is.¡± Once the women returned and night began to fall, they shared one final meal together. They agreed to meet at Gleesdale once everything was over; they would wait for Idris for three weeks, in case something went wrong. ¡°And if something does go wrong, and I do not return,¡± said Idris at last, ¡°then I have requests. I wrote my will.¡± He held out a scroll, freshly sealed. ¡°There are letters, too. Some will need sending. Others, you can put in the recipient¡¯s hands. Lila, will you take care of these?¡± She nodded. ¡°Willard has the plan,¡± said Idris. ¡°Deviate at your discretion, as situations arise. Hopefully, Joa will stay true to his word.¡± ¡°What do we do if we find a dead necromancer?¡± said Riette, frowning. ¡°Burn him,¡± said Idris immediately. ¡°Whether it is me or The Remaker. We do not want to leave a useful corpse for the victor.¡± * Raven¡¯s Roost would have made a glorious shadow against the dawn light, if it were visible to the naked eye. Idris wondered how tall it was as he approached the courtyard; he tried to measure it in his mind¡¯s eye, and eventually trained his sights on a few spotty ravens, circling nearby. He clenched his hands tight around the horse¡¯s reins and looked at the ring, and hoped it would do enough to dispel the death curtain on his return. The horse plodded onwards, until Idris heard the notes, felt the hot weight on his shoulders, smelled the strange lightning-strike scent of the magic, and eventually saw the stables, quiet in the dawn. He was halfway off the horse when the door opened and Layton emerged, his smile bright and his eyes kind. ¡°Master Vonner,¡± he said, coming to hold the halter as Idris jumped down. ¡°Father.¡± It still made Idris¡¯s stomach clench to say it. ¡°I have multitudes of good news.¡± ¡°Oh, your foot,¡± said Layton, seeing the relatively normal boot on the end of Idris¡¯s right leg. ¡°I collected my prosthetics. No more crutches.¡± ¡°Excellent. Come, come, let me make some breakfast. Leave the luggage for the thralls. You must have ridden hard.¡± Layton served breakfast in the comfortable parlour where they first met, with hot tea and freshly baked butter-cakes, and he waited until Idris had filled his plate before he inquired about the outcome of the trip, but Idris could tell it was a strain to wait. Layton sat like an eager student, hungry for information. ¡°I spoke with a fae prince,¡± said Idris. ¡°He said his name was Joy-of-Autumn. He was pleased for the black gem and he knew of the armour. He wishes to meet with you.¡± ¡°With me?¡± Layton said, his eyebrows raised. ¡°As the owner of the armour, he thinks it right to ask your permission. He would like to take it with him to reshape to our specifications.¡± Layton nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. ¡°I will¡­ I will collect the chest from the vault. I am not sure the tower will allow for fae visitors, though. We may have to reconfigure the curtain. I will do some research.¡± Thistle darted out from under the armchair, mewling gleefully at Idris; Idris smiled and scratched the kitten¡¯s tiny head as Thistle rubbed his cheek against the prosthetic. ¡°How was my son?¡± said Idris. ¡°Darling. He loves riding on my shoulder. I am sure he will allow you to carry him, too.¡± Layton sipped his tea. ¡°Your home?¡± ¡°As I left it.¡± ¡°Then all is well?¡± said Layton. Idris nodded. ¡°All is well.¡± He scooped up Thistle, placed the kitten on his shoulder. ¡°I am ready to assist you, Father. Whatever you need.¡± Layton smiled. Idris¡¯s spine itched. He did not know why. ¡°We will get to work,¡± The Remaker said. The first thing Layton wanted to do was correct the death curtain. They retreated to the library; Layton wheeled the crystal into a clearer section of the room and drew a variety of chalk lines on the tile floor, instructing Idris where to kneel and which stances to use, but a lot of the technicality sped over Idris¡¯s head in a confusing blur. At the palace, he was the resident expert in necromancy. In Raven¡¯s Roost, he understood that he was a novice. Thistle, confused by the continuous motion and noise, took to climbing bookshelves instead. ¡°Slowly,¡± Idris said eventually. Layton, cheeks flushed with excitement, paused breathlessly. ¡°Place your hands on the crystal,¡± Layton said. ¡°We are weaving.¡± ¡°Weaving?¡± ¡°You¡­ oh my, you have never conducted a duet,¡± he realised all at once, and stood deflated.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. ¡°Slowly,¡± Idris said again, settling into a comfortable kneel. ¡°I will follow if you lead.¡± Layton quietly knelt beside Idris, sucking his top lip in. ¡°How did your father show you? Show me the same way.¡± In response, Layton held out his hand. Unsure, Idris gripped it. Layton¡¯s hand was cool and still. ¡°Do you know how to communicate through the aria?¡± said Layton. ¡°Theoretically.¡± ¡°We will start there. Breathe with me.¡± Idris watched the rise and fall of Layton¡¯s chest, and timed his breaths of the aria with his father¡¯s. The aria he heard was comforting, steady. He spent so much time outside manipulating the notes that he hardly ever got to simply listen to the way the music crested and dipped, its sustain and its vibrato. It was easy to get lost in the mournful sound, the quiet pleading of it. It was his. Sharing it was novel. Giddily, Idris realised that the same notes he heard were exactly what Layton heard, too. Is this what it felt like for Cressida, when she learned with her father? ¡°Do you hear my voice?¡± said Layton, through the music. Not through ¨C it was as if Layton was another instrument in the orchestra, being given a solo to perform. Idris took a new, deep breath and thought of the sounds of his own voice, how they melded with the notes he heard. ¡°Yes,¡± he thought. ¡°Tell me a story.¡± Idris felt Layton¡¯s hand leave his. He felt the sweat and the heat that he usually felt when he practised. ¡°When I was seven,¡± he thought, ¡°before I lost my foot, I found a dead doe in the woods.¡± He does not know why this particular image came to mind, but he feels suddenly as if it is the only story he could tell his father. ¡°I was collecting moss, for a sedative. The doe was in a hunter¡¯s trap. I must have followed the aria there, somehow, thinking it was the healer aria and that it would lead me to better moss. Instead, there she was, her eyes lifeless and faraway. When animals are dead, they do have a strange quality to them. The stillness seemed feigned. Forced. The fur seemed like it would spear your hand if you touched it. ¡°She had struggled and there was blood all over the leaves. I was only frightened for an instant. Then, I found her quite beautiful and sad.¡± Somewhere, he heard the aria shift in tone and quality. It was strong and controlled. ¡°Keep going,¡± said Layton. Idris refocused his mind on the timbre of his own voice ¨C his own song. ¡°I remember placing my hand on her throat,¡± he thought. ¡°I remember thinking that I should try to close her wounds, that it was the least I could do. But when I put my hand on her, I felt the aria surge in her and through me, as if I was connected to her. I saw her cut arteries and broken ankles as if I were somehow inside her body, miniscule and infinite. I felt her little heart, still and empty. I think that was the first time I truly conducted necromancy ¨C not what I did to my own foot. The connection I had with that poor animal, the way I saw her death as a failing of parts, visualised the tendons and bones¡­ I was a necromancer then. I know that now. ¡°I kept it to myself,¡± he thought. But as he thought it, he was certain he heard a second voice, alongside his own, saying the same thing. ¡°I did not know if it was normal. I collected my moss and I returned to my mother, telling her only ¨C¡° ¡°- that I had found a dead deer,¡± said the two voices, together. ¡°And we should take up the corpse before wolves came.¡± ¡°Bells,¡± Idris gasped out loud, releasing himself from the aria¡¯s clutches and feeling it shove through him. Layton tutted. ¡°Already?¡± ¡°That was you,¡± said Idris, staring at Layton. ¡°Of course it was.¡± ¡°How did you -?¡± ¡°Voices ¨C thoughts, pushed through the aria ¨C they are the aria,¡± said Layton, one hand on the wooden stand of the crystal. ¡°I did what I always do and I took control of the notes. That is how you conduct a duet.¡± ¡°How did you know what I was going to think?¡± ¡°I used the pattern that you left. It is rather simple once you do it for yourself.¡± Layton tapped his foot. ¡°Think of it as the same way you would grasp a melody being played by an orchestra at a fine banquet. Even if you had never before heard the song, you could eventually follow the tune all by yourself, if you had a good grasp of musical theory.¡± ¡°Predicting¡­ patterns,¡± said Idris. ¡°Quite.¡± ¡°I understand.¡± ¡°I need you to put your hands on the crystal, if you can reach from your kneel.¡± ¡°I can.¡± Idris pushed himself to his kneeling height and put his hands on the cool case. ¡°Here?¡± Layton moved Idris¡¯s fingers, pushed his legs apart. ¡°Nexus of Belonging,¡± he said. Idris frowned. ¡°Is that¡­ wise?¡± The Nexus of Belonging was a channel. Essentially, it allowed the death aria to use the casting necromancer¡¯s body as a funnel, as if the magician was a part of the aria himself. Similar to the Nexus of Control, it stripped the necromancer of most of his autonomy in the name of increasing the power of his spell. ¡°Wise or not,¡± said Layton, ¡°it is necessary.¡± Idris did as he was told and dropped his head so it was loose, dropped his shoulders too. ¡°Jaw,¡± said Layton, and Idris rolled his eyes. ¡°Father,¡± he muttered, and relaxed his jaw. ¡°Better. This will feel chaotic for a few seconds. Do not forget to follow the patterns so you can weave with me. Tell me a new story to anchor yourself once we are in it. Then, we will begin.¡± The crystal, even within its casing, sang a peculiar song. Idris focused on it, took his deep breath and, with a fair amount of trepidation, said, ¡°Enter.¡± His throat burned; his body felt swept through, like a huge wave had decimated a village, and he was disorientated in the undertow. ¡°Be still,¡± said Layton¡¯s voice behind the roar. ¡°Be loose. Let it flow. Tell me a story.¡± Idris flailed for a memory like he was groping for driftwood as the aria tried to drown him. Ideas came and crashed past, snatched from his grasping hands. All there was were the death aria¡¯s notes. ¡°The rain was hard,¡± he thought, without wanting to, dreading the outcome. ¡°The mud was thick. Thick with blood and churned by horses¡¯ hooves and marching feet.¡± Always Braemar. Always there. ¡°The night was black. But fires burned.¡± Anything but Braemar. If Layton understood ¨C if he knew anything about the war ¨C then he would know it all as soon as the story was done, but in the tumult of the Nexus, there was nothing else to occupy Idris¡¯s brain. The panic of the memory knew the panic of the Nexus. ¡°The walls were crumbling like wet sand,¡± said the two necromancers, together. ¡°There was nothing at my back but darkness. And I placed my knees in the dirt and the rain ran down my neck ¨C¡° And Idris heard the pattern Layton was making. He clutched at the new sound, abandoning his memories of Braemar, focusing on weaving the curtain. The new melodies were all-consuming, complex and multi-faceted; Idris wove them like he knew nothing else. He followed the repetitive strains of the crafting, holding on to the crescendos like he had grip of a giant ribbon and he was running with it, through and between and around, with Layton organising the dance. When it shifted, he darted back, and Idris followed. When all was done, Layton told Idris to let the aria go slowly, to wrestle control of his body back from the aria with small steps. Clawing back through the waves, Idris felt his shoulders again, drenched with sweat, and his knees, shaking on the hard ground, and his brow, sticky and hot. At last, he opened his eyes, and saw his two hands, still pressed to the swirling crystal, surrounded by gathered perspiration that rolled in drops down the casing. He dropped to his haunches, breathless and dizzy. Layton came to his side, squeezed his shoulder. ¡°Take your time getting up,¡± he said. He did not mention the story. Idris wondered if he had forgotten it. ¡°Your melody,¡± said Layton quietly. ¡°It is... turbulent. Filled with heaviness. An orchestra made entirely of drums.¡± Idris focused on controlling his breathing, stilling himself. ¡°Are you always scared when you cast?¡± said Layton. It was a question that Idris had never been asked. ¡°I think so,¡± he said. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Why do you think?¡± ¡°Hmm.¡± Layton passed behind Idris, put a hand to the crystal. ¡°It will hold firm. I will finish the work later.¡± Thistle mewed, pushed against Idris¡¯s knee. Idris stroked his nose with one, trembling finger. ¡°I did not realise I had my own melody,¡± he said. Layton smiled faintly. ¡°Everyone does. Everyone¡¯s death aria sounds different.¡± The idea was disturbing. Idris steadied himself, picked up Thistle and got to his feet. He thought, if he could just get to his rooms and clear his head, he could push Braemar from his mind, but when he reached the door, Layton spoke. ¡°The second story,¡± he said. ¡°It was true.¡± ¡°The first story was true,¡± said Idris, turning to see if Layton was angry or curious. But The Remaker stood still and quiet, his hand still on the crystal, his face blank like uncut marble. ¡°I did not take you for a soldier,¡± said Layton. Idris¡¯s chest hurt. He did not know how to spin this. ¡°I... I am no soldier. But I can be a useful asset. My skills were requested and I adhered to the request.¡± ¡°Queen Naga asked for your help? How did she know of you?¡± ¡°Rumours get around,¡± said Idris. ¡°I expect any monarch in a desperate position will listen to rumour.¡± Layton said nothing, but he nodded. ¡°I must rest,¡± said Idris, his heart fast and painful. ¡°Are you not tired?¡± ¡°No,¡± said Layton. ¡°But you rest, if you must.¡± There was a lot that Idris did not like about himself. He hated that he cried all the time, whether he was angry or overwhelmed or upset. He hated that he was not assertive or brave. What he hated most was that he could not control his thoughts. When he panicked, he always thought of Braemar, of the bone-cold, of the rain. He had never considered that someone else may one day be able to see those thoughts. What was he supposed to do, if Layton asked? Tell the truth, he knew. Layton already knew it was a real memory. There was no sense lying about it. But if he told the truth, what gaps would that open in his armour? There could be no mistakes, anymore. For Joa¡¯s plan to work, he had to have Layton¡¯s full trust or none at all. In some ways, none at all would be easier. Idris retreated to his room and sat, quiet, with Thistle exploring the desk and chair. By the time he was hungry, he had made up his mind to explain as simply as possible to Layton about his role in the war, but when he got to the dining room, he was struck silent, as if he had left his decision behind. Layton mentioned it first, into the strained silence. ¡°You fought in the Queen¡¯s war, and you told me you had not.¡± Idris swallowed the suddenly solid mouthful of soup, and then cleared his throat. ¡°I told you I did not receive the scar on my shoulder from the Queen¡¯s war,¡± he said. ¡°That is different.¡± ¡°I see.¡± Layton stirred the last half of his meal. ¡°You raised for her?¡± ¡°I did.¡± ¡°How were you compensated?¡± ¡°She promised to keep my home and my identity protected.¡± ¡°A good deal.¡± ¡°It was.¡± Layton sat back, seemed troubled by something. Quietly, he said, ¡°The Puppeteer.¡± Idris felt ice cold, all at once. Dravid Orrost had spoken with Layton. He had told the necromancer about The Puppeteer. What else had Orrost said? ¡°That is...¡± Idris cleared his throat, sniffed, tried to sound casual. ¡°That is what the people call me. The Puppeteer. The soldiers...¡± Layton smiled softly. ¡°They call me The Remaker,¡± he said. ¡°Or, they used to. It is funny, what names the common folk give to things they do not understand.¡± Idris nodded, but he did not find it funny. Chapter Twenty Idris¡¯s preparations for Joa¡¯s visit were different to Layton¡¯s. Layton did laundry, made sure both men had suitable clothes for a prince¡¯s visit; Idris placed two seeds that Joa had given him, one in his own bedroom and one outside the vault. Layton baked vegetable tarts and took out his finest wine; Idris made a collection of leaf-wrapped pills. Finally, Layton went to the vault to retrieve the breastplate. While he did that, Idris went to Layton¡¯s bedroom door. Whatever was behind the bedroom door left a tang on Layton¡¯s person that Idris could sense, a strange warping of the death aria that sounded discordant. If he pressed his hand to the door, he could hear it. It was not like the death curtain, or any other sound in the aria, and yet it was familiar to something that Idris could not identify. Carefully, he marked the doorframe with black chalk, so fine that even Layton would not be able to see it, and he breathed the aria and whispered, ¡°Come.¡± With the taste of ash still in his mouth, he went back downstairs. Layton was, for the first time since Idris had met him, truly fussy. He paced the parlour, making lists out loud. When Idris returned, his father paused, glanced at him. ¡°When will he arrive?¡± Layton said. ¡°Midnight. Everything will be well, Father,¡± said Idris, bringing Layton¡¯s coat to the armchair. ¡°Your coat.¡± He glanced at the huge chest, sitting now before the fireplace. ¡°Is that it?¡± he said. ¡°The breastplate? Yes.¡± The chest was iron, cut with remarkable patterns of bones and tendons, and wider than the armchair. No sound came from it, and yet the presence of the chest itself filled the room with an awkward hunger. ¡°The thralls are stationed?¡± Idris said. ¡°Yes. The curtain is relaxed, for the prince, and...¡± Layton sighed. ¡°I think that is all.¡± ¡°He will be amenable,¡± said Idris, as reassuringly as he could. ¡°He was a perfect gentleman to me. Besides, are you not neighbours? It would do well for him to be civil with you.¡± Layton nodded, looking at the chest. His gaze finally travelled to Idris, where it rested on his coat and boots. ¡°You look splendid,¡± Layton said, picking up his own coat. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°Are you armed?¡± Idris patted the stiletto on his chest. ¡°Always.¡± ¡°Then we have nothing to fear.¡± Layton had already created the paint that Idris had instructed him to make, of wild moss and mushroom; it was a grainy grey colour and did not spread evenly, but they managed to make a sizeable circle with the mixture. Thistle was confined to Idris¡¯s bedroom, having tried to eat the paste previously. Once the circle was constructed, all the two men had to do was wait. Idris hoped, silently, that he had done enough. The seeds were in place, the breastplate was out of the vault. Joa only had to keep to his side of the bargain. He could not help but feel apprehensive, though. There was so much at stake, and the parameters for failure were too broad. If Layton had even an inkling that something was wrong, the whole game was over. Layton stood still and silent, watching the circle. His shoulders were straight and back; his face was alert. Midnight came with a pins-and-needles sensation in the nape of Idris¡¯s neck and a floral taste in the back of his throat. The grey paint, previously dull and sticky, began to shiver like a heat mirage, and glowed suddenly in twinkling gold lights. The tile inside the paint flushed with springtime grass and a mossy log, and there, in the centre, was Joa. Willard was beside him. Idris tried not to start, but this was not part of the plan. Layton bowed. ¡°Highness,¡± he said softly. Joa smiled, bowed his head. ¡°Lord Vonner.¡± He extended a delicate hand to Willard. ¡°This is my son, Kin Willard. He is learning the ways of the fae nobility. I thought it would be a good learning experience for him to meet with other men of noble houses.¡± Willard bowed low. ¡°A right pleasure to be meeting you, Lord Vonner,¡± he said. Both fae father and son were dressed and preened in mirror images, adorned in orange petals and delicate green lace; Willard¡¯s hair, usually unkempt if he was not visiting the palace barber once a week, was as perfect as a painting. He did not look like the man Idris knew at all. Idris assumed he looked different to Willard¡¯s eyes, too, in Vonner black-and-silver, with raven wings and feathers running along the seams and hems of his coat. Nevertheless, Willard¡¯s presence made Idris¡¯s stomach churn. ¡°You have already met my son, Highness,¡± said Layton, gesturing towards Idris, who took his turn to bow. ¡°This is Master Idris Vonner. He is very excited about the opportunity to protect his, ah...