Tale of the Necromancer by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

11

Marguerite froze.She had heard Leopold speak her name, whispered as it were. Oh, God above, I have summoned the dead! She shivered despite herself. “C—can I open my eyes?”

“Yes, my princess…yes, you may.” Gideon’s voice was thick and strange, and yet layered heavily with awe. But she could not think much of it. She had summoned the dead.

Blinking her eyes open, she gasped and took a step back, nearly leaving the circle. There, in front of her, was Leopold. In a manner.

He was translucent. She could see straight through him. He was as she remembered him—there was no terrible wound that bisected his throat. He was not covered in blood. He was there, but he was also…not.

She reached out to him, and he did the same in return. But her hand passed uselessly through his. Tears sprang to her eyes. “I wish I could hold you.”

Leopold smiled sadly and shrugged a broad shoulder.

“Oh, Leopold.” She stepped toward him, and for all the world, wanted to take him in her arms. “I am so very, very sorry.”

“It is not your fault. It is his.” The last word was spoken with so much seething rage, she nearly recoiled. He pointed a ghastly, transparent finger at Gideon. Leopold turned to glare at the necromancer, his face twisted in rage. “Demon! Monster! Your black arts—”

“Yes, yes. I have heard it all before.” Gideon gestured his hand dismissively. “And now your dear friend—my wife—has committed the same. She is the one who summoned you, not I.”

Leopold turned now to look at her, eyes wide in horror. “Say he lies, Marguerite. Say it.”

“I—” She blinked and felt the sudden shame crawl over her.

When she could not answer him, Leopold shook his head and grimaced in disgust. “He has corrupted you…”

“No! I—I just—I wanted to see you, to talk to you, to say—” Tears were streaming down her cheeks again. “To say that I miss you, and I love you, and I am so very sorry…”

Leopold reached out to comfort her, but his hands passed through her like he was made of nothing but smoke. Turning his head to the necromancer, he glared at Gideon. “Leave.”

“Pardon?” Gideon arched an eyebrow in response. “You jest.”

“Leave us. Let this be private. You have defiled us both enough. Let us have a moment’s peace without you.”

“You think to command me, in my own home?” He let out a bark of a laugh. “You are nothing more than wisp, and you—”

“Please,” she cut him off. “It will be but a moment.”

Annoyance and anger flashed over him—and she recognized instantly a dark jealousy in his silver eyes. But he relented, nodded once, and stormed from the room. “Two minutes.” She flinched as he slammed the wood slab behind him.

“Marguerite—you cannot trust him. He killed me!”

“I know, I—I do, but I had no choice. It was that or be married to some violent lunatic.” She shook her head. “The queen sought to levy revenge against me, for that I was the reminder of my father’s infidelity toward her. Gideon is—he is kind.”

“Gideon?”

“Another lie…”She shut her eyes and wished she could hold Leopold with every ounce of her soul. But that was magic she did not possess. “I do not think he means to harm me. I think he truly does love me.”

“He is not human, Marguerite.”

“What?” She looked up at him then, her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I stabbed him. I sank my knife into his gut to the hilt. He should have died.” Ghastly hands hovered near her shoulders, but he did not close the distance between them. There was no point. “He is not a mortal man. Some black magic has corrupted his form. You must run from here—you must escape him.”

“To where? Where would I go?” She shook her head. “I am alone in this world.”

“It does not matter. Anywhere that he is not. He is a monster, Marguerite—one of a making I do not know. But he should be dead. He should be in the grave, not I…”Agony etched into his features, a desperate grief. “I tried to save you from him. I failed you.”

“No, no—my friend, you have done no such thing. You did not fail. Please, do not believe so. You laid down your life for me.”

“I was a fool…I did not know what he was. I thought him a mortal man. And now, you are his, and I have died for nothing.” He let out a rush of air. “My death was pointless.”

“No, no, please do not believe that.” She wiped at her tears, but they were instantly replaced with more. “Oh, Leopold…I am so very sorry.”

“None of this is your doing.”

“But it does not matter. I—I do not know what I will do without you. I do not know how I will cope.”

