The Necromancer’s Light by Tavia Lark

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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Shae

Arthur’s arms are the only thing keeping Shae upright. The cold and dark seep away, leaving only emptiness in their wake. All he can do is gasp for breath and clutch Arthur’s tunic, shaking.

The first thing that fills that emptiness is warmth. More than the paladin’s aura, more than the simple warmth of human touch. It’s a surge of emotion. Relief, need, euphoria. Something more. A small scared part of his soul no longer alone.

The second thing is pain. Shae winces, fists tightening. His entire body feels like—well, he feels like he fell off a horse a few times, got strangled by dead people, and walked a few frozen miles his parents’ graves. Even the pain is welcome. It’s such a relief to feel anything again.

The rest of the memories flood back in. Losing control of the darkness, losing control of himself. Trying to kill Arthur, because he could take his energy afterwards, because he had the gall to interfere before Shae could siphon out the last remnants of his parents.

He breathes into Arthur’s collarbone, “You came back.”

Arthur’s hand loosens in Shae’s hair, and slides down between his shoulderblades. “Yeah.”

“Did you—” He flashes back to their conversation outside the paladins’ camp. “Did you already get what you needed from Ronan?”

“I didn’t need anything from Ronan,” Arthur says into his hair. “I shouldn’t have let you go alone. I’m sorry.”

Shae inhales, unclenches his fists with effort, and drapes his arms over Arthur’s shoulders. “I think I’m still mad at you.”

Arthur laughs breathlessly and hugs Shae closer. “That’s fine. You can be mad.”

“Thanks,” Shae says dazedly. “I appreciate that.”

He’s steady enough to stand on his own now, and part of him wants to. He’s ashamed and scared by how close he came to killing Arthur. How close he came to reprising his greatest regret and disturbing his parents’ rest once again. He wants to hide from any judgment of Arthur’s.

The rest of him wants to stay here forever, selfishly savoring the man’s touch.

None of that matters now, though. The array is gone. Shae has no idea what Izen will do next, but it can’t be good. He extricates himself reluctantly from the embrace. “The array broke,” he says urgently. Remembering how it broke, he shudders at the memory of cold lips on his. “Izen’s free, I don’t know where he’ll go next, I need—you’re hurt.”

Blood pours from a too-long, too-deep gash in Arthur’s left arm. From other wounds too, tearing through Arthur’s leather armor, staining his sun-emblazoned tunic. Dizziness sweeps through Shae.

I did that.

Arthur doesn’t look down at his injuries. He catches Shae by the elbow, as if Shae’s the injured one. “It’s nothing serious. Tell me about Izen.” He looks down at his arm, tries to move it, and winces. “Okay, that one might need stitches.”

Shae swallows down his distress and wordlessly leads Arthur out of the dead orchard.

There’s a medical kit in Arthur’s saddlebags. Shae sits Arthur down at the edge of the well and draws up water to wash off his wounds. The well hasn’t run dry in the years since he last came here. He feels Arthur’s gaze on him as he works the handle, which creaks with every movement. The rope is frayed, but somehow still intact.

“Was this your home?” Arthur asks quietly.

Shae rests the bucket of water on the edge of the well, gripping the edge of the bucket so tightly that his knuckles turn white under his rings. “Yes.” He forces himself to let go. “Do you have a spare shirt I could ruin?”

Arthur hesitates, then yanks his sun-blazoned tunic from under his belt and pulls it over his head. “Here.”

Shae takes it hesitantly. “I’m serious about ruining it. Don’t you...”

“I don’t need it,” Arthur says calmly. His stubbled jaw visibly tightens, then relaxes.

There’s something more hiding under his words, but if Arthur doesn’t want to talk, Shae doesn’t have the right to ask. His first priority is patching up the injuries he caused. As if that will make it any better. He draws his knife and splits the tunic in half, then starts using one of the pieces as a towel to sponge the blood from Arthur’s cuts.

He moves slowly, methodically. He doesn’t flinch when Arthur asks, “What happened to the orchard behind the house?”

“I did,” Shae answers quietly. He half-kneels on the side of the well to get a better angle to clean the cuts on Arthur’s back. They’re shallow. The leather armor blunted the worst of it. “I told you I tried to revive my parents.”

Arthur hisses in pain, but doesn’t move away. “Yes.”

“And I told you it didn’t work.” Shae moves to the deeper cut in Arthur’s left arm, high up by the shoulders. He hesitates, then grabs his knife again to widen the tear in the sleeve, to give himself more room to work. “I lied about it not working.”

Arthur exhales sharply. “Radiance, Shae.”