¡± Layton, stammering, glanced at Idris. ¡°The opportunity to avoid a long and painful death, Highness,¡± Idris said to Joa, with a friendly smile. ¡°Quite. The Spirit Glass is a marvel, is it not? A wonder of fae design,¡± said Joa. ¡°May I leave the circle?¡± ¡°Yes. You are welcome in our home,¡± said Layton, now indicating the armchairs by the fire. Joa and Willard stepped carefully out of the circle and into the parlour. Idris waited until they were seated and then offered to pour the wine (wine was expected in diplomatic situations, to prevent reckless aria usage, as wine dulled the ability to connect with the music), and once everyone was seated and served, Joa looked pointedly at the chest. ¡°The chest did a remarkable job of masking the breastplate¡¯s location from us,¡± he said. ¡°My kin have been scouring the land for the final few pieces of Spirit Glass for centuries. I am surprised that I cannot even feel it from here.¡± Layton smiled but did not stop watching Joa. ¡°The chest is very well designed. I cannot claim I crafted it, but I am grateful for it.¡± ¡°And you are wanting a foot?¡± the prince said, lifting his goblet. ¡°For the young master?¡± ¡°That would be most agreeable,¡± said Idris. ¡°From here it looks like you already have two perfectly working feet.¡± Idris thought about the twig-foot that scraped his bones from the inside and bid the bile in his cheeks to subside. He did not speak, but he unbuttoned the side of his boot and showed the metal skeleton beneath. Joa did a double-take that was rather convincing. ¡°I see.¡±Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°How long would such an endeavour take?¡± said Layton. Joa crossed his legs, looked at the chest. Willard watched his father¡¯s movements with a surprising amount of trepidation; he hardly looked at Idris or Layton at all. ¡°It is a large piece, and it requires more Spirit Glass to mould it. I would say until the next full moon.¡± ¡°A month?¡± Joa nodded. Layton shifted his jaw. Idris watched him carefully. The chill in the air was back. ¡°I need your assurance that you will not abscond with my property,¡± said Layton at last. Joa laughed, but it did not take the edge off the iron-edged glare that Layton was giving him. ¡°What would I do with a breastplate that is largely useless?¡± said Joa. ¡°You stole other property of my family¡¯s that I would like to see returned.¡± ¡°A-saying someone¡¯s a thief ain¡¯t right polite, Lord Vonner,¡± said Willard softly. ¡°No, no, it is quite fine, Kin Willard,¡± said Joa, waving a hand. ¡°Lord Vonner is correct. The Court does have Vonner property in the vault. I cannot blame him for being sour. If he wishes to make a bargain with the Fairy Court -¡± ¡°I do not,¡± said Layton. ¡°I simply wish what is mine be returned to me.¡± He sat back, sipped his wine. ¡°I want to see the staff,¡± he said, ¡°and I want to see it before I turn the breastplate over.¡± ¡°Father,¡± Idris whispered, but Layton ignored him. ¡°I do not think that is unreasonable,¡± The Remaker said. ¡°Where is the dagger, Layton?¡± said Joa. It was very quiet, very quickly. Layton flushed pink. Joa finished his wine, smiled winningly. The chest sat, pulling the air towards its bulk. ¡°The dagger is gone,¡± said Layton. ¡°Oh? To where?¡± ¡°I know not where. It is gone.¡± ¡°The dagger?¡± said Idris breathlessly, turning to Layton. ¡°It is nothing, Idris,¡± said Layton, still not looking at him. ¡°A trinket and nothing more.¡± ¡°A Spirit Glass trinket that tore across the countryside in the spring,¡± said Joa calmly. Layton hardly even flinched. ¡°Now it is gone. We were happy to leave it with you, Lord Vonner. You did not seem interested in it. But miraculously, it is now in the ether. What happened to it?¡± ¡°I do not have it.¡± What is Joa doing? Idris thought, panicked. This is not the plan. Then, Layton did not know anyone knew about the Spirit Dagger. ¡°I can hardly petition the Fairy Court to release the Spirit Staff if it is going to join its kin,¡± said Joa. ¡°I need to know the location of the Spirit Dagger.¡± Layton pursed his lips, his eyes aflame. ¡°See, Kin Willard?¡± said Joa softly. ¡°He may call us thieves, but he is a liar, and I am unsure which is worse.¡± ¡°That, too, was stolen from me,¡± said Layton. ¡°It is rather embarrassing, but it is gone. I cannot locate it.¡± ¡°For a man with such a remarkable tower, you do get rather a lot of your property stolen from you.¡± ¡°This is fruitless,¡± said Idris finally, frightened of the implications of the conversation. ¡°We have a purpose. Highness, I am sure my father does not mean to insult you or your family. Father... Father, you may be asking too much.¡± Layton took a deep breath, as if he was pulling the death aria into his stomach for a spell, and then let it out slowly. Idris watched Layton¡¯s hands, as if he might see the spell being cast before he felt or heard it, but nothing happened. ¡°I will make a proposal, then,¡± Layton said. ¡°I will give you the breastplate to fashion for my son¡¯s foot once I have seen the staff. To ensure the staff¡¯s safety, I will keep young Willard here as my guest until you return. You can reject my offer. That is well within your rights.¡± Willard blanched. Joa tapped his foot, turned to his son. ¡°What say you, Kin Willard?¡± For the first time, Willard looked at Idris, and Idris was certain that coming to Raven¡¯s Roost was not really his choice at all ¨C rather, Joa had a different plan and this was the likely outcome of it. ¡°I would rightly like to enjoy your hospitality until His Highness returns,¡± said Willard at last, standing and bowing low to Layton. Layton smiled warmly. ¡°Excellent. There. All settled.¡± ¡°The Fairy Court may decline your request,¡± Joa warned, but Layton shook his head and selected a vegetable tart from the platter. ¡°That is fine,¡± he said. ¡°Rest assured ¨C your son will be safe with me.¡± The rest of the meeting was short. Willard stood beside Layton as Joa returned to the circle and stepped inside; Joa bowed and said he would return with the staff. With that, the circle shimmered once more, and the spring glade and Joy-Of-Autumn vanished on the wind with a hint of floral perfume. Layton sighed, put his tongue in his cheek and did not glance at Willard when he said, ¡°Idris, please escort the princeling to a room. He does not leave it for anything.¡± ¡°Father...¡± Idris touched Layton¡¯s elbow softly. ¡°Can we discuss this? This is not what we -¡± ¡°The situation changed,¡± said Layton, his voice terser than Idris cared for. ¡°Do as I ask.¡± Idris hesitated, glanced at Willard¡¯s still, plaintive face, and said, ¡°Yes, Father. Whatever you wish. Come, princeling.¡± ¡°My lord,¡± said Willard, with a final bow to Layton, and the two of them hurried out of the parlour and onto the stairs. ¡°Say nothing,¡± Idris hissed as they climbed. ¡°The thralls ¨C I think they feed him information. We cannot talk here.¡± Willard nodded, following close. The bedroom above Idris¡¯s was empty, save for the same sorts of furniture that occupied his space. He led Willard inside, closed the door and checked the room for death arias or hidden animal thralls and found none. All the while, Willard stood still, watching him. ¡°This was not the plan,¡± Idris finally said, rounding on him. ¡°It was Joa¡¯s plan,¡± said Willard. ¡°Figured he might need... leverage, he said. Don¡¯t worry, the rest of it, we think we can do. The seeds?¡± ¡°In place.¡± ¡°Then we ain¡¯t got nothing to worry for.¡± Idris sighed heavily, ran a hand through his hair. ¡°I do not think Layton means to harm you.¡± ¡°Me neither.¡± ¡°Lila? Riette?¡± ¡°They know what they¡¯re doing. The Old Honour is on his way, too.¡± Idris frowned. ¡°Kurellan?¡± Willard nodded. ¡°That could be exactly the support we need.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t you a-fret about Willard,¡± said the hedge witch, patting Idris¡¯s shoulder with a smile. ¡°I know my role. Can play it right smart, too. Ain¡¯t no trouble.¡± Idris gripped his shoulder back. ¡°I should go.¡± ¡°What you said, about your dad, in the woods?¡± said Willard, when Idris reached the door. Idris turned, and Willard licked his bottom lip. ¡°I get it,¡± he said. ¡°I understand.¡± Quickly, Idris returned to the parlour, where Layton was sitting eating tarts and drinking wine, facing the chest. Either arrogance or complacence had made Idris believe that there was nothing Layton could do to surprise him or derail the plan, but he had done it without a tremble, and that frightened Idris. ¡°That was not what we agreed upon,¡± Idris said, being as firm as he could manage. Layton shifted his head lazily, rolled his wine around the goblet. ¡°It was not, no, and I do apologise.¡± ¡°What was that? We have a hostage now?¡± ¡°Did I not impress upon you the power that the Dead Walker armour holds?¡± said Layton. ¡°Or that it is ours, by birthright? It was stolen from us. I saw an opportunity and I took it.¡± ¡°You said the dagger was buried in the ruins,¡± Idris said, and Layton looked him dead in the eye and smiled. The smile was enough to make Idris sweat. Black bells, he is playing me. There had always been the undercurrent, the creeping uncertainty of Layton¡¯s intent ¨C the strange ice behind his eyes ¨C but this time, Idris knew it unconditionally. There were three games being played here: his own, Joa¡¯s, and The Remaker¡¯s. But Idris had been so consumed in his own that he had missed all of the signs. Layton had already proved himself capable of lying quite easily. Why would he not be deceiving Idris? ¡°I did say that,¡± said Layton quietly. ¡°You are right.¡± ¡°Joa said someone used it -¡± ¡°The fae prince need not know about the whereabouts of the dagger,¡± said Layton in a louder, more final tone. ¡°Besides, I do not think we need to worry about the dagger anymore.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°I think it is gone. Broken, at the very least.¡± Layton shrugged. ¡°It hardly matters.¡± Hardly matters. As if the agony Idris went through to destroy it was nothing. ¡°What matters,¡± said Layton, with a kinder smile, patting the chair beside him; Idris sat cautiously, wondering what rug Layton might pull out from beneath him next, ¡°is that we are going to have our family heirlooms returned to us. That is worth celebrating.¡± ¡°That may be true,¡± said Idris, ¡°but what do we do with the princeling?¡± Layton laughed, shook his head. ¡°Nothing. He will be quite harmless. I do not even think he is full fae, you know. I doubt he can do anything that might threaten us, or the sanctity of the tower. You really are concerned about this, aren¡¯t you? Idris,¡± he said, touching Idris¡¯s knee lightly, ¡°this is diplomacy. It is not personal. Everything was very civil, I think.¡± ¡°It is not the sort of diplomacy I was expecting,¡± said Idris. ¡°I have to keep some things close by. I did not mean to surprise you.¡± Layton filled Idris¡¯s goblet. ¡°We shall toast, to Johannes Vonner. Then, we will feed the princeling and take ourselves off to bed. Everything else can wait until the morrow.¡± Idris joined the toast with a thin smile, drained his wine without tasting it and retreated. In his own bedroom, Thistle mewed and scampered around his feet. Needing the comfort, Idris took the tiny creature to the bed and held him close to his cheek. Thistle¡¯s little scratchy tongue licked earnestly at Idris¡¯s chin. ¡°What have I done?¡± Idris whispered, lifting the kitten and looking deep into his algae-eyes. ¡°I should have... should have done as Riette said. This is madness.¡± He would be home by now, sipping iced tea under the full branches in the orchard, watching Lila do her sword practice and observing Willard¡¯s stances. Instead, he was trapped in a three-man tug-of-war over a piece of cursed glass. ¡°Think, Idris,¡± he whispered, putting the kitten on his lap. ¡°How can we fix this?¡± He knew the stakes, now. Whoever won, it was going to be a war. Chapter Twenty-One In the morning, Layton asked Idris to take breakfast to their hostage, including a full cup of wine. ¡°Make sure he drinks the whole thing,¡± said Layton. Idris hesitated. ¡°Why?¡± Layton smiled his fatherly smile. ¡°You know why. There is nothing harmful in it. Take a sip for yourself.¡± On the way up the stairs, Idris did just that, and could not taste anything other than wine, and scolded himself for being paranoid. Either way, he was not looking forward to taking Willard his meal. The thrall posted outside of the bedroom was particularly unpleasant. Idris did not know where Layton had found it, but it looked like it had maybe fallen from the ruins somewhere and that was how it met its end. Its left arm was mangled, as if a horse had trampled it, and there were pieces of its skull still protruding from greying, green flesh. Corpses did not regularly trouble Idris ¨C in his line of work, they were unavoidable, and he had seen many that looked worse. Its eyes were what made Idris most uncomfortable. They were bright and grey with necrotic fire, and they watched everything, and he knew plainly that it was not under his control. It was strange to think that, but it was startlingly obvious. There was no invisible thread that Idris felt with this one, like his thralls and all the other thralls he had ever experienced in his life. He was sure now that the thralls had some kind of connection to Layton and could relay images and sound to him, but how, he could not say. At Idris¡¯s approach, the thrall moved out of the way in a single, loping step. Idris slipped past and into the room. Willard was awake and washing his hair haphazardly in the bath. ¡°Oh. Morning, Master Vonner,¡± he said. ¡°Good morning, princeling.¡± Idris placed the tray down. ¡°Lord Vonner has requested that I stay and watch you drink the wine.¡± He gave Willard a meaningful look; Willard nodded and held out a hand for it. ¡°That you may do,¡± he said, and he tipped the whole thing into the bath water and pulled out the plug. ¡°Here is your breakfast,¡± said Idris, jerking his thumb to the door and making a pentagon shape with his fingers. ¡°Aye, many thanks,¡± said Willard, questioningly pulling a finger across his own neck. Idris nodded. ¡°Is there anything you require to make your stay more comfortable?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t think so, no. Will I get lunch and dinner, too?¡± ¡°Yes. I will bring them. If that is all, princeling...¡± ¡°Aye. Much gratitude, Master Vonner.¡± Idris hoped, as he left, that Willard had enough mastery of his fae magic to be able to manipulate the seeds from where he was trapped. Layton was in a bright mood, that morning. Once Idris returned from his single chore, Layton lay out a fine breakfast of chilled jams and toasted pastries. For his faults, he was quite the chef. While Idris ate, Layton outlined the plan for the day. ¡°I expect,¡± he said, ¡°that we will see His Fae Highness this evening. When he returns, he should have the staff in tow. If he does, we return the princeling and give him the chest with the breastplate in it, as long as he hands over the staff first, for insurance.¡± ¡°I do not think he will part with his ill-gotten gains,¡± said Idris, but Layton shook his head. ¡°I either receive the staff or his son stays with me.¡± ¡°I do not like having a hostage,¡± Idris said again. ¡°You do not have to like it. It is necessary.¡± Layton dabbed at the crumbs on his mouth with a napkin. ¡°There have been... interesting developments.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°Visitors in the ruins.¡± Idris breathed slowly, carefully. ¡°That is strange.¡± ¡°Quite. I wonder if the prince has called some friends to try to threaten me. There are some soldiers, I think. They are nothing to fear, but I wonder if I need to hurry them away so that we can be left undisturbed.¡± ¡°Send some thralls. That might be enough.¡± ¡°Perhaps.¡± ¡°I could make some, if you have too much to do here,¡± said Idris, hoping it sounded as casual as he wanted it to. Layton considered it for a moment. ¡°That could be useful,¡± he said at last. ¡°I will send some thralls to find some... good bodies. I will inform you once they have arrived.¡± ¡°Skeletons might suffice.¡± ¡°Then skeletons they will bring. In the meantime, I will consult the library for ideas and then I will likely retire to prepare for this evening.¡± There was time, then, for Idris¡¯s plans. He went back to his own room, examined the seed he had placed behind the bed, by the window. Sprouts were already forming, curling creepers that clung to the brickwork. When he reached his hand to touch the new shoots, he felt pins and needles in his fingertips. The seed in the vault room was surely the same; he hoped Layton had not noticed it. The next stop, while Layton was busy elsewhere, was further up the tower. Idris hurried upstairs, pausing to look at the smashed thrall guarding Willard¡¯s room. He wondered, again, if there might be a way for him to take control of the body without Layton noticing ¨C but that would have to wait. Instead, he threw a book to under the thrall¡¯s legs. When the corpse looked down at it, Idris sped past and upstairs, towards Layton¡¯s bedroom. The black chalk mark on the doorframe was still there. Idris redrew it, remade his spell. Already, the effects of the necrotic energy he had summoned there were evident. Quiet, splintery rot marred the edges of the bolt-home. Tomorrow, there would be no stopping Idris from entering the bedroom where the strange aria lay. Once he was satisfied, he completed other chores for Layton. He took Willard fresh towels and lunch; Willard was sitting on the bed, eyes shut, his hands glowing with fae sparks, so Idris did not bother him for conversation. Working the seeds had to be difficult going, in a place so devoid of fae magic. Idris cleaned up the parlour, setting it up for Joa¡¯s second visit, and he took Layton a pot of tea in the library. ¡°My, you have been up and down the place today,¡± said Layton, accepting the cup. ¡°Lots to do, Father.¡±You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. ¡°Does that not bother your leg?¡± ¡°My hips, actually. My knee, mostly.¡± Idris flexed his hand. ¡°I usually have a cane. I forgot it.¡± ¡°How is our guest?¡± said Layton. ¡°Quiet. He is no trouble.¡± ¡°The soldiers are setting up camp,¡± Layton said, as if this was the next natural part of the conversation. ¡°Oh? Where?¡± ¡°About half-a-mile from here. They are not... busy, per say. It may be a scouting party.¡± Layton sank back in his chair, gazed at the shelves. ¡°They are no threat. If they get too close, they will find that out the hard way.¡± Idris remembered what Layton said about the tower being able to protect itself, and he hoped Kurellan paid attention to the directions Willard must have given him. ¡°We can divert them once I have my thralls,¡± said Idris. ¡°Oh, no need,¡± said Layton mildly. ¡°I have already sent some.¡± Idris paused. He had thought that maybe he could gain a little foothold in the running of the tower if he had thralls of his own, but Layton must have deemed it too much of a threat. Stranger still, even with all of the necromancy they had been performing, Layton never seemed tired. If he really was constantly getting information from the thralls, it should have shown on his face, in his voice. He was always remarkably composed. ¡°Let me handle the protection of the family,¡± said Layton, seeing Idris¡¯s hesitation. ¡°I trust you to handle internal affairs, hmm? Our guest requires attention I cannot provide.¡± ¡°Of course, Father.¡± ¡°Feed the ravens, will you?¡± ¡°I will. The cats, too?¡± ¡°They will find a meal,¡± said Layton, returning to his book. ¡°They always do.¡± At the top of the tower, the ravens rustled and creaked, watching Idris with suspicious black eyes. They huddled against the warm wind, trying to ignore him. Carefully, he lay out stale bread husks until, certain he was seeing things, he noticed a raven, threadbare and bony, with a maggot in its belly, watching him from the floor with fiery grey in its eyes. There was a message on its leg. Idris abandoned the feeding, collected up the note and felt his own death aria inside the raven¡¯s hollow body. Drums, Layton had said. Idris heard drums and shivering strings. He dismissed the aria, to allow the raven its peace, and tugged the navy seal apart on the note. IYE - Honour at your disposal. Be safe. I love you. CNR Idris clutched the note to his heart, closed his eyes. Cressida had sent Kurellan not as a punishment, but as protection. He should have known she would understand. He wished he could crook his arm for her to thread hers through, tell her he was thankful and that she was too soft on him, telling him that she loved him so wantonly. Family, he thought. The family that chose me. And then, I am such a fool. He tucked the note inside his boot and returned to the warmth of the tower. He mixed the fae circle paint for Joa¡¯s arrival, laid it in the parlour; he took Willard a final meal, but Willard was sleeping. At a loss, Idris returned to the practice chamber, and he held Half-Moons until his stomach was sore, and he thought about Lila and Riette, out in the ruins, waiting for him. Family, he told himself, as he twisted and strained. The family that chose me. He bathed before the evening meeting, wore the same clothes that he had worn the night before, and met Layton in the parlour to make the circle. Once it was painted, though, Layton said, ¡°Go and get the princeling. I must retire before His Fae Highness returns.