“You are resilient, Marguerite. You will be all right.” He smiled mournfully. “I never did much for you, anyway. I could not even teach you to properly fight.”

“I do not know what to do.”

“Heed my warning. He is not a living man. Stab him while he sleeps. Sink a dagger into his heart. You will see for yourself.” He sighed. “I must go. I fear this state drains me.”

“Does it—does it hurt? To be dead?”

He shook his head. “It is peaceful.” He furrowed his brow. “But I know nothing else of where I was. I have forgotten it like a dream.”

Reaching up, she grazed her fingertips along where his cheek would be. He leaned in as if to accept her embrace, but she felt nothing as her fingers only disturbed the surface of his existence like she was touching the smoke of an incense burner. “I will miss you every day of my life. I will never, ever forget you. And I will try to be half as strong without you as I was with you.” She heard the door open behind her, but she did not turn to see Gideon reenter. “Goodbye, Leopold. Goodbye, my friend. I love you.”

“And I you, Marguerite. I will be at your side always…one way or another.” He shut his eyes. “I am so very tired…I would like to sleep.”

She knew she could not keep him like this, hovering in this state. But it was so hard to release him. To truly say goodbye. She swallowed down a sob and let out a wavering breath. “Goodbye…”

Like releasing the thread of a kite, she…let go.

Like smoke curling from a candle, he was gone.

Marguerite collapsed to her knees and wailed.

* * *

The evening had started so wonderfully.After she had demanded to summon the dead, he had not known what to expect. Even as he had been schooled like a child as she released Eurydice, he could not have been more proud of her.

And the sight of her performing true magic for the first time…?

He had wanted her more than he had ever wanted anyone in all his years. She was beautiful, standing in that circle, feeling the power of the world around her for the very first time. She would be unstoppable with proper training.

Perhaps he could sense it in her when he saw her—this latent ability to tap in to the beyond. Was that what drew him to her so hopelessly? Sensing a true kindred spirit?

What would it be like to make love to someone who commanded the ether in the same way as he? They could conquer the world together; he was certain of it. If she had summoned anyone else from the beyond, he would be overjoyed.

But as it was, he was kneeling on the ground beside her, cradling her to his chest, comforting her while she wept. It took a long time before she stopped, but he kept her against him, rocking her gently back and forth.

“It was good to say goodbye,” he murmured to her as her shoulders stopped hitching with the desperate attempt to breathe past her tears. “Perhaps this will help you move past his—”

“Are you human, Gideon?”

The words were strangled, broken, and raw, as she forced them through a throat wracked by sobs. She did not even lift her head as she asked him the question.

He stayed silent.

“Leopold stabbed you in the stomach to the hilt. You should be dead.” She finally lifted her head to look at him, her eyes bloodshot. She looked so very tired. Working magic for the first time—and necromancy, no less—he was shocked she was conscious. “What are you?”

His jaw ticked. “I am your husband.”

“I—”

Placing his thumb to the center of her forehead, he commanded her to sleep. The magic worked over her quickly, though she fought it valiantly. “Rest, my love. We will speak of this another time.”

She went limp against him as his power put her under. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her from the room, walking easily in the pitch-black darkness of the castle. He needed no light to find his way.

Winding his ways through the halls, he made his way to their bedroom. Laying her down on the sheets, he sat beside her and stroked her hair away from her face. Forcing her under was not a moment he was proud of.

But the conversation of his lack of humanity?

That was one neither of them was prepared for.

Bowing low, he kissed her. He held the embrace for a moment. It was a stolen embrace—one she had no part in—but for a moment, he imagined himself as some storybook prince.

A shame he was no such thing.

He was the dragon. He was the miserly, deadly lizard. And she was his prized possession. “I am your husband, Marguerite. And you belong to me. And past that…nothing else matters. Someday soon, you will come to understand. Someday soon, you will see this all as an unpleasant dream, as easily forgotten as a simple nightmare.”

I will not let you go, Marguerite. I will never, ever let you go.

* * *

It wasmorning when she woke. The light was streaming in through the curtains. For a long moment, she wondered if the strange events of the night before had only been a terrible dream.

