Tale of the Necromancer by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

7

Gideon smiledas he saw Marguerite sitting on a log in a forest clearing. He had trekked out to find her, after learning that this might be where she had been disappearing to every day for the past two weeks.

Three days. Three days, and she would be his wife.

She would be his.

It was approaching the end of September and his favorite season—when life hovered on the edge of death before surrendering to winter. It was very much a state that he himself was arrested within. Neither truly living, nor dying. Perpetual autumn. It was perfect.

He would have to find a way to do the same to her. He did not intend to let her wither and die like the flowers in their way. Nor did he wish to keep her as a revenant. He did not want her subservient. He wanted her by his side.

She sat on the log, facing away from him, her foot nudging a small rock around on the ground in front of her. He thought perhaps she had simply left the palace for the need of fresh air, but as he saw the look on her face, brows furrowed and full lips drawn down into a frown, he knew he was mistaken.

Instantly, he felt concern. What could he do to cheer her? Disappearing into the woods for a moment, he found a small grouping of white flowers. Daisies. Perfect. He plucked a few and headed back to her. Hiding them behind his back, he made certain to snap a twig as he approached.

No need to frighten the deer needlessly. He did have a terrible habit of walking silently.

She looked up, her eyes shining in hope. He smiled.

The hope died.

He frowned.

She wishes I was someone else. And he knew precisely who she wished to see in his stead—that damned fool child Leopold! He may have rid them both of his physical presence, but it seemed he would have a far more difficult time removing that bastard from her heart.

Jealous rage snapped over him like a crack of lightning. What he would not do for Marguerite to look at him like that. How he knew she would if he were that child instead. He shoved the anger from his mind. He did not wish to frighten her. Settling his expression into one of morose concern, he walked slowly to her side.

She did not recoil from him, but she pulled her legs closer to herself and cast her eyes back down to the ground. “Good afternoon, Dr. Faust.”

Her words twisted a knife in his gut. Sitting beside her, he held the flowers in his lap. The act felt foolish now. “You may call me Johann. We are to be wed this week.” He held the daisies out to her.

Carefully—as if she were a deer interacting with a wolf—she took the flowers from him and smiled sadly down at them. “They’re beautiful, thank you.”

“It seemed the least I could do.” They fell into silence for a long moment. He reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and was rewarded with a flinch. She did not pull away, but it was clear the touch was not entirely welcome. He dropped his hand to his side and sighed.

I know you do not wish to be my wife. I know you are only seeking shelter from the storm. But oh, how I wish you could see how much I adore you. How much I love you, and will love you, until the end of all my days.

And I have plenty.

He did not say the words. They, like his touch, were not welcome. “I have been wondering where it is you disappear to every afternoon. I finally had to bribe a maid to tell me your secret.”

That made Marguerite chuckle. “It isn’t a secret. You just scare them.”

“I cannot imagine why! I am perfectly amiable, affable, and quite handsome.” He huffed in false indignancy. “I cannot help the color of my hair or my skin.” I can, but…it is extremely uncomfortable.

“I believe you share that affliction with many in this world—being judged by your appearance. I do not doubt it to be true. But in this instance, I believe it is your demeanor that unnerves them so. You are a bit intense, Doctor—” She paused. “Johann.”

Soon, you will know my true name. I will reveal myself to you, and my wedding gift to you shall be the whole world laid at your feet.Again, he kept that to himself.

“Hm. I suppose.” How he wished to touch her again. How he wished to pull her into his arms, kiss her, and perhaps even love her here in the grass under the blue sky. But her thoughts were not on him. “You are waiting for Leopold.”

A statement, not a question.

She nodded. At least she did not do him the indignity of attempting to lie to him. “We met here several times a week. He would train me with a sword.”

“Oh? My Marguerite can fence?” He grinned.

She laughed. “No. I cannot. A decade and a half of practice, and I’m still more liable to hit a tree or my own legs than my opponent.”

“Then Leopold is a terrible instructor.”

“Perhaps. Or merely a patient friend.” She looked off into the woods and sighed. “My home is no longer my own. Now that Father is dead, I…am not welcome. The children shun me, as they follow the lead of the queen. Only young Henri still sneaks away to speak with me.”

“That boy is of his own mind and no one else’s. He will be a force of nature when he has come of age. Far more so than Francis. I fear for that boy’s longevity.” Gideon shook his head. “He is not long for this world.”

She nodded gravely. It was not a surprise to her, nor anyone, that the newly throned King of France would die young.

“I am sorry that you have been cast out so. I heard that your rooms have been moved. The queen should not be so cruel.”

A lie. A terrible, terrible lie. Oh, Catherine de Medici was incredibly cruel. And it did not take much for the queen to find the inspiration to drive Marguerite from the palace. But all the rest of it—renouncing the marriage to Leopold, distancing the young girl from her family, even pushing her into a smaller bedroom in the wings of the palace?

That was by his design.

The queen merely needed the suggestion of a direction in which to move, and the wrathful woman was eager to take revenge on the representation of the love that the former king never held for her. But it was the words from his mouth that made it all take shape.

Someday, he would confess his schemes to her. Someday, perhaps a hundred years from now, when she was immortal like he, loved him, and would be certain to forgive him. Once she understood the depths of his love and devotion, certainly she would forgive him.

Masterminding the death of her father, however?

Perhaps he should take that to his grave.

But what he was sorry for, and what made him frown in sympathetic pain as he watched her, was how she suffered. Soon, though, it would all be over. Her suffering would cease, and she would know true happiness as his wife. The thought of it improved his mood. He reached out to stroke her hair and shifted himself closer to her side. “He is gone, Marguerite. I am sorry. But Leopold has abandoned you.”

I commanded his father to kill him as soon as they were off the palace grounds, and then find a grave in which to inter them both.