¡± ¡°Is there a problem?¡± ¡°No, no problem. Just preparations.¡± Idris frowned, but he complied. Willard looked less fae and more like himself when Idris arrived to escort him. The green lace jacket had been discarded and the thin brown shirt that was underneath reminded Idris of the hemp coat Willard used to wear. ¡°Circle time?¡± said Willard. Idris nodded. ¡°Be on your guard.¡± ¡°Aye.¡± The shattered thrall was gone. The men waited quietly in the parlour. Layton did not come back. Time crept on. ¡°The seeds?¡± Idris whispered. Willard nodded. ¡°They¡¯re a-doing. Should be enough.¡± ¡°Kurellan is setting up camp in the ruins.¡± ¡°I told Lila to tell him not to come too close -¡± ¡°Thank you. I do not want the old man getting hurt.¡± ¡°What d¡¯you think your pa is doing?¡± Willard whispered, frowning. ¡°I do not want to think,¡± muttered Idris. Midnight came with its fuzzy fae edges, and the circle paint glowed gold. Willard¡¯s shoulders stiffened, but when he saw Joa emerging from the light, he sighed and smiled. ¡°Evening, Father,¡± he said. Joa smiled, too, but it did not touch his eyes. ¡°Kin Willard. You look well.¡± The prince gazed over the room. ¡°Where is Lord Vonner?¡± ¡°Perhaps I should fetch him,¡± said Idris, concerned. ¡°D¡¯you bring it?¡± Willard asked Joa. ¡°I must speak to Lord Vonner,¡± said Joa. Idris¡¯s neck prickled. None of this was as he had expected. Layton should have been waiting beside him, to collect his birth-right; what was he doing upstairs alone? Maybe he knew about the black chalk mark. Or the seeds. Or - ¡°Apologies for my lateness,¡± said Layton, smiling as he entered the room. He seemed bigger, somehow; Idris could not put his finger on it. Broader, perhaps, the way he looked when he was casting. ¡°Your Highness,¡± said Layton, bowing to Joa. ¡°I trust you are well.¡± ¡°I am, Lord Vonner.¡± Joa tilted his head towards Willard. ¡°I will take my son, now.¡± ¡°Oh, no,¡± said Layton, his smile not shifting. ¡°Not yet. I want to discuss our next steps, first. Will you leave the circle and sit awhile?¡± ¡°I will not,¡± said the prince. ¡°I will stay, but I will stay in the safety of my glen, if you do not mind.¡± ¡°It makes little difference to me. Idris?¡± ¡°Father?¡± said Idris, feeling nauseated. ¡°A quill and some parchment, please. And the copy of Binding and Bequeathing from the third shelf in the library. Hurry, now, let us not waste our guest¡¯s time.¡± ¡°Yes, Father, right away,¡± said Idris quietly. He tried not to look at anyone as he strode out. Layton was playing his hand. It was time to spring Idris¡¯s traps, too. He did not go to the library. He went to his bedroom, checked that Thistle was safe under the bed. The seed¡¯s contents were spilling haphazardly across the tile and up the wall, orange flowers already blooming. It would be difficult to hide it, now. Idris pulled the curtain across the window and hoped it would do enough. ¡°Wait here,¡± he whispered to Thistle, who stretched and yawned. Idris went upstairs. Past the library. To Layton¡¯s room. The doorframe was rotten enough now for Idris to kick the door down. He used his metal foot ¨C he did not care much for hurting his only good leg ¨C and it took only two good slams for the lock to shatter and the door to swing inwards. The room was busy. A multitude of patterned rugs and tapestries adorned the dark stone, in a wild variety of reds and greys, as if an autumnal sunset had bled to death on every surface. A thick velvet curtain covered the space opposite Layton¡¯s grand bed. The desk spilled over with parchment and books; scribbled sigils and stances sprang from the cream-coloured sheets. The air was stuffy with incense and the smell of wine. The death aria rolled through Idris like a wave of exhaustion. It was not the usual. Idris could almost remember where he had felt it before, but it evaded him still. Cautiously, he padded over the rugs into the centre of the room, trying to pinpoint where the energy was strongest. On a shelf, he saw the vertebrae of some impossibly large creature, beside two raven skeletons. Jars and jars of casting salts and coloured chalk sat beneath the desk, in chests and on top of books. This man is obsessed, he thought, glancing overhead to see a giant bony wing, splayed out across the ceiling. It was as close to a childhood¡¯s fantasy of an evil necromancer¡¯s room as he could imagine. The whole enterprise made Idris feel lazy in comparison, despite the fact that Cressida always told him all he ever did was work. Idris closed his eyes. The objects were a distraction. He simply had to feel the aria, to hear it and be within it. It would tell him where it was. He had already been too turned-around by pretty trinkets and kind words. He knew his loyalties. They were the same as they had always been, less disposable than blood, more iron-clad. The family that chose him, not the family that owned him. He could hardly believe it had taken him so long to remember that. It was what Uncle Haylan had taught him all along, had stressed in his letter. Blood did not matter. Actions, kindness and intent, they all mattered. And, as if thinking of Haylan was all he had truly needed to focus his senses, Idris felt the death aria, and he remembered it. It was the same aria he had felt from the bones on the bier in Outer Arbedes. The realisation stirred in his stomach. Slowly, he opened his eyes, stared right at the velvet curtain. The sound was coming from there. Idris did not know ¨C and he did not want to know ¨C what he was going to find when he pulled the velvet back. But he had already gone this far. Whatever it was, he was certain that Layton was not supposed to have it, that perhaps its presence was malevolent, and it would be better for all involved if it was destroyed. So he gripped the curtain and he tugged it aside. A skin-stripped skull stared back. But it was not the presence of the skull that made Idris gasp, or step back, or trip on the edge of the rug in his haste to be away from it. It was the sheer force of the death aria that blasted out from its smooth white bone, that screamed through the room like a warning blast. Idris gazed up at it from where he fell and he could see the lines of necrotic energy, like veins, pulsing through the cranial bones, leaking like ink through the teeth. Whatever killed the owner of the skull, it was still there. And that was when Idris felt a short, sharp ¡®crack¡¯ against the back of his own head, and everything went dark. Chapter Twenty-Two Idris came to mere moments later, and stared up into the face of the shattered thrall, its eyes dripping mucus-coloured decomposition onto his cheeks. Idris gagged, grabbed the hilt of his grandfather¡¯s dagger and swiped at the face. The thrall, with surprising dexterity, lurched backwards before the blade could hit. ¡°Black bells,¡± whispered Idris. If the thralls sent vision and sound to Layton, then everything was lost. Undeterred from its work, the thrall threw its arms towards Idris again, a rattling liquid sound croaking from the back of its throat. Idris gripped the edge of the rug the corpse was kneeling on and tugged, as hard as he could. The thrall stumbled. Idris rolled onto his knees, blinking the stars from his eyes, and pushed himself to his feet. With the disorientating aria from the skull, it was impossible to focus. Idris stared around Layton¡¯s bedroom, looking for something to stop the thrall, but all he saw were books and papers. As the thrall regained its balance, Idris remembered. He plunged his hand into his trouser pocket, recovered one of the leaf-wrapped pills he had made and prepared his hand. ¡°Eremont through and through, Father,¡± he hissed, and when the thrall came reeling at him one more time, he shoved the pill into its open mouth and forced its jaw closed. The thrall struggled, swaying and trying to claw at Idris¡¯s arms, but the coat sleeves were thick and he could not feel the nails in his skin. The stench, though, was almost enough to make Idris let go. The thrall¡¯s skin was damp and cold. ¡°Just swallow it,¡± Idris said firmly, shoving it backwards. The thrall hit the desk, gargled. Idris¡¯s finger broke the thin, weak skin on the thrall¡¯s neck, and the smell was horrific, like a three-week-dead rat. He jumped back, holding his bile in, and watched the thrall thrash and clutch at its throat. Idris stayed to watch the pill work. He could not leave this to chance. Haylan had taught him how to make this particular medicine, the day after Idris turned sixteen. ¡°Just in case,¡± he had said. Healers could not kill the undead, but they could effectively immobilise them. The thrall, finally, stopped kicking. Its arms fell limp. It lay, head lolling, on the desk. Curious, Idris took a step closer, looked at its eyes. They still burned with Layton¡¯s fire, but they no longer moved. Time was limited. Idris sighed, wiped the thrall¡¯s half-rotted flesh off his finger and looked again at the skull. It stared back, its dark eyes hollow but knowing, the necrosis trickling through its white bone. Quietly, he closed the curtain and hurried to the library. As he ran, he rubbed the vile excretions the thrall had dripped onto his face with his sleeve, tried to retie his hair into its ribbon so that he did not look so dishevelled as he felt. His head throbbed and he was sure he was limping, but he gathered the required text and the writing implements and returned to the parlour. With luck, he could pretend he had tripped on the stairs, if he had to. The scene was as awkward as he had left it. Willard stood apart from the circle, watching it hungrily; Joa, as glorious and fearsome as a triumphal painting, waited inside the summer glen, his eyes fixed on Layton; and Layton, larger somehow, his eyes bright, his smile knowing and terrible. ¡°Father, apologies,¡± Idris started, striding into the room, but Layton shook his head. ¡°I did not give you clear instructions. You have everything now,¡± said The Remaker, holding out his hand for the book and the parchment. Everything happened slowly, somehow, after that. Idris looked down at his hands, at the shaking in them, and he realised he was still holding his grandfather¡¯s stiletto dagger. He looked, quickly, at Layton, who was watching only Joa, and then Idris looked at Joa, who flung out his hand towards Willard and said, ¡°Now.¡± Willard darted forwards, towards the circle. Layton¡¯s hand moved, too. Instead of grabbing the parchment, he seized the back of Idris¡¯s collar and yanked him forwards. Idris dropped everything ¨C the ink, the book, his weapon ¨C and in an instant, Joa marched out of the circle, something long and blacker than midnight in his hand, and he swung it at Layton¡¯s chest. Instead of hitting Layton, it struck Idris clean across the face. Idris tasted iron, lost vision in his right eye momentarily. Layton shoved and Idris fell to the ground, his hands splashing in the spilled ink, gasping and dizzy. Idris heard the aria, then. It was heavy, insistent ¨C dark and thick and hot, all through him. And yet it was tainted. The fae aria inside the familiar notes of Idris¡¯s whole existence made them warped, strange. It was the song of the Spirit Glass. ¡°Idris!¡± shouted Willard from somewhere. Idris turned his head. Layton sank into a stance, his face still. Joa raised the staff again. ¡°Joa, move!¡± Idris said. The necrotic blast hit the fae prince directly in the stomach. Layton did not hesitate. He threw a second one at Joa¡¯s hand, the one curled around the staff. Joa, doubled over, glowing golden, twirled the staff out of the way and swung again for Layton¡¯s side. ¡°Grab him!¡± Idris said to Willard. ¡°Get him out of here!¡±This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. And Layton¡¯s coat opened, and the shimmer of black-green glass lay upon his torso. ¡°Layton, no!¡± Idris roared, shoving himself to his feet. The next blast slammed the wind out of Idris, tingled through every nerve, all the way to his fingertips, but he absorbed the blow, tried to blink the water from his eyes. Layton held a Half-Moon, looked Idris dead in the eyes and said, ¡°You see if I don¡¯t, bastard.¡± The words rang inside, outside, through the aria, through the air. Idris felt them tear at the inside of his skull, poison his heart. ¡°I am larger than a fig,¡± Idris said, raising his inky hands in a defensive position. But the call of the breastplate, oozing power from Layton¡¯s chest, was blinding, and even if Idris could drop to his knees in time to cast, he knew he would be killed if Layton performed the drain. To his left, Idris saw Joa raise the staff one more time. Layton moved faster than Idris expected. As Joa gave his final assault, The Remaker gripped the staff without a care, took its momentum and snatched it from Joa¡¯s grasp. Joa had only a moment to scream a curse when he was dragged backwards into the circle by Willard. Idris felt, briefly, Willard¡¯s hand on his shoulder. ¡°Idris, please -¡± said Willard¡¯s voice, begging, desperate - And the heat of the circle was gone from Idris¡¯s back, and Layton, his jaw clenched, raised the Spirit Staff and slammed it across Idris¡¯s cheek. * Idris woke all at once, feeling everything. His face was swollen and sore; there was crusted blood on his lip. The back of his head hurt, too. His arms, previously warm in the coat, were cold, and his hands were clutching something behind his back. He knew what it was ¨C a sapping crystal, to keep him from casting. He could feel the drawing, sucking tension in it, pulling at the death aria in his blood. He groaned, closed his eyes, tried to focus. His hands were bound. His prosthetic ¨C gone, he could feel the cold air on his stump. You see if I don¡¯t, bastard. Idris shivered. ¡°Master Vonner,¡± said Layton, from close by. Idris started, stared. Layton sat in front of him, much like he had on their first meeting ¨C above him, in a large chair, straight and still and knowing. In the Spirit Glass armour, he seemed made from stone. It was a hideous item. The black glass had been carved to look like a protective ribcage, complete with a heart etched in the centre. Runes fled along each rib bone, fluid and glittering. On Layton¡¯s lap was the Spirit Staff, its pentagonal head smoking with necrotic energy. ¡°And so we return to where we began,¡± said The Remaker softly. ¡°You at my feet, knowing nothing. And myself, in control. With plans and preparations. It pains me to know how utterly ignorant a child of my line is, you know that? You thought yourself smarter than me and look where it got you.¡± Idris wished to look anywhere else, but there was nothing else of note to look at. He assumed this was the dungeon Layton had mentioned previously, except he could not see past Layton in his chair, full and wide and awful in his view. ¡°The Puppeteer,¡± said Layton now, and he laughed scornfully and shook his head. ¡°Oh, if they knew true power... well. Let me tell you what will happen now, Idris Eremont.¡± Layton leaned forwards, gripping the staff with white knuckles. ¡°You are going to stay in this tower for the rest of your days,¡± he said. ¡°It is up to you whether you do this in chains, weak and powerless, or by my side. But judging by your actions of late, you would prefer the former. It is too dangerous to have you out of my grasp, I see that now. It was smart of your uncle to keep you from me. It is a pity he ruined you.¡± ¡°Would that you were half of the man my uncle was,¡± Idris said, through the lump in his cheek and the pain in his teeth. ¡°Perhaps we would have been civil.¡± ¡°Do not be so quick to place Haylan Eremont on a pedestal. You did not know the man as I did.¡± ¡°I do not know you and you knew nothing of him. Haylan raised me. You hid in your tower, skulking in the dark -¡± A sudden surge of terrible squeezing, burning pain clenched around Idris¡¯s stump, cutting him off mid-sentence. Even with the strength of his rage and sorrow, nothing could get through the excruciating acid in Idris¡¯s leg. He could hardly breathe, could not see properly. The staff on Layton¡¯s lap shimmered with silver fire. ¡°This is not a negotiation, Eremont,¡± said Layton softly. ¡°This is merely the way things will be.¡± The pain subsided; Idris took a deep, steadying breath, hearing the silence ring. ¡°Who did you send the letter to?¡± said Layton. Idris said nothing. In response, Layton waved the tiny scrap of notepaper that Cressida had sent, retrieved from Idris¡¯s boot. ¡°Distress call?¡± he said. ¡°For the soldiers in the ruins to come and save you? It hardly matters, except the poor girl says she loves you and I would hate to think that she might send more, once she finds out that the previous unit came to an untimely demise.¡± ¡°Did you kill them already?¡± said Idris. ¡°Not yet. I did not want you to think me cruel. You can save them still.¡± ¡°If I give up and bend the knee?¡± Idris laughed through his tears. ¡°If I say ¡®yes Father¡¯ and submit?¡± ¡°It is simpler than that.¡± Layton tilted his head. ¡°I want you to say you will stay.¡± He paused. ¡°And I want you to tell me what you came here for.¡± ¡°If I had the strength to curse you, I would do it,¡± said Idris. ¡°I came to kill you.¡± ¡°No, it is more than that. But you do not have to tell me now. I have pieced together the bones of it and I think I already know.¡± Layton pursed his lips. ¡°You came to kill me and take my armour. You came to depose me.¡± ¡°Depose -?¡± Idris could hardly believe what he was hearing. Depose Layton, like he was some monstrous king? He was a hermit, living in a sunless tower, hiding from those who might do him harm. The laughter was sudden and violent. It rocked Idris¡¯s whole core, pushed the tears further out of his eyes. Layton frowned, but it did not deter Idris from letting the humour run its course. ¡°I could not care any less about this tower, or the Vonner line, or you,¡± said Idris, still laughing in the back of his throat. ¡°Depose you? You have nothing I want. You are nothing. Nobody knows you exist, nobody covets anything you own. Why would they? You are a frightened, miserable man living with the ghosts of a family that wanted to burn the world down -¡± The pain came again, more insistent, more grasping. Layton¡¯s grip was so tight that his hands shook on the staff; the grey in his eyes burned. ¡°How dare you disrespect the blood that runs through your veins?¡± he hissed, as Idris gasped for air. ¡°I disrespect the blood that made me yours,¡± said Idris. All at once, Layton seemed to snap out of some anger-induced trance. The agony vanished and he let go of the staff, and he stared at Idris like he was looking upon him clearly for the first time. ¡°Look what you have made me do,¡± Layton whispered. ¡°I am torturing my only son. My heir, my flesh. You... this was all avoidable, Idris -¡± ¡°I liked it better when you called me ¡®Eremont,¡¯¡± said Idris. It was silent, then, except the creaking and scraping of creatures living in the walls. Layton¡¯s face was pale and sallow. He looked like a child in imitation armour, playing at knight¡¯s games; Idris did not know how he had seen The Remaker as a thing to fear, anymore. ¡°I am going to stay right here,¡± said Idris, his voice shaking. ¡°But not as your son. As your prisoner. I will rot here if it pleases you. But I will not stand beside you and I will not be forced into some deranged game of ancestry and duty. You are the furthest thing from a father that I have ever seen. You are a weak man, playing at power, because you feel lonely. And Layton, that is the saddest, most pathetic thing there is in this whole kingdom. I do not even pity you. You simply disgust me.