But she knew better.

Gideon was not beside her, though the depression in the pillow and the mattress said that he had slept beside her. She could not remember much after Leopold disappeared. She had cried—she had asked him a question—and then darkness had taken her.

What had she asked him?

She struggled for a long moment to grasp it from the scattered and groggy state of her mind. But finally, it was there.

What are you?

He had touched her—a thumb to her forehead—and the world had gone dark. Had he put her under a spell? Anger boiled in her at the thought. How dare he!

When else had he worked his magic on her? She desired him—was that by his design? Climbing out of bed, she staggered but caught herself on the post. Shaking her head to clear it, she tried her best to steady herself.

Dressing as best she could, she left the room to find Gideon. She stopped at the kitchen first, plucking a dangerously sharp looking knife from the block. It was small enough that she could conceal it in her sleeve, but big enough to be easily deadly and require no skill for her to wield.

Wandering the halls of the stone castle, passing by the servants she now knew were not of the living, she pondered her situation. She was the wife of a man who may not have been a man at all.

She found him sitting in his library, reading. Approaching him warily, she did not know how to begin the conversation. When he looked up upon hearing her footsteps, he seemed surprised. His brief look of shock faded to amusement. “Of course. I should have known.”

“Known what?”

“That you would wake earlier than intended.” He shut his book and placed it on the table before him. He was not wearing his long black robes, instead donning a simple black tunic tucked into similarly colored pants. He was still an imposing sight, with his long white hair trailing about his shoulders.

I should have known he was not human. Look at him. The snow-white hair. The silver eyes…“What are you, Gideon?”

With a grimace, he glanced away. “I am a man.”

“I am not speaking to your gender. A bee might be male. A bird. A dog. I am asking of your species.”

He held his arms out at his sides. “Do I resemble a dog to you?”

“A wolf, perhaps.” She shook her head. “You refuse to answer me. You know the nature of my question, and you hide behind semantics. Why do you avoid telling me the truth?”

“Because you are not ready to hear it. Because I am protecting you.” He took a step toward her, his boots far louder on the wood floors than her simple slippers. “You have endured much these past few weeks—the loss of your family. This marriage. Moving to a strange country. Discovering that I am, in fact, a necromancer. Raising the dead of your own accord and speaking to your lost friend. Is that not enough for you?” He sighed. “I, for one, am exhausted.”

“I cannot suffer the shadows any longer! I find myself lost in a maze and I cannot decipher the map. You know the way, but you hide it and claim it is for my own good. I am not a child, so do not treat me like one.”

Another grimace, and he turned away from her, stalking across the room to the fireplace. He leaned his hands on the mantel of the unlit hearth. “You are no child, Marguerite. But you are young. And there is only so much a person can be expected to endure in such a short time. I will tell you the answer to your question—I will show you in time, how I survived the blow from Leopold. But I—”

She dug the knife into his ribs. He did not hear her approach. Her slippers were nigh silent and easily drowned by his speech. He stiffened, his back straightening and going rigid, as she slipped the kitchen knife farther into his body from behind.

He did not fall.

He did not even make a noise.

He simply stood stock still.

Everything seemed to stop and hang in the air. Finally, he turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. “If you wish to kill a man properly, go through the fifth and sixth ribs. Four inches higher and to the left of the spine, to reach his heart.”

She staggered away, yanking the knife from him in the process.

He grunted as she did. “The sensation of a knife sliding on bone is one I will never learn to tolerate.” The man did not even seem to bleed. Almost nothing oozed from the wound she had paid him. And what did come from the slice was dark, nearly black, and certainly not that belonging to a living man.

Clutching the knife in front of her in both hands, she staggered back until she hit the table that dominated the center of his library. Panic consumed her. Her words left her in nearly a scream. “What are you?”

With a beleaguered chuckle, he fully faced her and smiled, a sarcastic, halfhearted thing. “I am your husband.”

Turning, she ran. She knew not to where. She did not think she cared. But she ran from him. She ran from her husband.

Her husband, the master magician.

Her husband, the necromancer.

Her husband, the monster.