Tale of the Necromancer by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

6

Gideon stoodin the shadows of columns, watching Marguerite as she sat on the edge of a fountain, weeping as if she were to overflow the basin with her tears. She clutched his handkerchief, occasionally using it to wipe at her cheeks that must be raw from the repetitive action.

His heart…to say it ached for her would not do it justice. Her pain was so visceral that he shared in it. He had known the death of her father would hurt her.

But to see it firsthand?

A pang of regret needled him. This was his fault. This was his doing. Her father was dead at the hands of a revenant he had built for the task. Someday, when she loves me, I will tell her what I have done. She will forgive me.

But there was much still to be done. Stepping from the shadows, he carefully made his way to her and sat beside her at the fountain. When she did not seem to notice his presence, he reached out to touch her shoulder. Startled, her eyes were red as she looked up at him.

Suddenly, he decided he never wished to see her like that ever again. “My dear Marguerite…I am so very sorry.” For much more than you know. And much more that is still to come. He went to stroke her cheek, but she shied away from him. He did not force the matter, and instead rested his hand atop hers. That time she did not pull away, and his heart delighted for it.

She struggled for words for a moment, before giving up and shutting her eyes. He did not blame her.

He took a breath, held it, and let it out in a long rush. “Grief is selfish.”

That time, she met him with an expression of anger. She had such a beautiful fire that smoldered away, hidden inside, and he far preferred it to this weeping creature before him. “Excuse me?”

He chuckled and waved his hand as if dismissing his own words. “Allow me to explain.”

“Please do.”

He laughed at her dourness and looked up at the sky. The clouds were beautiful against the blue sky. It was a beautiful day, despite all that had transpired. “The dead do not mourn their own passing. We feel grief because we have lost those we love. We do not weep for them, but for ourselves. The pain of loss is a terrible one. Mark me, I do not say this to belittle what you feel. But sometimes I think there is a peace to be found in knowing that our agony is but that of absence, not death.”

Silence stretched between them for a moment as she considered his words. She sniffled and wiped at her face again with his handkerchief. She looked down at the sodden piece of silk. “I fear I have ruined this. I apologize.”

“It is nothing.” He squeezed her hand gently.

After another long pause, she looked up at the sky. “Did he suffer?”

“No. I suspect the shard of wood rendered him unable to feel much of anything at all.” That was true. At least he did not need to lie to her about that. “Where is your fiancé?”

She shook her head. “He left with his father. Regardless of it being an accident, it…he decided it was uncouth to stay, and Leopold joined him. I will meet up with him again at the palace.”

“He should have stayed by your side.” Gideon frowned. He had ordered his revenant to leave, but Leopold’s decision to follow his father was his own. “Does he not care for what you would suffer?”

“He does. He just—” She pulled her hand from his and stood. “It is personal. Thank you for the comfort, Dr. Faust. But I should do as you recommend—I should go be with my family.”

I would not leave your side if I thought you were in pain. No god nor devil would keep me from you. What manner of man is Leopold to abandon you so? Anger rose in him again. Something did not make sense, and if there was one thing in the world that troubled him more than anything else, it was not having all pieces of the puzzle neatly arranged before him.

When she moved to leave, he grasped her wrist. Standing, he pulled her back to him. “Marguerite, wait. Speak to me of what troubles you.”

“I do not know you, doctor. You have shown me kindness this day, but I shall not forget your…bizarrely egregious poor manners prior.” She tugged on her wrist, but he did not release her. She sighed. “Let me go, lest we repeat ourselves.”

“I will let you go on accord.” He pulled her closer. She tried to dig in her heels to fight him, but he outmatched her by far. “Look me in the eyes, princess, and tell me you wish to marry Leopold. Tell me you two are madly in love, and I will relent.”

Anger flushed her cheeks. Anger and something else. Shame, perhaps? She stammered, yanked uselessly on her wrist, and then let out a low, annoyed growl. She glared up at him, and he could not help but smile at how beautiful she was. “He and I are to be wed, doctor.”

“Swear to me you love him.”

“I do.” She turned from him.

He would not allow it. He banded an arm around her waist and pulled her to him, her smaller frame nestling so perfectly against his, even as she went rigid and tense. “As a husband or as a brother? Speak to me the truth. Swear to me you wish to share his bed, and I will never broach the subject again. Swear to me on your father’s soul.”

Fury lit in her, and he was impressed that he did not burst into flame. “Damn you.”

