The Necromancer’s Light by Tavia Lark
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CHAPTER TWELVE
Arthur
They don’t stay long in the next town, putting in a good afternoon’s travel after reporting the hunter’s body to the local guard. As the evening deepens, they make camp in a dry cave. Other travelers have used it before, judging from the footprints and campfire remnants, but nobody recently enough for Arthur to expect company. He makes sure Duchess has food and water, then walks a loop around the entrance and says the prayer to set the warding magic. Same as every night.
Except when he’s done, he opens his eyes to see Shae leaning against the cave entrance, watching him. Arthur mostly doesn’t find the necromancer unnerving anymore, but there’s an odd, contemplative stillness to his dark gaze now. Arthur feels like he’s under inspection.
He’s not sure he dislikes it.
“What are the parameters of your warding spell?” Shae asks.
Arthur answers as he steps out of the cave again, looking for enough dry wood to start a fire. “The boundary extends about a hundred feet past the circle I walk. If any mortal creature bigger than a rabbit crosses, or anything demonic of any size, it alerts me.”
“Could they know we’re here, though?”
“I suppose. I don’t have cloaking magic.” Radiant Vara’s purview is more concerned with revelation than concealment.
“That’s what I figured.” Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur sees Shae move to the center of the cave. He sits down next to the dead ashes of the last traveler’s fire. “I need to renew one of my cloaking rings, then. There’s blood involved, so don’t look if that bothers you.”
He’s already shrugging off his coat and rolling up his left sleeve. Arthur’s stomach flips, but it’s not the sight of blood that bothers him. Shae’s casual disregard for his own welfare is getting frustrating.
But Arthur has no right to stop him. “At least let me build the fire first. It’s getting dark.”
“I work fine in the dark,” Shae says. He sets his knife on the ground and waits anyway.
Arthur gets the fire going, then grabs a roll of bandages and a jar of denseed oil from his saddlebags. Shae might not care about cutting himself, but Arthur will make sure he gets patched up properly after.
When Arthur sits next to him, Shae opens his mouth like he might say something, then purses his lips. His eyes lower, long lashes kissing his cheeks, as he twists one of his rings off. The plain silver band looks cold in his gloved left palm.
He unsheathes his knife. The firelight flickers gold against the steel blade. Arthur’s closer now than he was the last time, and now he can see the olders scars littering Shae’s skin. Some look neat, intentional. Some don’t.
Arthur has his own scars. Training injuries, battle wounds. Childhood mishaps. The marks on Shae’s skin still bother him in a way he can’t quite explain. Maybe it’s that Shae hired him for protection, but he isn’t allowed to protect Shae from himself.
Shae cuts a neat line parallel to the scabbed-over wound from the graveyard. Blood wells up immediately, and he drops the knife to press his fingers to the cut. He murmurs something under his breath. Then he brings his red-painted fingers to the ring in his palm and says another phrase.
Cold, heavy energy fills the air. Arthur’s breath hitches, and Shae shudders, biting his lip. On instinct, Arthur reaches out and grabs Shae’s wrist. He thinks about sunlight, fire, summer days. He thinks about the way his heart feels when Shae smiles, and tries to guide that heat through the connection of their skin, into Shae.
The silver ring flashes bright white, then darkens to its usual hue. An ordinary silver ring, except for the red gleam of blood.
Shae’s breath steadies, but he doesn’t pull from Arthur’s grasp. “That was—that helped a lot. Thanks.”
Arthur doesn’t want to let go either. He wants to keep hold of Shae’s wrist, their skin heating with the contact. He lets go anyway, and grabs the denseed oil. “Did it work?”
“Yes.” Shae fishes a handkerchief from the inside of his coat and starts cleaning off the ring and his fingers. When he’s put the ring back on and dropped the handkerchief, he lets Arthur take his arm again and rub a drop of the slick protective oil over the cut.
