The Necromancer’s Light by Tavia Lark

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CHAPTER TWENTY

Arthur

The room seems to sink and rise unevenly around Arthur. He feels sick, the same way he felt the day his world turned upside down, like he still has Ronan’s knife lodged cold beneath his ribs. Like he’s still standing on the white marble floor of the Bright Cathedral, facing the High Commander and Archpriest on his own. Praying for forgiveness, ready for damnation.

Ready for anything except this unbearable year of limbo.

He remembers Ronan’s smile. The taste of his skin, now ashes in his mouth.

“Radiance,” he swears, or prays. He isn’t sure if there’s a difference right now. He rubs his hand over his face. “I can’t believe it’s taken so long to find him.”

“We wouldn’t have found him at all, except he hit another church last month. Not one of ours, he stole a relic of Mother Sephine’s this time. He’s been giving us a hell of a chase.” Bernard downs half his ale and wipes his mouth, then leans back in again. “I can’t say much, but we’re only camped an hour out of town. You should meet with Captain Tanner. She can fill you in on the rest, and maybe if she’s talking to you, she’ll leave off yelling at the rest of us for a few minutes.”

Arthur wants to say yes, but he stops himself. Glances to Shae, who sits pale and tense beside him. “I can’t,” he says, grimacing. “I haven’t finished my penance yet, and I’m on a job right now.”

I can’t abandon Shae,he doesn’t add, because he knows Bernard won’t understand. For all his faults, Bernard has always put the Radiant Order above everything. He expects nothing less from Arthur.

“Your penance forbids you from walking in a church, not from walking into a camp,” Bernard says. “Come on, how many weeks do you even have left?”

“Just under a month,” Arthur answers. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m committed to this job for the next week. If you leave word here, maybe we can meet up when I’m free?”

Bernard shakes his head and finishes his mug. “If we haven’t caught Vizia by then, Captain will have all our pendants as well as our heads. Vara willing, we’ll be long gone.”

Shae touches his arm. Arthur is hyper-aware of the way his skin tingles under Shae’s hand, and the way Bernard watches intently. The man acts like a buffoon sometimes, but he notices more than you’d expect.

“Can we talk alone?” Shae asks.

They move towards the window while Bernard calls out for another ale. The bright morning sun doesn’t seem to touch Shae’s face at all, like his skin is still shaded with clouds and moonlight.

“What is it?” Arthur asks quietly.

Shae twists one of his rings. Arthur can’t help reaching out and covering Shae’s hands in his, holding him still. Shae freezes for a moment, then holds onto him. “I know this is important to you,” he says hesitantly. “Will seeing this Captain Tanner help at all?”

Arthur’s grip tightens involuntarily. He forces himself to let go, aware of Bernard watching across the room. “I thought I was fine waiting until my year was up,” he says eventually. “But knowing they’re all right there—knowing they have more information about Ronan—he ruined my life, Shae. I want to know what he really did it for.”

Shae gives a shaky sigh. “This Bernard is an asshole, and if the rest of them are like that, I’m not looking forward to it. But we can spare half a day if it means that much to you.”

“You caught Bernard on a bad day. He’s—driven.” Arthur had panicked when he ran in and saw Shae and Bernard facing off, but Bernard had backed down when he realized there was a problem. He doesn’t blame Shae for not liking him, though.

“Sure.” Shae twists his ring again, and this time Arthur resists the urge to hold him still. “We can spare half a day. No more.”

A wave of gratitude rushes through Arthur. He grins down at Shae. “You’re the best. Thank you.”

“Sure,” Shae says again, and heads for the stairs without another word.

***

They set out from Lanwatch an hour later, most of which was spent buying a horse for Shae. Arthur helps him pick the calmest-seeming horse available at the stable—a sturdy, dark gelding with long ears and a star between his eyes. The stablemaster tells them his name is Sparrow, and throws in the tack at a discount. The gelding is small enough that Shae manages to mount from the ground, with some coaching from Arthur and trial and error.

The ride out is mostly quiet. Bernard and Shae don’t seem inclined to talk to each other, leaving Arthur awkwardly in the middle of their silent feud. Arthur spends most of the ride watching Shae to make sure he’s adjusting to the new horse, and he spends the rest of the time thinking about Ronan.

He hasn’t thought about Ronan much over the past week or so. He’s been so caught up in Shae, he’s forgotten to ruminate on his hurts. The betrayal gnaws at him again now, just as fresh as the day Ronan stabbed him.

Guilt gnaws at him too. What kind of penance is this, if he stops reflecting on his mistakes?