He smirked. “Far too late for that, I fear.” He leaned over her, enjoying using his height to his advantage. She had to tilt back to avoid him. “Now…give me your vow, and all this is over. No lies, princess. I will know.”

“I—I—” She fell silent. Her anger died in a flash, and tears appeared in the edges of her eyes again. “Stop. Please, just…stop. Do not make me—” Her voice cracked. “Please do not make me do this. Not now—not like this.”

“As you wish.” Instantly, he relented. He released her and took a step back. He bowed slightly, his hand to his chest, as she ran past him and fled into the building.

He had his answer all the same. Smiling, he straightened up. Who would have thought this scheme of his would be noble in the end? What a wonderful surprise.

I will save you from this bargain you have trapped yourself within, princess. I will save you from a loveless future. I hope someday you will see me for what I am to you—your protector.

He walked from the courtyard humming, even as the bell of the nearby church began to toll to announce the death of the king. He had a great deal of work to do. And now he would do it with a smile on his face.

* * *

Damn him!Damn that terrible man. That terrible, strange man. She swore vehemently in her head at Dr. Faust as she stormed through the building toward where she knew the rest of her family were gathered.

Damn him because he is right.

No. No! She would marry Leopold. It was her duty as his friend. There was no way around it. Nor did she wish to find one.

As she stepped into the large hall where the children were gathered, her anger and confusion gave way once more to grief. Young Henri was weeping, his face red and puffy, much like she suspected her own was. The other children were in no better condition. Upon seeing her, Henri jumped from his chair and ran to her, flying into her arms. She knelt and held him tight. “Ssh…I know.”

“But F—Father—”

“I know. I know. I will miss him, too.” She kissed his temple. Holding the young weeping boy made her feel somehow…stronger for it. She did not know why. Perhaps seeing his grief made her swallow her own.

“Wh—what happens next?”

That is a very, very good question.

“Everything is going to be all right. I promise.”

* * *

Marguerite supposedshe should be grateful that Catherine waited until the king was interred in his tomb before ruining her life.

But the only things she felt were fury and helplessness.

She had been summoned to the queen’s chambers in the palace precisely one day after the funeral, but she knew not why. Standing at her side was Dr Faust, his features hidden under the shadow of his black hood.

Catherine did not wait long to tell her why she had been called. Nor did she dance around the subject in any way. “Your marriage to Leopold is canceled.”

“What?” She couldn’t help but shout. At Catherine’s angry expression, she tried to school herself back to a demure politeness. She swallowed her surprise and stared down at the floor. “Forgive me, your majesty. M…may I ask why?” Is it because of the man at your side?

“He is the son of the man who murdered your father. Gabriel de Lorges has left our royal service, and so has Leopold.”

“It—it was not murder, it was an accident, and—”

“Quiet, girl.” The contempt was thick in the queen’s voice. There was a loathing in her tone that Marguerite had never heard before in all her years. It frightened her. Has she always despised me? Were all her politeness and niceties before only an act?

She did not have to wonder for long.

“You are the daughter of my late husband and that harlot de Poitiers. Tell me, Marguerite, why should I tolerate you within these walls? Why should I not cast you out to the street like the urchin that you are?” Catherine seethed. “Be glad I have simply rethought your usefulness and not abandoned you in full.”

“My queen…” Faust urged her quietly. “I would ask you to rethink this cruelty.”

The queen gestured sharply at the alchemist to be quiet. “And you, doctor, for all your lauded miracles, failed to save my husband. Tread lightly.”

Faust’s jaw ticked in anger, but he fell quiet.

“Your marriage is canceled.”

Marguerite grasped wildly for any chance she might salvage the situation. “I—there is a contract, signed by the king—”

“Late king.” Catherine sniffed dismissively. “And no contract could be found. Indeed, it is as though the whole arrangement never existed. Perhaps he was lying to you.”

Swallowing down all the things that wanted to burst from her at once—indignant obscenities, pleas for mercy, invectives of hate—she felt adrift at sea. There was…nothing she could do. She had no connections.

“Now, at least, I can finally make use of you.” Catherine sighed. “Henri’s insistence that you be able to choose your own suitor was irritatingly childish. I will have to consider the options and inform you within the fortnight. But mark me, girl—you will finally serve the family to which you should never have been born.”

Marguerite refused to cry. She would not let the tears fall. She stared down at the ground before her. “Of course. Your word is law. Is there anything else, your majesty?”

“No. You are dismissed.”

She curtsied and turned. She kept her back straight and her head high until she had returned to her room. Her door had barely clicked shut before she collapsed into a chair, shaking in an overwhelming combination of emotions.