Leopold is dead, Marguerite. And he is dead by my design.

Another fact he would take to his grave.

She cringed and lowered her head. “I know. You must think me such a child. But he is the closest friend I have. I—I miss him. I wanted to save him from his terrible future, and I—to not see him at my wedding? It will hurt.”

“What you were willing to sacrifice for him was noble beyond measure, Marguerite. You were willing to martyr yourself for your love of him. For that, I cannot speak of how highly I respect and admire your loyalty to him.” He gently stroked her hair again. He heard her sniff, and she wiped at her eye with the back of her hand. “But your sacrifice is no longer needed. He has been removed from the court, his father is disgraced, and I highly doubt Leopold will be pressed into marriage any longer.”

His suitors are now the maggots who eat his flesh. They are the only companions he will ever need again.

She sniffed again, and he shushed her. Pulling her into his arms, he was pleased when she didn’t recoil, even if she did go stiff. But slowly, after a moment, she finally relaxed against him. Kissing the top of her head, he held her.

“I am frightened.”

“I know. It’s all right. But you are safe with me. This I vow to you.” He lowered his voice as he spoke, and he felt her sink deeper into his embrace. She wanted him—the desire was thick in her eyes when he had kissed her before. And when he spoke to her, quiet and deep, it put her nearly in a trance. “I love you, Marguerite.” When she went to reply to him, he shushed her. “No. It is all right. I want nothing in return that I do not already have.” He tipped her chin up to look at him. “I know you do not love me. How can you, during all this upheaval? I must earn your heart. And I shall.”

“Oh?” She arched an eyebrow. “You are so certain of it?”

“I am a very stubborn man.” He smirked. Bowing his head, he kissed her. It was hardly the forceful, passionate thing he had given her when she had agreed to marry him. But it was enough to ensure that he left her just a little breathless, and her cheeks just a little pink. Releasing her, he stood and ran his hand over her hair one last time. “It is nearing dinner. Come, we will be late.”

She cast a forlorn glance out at the clearing again, as if she did not wish to say goodbye to it, and what it represented.

“In three days’ time, we shall leave this place and never look back.” I will make sure of it. “You will start a new life with me—and in that place, you shall want for nothing. You shall have all you desire…and you will choose who you wish to become.”

“You spin a beautiful fantasy, Johann. It is tempting to allow myself to believe you.”

He huffed again in mock insult and tugged on the collar of his tunic. “I am a magician, my lady. An alchemist of the highest order. The world is mine to command. And soon, I will be your servant.”

She laughed quietly, smiling up at him. The tenderness in her eyes made his heart hitch in his chest. When she spoke, her tone was far lighter than it had been before. “Forgive me for mourning what I have lost, for I have lost everything I have known. You are patient and kind with me, and for that I am very grateful.” She reached a hand to him, and he took it eagerly, helping her stand.

“Oh, Marguerite…” He bowed to kiss the back of her knuckles and began to lead her from the clearing. “Do not apologize, and certainly do not thank me.”

For you do not know what I have done to have you.

* * *

It wasthe dinner before her wedding. Marguerite could barely wrap her head around it. Tomorrow, she was to be wed. A bride. And married to Dr. Johann Faust. He was a kind man. Tender, and gentle. But what would he be like when they were bound together, after he had whisked her away to his home in Germany?

She could not imagine him raising his hand to her, but if there was one thing she had learned in the months since her father’s passing, it was that no one could fully know another.

Leopold.

To leave her—abandon her—to never come back, even to say goodbye? Not even to write her a letter? It made her want to cry each time she thought of it. She missed her friend dearly, and the sting of what felt like betrayal pricked her like needles.

How could he have just left her alone after what had happened?

And now, she was to be married and to leave France altogether. She would never see him again. She wept at night thinking over it. But for the moment, she had to dress, do her hair, tend to her appearance as best she could, and eat dinner with her family for the last time.

Her family.

Or what was left of it.

She felt numb and removed from the proceedings as she attended the great hall and sat next to her soon-to-be husband, who smiled warmly at her, greeted her tenderly, and kissed her hand in the fashion of a perfect gentleman.

There was a modicum of guilt she felt for how coldly she treated him in return. It was clear he adored her. But everything in her life had been upended so very quickly, and there was still something…unnerving about the alchemist. Something about him felt dangerous and unnatural.

Because he is a magician, as he said.

When she was seated and food had been served, she bowed her head slightly to Johann and spoke in a volume barely more than a whisper. “My lord, may I ask you a question?”

He chuckled. “Johann. Please. And of course. What is it?”

“When we are…” She paused. The words were still hard to force from her mouth. “When we are gone from here, I have a request. I know I am a woman, but…I think I would like to learn alchemy. Would you teach me to be a magician? I think I might greatly enjoy commanding the elements.”

For the expression on his face, one would have thought she had professed her undying love for him. His eyes went wide and then glittered in sheer joy. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, lingering in the embrace before clutching her hand beneath the level of the table. “Nothing would make me happier, Marguerite…Yes, yes, and once again yes. All that I know shall be yours to learn.”

She smiled. He would be a good husband. Perhaps being rid of her past would not be a bad thing. A new beginning in a foreign land where she could become a powerful magician. It was a storybook fantasy—one that was becoming too tempting to ignore. “I—”

The door to the great hall burst inward. There was shouting from the halls as someone stormed into the room. They were dirty, torn, and a bloody bandage wrapped the man’s side.

She flew to her feet. No matter his condition, she would know him on sight. She always would.

“Leopold!”

Her friend glowered at Johann and pointed a finger at him. “Your dark magic ends here, necromancer.”

Johann laughed. The sound sent a shiver up her spine as if death itself had entered the room.

And once more, her life was entirely upended.