“I had already buried them, and I had to dig them up again. I sat them up against the tree in the middle of the orchard, so they wouldn’t have to wake up in their graves. My father’s favorite tree.” He takes his time cleaning out the cut, pausing every time Arthur flinches. It starts to bleed sluggishly again, and he wipes away the fresh blood too. “They’d been dead for a month at the time. It took me that long to summon Izen, and to learn enough magic from him. So, Mom and Dad had already started to rot.”

Arthur hands Shae the needle, thread, and denseed oil. “Have you stitched a wound before?”

“Yes. But you should probably see an actual healer when you have a chance.” He dabs some oil into the cut to prevent infection, then threads the needle. Continues talking, because if he doesn’t finish now, he never will, and somehow he feels he has to. “It took me three tries to get the resurrection spell right. It finally worked at sunset, and the force of the spell killed the entire orchard. But I didn’t care about the orchard, because Mom and Dad woke up.”

He pulls the edges of the wound together and starts the first stitch. It’s easier to talk about this when he’s doing something. It’s easier to do this when he’s talking about something. “I was worried they wouldn’t come back right, but they did. It was them. They knew themselves. They knew me. I was so happy to have them back.”

Arthur stays still and silent as Shae continues stitching and talking.

“But they weren’t happy.” He takes a deep breath, waiting for his eyes to clear before making the next stitch. “The first thing Mom said when she woke up was, ‘Send us back.’” He can hear her voice as clearly as if she stood here now. “They were angry. They wanted to rest. But I refused to break the spell.”

The stitches are done. He cuts off the thread and places the needle back in its case. Arthur takes it from him without speaking.

“Mom was a hedgewitch, and she still had her own magic,” Shae says quietly. “She burned out Dad’s heart, then her own, so they could die again. I buried them, then left.” He can still smell the dead flesh burning. Suddenly unable to sit still, he stands up.

But Arthur stands up too, seizing his hands. Running his thumbs over his rings. “You still blame yourself,” he says slowly.

“Of course.” Shae’s eyes sting. “It was my fault. I hurt them because I was selfish.”

“Can you feel them here?” Arthur asks, pulling him a little closer.

“What?”

Arthur squeezes his hands. “Do any of your rings detect anything?”

His touch is so safe and comforting, even though Shae doesn’t deserve it. He tries to pull his hands away, but Arthur holds him fast. “No. I don’t feel them. Is that supposed to—”

“Then they’re at peace now.” Arthur looks down at him, an impossibly soft expression in his green eyes. “There are no resentful spirits here, no restless ghosts. They’re not angry anymore. It’s okay to forgive yourself.”

Something fractures inside Shae. He doesn’t know if Arthur’s right. He’s spent so long hating himself for this. But he wants to believe, and that’s closer to forgiveness than he’s ever gotten before. Maybe it’s fitting that he had to come back and hear that here, in front of the house his parents built. He needed to taste the ashes again.

He needed to tell the story out loud to release it from his heart.

After managing to free one hand from Arthur’s stupid hot grip, he rubs his stinging eyes. “I really hate you,” he mutters. “Fuck. We don’t have time for this, I need to—”

“Yeah.” Arthur leans down and steals a kiss. A feather-light blaze against his lips, searing him to the core. “Let’s banish that demon.”

***

Shae sits in front of Arthur in the saddle, fingers tangled in a death grip in Duchess’s mane as the mare lopes forward beneath him. Her long strides eat up the countryside, and Shae would have fallen off immediately if Arthur’s strong arms weren’t around him, his broad chest pressed tight to Shae’s back. Even the overwhelming, musky scent of him can’t ease the twisting in Shae’s stomach.

They don’t head for the tower. Worry drives them south and east towards Lanwatch. It’s the largest collection of souls within fifty miles, and after his long imprisonment, Izen will be hungry.

Shae wants to trust the Charaini border defenses, but he’s been self-absorbed for too long. He can’t let anyone else get hurt by his recklessness.

Arthur agrees immediately, because of course he does. He’s far too good for Shae.

“Are you doing okay?” Shae asks. He’s worried about Arthur’s stitched-up arm.

Arthur laughs, the sound rumbling through Shae’s entire body. “I should be asking you—Radiance.” His laughter disappears. Now, all Shae feels is tension at his back. “I feel something up ahead.”

He reins Duchess in so sharply that Shae jerks forward in the saddle. They’re at the very edge of the dark forest. Dizzy, he looks up and sees a plume of shadows in the sky above, just as one of his rings flares. The shadow twines like a serpent in the sky, winding back and forth in the same place. Occasionally it pushes forward, and blue magic sparks around it.

The Charaini wards are still holding strong.

“I guess we don’t have to warn Lanwatch,” Shae says, his mouth dry. “If he gets in…” More people will die.

“The city’s not defenseless, and the order is close enough to realize something’s happening. They can provide backup, and demons are their specialty,” Arthur says. “What happens if they kill Izen before you can banish him?”