I will still flee to Leopold. We will leave together and make our own way out of the country. Perhaps we will go to Germany. But what kind of nonsense was that? She would be a fugitive in the eyes of the crown. They would have nothing. No connections, no home, no family. She could not ask Leopold to give up everything for her.

There was a quiet knock on the door.

Somehow, she knew who it was. “Come in, Dr. Faust.”

When the door opened and then shut once more, she did not dare look up to him as he entered. It might be the end of her resolve.

“Am I that predictable?”

She put a trembling hand to her temple and kept her eyes shut. She felt as though she were coming apart at the seams. “You are becoming so. If I am to find myself inconsolable, or unconscious, you somehow appear at my side like a phantom.”

His footsteps were quiet as he crossed the room. She felt him kneel before her. When his hand touched hers that lay in her lap, she twitched but did not recoil. “I am so sorry, Marguerite…” In the strangest way, she believed him. There was such sincerity in his voice, she did not doubt that some part of him did not empathize with her pain.

When his fingers brushed her cheek, she finally looked to him and to those strange, molten silver eyes. The sight of her pain reflected back at her in his own sympathy was finally enough to snap the last of what held her together. Once more, in front of him, she cried.

He shushed her gently, shifting closer to her and stroking her tears away. She did not pull away from him that time, desperate for the consolation and affection he offered her. Leopold is gone. My father is gone. Everything that I have ever known will change the moment she marries me off. “Catherine will wed me to the cruelest man to which she thinks I could be made of use.”

“You have done nothing to deserve her wrath.”

“And yet, I have it. She loathes me for the love my father felt for my mother.”

Gideon sighed. “Yes. She does. And yes, I suspect your theory might turn true. She is…an unkind woman.”

The images of some stranger standing over her flashed through her mind, and her imagination played through all the manners in which a man could torture her as her husband. But it did not matter. She was trapped. “I—I am so very scared…”

He gathered her hands into both of his and held them in her lap, and bowing his head to her fingers, he kissed them. “Marry me, Marguerite. Let me be your shelter from this tragedy. Let me show you the love that fills my heart. I will be a good husband. You will want for nothing.”

“But the queen…”

“I will deal with the queen. Say yes, Marguerite. Say you will be my wife.” Silver eyes, hopeful and pained, turned to her. There was so much longing in them that for a moment she was stunned.

“Do you truly love me?”

He smiled as though she had said something both humorous and adorable. “What a foolish question. I have walked this world alone for so very long, my princess. I have traveled to every country, seen every court, and met every manner of beautiful woman this Earth has to offer. And never once have I been taken with one such as I was the moment I laid eyes on you.”

Her cheeks went warm at his words. She searched him for any sign that he was lying, but if he was, he was a far better actor than she could detect.

He stood from the ground slowly, pulling her up with him. Once more she found herself in his arms, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace and the softness of his dark robes. The strange and exotic scent of herbs and petrichor washed over her as he pressed her to him.

God on high, he was so strong. The feeling of him against her lit a fire in her of which she had not known she was capable of experiencing. His fingers threaded into her hair, cradling the back of her head, and urged her to turn up to him.

His breath was warm against her cheek as he grazed his lips against her skin to whisper to her. “I love you, Marguerite. I love you more than anything in this world—and I have it all. Come with me. I will shower you with all that you could desire. Power, wealth, knowledge—Earth will be at your feet. Say yes.”

“I—” She hesitated, her head swimming with how overwhelming his presence was. She had never been this close with a man—well, except Leopold—and the need it sparked in her was so sudden it felt violent.

Grasping her hair, he turned her head to his, and all thought fled her mind as he kissed her.

My first kiss.

The innocent moments she had stolen with Leopold as children did not count. She thought perhaps those had been kisses.

Now she knew she was wrong. Very, very wrong.

Faust kissed her with such virulent passion that it stole her breath from her lungs. He worked his lips over hers bruisingly, as if he meant to consume her. She melted into the strength of his embrace, her hands resting on his chest, grasping lightly at the velvet edges of his robe, and surrendered to him.

Everything in her body felt alight, as if something strange and new had awoken in her, some foreign beast baying in her soul, demanding to be fed. When he finally broke away, he was panting for air, and she felt as if she might faint in his arms once more.

“Marry me, Marguerite.” His voice was a low, dusky growl, and it reverberated through her. “Let me love you.”

The single word left her in a whisper. It was all the breath she had left to spare.

“Yes.”