¡± At this, Layton stood. He left the chair where it was and walked to the cell door, and he paused for a moment. ¡°This will not end well for you,¡± he said, turning his head only slightly. ¡°It will end worse for you,¡± said Idris. Layton slammed the door shut. Chapter Twenty-Three The dungeon floor was hard, cold and wet. The sapping crystal in Idris¡¯s bound hands did a perfect job. At the very least, he had free use of his mouth, but his cheek was so sore that he could not perform any of the aria even if he could access it. In terms of imprisonment, it was not as severe as the brief stint he had spent as Kurellan¡¯s prisoner, and yet Idris found that this felt worse. It was not the cold or the silence or the pull of the crystal. It was... sadder. He had been careless, and he had paid the price. Joa and Willard almost had, too ¨C and the soldiers Cressida had sent might already be dead. Lila and Riette, wherever they were, had to be Layton¡¯s next targets. Loose threads dangled everywhere, but Idris had to hope that someone, somewhere else would pick them up. Here, he could do nothing. The chest, then, had been empty all along. That, or Layton had removed the breastplate that afternoon while Idris was working on his escape plan. The seeds ¨C what had become of them? Joa and Willard? Had the prince¡¯s intention been to beat Layton into submission the whole time? Whatever had happened, Idris needed to get out of the dungeon and get word to his friends. He had no idea how the tower might defend itself, nor of the powers Layton might now have with the breastplate and staff reunited. If The Remaker intended to harm everyone who might come to get Idris, then he had to do something. Idris tested every body part. He could move his head and neck, could still speak. The injuries to his face were not so severe that he could not cast, should he get his hands free. Layton had taken his coat, boots and prosthetic ¨C and, upon shuffling his arms, Idris discovered his grandfather¡¯s dagger and its chest sheath were gone, too. He did not have access to his pockets, but he assumed Layton had taken the leaf-wrapped pills. His wrists were bound together and attached to the ground behind him with a short chain; his fingers were gummy, so Layton must have used an adhesive to force the skin to stick to the crystal. With the two points of contact Idris had with the ground, though, he was in a better position than he hoped. There was no room to think of his emotions. His emotions, his hope, had got them all to this point. There was no hope for Layton anymore. Idris had to simply accept that. As far as he could see, he had two options available. One was that out there, somewhere, a part of the plan had succeeded. Either the seeds were still growing in his bedroom and in the vault, or Kurellan had got to the tower, or Willard and Joa were mustering their forces to get Idris out. If that was the case, all he had to do was wait. The other option was worse. Idris tested the pain on the inside of his mouth. It tasted like iron. One of his teeth was loose, too, needling flares all up his jaw. If he wiggled it enough, he could produce a sizeable glob of blood. He wondered where the crusted blood on his lips had come from (a cut on the brow, perhaps?) but it hardly mattered. The odds of him being able to use that source were minimal to none. Blood magic was not something he had studied, but he supposed he had to start somewhere. Idris idled, rocking the loose tooth backwards and forwards, centring himself. I am a fool, he thought. Riette was right. I could have killed Layton immediately. I would be home. The Spirit Glass would be gone and my soul would be my own again, and I would be happy. The thoughts were bitter, but they grounded his purpose. Uncle Haylan expected better from me. He spent his whole life teaching me that I was his family, regardless of everything else. Maybe that is why he kept the truth from me, because he knew I would put too much faith in a broken man. His mouth tasted foul, now. Idris kept sucking the blood from his gums, gathering it in his cheeks. Layton Vonner has a skull in his bedroom. A skull, filled with necrosis. What in all kingdoms is that? Distracted, he listened to the scratching in the walls. Rats, probably. Then, content with his materials, he spat the blood out onto the stonework. For a while, all Idris did was examine what he had produced. The saliva likely diluted the blood¡¯s power, but there was no way to separate the two substances effectively. The bubbles popped, leaving a scarlet ooze on the ground. Do I need my fingers for this? Do I have to be touching it for the magic to work? Does it need to be fresh? Maybe I can cast with my mouth full of blood. His legs were not bound. Idris shifted his stump under his backside and manoeuvred his left leg around so it was in front of him. Then, carefully, he pulled his stump through and sat. Gently, he worked the stump into the bloody spittle, and then he frowned and took a deep breath. ¡°This is going to hurt, Idris,¡± he whispered. He scratched his stump on the stone, slowly, curious how it would feel. The edge of the flagstone was not sharp, but with repeated movement, he was sure he could break the skin. With the necrotised blood, surely¡­ It was tiresome work. Idris closed his eyes, breathed through it, thought of the pear trees and the fae jasmine and the cool walkways of the palace, all the while rhythmically rubbing his stump against the stone, feeling it sting, knowing that however this turned out, he was going to do something he could never undo. He focused his senses on the sounds of scraping in the bricks and the potential in the silence. It was oddly meditative. It reminded him of the days he spent kneeling with Magus Arundale in the palace library, practising his stances, reworking his movements and muscles. Idris was sure he could have slept, had he not heard footsteps. His heart lurched. Panicked, he shifted his legs back beneath him, resumed the kneeling position. Now he had stopped scratching, the stump throbbed and itched. There was no fresh blood yet, but the spot of spit was obvious. Idris hoped Layton would not notice, but it was likely too much to ask for.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. When he looked up, Layton was already standing at the cage door, staring in. In the dim dungeon light, he seemed pale and ethereal, like a false shadow cast from still water onto a bathroom wall. On his chest, the breastplate was dark and clinging, a parasite Idris wished not to see. Layton did not exchange pleasantries. He sat in the chair once more, his face pensive and somehow troubled, and he considered Idris as if he was appraising meat at the market. ¡°Idris,¡± he said, rather conversationally, ¡°who is the man with the magpie armour?¡± Idris shifted his head to indicate his swollen mouth. ¡°I have a toothache,¡± he said. ¡°I think you knocked my molar out.¡± ¡°I will knock every tooth from your head if you do not answer me,¡± said Layton, as if discussing the weather. ¡°His name is Kurellan.¡± Idris saw no harm in the truth for this. ¡°He is a friend.¡± ¡°He killed my thralls.¡± Good, thought Idris, flushed with victory. ¡°Secondly,¡± said Layton, ¡°where is your cat?¡± Idris frowned. ¡°My¡­ Thistle?¡± A muscle in Layton¡¯s cheek twitched. ¡°You kept that name after all.¡± ¡°He was in my bedroom.¡± ¡°Interesting.¡± Layton sighed, relaxed his shoulders. ¡°How fascinating, to see you speak plainly. You know when you lie, your chest gets red.¡± Idris felt his cheeks flush. How embarrassing. ¡°Did you harm my cat?¡± he said, scared. Layton twitched a smile. ¡°No. But I cannot find him. I wondered if your fae friends had spirited him away.¡± Layton put a tongue in his cheek. ¡°Willard is fae, isn¡¯t he?¡± ¡°Mostly.¡± ¡°Hmm. That, I did not expect.¡± Sniffing, The Remaker moved the staff to his lap. ¡°Let me tell you what I knew from the start. First, I knew you did really intend to kill me. I did not expect you to be so¡­ tender hearted, in that respect. Everything you told me about the Eremonts, that was true. Your leg, also true. But Gleesdale is not your home and you were not alone in your camp. Someone moved it. Willard, perhaps. ¡°That begged the question of what you wanted from me. You were never honest about your interest in lichdom, so it had only to be the Dead Walker armour, and trust me, Eremont, you are not the first to come searching for it. It was clever of you, the charade with your leg. Feigned or not, it was a¡­ realistic distraction. I do have to commend you on your ingenuity.¡± ¡°The thralls send you information,¡± said Idris, and Layton smiled. ¡°The thralls send me information,¡± he murmured. He knew Idris¡¯s every move. All of the careful planning, the midnight walks ¨C it meant nothing. ¡°And¡­¡± Something else suddenly crept up on Idris. ¡°You could hear my thoughts,¡± he said, feeling sick. ¡°Oh, not all of them,¡± said Layton, running a finger over the staff¡¯s shaft. ¡°But the day we spent casting was enlightening. Your thoughts do run ragged when you are tired. I heard all sorts of things. There is a garden, somewhere, where you read and study, and a girl in a blue dress who calls you Rissy, and a very handsome woman in a purple dress who you daren¡¯t look a fool in front of ¨C¡° Idris felt dizzy, all at once. Layton watched him playfully. ¡°And,¡± he added, ¡°oh, how self-conscious you are. How much you loathe yourself. How weak and foolish and pathetic you think yourself to be. Too weak, too skinny, too short, too stupid. Just a bastard cripple who was elevated too highly above his station ¨C¡° ¡°What do you want?¡± said Idris finally, hearing the tears and the tremble in his voice. ¡°Did you come to gloat? Gloat away. Congratulations, you won.¡± ¡°You are The Puppeteer, but how you hate that name,¡± said Layton, his own cheeks pink now, a fire of delight in his eyes. ¡°You fought in the Queen¡¯s war and you hated it. You wish to be left alone. You have no desire for the Spirit Glass, absolutely none. I did find that curious but when the fae arrived, oh, Idris, it was plain as day. You are simply a common thief. You wanted to rob me and burn the tower down behind you, and be on your merry way once more.¡± ¡°If you care so much about the glass,¡± said Idris, his neck tense and sore, ¡°why did you give Dravid Orrost the dagger?¡± The gleeful air around Layton dropped like shattering glass. ¡°You think you know so much,¡± said Idris, finally channelling his hatred. ¡°This is what I know. You gave Orrost¡¯s bastard the Spirit Dagger. You are so miserable about being left out of the kingdom that you likely hoped he would cause enough chaos for you to swoop in at the last minute and save the day, raising the family¡¯s name out of the mud, restoring all of your ancestral honour. But Orrost went rogue, did he not? He made deals of his own. And all you could do was watch while Dravid wove his way through the kingdom, using your dagger, fancying himself some conquering hero. ¡°Guess who stabbed me, Layton?¡± Idris hissed, shaking and hot, unable to contain his rage. ¡°Make a good, educated guess.¡± The light in Layton¡¯s eyes shifted from joy to confusion. ¡°He¡­ you ¨C¡° he said, gripping the staff. ¡°I stopped Orrost at Braemar!¡± Idris shouted. ¡°Me! The bastard cripple! Weak, skinny, short, stupid! I broke your cursed dagger!¡± ¡°You broke ¨C¡° ¡°Oh yes, into tiny pieces of stardust, it is irreparable. It nearly killed me but Layton, for the look on your face,¡± said Idris, laughing manically again, ¡°it was worth every second of black bile and seizures.¡± ¡°You lie,¡± said Layton, standing, white and wide-eyed. ¡°Look in my thoughts, then tell me I am a liar.¡± Layton said nothing, did nothing. ¡°Speechless, now, well there is a thing,¡± whispered Idris. ¡°Do you have any idea what you have done?¡± said Layton. ¡°A fairly good idea, yes.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Your dagger threatened my family,¡± said Idris, relishing the words on his tongue. ¡°That is why.¡± He did not need to spell it out any further. Layton knew. Idris saw it in the slump of his shoulders, the sunken gaze. ¡°You never intended to stay,¡± said his father. ¡°Maybe I did, for a day. I surprised even myself with that thought. But you have shown me all I care to see of what it means to be a Vonner of Raven¡¯s Roost, and Layton, I want no part of it. You have persuaded me very successfully that this is not what I want.¡± ¡°I should kill you right now,¡± said Layton, without venom, without hatred. ¡°Do it,¡± said Idris. But Layton did not move. He sighed, swallowed. ¡°Then there is no further reason to keep Lord Kurellan alive,¡± he said. Idris did not show his fear. He knew Kurellan could look after himself. Still¡­ the tower had defences that he knew nothing about. ¡°You have made everything remarkably simple for me, Idris,¡± said Layton, as if in a dream. ¡°I thank you. I will protect our home from all threats. You included.¡± He walked away. ¡°Layton,¡± said Idris. ¡°The skull in your bedroom ¨C¡° ¡°Oh, do not worry about that,¡± said Layton. ¡°It is family business, after all, and you are not family. By the way,¡± he added, as he became nothing more than a shadow in the hallway, ¡°I burned the flowers growing in your bedroom. I do not know if the cat was caught in the blaze.¡± Then it was silent. Idris did not sit, lamenting his lost dreams or worrying for his friends. He slid his legs back into the seated position and began to rub his stump on the flagstone edge, frantically, tears dripping off his chin. ¡°I am sorry, Uncle,¡± he whispered, over and over, watching the skin redden and peel. ¡°I am so sorry, Uncle. I failed you and I forgot you. It will never happen again. I am so sorry.¡± Just as the blood began to bead, Idris heard a mewing in the wall. ¡°Thistle?¡± he said, turning. ¡°Thistle, are you¡­¡± Layton had said, once, that he did not know where the cats lived. Perhaps¡­ Out of a tiny drainage hole in the wall, out popped a grey-and-orange head. Thistle sneezed, mewed again, wriggled out. ¡°Here, boy,¡± Idris whispered, abandoning his task. ¡°Here, Thistle.¡± Thistle scampered over, crying, and rubbed his cheek against Idris¡¯s bare foot. Idris sniffed, wiped his tears on his shoulder. ¡°There now, good boy. Here.¡± Idris did not know why Thistle¡¯s appearance mattered. The kitten climbed up onto his shoulder, purring, and licked his ear, and Idris worked his stump bloody on the flagstone, thinking of home. Chapter Twenty-Four It was difficult to say how much time passed in the windowless lower rooms of Raven¡¯s Roost, but Idris found that it did not matter. The defiant, painful action of bleeding himself mattered more than anything else. There was logic to it that negated emotion. Thistle, content on his shoulder, slept and purred. Eventually, there was a steady drip of scarlet forming at the end of Idris¡¯s stump. It would have to be enough. Idris let it drop onto the stone, worked his loose tooth more to get some excess. The supply from his leg, while still red, was dark and edged with grey. He was not entirely sure what he was doing. Nobody had taught him blood magic. All he knew was that it was wrong and harmed the user more than it harmed anyone else, but desperation demanded something. He supposed the commands would be similar to the ones he used for necromancy with the aria. Outside of that, he was fumbling in the dark. There was a goal. That was all he cared about. ¡°Thistle,¡± he whispered, ¡°time to wake up.¡± He felt the needle-sharp claws in his skin as the kitten stretched. ¡°Off you go, now. Down.¡± Once the cat was content with playing with the spiderwebs in the corner, Idris focused on his task. Surely he had enough blood, enough will. If a stance or sigil was required, he would have to forgo it. If he needed the aria¡­ hopefully, the necrosis in his stump would provide. Idris closed his eyes, went through the usual techniques. He breathed deep into his stomach, feeling the hollowness of his body, the aches in his shoulders and neck. The cold of the floor sank into his bones. He placed his mind on a single track. I want to break my chains. He pictured them, thick around his wrists, painful on his lower arms. He felt their strength. He thought of iron, the fires that forged it. The heat required to unmake them would be substantial. He thought of how he heated the ghost of his own foot, of how the air shivered. The command was ¡®burn¡¯. He took a second, concentrated breath. He shifted his attention to his blood. The blood inside him, the blood on his skin, on the flagstone. There was no aria to draw from but there was his heartbeat, calm and consistent. He felt it in his chest, then repeated infinitely in every vein and artery. Drumbeats and purpose. That was what an aria was. Drumbeats and purpose. Every living thing had a death aria ¨C Layton had said so. If the crystal prevented Idris from communing with it, then once it was outside of his body, did the crystal have any power over that? There was one way to find out. Idris parted his dry lips, listened to the beats, knew them to be his own percussion, and he whispered, ¡°Burn.¡± There was a pinching tug in his palms. He hissed involuntarily; the crystal exerted its pressure, pulling any vestige of the aria out through his fingertips like a thousand vicious ropes had hold of his very marrow. He opened his eyes, looked at the blood on the ground, on his stump. Perhaps he needed more. Perhaps he was focused on the wrong thing. Sensation in his amputation was weak; maybe he needed a more responsive limb in the puddle. Idris crossed his bare left foot into the blood. It was sticky, already cooling. He spat the blood from his mouth, too, letting it coat his toes. A bang from above startled him from his task. There was no way of telling whether the noise came from inside or outside. Idris wondered if Layton had already started his assault on Kurellan¡¯s soldiers. ¡°Time to do this, Idris,¡± he whispered, looking at the blood. He thought of the feeling of it. The sickly ooze. Its warmth, becoming cold. Its glint in the firelight, like clusters of rubies. How it pounded in his ears, in his throat. He moved his foot so it touched the steady drip, drip from his right leg. Idris closed his eyes and thought outside of himself. He thought only of touch, of the blood, of its sound, and he whispered, once more, with awful urgency, ¡°Burn.¡± The sound came up his throat like a ragged, rusty blade. Idris gagged on it, lurched with the power of it. There was a smell like a blacksmith¡¯s forge and - And his wrists came apart, and he dropped the crystal. Sound returned, like he had been temporarily deaf. The aria rushed through him like wine warmth, filled every pore. Idris forced in breath, pulled his wrists around to check, dizzy and nauseated. His hands were coated with adhesive paste and black ink; his wrists were bruising. Hardly daring to check, he looked at the blood patch. The puddle on the floor was smoking. Idris shifted his legs so they were no longer touching it. He patted his stump, checking for damage, but there was none. Blood magic was surprisingly easy. Maybe that was the danger people warned against, the harm. Aside from the tearing feeling every time he swallowed, he felt fine. ¡°Thistle,¡± he whispered, holding out his hand. ¡°Come, Thistle.¡± The kitten obliged; Idris stuffed him inside his shirt and tried to make a plan. There was another, roaring bang from above.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°No foot,¡± he said, looking at his right leg. ¡°Ah. So... no problem.¡± Idris hauled himself onto his left leg using the chair Layton had left. The only place he had to get to was the vault. Hopefully, the seed he had planted there was still growing. Once he reached it, he could call through to Joa, who (if the plan worked) would be able to pull him through. Idris had one thing at his disposal, now. ¡°Hey!¡± he shouted, hoping Layton had been predictable. ¡°Lord Vonner! Layton!