The Necromancer’s Light by Tavia Lark

❧

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Shae

Shae picks at his breakfast and ignores the way Jessop the innkeeper avoids eye contact. Right now, he doesn’t care if the man thinks he’s about to summon corpses at the breakfast table; he just wants his ham and toast, and an entire pot of shaflower tea to wake him up. The inn’s front room is cozy, with more bright curtains and blue-painted tabletops. Shae and a pair of merchants by the window are the only guests at the moment. They either don’t notice Shae or don’t care.

A slight chill creeps through his bones even as the warm food settles in his stomach. Arthur needed to check on Duchess, and Shae had said he should get the lay of the town while he was out. Usually Shae would insist on going with him, but he trusts Arthur to come back before he gets too cold. At least, he wants to trust him.

And he could use twenty minutes or so to breathe on his own. Savor the soreness lingering deep within his body. It’s hard to think about anything when Arthur’s right next to him, impossibly bright and attractive and distracting.

Now that he’s alone, he’s able to admit that maybe sex isn’t the solution to everything. He’s glad they fucked—truly, viscerally glad—but his desperation and urgency were driven by anxiety as much as desire. He doesn’t like being near people who hate him. He doesn’t like thinking that other paladins might be around with a claim on Arthur’s time and attention.

At least instead of just being anxious, now he’s well-fucked and anxious.

He’s only halfway through his first mug of tea when a familiar warm aura brushes his awareness. Shae swallows his tea and glances over as the front door swings open, and a tall stranger with Vara’s sun on his chest walks in.

Shae reels, stunned.

The paladin is stouter than Arthur, paler and clean-shaven. His light brown hair is pulled back in a knot behind his head, and a long sky-blue cloak billows behind him. He calls out as he enters, “Jessop, my good man! A pint of ale, as fast as you can pour it!”

“Sir Bernard!” The innkeeper emerges from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. His cheer sounds strained. “I thought you lot were gone west.”

“I thought so too, but well—confidential details. I’m afraid I can’t say more.”

Their voices drop to a low enough volume that Shae can’t eavesdrop without effort. He turns back to his tea, unsure whether he’s amused or disgusted. Sir Bernard’s arrogance wafts through the room like a sour perfume. Shae decides to finish eating quickly and return to their rented room. Or should he try to find Arthur in town? Head him off? He stares into the pink-gold shaflower tea, mind racing. Every selfish instinct tells him to keep Arthur away from this man.

The familiar but unfamiliar aura intensifies. Shae’s head whips up as Sir Bernard strides towards him, cloak billowing unnecessarily.

“Necromancer,” he says, far more loudly than necessary. Shae is too aware of the way the merchants at the window table drop their utensils to listen in. “I’m from the Radiant Order, and I need to ask you a few questions.”

Shae clenches his jaw. On the one hand, his entire body craves the warmth emanating from the paladin’s spirit. On the other hand, his ten years’ experience with self-important men like this tells him to run out of the room or draw his knife. Neither instinct is particularly helpful.

He finishes his mug of tea. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any answers.”

Bernard sets his hand on the table in front of Shae. Not slamming it, but hard enough to jolt the empty mug. “My friend Jessop says you came into town yesterday. What are you doing in Lanwatch?”

“Currently?” Shae gestures at his plate. “Eating toast.”

Bernard’s smile isn’t friendly at all. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

Shae bites back another snarky reply with all the willpower he has left. Where the fuck is Arthur? Should he mention Arthur to this guy? But Bernard doesn’t seem like the sort of guy who actually wants answers, or who’ll believe anything Shae says. He needs to figure out what Bernard does want—or get out of here before he gets into a fight.

“My apologies,” Shae says, though it kills him to say it. “What are your important questions about?”

Bernard’s frown doesn’t soften at all. “You’ll need to come with me. We’ll talk with my commander.”

Absolutely not. Shae’s palm itches for the hilt of his knife. “My apologies,” Shae repeats, like the words are a ritual spell. “I’m waiting for my friend. He’s actually in your Radiant Order too, you might know him.”

“Sure, sure.” Bernard finally grins. He touches a chain at his throat, and a familiar warmth washes over Shae’s frayed nerves. “Why don’t you tell me exactly who your friend is?”