A week before his life was ruined, they lay in bed as the sun rose. Ronan was as tall as Arthur, nearly as broad, and they barely fit in Arthur’s bed. Ronan had said, “Did you know it’s my birthday tomorrow?”

He had a way of starting a conversation that made people excited to hear the rest of it. A con artist’s charisma.

“I know now.” Arthur vividly remembers rolling over in bed, rumpled cotton sheets tangled around his legs. Kissing the sleep from Ronan’s lips. “What do you want? Dinner? Drinks? Sex? A new belt? Sex?”

Ronan laughed and kissed him breathless. Pulled back and said, eyes sparkling, “I’ve actually always wanted to see the Dawn’s Tomb.”

The most heavily guarded chamber in the Bright Cathedral, where the Radiant Crown was kept.

The request seemed weird at the time. It was the only ingenuine thing Arthur ever sensed about Ronan. His faith always felt shallow, insincere, more concerned with buildings and rites and objects of worship than with Vara’s Radiance itself. All of the logistics and tools, none of the emotion. Arthur thought sometimes that Ronan was pretending to be more faithful than he was.

He thought, because he was a fool, that Ronan was pretending because he loved him.

The next day—looking back now, Arthur doesn’t even know if that day was really Ronan’s birthday—he showed Ronan the Dawn’s Tomb. Just the door outside, they couldn’t go in, but that was bad enough. They kissed under the statue of of the Radiant, and one week later, Ronan used that knowledge of the layout to break in and steal the Crown of Vara.

Leaving Arthur bleeding out and utterly lost.

He’s found more pieces of himself than he expected over the past year. Most of them over the past few weeks with Shae. But maybe it’s a mistake to think he can fully move on with this question of why hanging over his head. He can’t commit himself fully to Shae or Vara when part of him is still caught up in Ronan.

The order is camped in a hollow clearing, just off the road. A freshly-cleared trail leads from the road to the camp. Arthur counts enough tents for two dozen, including squires, but only sees a handful of people around. A woman with dark brown skin and short hair takes one look at them riding in and ducks into the largest tent. Freya. They graduated in the same class five years ago.

Riding into camp should feel like coming home. Familiar white and gold banners everywhere, familiar armor, familiar faces. Even the layout is familiar—all the smaller tents in a grid surrounding the mess tent and the captain’s tent. But as two squires come forward to tether their horses, Arthur feels out of place. He has an odd sense that everyone’s looking at him, and not everyone is as happy to see him as Bernard.

Shae stumbles as he dismounts, and Arthur moves forward on instinct to steady him. But Shae recovers and steps away before they touch. His face is wooden.

“Captain’s tent is this way,” Bernard says unnecessarily. The tent is three times the size of any others.

Also unnecessary, because seconds later, Captain Edith Tanner emerges from her tent. Her height always takes Arthur by surprise—she barely comes up to his shoulders, but her presence fills the entire campsite. Her long golden hair is braided in a crown around her head, while her clothing and expression are ruthlessly utilitarian.

“Arthur Davorin,” she calls out. “I hardly believed Freya’s words. What brings you here?”

“Captain.” Arthur bows his head. “I ran into Bernard in Lanwatch and he said we should talk.” He looks up, trying to read Tanner’s expression. Should he have come? Was trusting Bernard a mistake? “If I may, it’s good to see you, Captain.”

Tanner looks him up and down, steel in her eyes. Her eyebrows rise when she sees Shae next to him. But when she turns back to Arthur, it’s with a smile. “It’s good to see you too, Arthur. Bernard’s right, we should talk.” She points at Shae. “But first, this is…?”

There’s an awkward pause in which Shae doesn’t introduce himself. He just glances to Arthur, who has to step up. “This is Shae Nightven. He hired me for a job, and he’s a friend of mine.”

It feels oddly like introducing Shae to his mother. Except his mother would probably be a more welcoming audience. This would be a hell of a lot easier if Shae tried at all to be friendly.

“Hi,” Shae says, deadpan.

“A friend,” Tanner repeats, equally deadpan. She turns back to Arthur. “Let’s talk inside. Freya, can you lead Arthur’s friend to the mess tent to wait? If that’s all right, Arthur?”

“Shae?” Arthur doesn’t want to explicitly ask if Shae will be all right alone. The man definitely wouldn’t thank him for voicing the concern out loud.

Shae plays with an earring, at least outwardly unconcerned. All he says is, “Don’t take too long,” before following Freya.