The wound is shallow, and it’s already stopped bleeding. Arthur winds a length of bandage around Shae’s arm anyway. It’s the principle of the thing. If Shae won’t take care of himself, Arthur will do it for him. There’s something soothing about pulling the cotton taut against Shae’s scarred skin, flattening out the edges before he ties the ends together. When he’s done, he feels a tension he hadn’t even noticed leave his chest.
Shae shifts around to sit with his arms around his bent knees. He glances at Arthur, then at the fire, and says quietly, “I’m twenty-two.”
Arthur doesn’t understand at first. Then he does, and all the breath leaves his body in a sharp exhalation. The math is painfully easy. He doesn’t know what to say, but that’s just as well, because it seems like Shae is ready to talk.
“My parents died when I was twelve,” Shae continues. His voice is calm but distant, and he keeps looking at the fire, not at Arthur. “Bandits. I wasn’t ready to let go, so I followed the old legends and traveled to an ancient cathedral, north of the Lyralan Crater. Mother said the cathedral belonged to the Trickster. Father said it belonged to the Songbird. Either way, there was a summoning circle I could redraw.” His lips twitch in a cold smile. “Summoning the demon was easier than I expected.”
Arthur leans forward, transfixed by the blank mask of Shae’s face lit by fire. The light doesn’t reach the necromancer’s eyes.
“He taught me necromancy in exchange for staying in the mortal realm. I thought I was clever and trapped him in an array in the old cathedral, but he didn’t seem to mind. He just wanted to be here. I should have been suspicious, but I was—I wasn’t really sane at that point. I just wanted my parents back.”
“You were twelve,” Arthur says.
“I was irresponsible,” Shae corrects harshly, but he’s clearly not mad at Arthur. He’s mad at himself, twelve years old and grieving, and Arthur’s heart hurts just thinking about that. “I made the deal and then I ran, leaving him in that array. I told myself I could banish him again later, whenever I wanted. But I’ve been too fucking cowardly to go back, until now, when it might be too late.”
He’s brittle in the firelight. Like the dagger’s blade, reflecting the flames but still cold at heart. The resentment in his voice resonates through Arthur’s bones, and he remembers the day after Ronan ran away. After the healers fixed him. He’d gone back to his room, seen the bed where they’d fucked, the table where they’d shared mugs of ale, too much ale, the shirt on the floor that Ronan always liked to steal. The loss and self-loathing surged up inside him, and instead of praying, he punched a hole in the wall. The pain didn’t help, but he did it again, just to see.
Shae hasn’t been punching walls for the past ten years. He’s been too busy punching holes in himself.
“Why do you think it might be too late?” Arthur asks.
Shae’s mouth twists. “The array is fading. I cast it when I was twelve, of course it wasn’t going to last forever. He can’t leave, or I’d know about it, but I think he’s sending the vaidkos out to catch souls for him to eat. That will make him stronger. Either way, I need to banish him before the array fails completely, or I’ll never catch him again.” He turns to face Arthur then, and the firelight finally sets his eyes ablaze. “Banishing him will break the contract and send him back to the dark realm. I’ll lose my magic. I’ll be free of it.”
His voice is strong as steel, no hint of fragility left, and Arthur’s pulse quickens. He shifts closer, reaches, and when Shae doesn’t pull away, he drapes his arm around the smaller man’s shoulders.
“If anyone can do that, it’s you,” Arthur says.
Shae melts immediately into the embrace, head tilting onto Arthur’s chest. “Maybe,” he says quietly. “But I can’t do it alone.”
They watch the fire together. A single glow of light as the darkness grows around them. The stone walls of the cave like a starless, breathless sky over their heads. The quiet grows comfortable.
But one last question claws its way from Arthur’s throat. He hates to ask, but he’ll be thinking about it forever if he doesn’t. “Did it work?”
Shae doesn’t answer for a while. He doesn’t move at all, just slumps bonelessly against Arthur’s side. Eventually he says, his voice devoid of emotion, “It didn’t work. I couldn’t bring them back.”
Arthur just holds him a little tighter and stares into the fire.