¡± Carefully, he dropped back to his knees, just out of sight from the hallway, and waited. Sure enough, a thrall came shambling through. Compared to some of the household workers, this thrall was in relatively good shape; there was hardly any decomposition and it wore thicker, newer clothes than they rest. Idris supposed Layton had saved it for defence of the tower and tried not to think too hard about where such a fresh body had come from. It plodded through the corridor to the cell and stopped, seemingly confused as to why the chains did not hold a necromancer. Idris pulled the fastest, deepest breath he could, the death aria crashing in his ears and chest, rushing through him like water that had finally broken through a dam. So many nights he had lain awake, cursing the sounds of the aria in his blood, in his ears. The notes had never sounded so sweet as they did now, never felt so natural and full and joyous. He had never done this before, but it felt like a day for miracles. Luckily, Layton¡¯s library had told him everything he needed to know. He held out his right hand, moving the fingers into a pentagon shape. ¡°Loose,¡± he said. This one burned, like the aria always did, but instead of feeling the aria come though him, he felt it jump from within the hollow shell of the corpse. The thrall jerked. Idris felt the struggle ¨C the thrall knew its master, was already filled with one will and could not contain two and did not want to give up the freedom the aria provided ¨C it pulled at his spine, made his arm shake, made sweat run down his brow. ¡°Submit,¡± he said through the aria. He heard Layton¡¯s music. It was controlled, methodical ¨C restrained and dull. Idris focused on its patterns, followed its tune, but he hated the sounds it made. He coupled the tame melody with his own percussion, with the low strings, and once they were in tandem, he grappled for control of the music, he wrestled to make it his own. His whole, exhausted body shook and sweated and burned; his legs trembled, hardly able to hold him upright; his eyes watered. The thrall thrashed and snapped its jaws. ¡°Obey,¡± Idris said fiercely, clenching his fist. And the music snapped into place. The thrall stopped flailing and stood, still, waiting for commands. It was oddly quiet, without Layton¡¯s flair in the aria. ¡°Come,¡± said Idris. He did not have time. Layton would be well aware that Idris had hijacked a thrall. Likely, his father was already sprinting down the stairs to stop him. Idris hoped he could get where he needed to. Commanding a thrall was much like thinking for two people. Idris had to transmit his full intent, without any obscurity, to a second, empty brain. When telling a group of thralls to do something unambiguous, like ¡®fight¡¯, it was rather simple. The hivemind provided and the commands were stronger. The first Braemar expedition would not have succeeded if telling six-hundred empty vessels to fight was taxing. What was more difficult was requiring precision or complex motion. Speech was hardest of all. If Idris kept the idea in the front of his mind ¨C lift me up ¨C the thrall could not figure that out for itself. He had to think, bend, and then, extend your arm. It had been such a long time since he had needed to do something like this that he was almost angry when he thought, lift me up, and the thrall did nothing. The second problem was that every thought was physically exhausting. Exerting will that forcefully was tiring. By the time the thrall had Idris draped around its shoulders, he was ready to sleep. ¡°Walk,¡± Idris said, through the residual aria in his lungs, and the thrall walked. There was another shaking bang, but it did not trouble the corpse. Idris hopped along beside it, hoping that Layton could be distracted well enough from his escape that he might actually make it out. If he got to the vault and the flowers were burned, that was something else entirely. The point was that he did enough. He performed blood magic. He could get out of this nightmare. No more weak, pathetic - The vault. It lay as it did the first time Idris saw it, peering through the bars with his handmade prosthetic on. The huge metal door was closed; the bars still covered the entryway. But now, there was a creeper as thick as Idris¡¯s thigh shoving against the brickwork. He wondered how Layton had not noticed it yet, how the flame-bright flowers had escaped his all-seeing eye, but that was not important. The vine had several tendrils curling off its sides, pushing beyond the bars, buckling the metal. The flowers reeked of fae perfume, too heady to be of the mortal realm, too intoxicating. Glitters of pollen trickled from their trumpet heads. It all seemed to glow. At a guess, Idris reckoned the whole plant, roots and all, had to have delved several feet beneath Raven¡¯s Roost¡¯s foundations and into the structure. That was only part of its function, though. Idris, still holding firm to the thrall¡¯s shoulder, grasped a flower head and inhaled deeply, probably deeper than was good for him. Instantly, he sneezed, coughed hard. The aroma was too much. His eyes itched. The words. ¡°I invoke the right of fae hospitality,¡± he said, his voice raspy and thick. ¡°My name is Idris Yanis Eremont. I call upon Kin Willard and Joy-of-Autumn.¡± Nothing happened. Idris spat bile, took another full breath of the flower¡¯s perfume. A shape impressed upon the creeper¡¯s thick, emerald hide. The outline of a person, as if it was trying to escape from inside the plant, pushed forward. ¡°Black bells,¡± Idris muttered, stepping back. With a squelching rip, Willard¡¯s head shoved through the plant. He thrust a hand through, reached for Idris. Covered in sap and pollen as he was, it made Idris think of a new-born foal. ¡°Come on,¡± said Willard, his eyes bright, ¡°let¡¯s get you out of this cursed place, eh?¡± ¡°How do I-?¡± ¡°Just take my hand. Joa¡¯ll pull us through. Quick, now.¡± Idris, not knowing why, hesitated. Layton was crazy, he knew that. Whatever The Remaker¡¯s plan was, it was not over and it was likely going to be harmful to Idris, his friends and the kingdom he loved. The way Layton had imprisoned his only son, tortured him... none of that was forgivable. And yet... ¡°Idris, King and Circle, please,¡± said Willard, his face strained, his fingers grasping. ¡°Yes,¡± said Idris, shaking himself from his paralysis. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Hold tight, now.¡± Idris gripped Willard¡¯s arm at the elbow and held his breath - And felt searing, screaming agony in his stump. He howled, dropped to his left knee. Thistle hissed and leaped out of Idris¡¯s shirt. The thrall teetered on its feet; Willard struggled to pull Idris up and stay within the creeper. ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± said Willard. Idris could hardly see. The pain did not cease. He clawed at the flagstone, kept holding tight to Willard¡¯s arm. ¡°Idris, I can¡¯t hold you, you¡¯re hurting me -¡± Then the fire burned in the scar on Idris¡¯s shoulder. He let go of Willard¡¯s hand, clutched at his chest, wailed uncontrollably. Through gritted teeth, Idris looked up at his friend and whispered, ¡°Go.¡± ¡°Not this time,¡± said Willard firmly, releasing one of his legs from the inside of the creeper. ¡°Tell... tell Kurellan -¡± Idris flinched, focused on his words. ¡°Tell him ¨C Layton has a skull ¨C necrotic skull ¨C I think it feeds - ¡° Knowing Willard would not leave on his own, Idris gave up. He grabbed Thistle, thrust the kitten into Willard¡¯s outstretched hand, and gave a last command to the thrall. ¡°Push,¡± he said, thinking clearly about what he wanted. Willard¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Idris, no, don¡¯t do -¡± The thrall rammed Willard back inside the plant. Thistle mewed, and was swallowed up in the creeper¡¯s trunk. Idris released the aria. The thrall slumped to its knees and toppled over. ¡°There you are,¡± said Layton, and gripped Idris by his hair. Chapter Twenty-Five The parlour was not how Idris remembered it. The rugs and furniture had been pushed aside. The chest which everyone thought the breastplate had been inside still sat hungrily in front of the hearth. On the bare tile, there was a gigantic pentagon drawn in red chalk on the ground. At each corner, Layton had placed an object of power. The huge vertebrae that Idris had seen in the bedroom sat on one point, the seeing bowl on another. At the pinnacle was the death curtain¡¯s crystal and its stand. A selection of crystals, arranged in another pentagon, clustered on the fourth point. On the fifth was a shallow bowl which contained a murky, grey-red substance. The necrotic skull sat in the very centre of the pentagon, staring out at Idris. Idris was, effectively, immobilised. Layton had not gagged him or found another sapping crystal, but if Idris so much as scratched his arm, Layton simply gripped the staff and burned pain all through Idris¡¯s body. Without a prosthetic or a crutch, he could not go anywhere alone. It hardly mattered. Idris felt too useless and he hurt too much. He did not know what necromantic theory Layton was following. Fighting against The Remaker was like spitting at the sea. The pentagon was the vessel for a huge mirror portal that was feeding Layton information about everything happening outside. The portal was roughly ten feet wide and ten feet tall, and it had fuzzy grey edges that made Idris¡¯s head ache and made an obscure, spine-chilling sucking noise, like reality was being drawn into it. The bangs that Idris kept hearing were the pounding of giants¡¯ fists on the invisible barrier to the tower, and their subsequent ejection from the tower¡¯s circumference by the blasts of necrotic energy Layton was surging through the aria. Idris was allowed to watch the continuing futility of the fae army because, as Layton put it, it was character building. Idris only kept watching because he had not seen any of his friends, yet. There were giants and pixies and centaurs, hurling everything they could at the walls of Raven¡¯s Roost, but no Riette, no Lila, no Willard. Layton eventually sighed, turned and smiled at Idris. ¡°There. Is it not a marvel, watching everything work as intended?¡± Idris said nothing. Layton examined him, his smile turning piteous. ¡°Oh, Idris,¡± he said softly. ¡°It did not have to be this way. You keep fighting against the natural order of things. I do not know why you are so surprised. People hate necromancers, you know this. If we do not stick together, this happens.¡± He gestured to the assembled fae, throwing lightning bolts and boulders larger than houses towards the tower walls. When Idris still did not speak, Layton twirled the Spirit Staff and frowned. ¡°You are giving up, then,¡± he said. ¡°I want to leave,¡± said Idris. ¡°That cannot happen.¡± ¡°Fine. Then kill me.¡± Layton¡¯s mouth twitched. Idris did not know if the idea was distasteful or if it was that Layton found it amusing, but it was the only wish he had expressed in hours. ¡°And then what?¡± said Layton. ¡°Who cares? I will be dead. The Vonner line will cease. No more necromancers, no more problems.¡± ¡°That is not the way things should be -¡± ¡°You keep harping on about ¡®the natural order,¡¯¡± said Idris, tasting bile. ¡°But necromancy is not natural, Layton. Things die. They should be left dead.¡± ¡°Why would the arias give us necromancy if it were not natural?¡± said Layton, curious about the idea. ¡°Why should I know? It is clear that I know nothing. I am tired and I wish to die.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Because death is preferable to being forced to live a life I do not want,¡± said Idris simply. ¡°Raven¡¯s Roost is a place I do not want to live in, with a man I hate, who wants me to be part of something I despise. It is an easy choice.¡± Every time Idris said something that renounced his blood-line, Layton¡¯s face shifted. His eyes crinkled in a sort of aghast embarrassment, as if he could hardly believe anyone would think the things Idris thought. Idris loathed that look on his face. ¡°You will stay here,¡± Layton said, returning to his work. ¡°I do not need you to do the deed for me. I can do it myself,¡± said Idris casually. ¡°I know all the best ways. The benefits of having a healer¡¯s education mean that I know human anatomy rather intricately. I hardly even need an implement.¡± Now it was Layton¡¯s turn to be silent. Idris observed the tension in his jaw. ¡°How do you kill a necromancer, Layton?¡± he said. When Willard had asked, Idris had responded, ¡®The same way you kill everything else.¡¯ He was not sure about that now. ¡°I assume they grow old like everyone else,¡± said Idris. ¡°And die that way. But to kill a necromancer? That must be difficult. You cannot guarantee it will take, what with all of the necrotic energy inherent in their bodies.¡± It was not enough bait. He tried a different approach. ¡°What happens to necromancers¡¯ bones?¡± ¡°You should stop asking questions you already know the answers to,¡± said Layton, his voice terse. ¡°I know what happened to one necromancer¡¯s bones,¡± said Idris, staring at the skull. ¡°I assume that is what is left of Johannes Vonner.¡± ¡°Very astute.¡± ¡°Necromancers¡¯ bones retain some of their death aria,¡± Idris guessed. ¡°Correct again.¡± ¡°But... but this is not like the bones of the necromancer left in Outer Arbedes. The bones where the dagger lay. They had power, but they did not... look like that, feel like that.¡± Idris frowned. ¡°This is what the Dead Walker armour did to Johannes.¡± Layton gave a thin-lipped smile. ¡°Correct.¡± ¡°And you wear it knowing this?¡± ¡°I wear it to protect it,¡± said Layton. ¡°To protect myself. To protect the tower and our family¡¯s name.¡± ¡°And the power that comes from Johannes¡¯s skull...¡± Idris came to the logical conclusion like ice had been slowly melting from his brain. ¡°That is why you are never tired. You feed off the skull¡¯s energy. The skull gives you everything you need to control fifty thralls, and the tower, and the armour. You use the run-off.¡± ¡°It is all I have left,¡± said Layton suddenly. Idris stared. Something had burst in him, something manic; Idris wondered if it was the madness of loneliness or if it was simply frustration. The last few days, everything had unravelled. The life Layton thought he was going to have was gone. ¡°The fae? That kingdom out there?¡± Layton gestured wildly to the window. ¡°They took everything from us, Idris. Not just physical objects, not just theft. They took our family¡¯s honour. They took our pride. They stripped us of the means to live normal, meaningful lives because they think us immoral and degenerate, incapable of good intent. Your uncle -¡± ¡°All of this... is about my uncle?¡± said Idris, terrified of the implications. ¡°People like your uncle,¡± Layton said firmly. ¡°All those good, honest men who want to show how good and honest they are by degrading men like us. Men who cannot choose what we are or what we can do.¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°Uncle Haylan always told me I had a choice -¡± ¡°Your uncle,¡± said Layton, cheeks red, tears in his eyes, ¡°told me in no uncertain terms that we would never meet if it was within his power. Me. Your father. He said he had to protect you from me -¡± ¡°He was right,¡± said Idris, without any bitterness. ¡°He was a fool,¡± Layton hissed. The tower shook. Idris blinked, gazed at the portal. Outside, the giants, glorious in their height and seeming indestructibility, were taking run-ups. He thought of his gentle, smart uncle, who always loved him, who saved his life knowing that it was not going to be easy to explain away what had happened. Uncle Haylan was forgiving. What had happened between him and Layton? ¡°You and I could have done miracles together,¡± said Layton, his eyes still fixed on Idris in righteous fury. ¡°We could have restored the family name. We could be kings out there, do you understand me? Instead, I had to ¡®know my place¡¯ and you grew up without a single soul out there who understood you -¡± ¡°Oh, I have plenty of people out there that understand me,¡± said Idris. ¡°And they know who I am and what I can do. I do not need your pity.¡± ¡°You think me weak, that I would not harm you,¡± Layton sneered, and Idris laughed. ¡°I know you would. You have already done it. I merely think you lack the fortitude to do what you really want to and kill me.¡± The tower shook once more. Layton tutted, turned. ¡°This is futile,¡± he said. He returned to the centre of the pentagon, knelt, put a hand on the skull and bowed his head. The skull seemed to burn with grey fire, tinging the air with heatwaves. Idris heard the aria rush out of it in a thousand jumbled melodies, zinging with the terrible high-pitched twinkling of the fae. As if time flashed across Layton¡¯s face, he seemed simultaneously young and terribly old. When he opened his eyes, they burned. The Spirit Staff, in his right hand, flared with grey smoke; the breastplate¡¯s ribcage looked as if it curled protectively inwards. ¡°Interesting,¡± said Layton, his eyes dimming, his voice hinted with melody. ¡°Idris, tell me. The soldier, Kurellan, does he hear the arias?¡± ¡°He does not.¡± ¡°There is someone out there...¡± Layton frowned, stood from his crouch and went to the portal. ¡°The princeling?¡± ¡°Willard?¡± said Idris. ¡°He can do plenty of fae magic.¡± ¡°It is not fae. It is something... else.¡± Idris¡¯s stomach lurched. Cressida came. ¡°Whatever it is, it is nothing,¡± said Layton, crossing the pentagon to the shallow bowl. He examined the contents, smiled at Idris. ¡°I do have to thank you for your help in this endeavour. You are not the only person who can use blood magic.¡± Idris stared at the bowl of red-grey, and he touched his stump protectively. Of course. The necrotic energy in his amputated leg would make excellent fuel for everything Layton was powering in the parlour. ¡°No sense throwing away good blood,¡± said Layton. ¡°This is the grand plan, then,¡± said Idris, feeling small. ¡°You keep me here forever. You attack any and all who oppose you. All because you are lonely and you feel left out? Because of slights against your honour?¡± Layton sighed, turned. ¡°Your assessment of what happened with the Orrost bastard was surprisingly accurate,¡± he said. ¡°That was the first plan, yes. He was to storm Veridia and I was to come in and offer my services. Dravid did not know this, of course. He thought I was a benevolent benefactor who simply wanted to watch the continent unravel. With the kingdom saved, I was hoping to reveal myself as a prominent head of a noble house and reclaim you as my heir. But where one bastard could have succeeded, I suppose two ruin every good intention. It was foolish of you to step in, Idris. None of this had to happen if you had simply let the intervention run its course. ¡°Your meddling has forced my hand. These people want to hurt us. I will protect what is mine, by right. If that means I have to kill everything within a ten-mile radius, I will do so. All of these bodies will be much more useful dead, anyway. You need to stay where I can see you, you are too troublesome to let loose.¡± ¡°And this is supposed to endear you to the kingdom? To me?¡± ¡°I care little about what these people think,¡± said Layton. ¡°They will not listen to reason even if it is given to them. They will look upon me as an evil entity. Well, if they are so inclined to see me as a monster, let me be a monster. Fear is as effective as love.¡± ¡°You are behaving like a monster,¡± said Idris firmly. ¡°Wearing cursed armour and hurting your only son. Layton...¡± There were few options. Layton was bent on his idea of revenge. Idris closed his eyes and gave up the act. ¡°Layton, I am the Court Necromancer of House Naga. I am prominent and respected in the kingdom. If you stop this... if you stop this, I can introduce you to the Queen. She will welcome you with open arms, as she did with me and my uncle.¡± Nothing happened. Slowly, afraid, Idris opened his eyes. Layton stood, limp, in the pentagon, gazing out through the portal. It was as if Idris¡¯s confession, his truth, had stripped Layton of everything he believed in. ¡°They will reduce this tower to ashes,¡± said Idris, gentler now, trying to make him see. ¡°They will kill you, Layton, for what you have done to me. We can end this now, right these wrongs. The Queen is merciful. She will understand -¡± ¡°She will never understand what we have been through,¡± said Layton through gritted teeth, through tears, glaring at Idris. ¡°Never.¡± ¡°She loves me like her own brother,¡± said Idris, putting his hands on his heart. ¡°She can love you if you let her. She knows you because she knows me, what I have suffered, what she can fix.¡± ¡°This benevolent queen who stripped you of your name?¡± demanded Layton. ¡°Who demanded subservience of you?¡± ¡°It was not that way -¡± ¡°She will take all I have left!¡± he said, his voice on the edge of a wail, pure madness lodged firmly in his eyes. ¡°I will not be left barren and destitute! If they want to take this from me, they will have to kill me first! I will not be made a fool of! I will not be belittled! I am Layton Vonner, Lord of Raven¡¯s Roost, and if they mean to make a mockery of me, they will feel my hand upon them!¡± ¡°You cannot get an apology from a dead man!¡± Idris burst. ¡°Haylan cannot make amends to you and for that, I am sorry! I am truly sorry! Please ¨C please, Father, it does not have to -¡± In his anguish, Layton raised the Spirit Staff to strike Idris again. This time, startled, Idris ducked. The staff whooshed over his scalp. The skull of Johannes Vonner appeared to gleam with malintent. ¡°Layton, stop!¡± Idris cried, backing up. With a strangled cry, Layton swung. Idris blocked the blow with the backs of his arms; it smarted instantly and burned, threw wild, malevolent notes into Idris¡¯s blood and ears. But he could work with this. The touch of the staff rejuvenated him. It brought back everything he knew he had to do. The next time Layton raised the Spirit Glass, Idris dropped right into a Half-Moon and shouted, ¡°Push!¡± It charred; he almost did not move his arm to direct the blast. The necrotic energy slammed hard and true into Layton¡¯s chest. It shocked him, but it did not harm him. Idris was sure he saw grey flames lick around the breastplate¡¯s ribcage as it absorbed the blow. ¡°Black bells,¡± Idris whispered, alarmed. ¡°You would strike me?¡± said Layton, with a manic laugh. ¡°As you struck me, yes.¡± Idris swallowed, held his stance, tried to look menacing. ¡°I do not want to fight you, Layton, do not make me.¡± ¡°You? Harm me?¡± The Remaker laughed again. ¡°I wield the Dead Walker armour. Nothing you do can harm me.