Arthur stares after him, then follows Tanner into her tent. It’s tall enough to stand comfortably, and with her rank, she gets an actual cot, not a bedroll like the rank and file. There’s even a fold-out table covered in paper and a mug, with two chairs. Here, the wave of nostalgia finally knocks him truly off-balance. Arthur’s stood at this flimsy fold-out table dozens of times, receiving assignments or giving reports.

As soon as the tent flap swings shut behind them, Tanner sinks onto one of the chairs with a sigh. She waves to the other chair. “It really is good to see you, Arthur. Even if you are riding up with a necromancer, of all things.”

Arthur sits at her silent command, trying not to bristle at the dismissive tone in her voice. It’s not her fault she doesn’t know how amazing, selfless, brave, beautiful—well. Not her fault she doesn’t know Shae at all. “He’s a good man, sir.”

She shakes her head. “I believe you,” she says, though she sounds skeptical. “It just doesn’t look great. Especially considering your, well. Your historical choices in companions.”

He crosses his arms, no longer trying not to bristle. “Shae is nothing like Ronan. I swear on my pendant.”

She sounds a lot more tired than she sounded outside. “I didn’t get the chance to talk to you after the hearing last year, and I regret that.”

“There was a lot going on, Captain.”

“I told Archpriest Neradt and the rest of the circle that I didn’t agree with penance exile. I want you to know that.” She grabs the mug on the table, then sets it back down.

Arthur shifts, trying to find a comfortable angle in the fold-out chair. “I appreciate that,” he says. “It’s been hard, but it hasn’t all been bad. I’ve managed to do a lot of good over the past year.”

She waves her hand. “You were doing good in the order. We should have held a trial right then—the worst you’d have gotten was one month confinement, and then you’d be free and clear. Instead we had to drag this on all year, and it’s not looking good for the trial now.”

Premonition swoops through Arthur’s stomach, like a hawk diving for its prey. “What do you mean, sir?”

Tanner leans her elbows on the table, crumpling a few maps. “This information doesn’t leave this tent,” she says. The lines on her face look deeper than they used to. “This is an order matter, and the last thing we need is the crown meddling in order affairs. But we’ve learned Vizia has ties with Praia.”

“Radiance,” Arthur breathes.

“We could sure use some Radiance right now.” She rubs the bridge of her nose. “I’ll be honest, it’s a mess. We’re going to catch him soon, no doubt about it, and we’re going to handle everything before filling the crown in, but the circle is panicking.”

“I can imagine,” Arthur says, even though he really can’t. He never paid much attention to politics and strategy in the Radiant Order. He followed orders and he served the faithful and the light of Vara. Tension between the secular government and Charain’s myriad religious orders is beyond him. “You are close to getting him, right? Bernard said you were.”

“We finally managed to get a tracking trace on him a week ago,” she says, a hint of satisfaction in her smile. “He can keep running, but he can’t hide, and he’s not getting to Praia before we catch up.”

“Good. That’s good.” Arthur shifts again on the uncomfortable chair. He still can’t shake the premonition of danger. Tanner still hasn’t answered his real question. “My penance is almost over. What do you mean about the trial not looking good?”

She sighs, and she looks kinder and more sympathetic than he’s ever seen her. He’s more used to her barking orders and scolding everyone in sight. “You’ve been one of my best paladins since the day you graduated, and I always thought someday you might replace me. But this whole situation is getting too political, and the Exalted Circle needs more scapegoats than just Vizia.”

“You’re saying they’re going to sentence me more harshly than they would have otherwise.” Arthur rubs his face, trying to get his thoughts in order. A month in confinement? Two months? Docked salary? None of those seem serious enough for the expression on Tanner’s face.

She sighs again. “They might expel you from the order, Arthur.”

Arthur freezes. There’s a moment of blankness as the words echo through him. Until his heart thuds back into motion, quick and panicked.

He’s spent all year without his brothers and sisters, without his chosen family and god-given purpose, driven only by the thought that when the year is over, he’ll get them all back. The thought of losing everything hurts worse than anything Ronan ever did.

“He lied to me,” he says eventually. “He stabbed me in the back, and he lied to me.”

Tanner says quietly, “I know, boy. I know.”

“Fuck. Sorry, I just.” He leans against the table and covers his face in his hands. “Is that really likely?”

“That’s what the circle had decided on, last I spoke with Neradt,” she says. “Even though—wait. I’ve got an idea.”

He drops his hands, feeling shaky.

She continues, “They’re worried about appearances. So, we need to have you make your grand return with an achievement they can’t ignore, right?” A grin breaks across her face. “And since we’re about a minute away from catching Ronan…”

He’d do just about anything to stay in the order. He leans in and hangs onto her every word.