Truth spell. The bastard used a truth spell on him. Shae shoves to his feet, nearly knocking over his chair as he backs up. “You have no jurisdiction over me,” he snaps, which is the utter truth. “I’m going upstairs.”

He glances around, making eye contact with Jessop and the two merchants in turn. All of them are watching, but none of them speak up to interfere. Not even Jessop, who knows Shae came in yesterday with a paladin of the Radiant Order.

“Tell me,” Bernard says, stepping into Shae’s path. “You dark mages always like to stick together. Are you with the heretic?”

Every nerve in Shae’s body screams to run. He hasn’t decided whether to answer or deflect, hasn’t decided which one is the safest route, when a familiar, welcome voice calls out across the front room.

“Bernard? I saw your horse outside, I can’t believe—what’s going on here?” Arthur stands in the doorway, looking between the two of them. Gratitude rushes through Shae, as warm as the touch of Arthur’s aura.

Bernard breaks into a smile. “Arthur! Radiance, it’s good to see you.” He gestures to Shae. “I was just bringing this necromancer in for questioning.”

Arthur steps forward, his beautiful brow furrowed. “Shae’s with me,” he says, putting his hand on Shae’s shoulder. Shae can’t resist leaning into the touch. “What in Vara’s name are you questioning him about?”

“He was being a sanctimonious asshole,” Shae says, pulling away from Arthur’s touch. He loves it, he craves it, but his skin prickles with annoyance at the entire situation. He wants Arthur to swoop in and save him—but he hates that he needs him to. “And Sir Bernard here can assure you I’m speaking the truth.”

“Listen here, necromancer—” Bernard starts, but Arthur interrupts.

“You used a truth spell on him?” His frown deepens. “Take it off.”

Arthur’s annoyance is a little rich, Shae thinks as he sits back down, considering that Arthur also once used a truth spell on him without warning. Maybe the rules are different for necromancer’s you’ve fucked. He pours himself another mug of tea from the pot, the action helping keep his mind steady and stopping him from spouting out more dangerous truths.

Bernard scowls for a moment, then breaks into a laugh. He waves his hand, and the cage of light lifts from Shae’s mind. Tension vanishes from Shae’s neck.

“Sorry, sorry, just a misunderstanding. I had no idea he was a friend of yours.” Bernard looks around at the innkeeper and the unrepentantly staring merchants. “Sorry for the disturbance, everyone, nothing to see here. Jessop! Can you bring out some more food with that ale?”

Like another spell’s been broken, everyone starts moving again. Jessop vanishes back into the kitchen, and the merchants drop coin on their table before leaving the inn. Arthur sits down to Shae’s left, and Bernard—to Shae’s immediate annoyance—sits across from Arthur, to Shae’s right.

Shae doesn’t miss that Bernard has apologized to everyone in the room except him.

“How have you been, Bernard?” Arthur asks. “What’s the order doing this far north? Who’s leading?” His hand drops under the table to briefly squeeze Shae’s thigh, in a gesture that Shae doesn’t understand. Is he trying to comfort him? Warn him? Tell him to stay quiet while he gets information out of Bernard?

Shae wants more than anything to run out the door, find Duchess and bury his face in her mane. Run out to the river and scream underwater. But something in him is afraid to leave Arthur alone with Bernard. Not that he thinks Bernard will hurt Arthur—and that’s the problem.

The innkeeper brings out the food and ale Bernard requested, then returns to the kitchen.

Bernard swigs from the ale. “Captain Tanner’s in command,” he says. “She’ll be happy to see you. Keeps complaining that the rest of us aren’t making up the slack.”

“She always complains about me too.” A grin creeps into Arthur’s voice.

Shae pours more tea. He feels invisible, and Arthur’s immediate camaraderie with this asshole does nothing to ease his nerves.

“No way, you were always her favorite.” Bernard sets his ale down and leans in. Lowers his voice. “As for what we’re doing here, well. Vara himself must have guided you here too.”

For some reason, Arthur stiffens at his side. Shae’s stomach twists in an inexplicable sense of dread

Arthur asks, “Is it him?”

“Yeah,” Bernard answers. “We’re closing in on Ronan Vizia.”