¡± ¡°There is nothing stopping me from trying. And I will try.¡± ¡°From the floor?¡± ¡°From my two knees, yes.¡± ¡°This is hardly a fair fight,¡± said Layton, with a wicked smile. Idris narrowed his eyes. ¡°Dravid Orrost failed to kill me. I doubt you will fare much better. He was twice the weight of you and twice as mad and I still bested him. No prosthetic, on my knees, in the dark.¡± ¡°Stupid Eremont bastard,¡± Layton snarled, his face flushed and gleaming with sweat, and he lifted the staff one more time. Idris twisted into his Half-Moon in an instant, held out his hand and said, ¡°Give.¡± He snatched his hand to his chest. He felt it ¨C what he had failed to feel the first time ¨C a surge of heat and purpose, all contained on the palm of his hand, like he had touched a campfire and it had not seared his flesh, somehow. For a moment, he was sure he had hurt Layton, but then he saw the staff lurch forwards, almost like it meant to throw itself to the ground. Layton, confused, slipped off-balance. Idris, with the grey fire alight on his palm and the sound of drums rampant in his blood, grabbed the staff and said, ¡°Push.¡± It was as if he had launched it from a ballista. Grey flames sucked in on Idris¡¯s palm, then exploded outwards. The staff, bereft of its power for only seconds, lost all of its lustre. The glass sprang off his palm and slammed against Layton¡¯s breastplate. Then, the sound of musical screaming, like an orchestra was being churned in a maelstrom. Idris reeled, the pain in his head too much to bear. Layton, disoriented, dropped his half of the Spirit Staff. Two pieces, shattered in the centre, dropped to the floor. ¡°No,¡± whispered Layton through the ear-piercing noise. ¡°No, no, no -¡± He put his hands to his ears and dropped to his knees. Idris, dazed, trying to think through the wailing of the broken staff, looked again at the skull of Johannes Vonner, still grinning, still waiting, his bone infused with dark power. Clenching his jaw, Idris grabbed half of the broken staff. ¡°No!¡± screamed Layton, and shoved him. Idris, flat on his back, punched Layton in his jaw to try and prevent what he knew was coming, but Layton was half-possessed with fury and hardly even reeled back. With the Dead Walker breastplate squashed between them, hard on Idris¡¯s ribcage, Layton grabbed his son¡¯s neck and began to squeeze as if with enough strength, he could rip Idris¡¯s head clean off. Idris scrabbled with his single foot, clawed at the backs of Layton¡¯s hands. Already the edges of his vision were fuzzy. He could not hear anything but the endless screeching misery of the broken staff. The glass on his chest was heavy and tight and hot with the energy it sucked in. Layton was surprisingly strong. Idris coughed. Right now, he thought, your body is going into shock. Healer lessons never left him. Every organ is fighting for a share of your last breaths. That is why your stomach hurts so badly. He kicked, tried to scream. His eyes felt huge. Layton¡¯s gaze, murderous and tear-filled, was the only thing in his vision, and his vision was whiting and greying. Idris wanted to cry. He wanted to do something. And then, as if a candle had snuffed out in Layton¡¯s mind, he stopped squeezing. Idris dragged in a giant gasp of air, rolled onto his side. Sound rushed back to him. In the noise and confusion, he could hardly believe what had happened to him, or that Layton had let go. Dazed, he lay on the ground, hand on his throat, staring. Layton got up. He glanced once at the broken staff, then he moved to the pentagon. He scooped up the skull. ¡°Let them destroy this place,¡± Layton whispered. ¡°I hope they destroy it with you inside it.¡± The last image Idris had of his father, in their ancestral home, was of two booted feet, walking away. Chapter Twenty-Six Get up, bastard. Idris sniffed, wiped all of the mucus off his face. There is still work to do. He struggled onto his knees, turned his head to the portal and the pentagon. The air was filled with the dreadful screech of the staff. There is a plan. Idris crawled to the pentagon. Once inside it, he felt a wave of energy; the aria lifted up through him like a pleasant updraft. Even without the skull, the pentagon carried the necrotic energy of the five objects of power. Idris knew parts of the theory, but not enough to truly work the sigil. All he had to do here was take the curtain down. Coughing, dizzy, he dragged himself up the crystal¡¯s stand, closed his eyes and put his hands on the cool surface. Stupid, useless... Idris sniffed again, this time to hold back his tears. Your own father tried to kill you. It was nearly impossible to kneel high enough to hold the stance, with his body as wrecked as it was. Everything trembled and complained. The noise was too much to bear. Lord Idris Vonner of Raven¡¯s Roost. What a joke. Idris sobbed once, and then gave himself up to the aria. It pulled at his bleeding face, at the tooth hanging in his gums. The energy crackled across his sweaty palms. All he had to do was undo the weaving they had made together. With the force being exerted on the curtain from outside, it was easy to find the holes. But the entire time Idris tugged and disrupted and broke his work, he thought of how artfully Layton had made the song, how they had woven it together, and how he was never going to experience that ever again. He was a lone necromancer once more. When the work was done, Idris slid his hands off the crystal, rested his brow on the wooden stand and felt how exhausted he was. The screaming of the broken Spirit Glass scored through him. The job was not finished, yet. After some time, there were heavy footsteps on the stairs, and someone clattered into the parlour, and said, ¡°Sir Idris?¡± ¡°Hello, Kurellan,¡± whispered Idris, not turning, not lifting his head. He wondered what this whole enterprise looked like to the old judge ¨C the portal, the pentagon, the court necromancer half-dead on the floor. ¡°I am quite well, please do not worry about me,¡± he said. ¡°Well my arse,¡± said Kurellan. Then, Idris felt Kurellan¡¯s thick, strong hand under his arm, surprisingly gentle on Idris¡¯s sore muscles. ¡°Steady now, whelp. We have to get you out of here.¡± ¡°The danger has passed. Layton ¨C Lord Vonner ¨C he is gone,¡± said Idris, but it did not stop Kurellan hoisting him to his single foot and supporting his weight. ¡°Idris!¡± cried Lila, careening up the stairs. She skidded to a halt, eyes wide, looking only at him. Idris smiled loosely, and then, overwhelmed, he stumbled. His vision whited for a second, and when it returned, Lila was helping Kurellan hold him up. ¡°The staff,¡± he said, as soon as he could see. ¡°In the chest, put it in the chest.¡± ¡°The...¡± Lila turned and saw the two pieces on the ground. ¡°Oh.¡± ¡°I have it, Lila,¡± said Kurellan. He slid Idris¡¯s weight onto her and gathered up the two halves. ¡°So this is where your family lives, Sir Idris?¡± said Lila softly. ¡°No,¡± Idris said, feeling sick. ¡°It is where nobody lives.¡± Kurellan deposited the Spirit Staff into the chest, and once he closed the lid, everything went still and silent. ¡°Is there anything else we need to take out of this place?¡± the old judge said. Idris thought of the library, filled to the brim with books and tomes, and the cats in the kitchen, and the ravens on the roof, and he said, ¡°No. I just want to go home. Please just take me home.¡± ¡°Lean right on me, Sir Idris,¡± said Lila, her voice a balm. ¡°That¡¯s it. Off we go, now. What happened to your good boots?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Lila,¡± was all he said. ¡°I am so very sorry.¡± The three of them descended, Kurellan with the chest, Lila with Idris. The aria was quiet. Idris felt numb, like he would never feel again. What a waste, he thought, as they walked out into the stable yard. What a waste of a life and a family and a home. One of the horses was gone. Idris had not seen any thralls on his way out. He assumed Layton had taken them. Outside the stables, there was a small contingent of fae creatures, watching the ruins with nocked arrows, and Riette stood, sword ready. Her stance softened immediately when she saw Idris. ¡°Black bells, what did he do to you?¡± she said, coming forwards as she sheathed her sword. ¡°I am well,¡± said Idris again. Never a larger lie had fallen from his lips. ¡°I... I only need a moment.¡± ¡°You are the most dreadful liar,¡± Riette said, lifting him off Lila¡¯s shoulder. ¡°We are your escort. We¡¯re going home.¡± ¡°Please,¡± said Idris, gripping her wrist tightly, ¡°do not destroy the tower. Please. There are... invaluable books, and...¡± ¡°We will make the area safe,¡± she said. ¡°And then we will take anything you wish. But your health comes first.¡± Riette eased him into a wagon, tucked a blanket around him; Lila hopped up beside him and held out a skin of water for him to drink from. Slowly, the wagon clattered down the wide-open streets of Outer Arbedes. As they went, Idris tilted his head to see Raven¡¯s Roost one last time.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. It was tall, and stark, and black. It was as if the Spirit Staff had grown giant, pierced the land as it plundered the arias from the surrounding city; the ravens encircled the pentagonal palisades on top like gathering storm clouds. It was ugly. Idris turned away. * Idris dozed, mostly, through the countryside and farms of Marbury. Everything hurt ¨C his pride, his body, his heart ¨C and it was easier to be unconscious than it was to be present. When he woke, he was surprised that they were not on the road to Veridia. ¡°Where are we?¡± he asked Lila. She turned her head, smiled. ¡°This is Gleesdale,¡± she said. Idris had never been to his small farmstead, nor seen any of the villagers who lived in the boundaries of Gleesdale. Gleesdale was a gift from Cressida, when he became the court necromancer without a title nor a family name, to allow him some legitimacy within the high court. He had always viewed it as a necessity rather than a place he could govern or protect. As they passed the quaint stone walls and boundary hedges that marked out the farms and roadsides, Idris relished its simplicity. It was pleasant in the way that a vegetable garden was, rustic and utilitarian. The summer sun blessed its hedgerows and the tiny honeysuckle flowers that grew wild along the dirt roads. The people watched the wagon, then waved when they saw Riette driving it. ¡°They know you?¡± Idris said to Lila. ¡°We stayed here, remember, sir,¡± she said. ¡°They were very helpful. They are excited to meet you, finally ¨C but another time.¡± Idris had almost forgotten that places like this existed. For so long, his whole world had been Raven¡¯s Roost. The house the wagon rode up to was a two-storey stone building. Ivy crept amiably up the walls, in shades of green and amber; the windows had criss-cross leading on them and were covered by shutters, painted olive green. The garden was thriving with summer flowers and wild herbs, and bees happily ferried to and fro between them. The roof was cosy thatch, grey with age. There was a small stable, a yard filled with chickens. ¡°This is... mine?¡± said Idris quietly, dazed. ¡°All yours, sir,¡± said Lila, jumping off the wagon. ¡°Let me help you down.¡± Idris could not stop staring at the house. It was like a dream. His eyes did not leave it even when Lila lifted him off the back of the wagon, not even when they were about to cross the threshold. The hallway was floored with dark, polished wood; the stairs had a handsome iron railing that curled up into the next storey. Lila took Idris upstairs, to an open bedroom, with bookshelves the librarians would envy and a large, low bed. There was even a little balcony, with a reading chair and a covered patio. The breeze pushed at the light curtains. Idris had managed to hold himself together for the last two days rather well, but at the sight of the bedroom, he burst into tears. He did not even know why he was crying. The toll everything had taken on him was great, he knew, but the little farmhouse made him long for the kitchen in Raven¡¯s Roost, and the cats, and the comfortable reading room. ¡°I wondered when the shock would hit,¡± said Lila, more to herself than to him, and she placed him on the end of the bed and brought in everything they needed so he could sleep. ¡°Where is Cress?¡± he said, through his crying. ¡°Probably still tying up the loose ends at the tower,¡± said Lila, wetting a towel. ¡°Kurellan?¡± ¡°The same.¡± ¡°Willard? My cat?¡± ¡°Last I saw Willard, sir, he was with his father. I am sure he will be here soon. Please stop worrying,¡± she added, patting his knee. ¡°Everything went better than you think it did.¡± There was a soft knock at the door. ¡°Am I intruding?¡± said Riette. Lila shook her head. ¡°Sir Idris, are you hungry?¡± He nodded, but Lila spoke for him. ¡°He should eat, but something soft. His jaw is very swollen.¡± ¡°I will check the pantry,¡± said Riette. Idris did not turn to look at her ¨C it was all too embarrassing for that ¨C but she came around to the end of the bed and tilted his head so she could examine the injuries. ¡°What did he hit you with?¡± she said, frowning. ¡°Glass,¡± said Idris quietly. ¡°I... think I have a tooth loose.¡± ¡°Tilt your head back,¡± she said. ¡°Lady Riette, I think -¡± Lila said quickly, but Riette had already positioned Idris¡¯s head and put her hand in his mouth. ¡°This one?¡± she said, touching the tender molar. Idris could not respond. She yanked it out regardless. He yelped, put a protective hand on his face. Riette held the tooth to the light and raised her eyebrows. ¡°Better out than in,¡± she said, placing it in Lila¡¯s towel. ¡°I will make some soup.¡± At least, Idris thought, the pain had stopped him crying. Lila made him spit blood into a bowl and swill his mouth with salt water. ¡°Soldiers,¡± muttered Lila. Idris ate, and bathed in a small tin bath that Riette brought in, and Lila tended to his cuts and bruises as best she could without Willard to assist her. By then, night was falling. ¡°Sleep,¡± she said, gathering up the used towels and dirty clothes. There were sounds downstairs, though, and she paused. Idris listened. It sounded like Kurellan. ¡°One moment,¡± said Lila, hurrying out. Whatever conversation happened downstairs, it was so hushed that Idris could not hear, but the bootsteps on the stairs were Kurellan¡¯s. Idris turned in his bed to see the old judge in the doorway, dressed in his black-and-white magpie armour, watching Idris carefully. ¡°We will talk in the morning,¡± said Kurellan, in a gentler and quieter voice than Idris had ever heard him use. ¡°But I want you to know, the chest is here, now. Do you have any idea where Lord Vonner went?¡± Idris shook his head. ¡°The confession was useful, then,¡± Kurellan added. Idris nodded. ¡°I¡¯m glad.¡± The old man paused, sighed. ¡°Get some rest,¡± he said at last. ¡°You¡¯ll need it.¡± ¡°Kurellan?¡± Idris whispered. ¡°Hmm?¡± ¡°I was glad to see you. I... I am still glad to see you.¡± Idris was sure he saw Kurellan smile, then. ¡°You¡¯re overtired, whelp.¡± And the judge left. * A scratchy, sandy object brushed at Idris¡¯s cheek. Then, there was a soft mewing. ¡°Thistle?¡± Idris whispered, opening his eyes. The kitten changed his plan of attack and pounced on Idris¡¯s fringe instead. ¡°Thistle, you are...¡± Idris fell to stroking the kitten¡¯s soft head, and Thistle purred and submitted. Thankfully, Idris¡¯s sleep was dreamless. The light pouring in was bright and warm, and somewhere downstairs he could hear someone washing dishes. The smell of freshly baked bread floated upstairs. ¡°Idris?¡± said Willard, and opened the door. He beamed at the sight of Thistle on the bed. ¡°Aw, there now, he knows his pa. Missed you something awful. He didn¡¯t like the fae realm, not one bit.¡± ¡°Thank you for taking care of him,¡± said Idris, his voice scratchy. ¡°Ey, he was a little sweetheart. He¡¯s getting big and strong.¡± Willard sat on a stool beside the bed. ¡°We¡¯re making soup. The Old Honour wants to talk to you and -¡± ¡°You were...¡± The events of the last few days were fuzzy, still. ¡°You were in the plant.¡± Willard smiled. ¡°Aye, that I was.¡± ¡°For how long?¡± ¡°Only when you called me. It was like a... a door, my old pa said.¡± The smile faded from his face. ¡°You had me right worried, Idris. Thought I weren¡¯t never going to see you again. Your poor face and all.¡± Idris said nothing. He was not certain what he should say. ¡°Well,¡± said Willard, ¡°the plan almost worked, eh?¡± ¡°Almost,¡± said Idris quietly. ¡°Get something to eat. I¡¯ll send up the old man when you¡¯re dressed and proper.¡± ¡°Thank you, Willard.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± said Willard, as he got up, ¡°and about being your apprentice and all -¡± ¡°You do not need a teacher, Willard,¡± said Idris. ¡°You know more about fae magic than I ever will. I trust your father can give you the education you need.¡± At the phrase ¡®your father¡¯, Idris¡¯s throat felt thick and hot. Willard hesitated, then he patted Idris¡¯s shoulder comfortingly. ¡°You don¡¯t need any father who is going to beat you like he did,¡± he whispered. ¡°He ain¡¯t your proper pa. You know who your proper pa is.¡± Idris simply nodded. ¡°Take all your medicines,¡± Willard said, louder. ¡°Gotta get that bruising on your neck down, hmm? I¡¯ll bring it all up with your breakfast. Young Master Thistle-Whiskers, you take care of Master Dead-Talker.¡± Thistle pounced on a sunbeam. Idris watched his cat play and listened to his friends making plans downstairs, and he wished he was in the library in Raven¡¯s Roost. He realised, suddenly, why the arias sounded strange here. It was because they were not all death arias, and they were playing through glass bells attached to fenceposts and banisters, and not coming from within. Maybe it was grief he felt, but he wished it would go away. Chapter Twenty-Seven Kurellan came to visit after Idris¡¯s medicines had been administered and he felt well enough to be out of bed. Idris had not moved far, though. The balcony door was open and the perfumed summer air wafted in; Idris was in his patio chair, his legs covered in a woollen blanket as he stared out at the garden below. The old judge brought the chest up with him and placed it in the corner of the bedroom, out of sight from Idris¡¯s seat. ¡°You can deal with that when you¡¯re ready,¡± Kurellan said. ¡°We have... other things to discuss.¡± Kurellan settled on the stool and gazed out of the window for a while, following Idris¡¯s turned head. It had been so long since Idris and Kurellan had really spoken; they never used to talk at all, outside of necessary conversations about court business or work. The last time they had spoken privately, Kurellan had left Dravid Orrost¡¯s confession on the end of Idris¡¯s bed and told him rather cryptically that he knew about the Fairy Queen¡¯s trick. Idris had no idea what he was supposed to say or do. He was not sure Kurellan was his friend and he was certain that nothing that had happened over the last two weeks would particularly endear him with the old judge, who famously abhorred the art of necromancy. Kurellan looked calm, though, his salt-and-pepper hair swept back, his expression neutral. ¡°Gleesdale is rather lovely,¡± said Idris. ¡°That it is.¡± ¡°I feel quite a fool for neglecting it for so long.¡± ¡°The people tend well to themselves and the land. I¡¯m sure that¡¯s why Her Majesty gave it to you. It¡¯s a jewel in Marbury¡¯s crown, that¡¯s for sure.¡± Kurellan sighed. ¡°Nothing like Raven¡¯s Roost, hmm?¡± Idris shook his head, thinking of the dark blackness of the tower against the sky as they rode away. ¡°Nothing like it.¡± ¡°How is your throat?¡± Idris touched his bruised neck protectively. He was lucky it was not worse. ¡°I can talk and eat. I was fortunate.¡± ¡°Your father has quite the grip, hmm?¡± Frowning, Idris looked closely at Kurellan¡¯s face. The judge showed no sign that he had said anything strange. ¡°You... knew?¡± Idris said. ¡°Your uncle and I, we were friends,¡± said Kurellan. ¡°He told me he had business to attend to in Outer Arbedes, when you must have been about fifteen. I tried not to pry too much into his business, everything with you. There was enough to do at that time, anyway, what with His Majesty¡¯s passing, and I was doing my best to keep Her Majesty safe from external threats and keep the kingdom running in King Gael¡¯s absence. I knew you existed, but none of that had anything to do with me.¡± ¡°And you still had no idea I only had one foot?¡± said Idris, surprised. Kurellan shrugged. ¡°Like I said, I didn¡¯t pry. After he came back, though, he sought me out specifically. Haylan gave no details, but he said under no circumstances was I to let you go there. There was someone there that was dangerous to you. I did not put the pieces together until you were older and by that time, I hardly thought it mattered. You had a cosy life. Why complicate it?