Shae’s breath hitches. All right, maybe he should have been a bit more self-centered. That hadn’t even occurred to him, in the rush of everything happening. “If he dies on this plane of existence, I’m stuck with these powers forever. I’m stuck with the cold.” He twists around in the saddle, trying to look up at Arthur. “We need to go, maybe we can get there before he breaks in. I need to get close enough to cast the banishing.”

But Arthur doesn’t kick Duchess forward. “He seemed interested in you, when we ran into him on the road,” Arthur says slowly. One of his hands drops to Shae’s thigh, burning through his clothing. “Can you draw him away from the city instead?”

Shae takes a shaky breath. His throat hurts. He remembers cold, rotten lips on his, nausea surging through him. His voice is tight when he answers, “I think so.”

It’s time to stop hiding.

They dismount in a clear spot of dirt and low grasses. Incongruously bright wildflowers pepper the land with yellow and white. Shae lands shakily and wants to lean on Arthur forever for support, but forces himself to pull away. He clears a hard patch of earth with his foot and starts rolling up his sleeve with practiced movements.

Arthur grabs his wrist before he can draw his knife.

The harsh words ready on Shae’s lips melt away at the intensity in Arthur’s eyes.

“I really don’t like watching you do that,” Arthur says. “Can you use my blood instead?”

The stitches are still visible past his torn sleeve, white thread against red, raw skin. Shae can’t tell whether he wants to laugh or cry. “I’ve spilled enough of your blood today.”

“This?” Arthur flexes his arm. “That’s barely anything. Here.” He scratches one of the smaller cuts on his arm, breaking open the scab.

Shae’s stomach flips, torn between nausea and overwhelming affection. Is this how sick Arthur felt watching him cut himself? Somehow it’s different when it’s Arthur’s skin, not his own. “Fine,” Shae whispers, then holds out his hand and switches to Lyrisenian. “Life’s blood, come to me.”

He nearly loses his nerve when Arthur grunts in pain. But he holds steady, unwilling to waste this gift. Blood spills from Arthur’s arm and pools into a coin-sized sphere, floating in midair. It reflects and holds the cloud-filtered sunlight. Like it’s the brightest color in the landscape.

Shae fumbles a vial from his belt pouch. The blood floats into it. “If I need more, I’m taking my own.”

“Sure.” Arthur shouldn’t be smiling right now, but he is. “What should I do now?”

Shae takes a deep breath. Shadows and blue light still flash back and forth above, testing each others’ strength. “Can you put up one of your paladin wards? I’ll draw his attention and then start drawing the banishing array. I just need you to hold him away until it’s ready.”

Arthur leans in and kisses him, soft and quick. “I can do that,” he says, and starts walking a wide circle around them. Duchess stands very still nearby, her ears pricked southwards, entirely uninterested in grazing. Magic shimmers in the air around and above them as Arthur walks, until they’re encircled in a barely-visible dome of shimmering gold. It’s stronger than the wards Arthur’s used before.

Shae waits until he feels the warmth of Arthur’s magic wash through him, then starts taking off his rings.

It’s more difficult than he expected. Mentally, at least. He’s worn some of these rings for nearly ten years, adding more every time he realized there was something new to hide from, something new to detect ahead. He’s taken them off to renew the spells, or to change rings when his hands grew, or when he could afford better silver, but it’s been at least nine years since his hands were completely bare.

He drops the first ring to the ground. The one that detects ghosts. Then the one that detects demons. The rings fall to the ground with barely a sound, and Shae’s hands stay steady, the same steadiness he relies on when closing dead eyes and laying bodies to rest.

The last three all have the same purpose. Silver bands set with ruby and onyx and jade, all enchanted to hide his soul from scrying. Shae tears them from his fingers and flings them aside. Remnants of magic shiver over his skin.

“Izen,” he says, with calm he doesn’t feel. The name feels far more dangerous without his rings to hide him. “We need to talk.”

The air crackles around them, invisible energy snapping through the clearing. The sky above and the flowers below seem to dim. Shae looks south. The distant spiraling shadow stops, then turns towards them.

“Arthur?” Shae says, no longer calm. He’s still mad at Arthur. Or at least, he wants to be mad. But he isn’t. Arthur came back to him, when he didn’t have to. For a selfish moment, he regrets drawing Izen away from Lanwatch. He’d rather save Arthur instead of anyone else.

Arthur glances over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

Neither of them have a chance to say anything else before red-black light flashes around them, and a figure appears at the edge of the ward. Then another.

And another.

Three. Five. A dozen shambling corpses, all with dull, dead eyes and bloody weapons in their hands. Swords, axes, shovels. Men and women who should have slept in the earth, dragged up and twisted into a demon’s puppets.

Shae falls to his knees. He pours the vial of Arthur’s blood into his palm and begins drawing the array.