¡± Once, Idris had believed Kurellan to be a dull, curmudgeonly bureaucrat who despised him, yet every time they spoke, he discovered this was not true. Kurellan was observant, even if he was set-in-his-ways and old fashioned, and he cared deeply for the continued wellbeing of the kingdom and its people ¨C which apparently included Idris, too. It was quietly comforting to know that he had been watching from the corners for so long. ¡°I do not remember you visiting with Uncle Haylan,¡± said Idris. ¡°Ever.¡± ¡°He didn¡¯t take many visitors. Likely due to the nature of your work and your¡­¡± ¡°Missing limb?¡± ¡°That.¡± The old judge shifted his jaw. ¡°How a man can hurt his only child¡­ that gnaws at me, Idris. I have seen kinder beatings between total strangers.¡± ¡°Layton and I are total strangers,¡± said Idris, hating the cold feeling in his chest. ¡°It hardly hurts. Willard¡¯s herbs dull everything quite neatly.¡± ¡°You do seem very calm for a man who has had his world turned upside-down.¡± ¡°I am tired of crying. And the herbs are very, very good.¡± ¡°Then perhaps, while you are in the land of the unfeeling¡­¡± Kurellan reached into his jerkin and pulled out a thick parchment envelope. ¡°I should give you this.¡± ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°Your uncle left it to me before he passed. He said I would know when to give it to you but that likely, it wouldn¡¯t be for a long time. Feels good now.¡± Kurellan put it on Idris¡¯s blanketed lap. On the front was Haylan¡¯s handwriting: Master the Third. ¡°Whatever happens next,¡± said Kurellan, standing, ¡°know you have people behind you who care about you.¡± Idris was almost too stunned to joke about it, but he eventually managed to croak, ¡°Even you, Your Honour?¡± ¡°We¡¯ll see, whelp,¡± said Kurellan as he walked out. Idris toyed with the edges of Uncle Haylan¡¯s final gift for a few minutes, wondering what Haylan had thought so important that he had to give it to Kurellan, of all people. Finally, his fingers feeling fat and heavy, he tugged the wax seal apart. Dearest nephew, I start this letter much like the last I wrote to you, although you have not yet read that letter. You are almost sixteen. Today, we walked the cool verandas of the royal palace in Veridia as the autumn set in. You are steady on your prosthetic ¨C you hardly even need the crutches anymore ¨C and, after several turbulent years, quite steady in your heart, too. It has been difficult. There were months where I thought we would not get here. There were days where I watched you, to make sure you did not do yourself any purposeful harm. I think those days are over, now. I hope they are, at any rate. We walked and talked of the coming season, of the work you wanted to do. The princess will be crowned in three days and you want to be useful to her, and I am sure you will be in the years to come. In the afternoon, you worked on your stances. You raised three mice and had them bring you paper, quill and ink. I must say, it is still the strangest thing, to watch you perform. It simultaneously excites and terrifies me. I love you, still. You are not my little nephew, anymore. You are a man, or close enough to one that I am redundant in your daily care, except first thing in the morning and last thing at night. You are softly spoken and polite, and I must say rather awkward at social functions, although I am certain that this is something you will grow out of once you are less critical of yourself. You are a perfectionist, which is the only thing that ignites your temper outside of losing at cards. And while your particular aptitude is distasteful to most here at the palace, I am glad that you have accepted it as a part of who you are, without bitterness or disappointment. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. So, my first reminder: necromancy is not evil. You are not evil. Your blood is not bad, or wrong, or abnormal. The arias gave you a strange gift, to be sure, but the way you use it is your decision. Right now, you want to raise horses to help the farmers in the corn fields to bring in their harvest. In fact, I think that is what you retired to study ¨C horse anatomy. To the point. I have returned from a necessary trip that I think I should detail here. Unfortunately, I am too much of a coward to speak this to you, and I did not collect the box from Temple Hill, which I intended to do. I was too shaken from what I saw to do so. That is unfair to you and I do apologise. Hopefully you can find some forgiveness in your heart when you read this. I hope we can talk civilly about it afterwards. Idris paused, turned the papers over so he did not read ahead. He remembered Uncle Haylan¡¯s trip. It was not uncommon for Haylan to leave to perform his work while they were in Veridia, but he normally went with a lot of luggage. That time, Haylan travelled incredibly sparsely. When he returned, he did not come back with souvenirs like he usually did. Instead, he greeted Idris, said he had some business to attend to and went to his rooms. It was so close to the death of the king that Idris had assumed that Haylan was doing paperwork to protect their stay in the palace, and did not question. Sighing, he returned to the letter. I went back to Temple Hill, and then further out. In my previous letter, which I hope you have read by the time you receive this letter, I told you about your blood father, a man named Layton. Idris ¨C I found him. The death of King Gael had me thinking that maybe I had done you a disservice. Perhaps you should have been with him, or at least he should have known where you were all this time. It was unfair of me to take you without his knowledge. So, I travelled into Outer Arbedes for the express purpose of finding Layton, telling him that you were safe and well and perhaps arranging a meeting between you, if that was what he wanted ¨C and you, too, of course. I was going to tell you everything when I returned ¨C give you the letter and the proof, and speak with you about it, and ask if you would like to know Layton. I changed my mind. Idris, this man, Layton ¨C he is a bitter, lonely man. I am certain that if you met, he would manipulate you into thinking that the only future you have is in seclusion and paranoia. It pains me to keep holding the truth at bay, because you truly deserve it, but I do it for your protection. I think, if I had given Layton the opportunity, he would have killed me. I do not write this lightly. When I came upon him, it was entirely by accident. The ruins of Outer Arbedes are vast and dark and it is easy to lose your way. I spent most of my time there making maps and charting my progress. It was at one of these junctures I came across a man who was leading a horse along one of the wide roads, and I called out to him to make my presence known. He turned and dropped instantly into a casting stance. By the time he had done so, I knew that it was him. I remembered his face, but I do not know if he remembered mine. I told him I came in peace and I was glad to have met him on the road, and I reintroduced myself and asked if he was Layton. He said, ¡°Where is my child, Haylan?¡± It was the way he said it, I think. Something cold and unhinged. ¡°Where have you taken my child?¡± he said. I knew then that I had made a mistake. He was angry before I even had the chance to speak. He thought I was there to hurt him, probably. I told him you were well and that I had tried to find him years before, and that I was surprised that he had not reached out to try and find you previously. ¡°I have a deal,¡± said Layton. ¡°With Astridia?¡± I asked. ¡°He is to come to me,¡± he said. ¡°He is, or you would like him to?¡± ¡°He is mine by right,¡± Layton said. ¡°Yours?¡± I said, surprised. ¡°No, Layton, he is the heir to Temple Hill, and he belongs to nobody. A kingdom-wide call went out to claim him, I am surprised you did not answer if you feel that strongly about his welfare. He needed you, and you were not there. But I promise he is well, and well-taken-care-of.¡± ¡°He is no healer¡¯s heir,¡± said Layton. ¡°He is of noble birth, from a long line of necromancers, and you will give him to me.¡± Idris, you are not a possession to be bartered over. Layton¡¯s tone convinced me that to him, that is all you are. A commodity. He does not care for you. If he did, he would have tried harder to find you. He cares more for his own protection than about being a loving father. I told him that he would not be meeting you, now or ever, as long as I was alive. That was probably wrong of me. I was angry by then, though. I had come to give him a chance and he was aggressive and derogatory towards you, and you are worth more than that. But standing there, in front of him at last, for him to be so cold towards you, it made me think of all of the pain we had been through together, how hard we have worked to rebuild a good life for you, everything we have both given up and sacrificed so that we can be a family, together and strong, without your mother or Obrin ¨C and I thought of how if Layton truly cared for you, he would have been there, too. I turned my back on him, which was careless, as he shouted after me that if I meant to keep his son from him, I had better expect to be killed for my insolence, and I think he might have harmed me if his horse had not got spooked at his rage. I took the opportunity and I fled. I did not return to Temple Hill. How could I? I came straight home. Yes, home. Home is wherever you are, and you are in Veridia. I hugged you tight and you asked how my trip was, and I lied to you and said it was uneventful but that I had business to attend to, and I went and wrote a letter to your mother. I am angry with her, too. A deal? Neither of those people deserve to be your parents. Where has she been, while I have been here with you? Not that I regret our time, Idris. I am glad I was here. I dread to think what might have happened had I not been. Hopefully, this time, she will respond. I have not given her much of an out if she does not. Idris, I am sorry. If you want to meet Layton, I can tell you where I found him. I do not want you to expect a welcome from him that is warm or fatherly. I see his blood in you, now that his face is fresh in my memory, and it pains me. You are a better man than he is, than he can ever be. He ran from you and he hid from Astridia, and he expects your fealty? No. You are Idris. You may no longer be an Eremont, but you are a healer¡¯s heir. You are a necromancer and one day, you will be proud of that. I am proud of that. You have worked hard and you continue to work hard. You have overcome. One day, we will sit and discuss all of this. It will not be soon. I am sorry that I cannot be brave enough to be honest. Let me end my letter the same way as I ended the first. Tomorrow, we will dine on apple preserves and oats for our breakfast, and you will likely complain about the practice Magus Arundale will make you do in your lessons because the practice chambers are cold and it makes your joints ache quite awfully. I will tell you to dress warmly and you will not, because you are fifteen and you think yourself the wisest man on this earth, so I will put a scarf in your book satchel just in case. I will continue to love you. I will try to teach you patience and optimism, and I will remind you of all of the people who care for you ¨C the princess and the magus, and me. And I will be grateful that I have you by my side, and that you put your trust in my hands, even though I cannot tell you the truth of who you are or who waits for you in the far edge of Marbury, not now. I wish I had some sort of power to fix this for you, to make this right. Maybe one day, you will have that power. All of my love, now and forever, Master the Second (your uncle, Haylan Eremont) Enclosed, behind the letter, were the maps Haylan had talked about, crude maze-like drawings of Outer Arbedes. Haylan was no artist. Idris traced the lines fondly, regardless. ¡°I miss you, Uncle,¡± he whispered. ¡°And I forgive you. You were right.¡± Then, behind those, was a final letter. It was from his mother. Idris read it once, frowning, and instantly read it again. It was clearly the response to Haylan¡¯s letter, the one that had arrived just after Idris¡¯s sixteenth birthday. This is none of your business, Haylan, it read. You cannot make demands of me as if I have no rights. Idris is my son. That is all that matters. But yes, unfortunately he is also Layton¡¯s. Under no circumstances does Idris ever return to Temple Hill. If his father is there, it will get messy. Do what you said you would do and protect him. Idris closed his eyes, steadied his breathing and sucked his cheeks. The rest of the letter confirmed most of what Layton had said. His mother had told Layton that he could collect Idris from Temple Hill, two days before the winter solstice, on Idris¡¯s sixteenth birthday. Astridia wrote that Haylan must not allow that to happen, that for as long as possible, Idris should remain ignorant and unaware. If you tell him, she wrote, that will be the end of everything. And I suppose that means you will hold true to your ridiculous ultimatum, and that you will not allow me to speak to him again. As long as he is safe, that is fine by me. I will not be writing again. That afternoon, Idris carved the Eremont crest into the bedframe with a steak knife Lila brought him at lunchtime. It was a cruel, sharp representation of the crest he thought was his own, a long time ago, which he knew now had never been his, but he wanted to feel it beneath his fingers, to see it one more time. If he had never truly been an Eremont, and he did not want to be a Vonner¡­ then what did that make him? Chapter Twenty-Eight The Gleesdale house needed a name. Idris had not thought of it until Lila brought it up on their daily walk around the village. They had been there for nine days while he recovered and debris from the fight at Raven¡¯s Roost kept rolling past on carts and wagons. A group of soldiers had brought books from Layton¡¯s library and some of the tapestries, and when they had inquired about where to take them, Riette had no house name to give them. ¡°It cannot just be ¡®Idris¡¯s house¡¯, then?¡± said Idris. Lila tutted and nudged him in the ribs. ¡°I tease, Lila.¡± ¡°At least you are well enough for teasing, sir.¡± ¡°What did the previous owners call it?¡± ¡°Nothing, so far as I know.¡± The village was only a short walk down the road from the unnamed house. Idris liked to see the market stalls, smell the bakery¡¯s ovens, watch the sheep cross from pasture to pasture. The people there warmed to him quickly, introducing themselves and saying how grand it was to have him there at last. Everywhere there were flowers and animals, trees and shrubs. It was not Temple Hill and it certainly was not Raven¡¯s Roost, but Gleesdale sat at the intersection of Idris¡¯s understanding of himself in a comfortable, curious sort of way. Lila told him that he was using his walks to avoid his friends, which was true although he would not admit it. Of late, he only spent time with Lila ¨C and Thistle, who rode on his shoulder as they went. ¡°You name it,¡± said Idris. ¡°I am not going to name a nobleman¡¯s home, Sir Idris. That isn¡¯t proper.¡± They paused for the local children to chase a chicken across the street; one, noticing Idris, tipped his hat in the process and collided with a water butt. Idris held in a laugh. ¡°Good morning, young sir,¡± he called. ¡°Morning, Mister Idris!¡± ¡°Sir Idris!¡± Lila corrected as the boy hurried off. ¡°It is nothing, Lila. He has more important things to worry about,¡± said Idris, watching the boy sprint off after the hen. ¡°So do you,¡± said Lila. He had not yet destroyed the Spirit Staff. It still sat in the chest in his bedroom. Partly, this was due to the strength he needed to perform such a task, which he had not possessed until recently; partly, it was fear. ¡°It will be safer to do in the palace vault,¡± said Idris quietly, as they headed back up the road to the nameless farmhouse. But there was much else, too. Official family trees had to be corrected. A letter to Idris¡¯s mother had to be written and sent. There was the issue of Layton, where he was and what he was going to do next. There was the breastplate and the pauldrons. Joa¡¯s involvement was of crucial importance to the stability of the kingdom and had to be addressed. Nobody yet knew what was going to happen to Raven¡¯s Roost, or Temple Hill. ¡°Kurellan¡¯s scouts?¡± Idris said. ¡°We will discuss it another time,¡± said Lila. Arm in arm, they returned to the front yard of the house. Willard was often in the gardens, but this morning he was absent ¨C Idris did not know where Riette went daily but he contented himself with the thought that her disappearance was best for him. He did not want her, or any of his friends, to see him the way he was. The bruises were down but he felt old and withdrawn. He wondered if that was shame or grief, or something else entirely. He did not want to talk of Layton or of his ancestral home. He wanted to forget. Idris and Lila had just entered the hall when there was the sound of horse¡¯s hooves on the road, and Riette¡¯s voice shouted, ¡°Sir Idris?¡± He stiffened. Lila raised her eyebrows at him and turned to the door. ¡°Lady Riette?¡± ¡°There you are, Lila. The Queen is coming!¡± ¡°Cress?¡± said Idris, breathless suddenly. ¡°Go and wash,¡± Lila said, pushing him amicably towards the stairs. ¡°I will stall her.¡± Idris went to his room, washed his face, glared at the chest in the corner for a solid ten seconds and changed his shirt, and by the time he was presentable, Cressida had already come up the stairs and pulled him into a tender, tight hug. They stood for longer than was probably appropriate, arms around each other. Idris kept his eyes closed so he did not have to see any disappointment, perceived or real, in his best friend¡¯s eyes. She did not smell as she usually did in the palace; instead of flowers and salt water, there was the scent of the outdoors on her, hot and musty and earthy. ¡°I did not keep my promise,¡± he whispered eventually. ¡°Promises do not matter,¡± she said. ¡°Only that you are still here.¡± ¡°Do you want me to let go?¡± ¡°Not yet.¡± Eventually, Cressida pulled back, looked up at his face. In her armour, she was shorter than he remembered ¨C no palace heels ¨C and with her hair in its six woven braids, it was as if they were children again. ¡°Tell me everything,¡± she said, pulling him across to the balcony seat. ¡°Spare no details.¡± ¡°I¡­ well,¡± he said, pulling out the smashed box and Haylan¡¯s two letters from under the patio chair. ¡°Here. I think this explains most of it.¡± Silently, Cressida read, with a hand over her mouth and worry creasing her brow. Idris watched her pour over the contents, double-check it. He could almost see the questions forming in her head. ¡°Idris,¡± she said, after some time, ¡°I¡­ bells, had we known any of this¡­¡± ¡°It is better that I did not,¡± he said. When she frowned at him, he said, ¡°Haylan knew I am a tender-hearted idiot. I was willing to forgive Layton. I thought I could bring him to Veridia, maybe that we could¡­¡± He sighed. Every time he thought or said it now, he felt upset and angry, hot in his core, and ashamed. ¡°He is not a father,¡± Idris said. ¡°He is hardly even a man. He is convinced that the world threw him away and he wants to see it suffer as he thinks he has. Me included.¡± He told the rest of the story, sparing nothing. He told her about the Fairy Queen¡¯s deal and the Spirit Staff in the chest, and about how Joa had tried to turn the event on its head. ¡°Without his people,¡± said Cressida, ¡°we would have lost two battles, now. I should speak with him.¡± She looked once more at Idris¡¯s mother¡¯s letter. ¡°Now we know why she did not write.¡± ¡°She was not writing before then. She simply had an excuse, after.¡± Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡°How do you want me to address this in court?¡± the Queen said quietly. Idris did not know. ¡°People will talk,¡± she said. ¡°Rumour spreads. Soon, the news that there is a second necromancer ¨C your true father, no less ¨C will reach the palace. People will start calling you Master Vonner. I should say something.¡± ¡°I cannot think of it now,¡± said Idris. Thistle, on the balcony rail, yawned and stretched. ¡°There is too much to think about.¡± ¡°Raven¡¯s Roost is secure,¡± said Cressida. ¡°Lord Vonner did not return.¡± ¡°Kurellan has scouts looking for him. When he wants to be found, I assume we will know about it.¡± ¡°Why did you not tell me about the poppet?¡± she said finally, devastation etched in her brow. Idris shook his head. ¡°It¡­ I do not know, Cress. I am sorry.¡± ¡°Lila has behaved rather admirably of late. I should promote her, although to what¡­¡± ¡°Let her squire for Lady Riette,¡± said Idris. ¡°That would mean she leaves your service.¡± ¡°I know. I do not need her, and I say that in the kindest way I can. Lila is better than what I can give her. She will be a fine knight.¡± ¡°And Willard?¡± ¡°I think he means to study under his father.¡± ¡°So¡­¡± Cressida took a deep breath, reached a hand out for the kitten. ¡°You and this mangy beast against the world, hmm?¡± ¡°I suppose so, yes.¡± ¡°I have a better idea,¡± she said. ¡°But we will need everyone together, Kurellan included. Can we meet formally tomorrow?¡± ¡°We can.¡± ¡°Can I ask you a personal question?¡± ¡°Always, Cress.¡± ¡°Is Willard giving you herbs to make you¡­ feel less?¡± she said. Idris did not answer right away. He remembered after Haylan died, when he was taking sleeping nettle daily because it stopped his mind from wandering, and after Braemar when he drank wine first thing in the morning so he did not hear the death aria anymore. ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°He was, at first. I was¡­ distressed. I think I am just numb to it. Everything is beyond my emotional comprehension. If I knew what I was meant to feel, I would feel it. But I have been so sad and so angry and so hopeful these last two weeks that¡­ that I know that none of those things are even close to what I want to feel.¡± ¡°Lady Riette said she has not spoken to you in days.¡± ¡°That is intentional, Cress. I do not want to speak to anyone.¡± He tutted. ¡°I cannot believe you called Thistle ¡®mangy.¡¯ He is a prime specimen of cat.¡± ¡°He is a runt, Rissy. Look at him.¡± ¡°He will grow up fine on a diet of palace food, I am sure.¡± ¡°If you insist.¡± ¡°Lila¡¯s main concern is naming this house,¡± said Idris, reaching out to pick Thistle up. ¡°It has a name,¡± said Cressida mildly. ¡°Does it?¡± ¡°It is called Ginger Cottage.¡± ¡°You gifted me a house that is a joke about my hair?¡± ¡°I was seventeen, Idris.¡± ¡°Then I have to change it. I cannot own this place if it is an elaborate way to tease me about my hair ¨C¡° Cressida laughed quietly, and suddenly Idris found that he wanted to laugh, too, and it was odd to him that he could ever want that again. But he laughed, and Cressida poked him in the shoulder and told him that he was such a misery and he needed to take himself less seriously, and Thistle leapt down and ran out of the bedroom, and he thought, perhaps, things might be able to go back to normal. * Near to the farmhouse was a cool, swirling pond, that took the currents of the nearby stream and fed the marshland just outside of Gleesdale. Idris had visited several times over the last three days, often after dinner, to sit alone and watch the creatures of the wetlands eat their supper and prepare for their evenings, too. There were frogs and herons, and marsh birds with long legs that he did not know the name of, and huge water lilies that attracted swathes of fireflies and honey birds. That evening, Idris sat and thought of the waterwings, flitting in and out of the Crescent Crest waterfall. He gazed over the flat land, wondering if he could make a home for himself there. It seemed so far away. There was too much to finish, first. Destroy the Spirit Glass. Find Layton. Then¡­ ¡°So this is where you¡¯ve been.¡± Idris turned. Lady Riette was wearing her riding clothes. Most days, she was out on Kurellan¡¯s patrols, checking the borders for any sign of Layton or his thralls, and arrived to the farmhouse covered in dust and sweat after everyone had already eaten. Her soldier¡¯s braid, though, was still tight and shining, as if it was newly woven, and she seemed calm in a way he had not seen her since the birthday party. The birthday party. So long ago. Idris hugged his arms, looked back at the pond. ¡°It reminds me of the Memorial Pond,¡± he said. ¡°It is a good, quiet place to think of nothing much.¡± ¡°Can I join you?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± Riette settled on a rock beside the pool. In the low sunlight, she seemed taller than usual. ¡°I have¡­ acted dishonourably towards you,¡± she started, and Idris laughed amicably and shook his head. ¡°Black bells, no. I have been pig-headed. You have been true to yourself through and through. I¡­ there is no apology that will ever make right what I put you through. You and Lila and Willard. I should have been honest and I was not.¡± ¡°My father is a strict man,¡± she said. ¡°I see shades of him in what I have pieced together about your father. My father cares about honour and family and nobility to the detriment of his relationships with his children. But he has never hurt us, and I know if I needed him, he would be there.¡± Riette sighed. ¡°I¡­ it was not wrong to believe the same of Layton, Idris.¡± ¡°I might have to kill him,¡± Idris said. ¡°Do you think you could?¡± ¡°I do not know.¡± ¡°He¡­ he was the one who choked you,¡± she said hesitantly. ¡°Correct?¡± Idris nodded. Riette¡¯s cheeks flushed, and the next time she spoke, it was hurried and trembling. ¡°I thought my father cruel. He is dismissive of our feelings, of our wants. My poor brother, Maximillian ¨C all he wanted was Father to approve of the person he loves, and Father turned them both away at the door. He said no son of his would live such a depraved life as the one Max had chosen, as if Max has any choice in who he loves. Bells, I wish I could¡­ I do not know. I am angry for you, Idris. It isn¡¯t right. How do you stand it?¡± ¡°I remember that he wants me to suffer,¡± said Idris, ¡°and I cannot give him the satisfaction of that anymore.¡± ¡°That is a bold claim,¡± she said, with a sharp sigh. ¡°That is what I try to live, now. He thinks me weak, so I must be strong. I do not know how to be strong but¡­ but I have to try.¡± Idris sucked his bottom lip. ¡°I am sorry that your father cannot be good to Maximillian. It is painful, when we see flaws in our parents. Next time, I promise I will come and meet your brother when you ask.¡± ¡°Then, you are not angry with me?¡± Riette said. ¡°What gave you that idea?¡± ¡°You were not speaking to me.¡± ¡°I have hardly spoken to anyone. It is not you. I¡­ I am hiding from difficult conversations. That is all.¡± ¡°I do not mean to be so selfish about it,¡± she said, with a self-mocking laugh. ¡°I always seem to be asking you if you are angry at me, or if I offended you. I¡­ this happens to me.¡± ¡°People do not talk to you?¡± ¡°Men stop talking to me.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Idris felt like the next question would sound stupid, but he genuinely did not know the answer. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± said Riette. ¡°I think¡­ a mixture of circumstances. I intimidate people. Partially that is my profession, and partially it is my size. I do not fit in well with other women and it makes men uncomfortable.¡± ¡°I think we are in the same club, Riette,¡± he said with a friendly smile, and she laughed honestly this time. ¡°Maybe.¡± ¡°I am a small, scrawny necromancer. It puts people off.¡± ¡°I do not think you small or scrawny.¡± ¡°And I do not think you intimidating. You are an excellent soldier and beautiful, too.¡± Riette blinked, raised her eyebrows; Idris felt the blush in his cheeks and decided it was time to go home. ¡°Whereas I am a simply a crippled bastard necromancer, and it is probably wise if you do not associate with the likes of me,¡± he said, only half-joking, and he stood to leave. ¡°You reduce yourself to ashes when you speak that way, Idris,¡± she said, turning as if she wanted to grab his wrist and make him stay. ¡°I have not said anything untrue.¡± Idris wished, more than anything, not to be alone with Riette. Even before everything with Layton, it was almost unbearable. He hardly knew her but he wanted to; he wanted to tell her jokes and be charming and make her want to stay. All of those things were against his nature. It was better if she thought he hated her. Otherwise, everything became too complicated. ¡°You have said much that is untrue,¡± said Riette. ¡°You tell me that you are cursed, and that people hate you, and that the only reason people stay is that they pity you. You say you are poor company and yet I keep finding myself looking for reasons to be in your company. Either that makes me stupid or cruel.¡± He did not want to insult her. That would be too far. ¡°I think,¡± he said soberly, ¡°that I am not going to last to the end of the year, my lady. I think my father means to hurt me, and even if that is not true, I have three pieces of Spirit Glass to destroy. You saw what it did to me in the spring. If you truly believe that my company is worth your time, even knowing this -¡± ¡°I do,¡± she said firmly. ¡°If you have little time to enjoy, then you should enjoy it. Does that not make sense?¡± ¡°It... it does, actually.¡± ¡°And if you survive,¡± she added, ¡°then it is still not time wasted.¡± ¡°I simply do not wish you to waste yours,¡± said Idris. ¡°I spend my time however I please,¡± said Lady Riette. ¡°This pleases me.¡± ¡°I am glad. It pleases me, too.¡± Riette smiled. ¡°You are a stubborn bastard, though.¡± Idris stifled a laugh. ¡°It comes with the territory, my lady.¡± He hesitated. ¡°Would you walk with me, back to the house?¡± ¡°I would be delighted to.¡± ¡°Tell me what you would name the farmhouse of a bastard necromancer, if it were yours.¡± ¡°If it were mine?¡± Riette said, holding out an arm for Idris to take. He blushed again. ¡°Hypothetically, of course.¡± ¡°Of course, good sir.¡± She chose Summer¡¯s End. Idris renamed the house the next morning. Chapter Twenty-Nine The next day, Cressida called court. It was not announced with dragon horn fanfare, as it usually was in Veridia, and nobody had to stand in the giant gilded greenhouse of the assembly hall and listen for hours to petitioners and complaints, hot and sleepy and uncomfortable. Instead, Willard rang the dinner bell and called up the stairs, ¡°Ey! Meeting!¡± and everyone gathered around Idris¡¯s dining room table, where Lila had set out honeyed milk and plates of biscuits. Nobody was dressed for court. Instead, they wore leather armour or house clothes, or comfortable garden trousers. Cressida settled at the head of the table and was granted first choice of biscuits. Idris sat at the other end, as the official owner of the property, and was given the second biscuit. ¡°I would like to call to order the first session of The Gleesdale Court, here in the kitchen of Summer¡¯s End,¡± said Cressida, in her most imperious voice. Kurellan dutifully began taking notes. ¡°This is a special court, for a special purpose ¨C namely, the destruction of the Dead Walker armour, the Spirit Glass.¡± There was a knock at the front door. Idris frowned, but Willard grinned. ¡°Knew my pa would be late,¡± he said, getting up. ¡°He can let himself in,¡± said Idris. ¡°Oh, fae can¡¯t just come into people¡¯s homes without invites,¡± said the hedge witch. ¡°You should prolly come, too.¡± ¡°Excuse me for a moment,¡± said Idris. Cressida inclined her head. Joa was, indeed, at the front door, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the birds with a pleasant smile. ¡°Ah, Master Dead-Talker,¡± he said, noticing Idris and bowing. ¡°Apologies for the abrupt ending to our previous meeting. I did not have time to discuss my intentions with you and I had instructions of my own.¡± Idris bowed, too. ¡°All is well, Highness. Please, come in.¡± It was peculiar, seeing Joa inside the house and seating him at the kitchen table. He was a piece that did not quite fit; he found the whole enterprise amusingly quaint, judging by his sideways smile and glittering eyes. ¡°All present,¡± said Cressida. ¡°Noted,¡± said Kurellan. ¡°We shall start with Sir Idris.¡± Idris cleared his throat and began. ¡°The Dead Walker armour is a Vonner heirloom, created by Johannes Vonner and the fae during the Third Fae Incursion. It included one helm, now destroyed; one dagger, also destroyed; a staff, in our possession in two pieces; the breastplate, which Lord Layton Vonner has; and a set of pauldrons. The pauldrons,¡± he added awkwardly, ¡°are in the Naga vault.¡± ¡°They are?¡± said Cressida, frowning. ¡°I had the archivists look into it some months ago. I think they are in one of the bricked-up cubbies.¡± He continued, ¡°The armour has necrotic qualities which are rather far-reaching. The breastplate melts metal, apparently, protecting the wearer from most attacks. The staff... it enabled complete control of the aria. It does nothing much now but wail. I cannot tell you what the pauldrons do -¡± ¡°If I may?¡± said Joa politely. Idris nodded. ¡°The pauldrons acted as a barrier between the helm and the breastplate, connecting thought between the two pieces of armour. It was a rather enlightened piece of aria weaving and engineering. I doubt the pauldrons have much use on their own, although I can imagine the residual necromantic aria within them must render them rather... worrisome.¡± ¡°All of these are troubling in their own right,¡± said Idris. ¡°But what I think is the real problem is the skull of Johannes Vonner. This will sound... fanciful, but please hear me out. When Johannes used the Dead Walker armour, it stripped him of his humanity. I think it also stripped him of flesh and muscle. What was left was his skull, but it is infused with the death aria to the extent that Lord Vonner uses it to supplement his own skills. Lord Vonner is capable of terrible acts with it in his possession. He made sure to take it when he left Raven¡¯s Roost.¡± ¡°Necromancers can leave ghosts?¡± said Willard. ¡°Not so crude as that. It looks like some sort of magical repository ¨C a well, perhaps, or a shadow.¡± ¡°It can happen,¡± said Joa. ¡°In order to find the breastplate,¡± said Cressida, ¡°we must first find Lord Vonner, then. Kurellan?¡± ¡°Lord Vonner has effectively vanished,¡± Kurellan said. ¡°I have scouts in Outer Arbedes, Temple Hill and the surrounding areas in Marbury. No sightings.¡± ¡°He has also not returned to Raven¡¯s Roost,¡± said Riette. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°He will let us find him when he is ready,¡± said Idris quietly. ¡°There, I agree,¡± said Kurellan. ¡°Based on Sir Idris¡¯s observations of Lord Vonner¡¯s... emotional and mental state when he left the tower, I do believe he thinks himself hunted and disgraced, and has set himself against us in a sort of heroic last-stand. While this isn¡¯t true, it does suggest that he will allow himself to be found at some point and will lead us to him.¡± ¡°Then this is what we do,¡± said Cressida. ¡°First, we destroy the staff. We will do so at our earliest convenience, in the safety of the palace in Veridia. All agreed?¡± A chorus of ¡®aye¡¯ went around the table. ¡°Second, we take the pauldrons from the vault and -¡± ¡°We will need the pauldrons to destroy the breastplate,¡± said Idris quickly. ¡°That is not a simple matter.¡± Joa sat forward. ¡°I have a proposal, if you will allow it.¡± ¡°Certainly.¡± ¡°I cannot discuss it now, but I would like to be present when you unearth the pauldrons.¡± ¡°Granted,¡± said Cressida. ¡°Third, I will draw up a treaty with the fae. Your Fae Highness, are you permitted to sign and negotiate such treaties?¡± ¡°I am,¡± said Joa. It struck Idris as comical, that the most momentous treaty in a generation was going to come to fruition around his farmhouse dining table, but he knew better than to laugh. There was too much at stake. Other matters were discussed ¨C what to do with Raven¡¯s Roost (leave it unoccupied but guarded) and how to deal with the other necromantic artefacts in Layton¡¯s home (to be placed in Idris¡¯s care, for his disposal or use as he saw fit); the protection of Temple Hill (to be negotiated with Lady Eremont at her earliest convenience) and the family trees (which the archivists would deal with when they returned to Veridia). It felt better to talk about these things as a matter of business rather than as a facet of Idris¡¯s intensely personal issues. For the first time in days, he felt calm. ¡°Idris,¡± said Cressida at last, ¡°the final matter is a delicate one, and if you wish to discuss it privately -¡± ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°It is quite all right. Everyone around this table already knows.¡± ¡°You can remain without a family affiliation if it pleases you,¡± the Queen said earnestly. ¡°That is your right. But I would feel better if we could provide you with a crest of your own, and a name you like. That way, we can address you as ¡®lord¡¯, as is proper, and you can put this miserable business behind you.¡± Idris sighed, drummed his fingers on the table. ¡°I... there is no name that comes to mind. I am neither Eremont nor Vonner, and I do not wish to claim the latter.¡± ¡°In fae lineage,¡± said Joa, ¡°we take our surnames from our great deeds. Perhaps that might suit you?¡± Idris almost said ¡®I have no great deeds¡¯, but he saw Riette watching him and he closed his mouth. ¡°I will stay as Sir Idris,¡± he said. ¡°For now. But I thank you for the consideration.¡± ¡°Any other matters for the court?¡± said Cressida. ¡°I would like to put forward a recommendation for apprenticeship,¡± said Idris. ¡°Proceed.¡± ¡°Lady DeTrentaville, would a squire suit you?¡± he said. She smiled. ¡°Certainly,¡± she said. ¡°I would very much like to draw up a contract to transfer Lila into your service.¡± Lila blinked, started. ¡°But - Sir Idris, I must protest,¡± she said. ¡°It is not a punishment,¡± he said quickly. ¡°By no means a demotion or a dismissal. Simply a transferral of skills.¡± ¡°I wish to squire,¡± Lila said, addressing Cressida now, ¡°but Your Majesty -¡± And she stood and bowed low, ¡°I do not wish to leave Sir Idris¡¯s employ. I wish to be his knight.¡± Kurellan raised his eyebrows, sat back in his chair. Cressida hummed thoughtfully. ¡°Interesting. I do not know if a nameless lord can acquire knights. Let me think on it.¡± ¡°I do not mean to be so bold as to say something improper,¡± said Lila, head still lowered, ¡°but Sir Idris does rightly need me and I can¡¯t leave him to fend for himself -¡± Willard laughed; Cressida bit her lip and gave Idris a sideways-glance, and he sighed and shrugged. ¡° - and he can¡¯t fight none, and -¡± ¡°Very well, Lila, very well,¡± said Cressida kindly, placing a hand on her shoulder. ¡°You may rise. I will see to it that you get excellent training, but that you can stay with Idris. That is my personal promise.¡± ¡°Thank you, Majesty.¡± ¡°We will adjourn,¡± said the Queen, ¡°if there is no more business. Willard, how does it suit you to become my Fae Ambassador?¡± ¡°Oh, it sits right kindly with me, Majesty,¡± said Willard, jumping up to bow. ¡°I can do that.¡± ¡°Then we will make our plans and reconvene once the Spirit Staff is dissolved, and -¡± There was another knock at the door. Idris frowned. His gut stirred uncomfortably. The jovial atmosphere around the table dissipated, like smoke into the air. ¡°Are you expecting anyone?¡± said Riette. ¡°Draw your sword,¡± said Idris in reply, standing. Kurellan stood, went to the window. ¡°Hooded figure. Female, I think.¡± Lila drew her sword, too, and said to Idris, ¡°I have you, sir.¡± Slowly, Idris walked to the hall. He was certain the death aria, usually a whisper in places like this, was louder, more insistent. ¡°Hello?¡± he called. No response. Simply another knock, loose and quiet. Trembling, he reached out and lifted the latch. A thrall lurched inside. Idris staggered back; Lila lifted her blade and held it protectively before them, but he waved her down. ¡°No, no. It is already dead and I do not think it wants to harm us,¡± he whispered. The thrall stopped walking. It had its fist clenched around something, its hood up, and it swayed as if it had walked for days. Its clothing and shoes hinted as much, too ¨C the shoes were threadbare on the feet and the cloak was coated in dust. Within it, Idris could hear Layton¡¯s peculiar music, floating through the aria. ¡°Hello, Father,¡± Idris whispered. ¡°Do you have something for me?¡± He reached out his hand in a gesture of acceptance. ¡°Come,¡± he said. ¡°I am here. Give it to me.¡± He reached out through the aria, too, diving into Layton¡¯s melody, and he joined with it. He wondered if his father knew it, could feel it, and was watching. The thrall lifted its clenched fist, dropped the contents into Idris¡¯s hand, and then crumpled to the ground, the aria leaving it instantly once its task was done. It was then, when the hood dropped, that Idris felt afraid. ¡°Oh bells,¡± said Lila, putting a hand to her mouth. It was Polly, the groundskeeper. She was newly dead. The skin and lips were white. But around her neck were deep purple bruises of ghostly hands, much like the bruises Idris had just lost around his own neck. Polly must have been protecting Temple Hill. If she was dead... what of the others? Idris swallowed hard, took grounding breaths, and unravelled the parchment in his hand. IF YOU ARE NOT WITH ME THEN YOU ARE AGAINST ME DO NOT STAND IN MY WAY Idris sucked his cheeks, held his tears at bay. ¡°Prepare a pyre, Lila,¡± he said. ¡°I think Layton Vonner just declared war.¡±