Slave of the Necromancer, page 12
A scream ripped from my throat, which seemed to satisfy the witches immensely. My vision blurred as the skull-splitting pain filled every inch of my mind. It began to numb after a few seconds, but the explosion of agony had brought me to my knees.
I glanced down to see a trail of scorched flesh. Green threads attempted to mend the fresh wound, but my healing factor seemed slow compared to the other Fallen, struggling to stitch me back together.
“Much more fitting,” she said. “Next, let’s do something about that pretty face.” After a quick incantation, her forefinger glowed green, and she pressed it to my forehead, pulling it down the length of my face. I whimpered, my eyes clenched shut. The smell of burning flesh made me want to gag as bright pain erupted from every inch she seared.
Suddenly, my limbs went weak, and my vision blacked out a few times. As my head lolled, I judged it best to remain on my knees.
Through the haze of pain, I saw that Lady Tirramy had approached Arretty, laying a hand on her shoulder. “All right, I think that is quite enough, dear. Her body isn’t recovering as quickly as the others. We wouldn’t want Lord Devian to see one of his puppets in pieces when he arrives.” She lowered her voice. “Not if we want him to ask for your hand.”
Despite the raging pain, a stab of anger shot through me. If the Necromancer married Arretty, I would sooner finish the job of dying by jumping into a pit of star-blessed fire than to suffer through her presence every day.
“It’s fine, Mama,” she laughed with a barbaric smirk, which seemed to worry her mother. “I just have one more place I want to blemish.”
Every flicker of pain and anger died, replaced by a sinking dread in my stomach. No, not that. Stars, no. This sick bitch better not even think of it.
Yanking herself from her mother’s hold, Arretty stood in front of me, her golden eyes shimmering with delight as she held the sparking ball of magic low. “You won’t be his favorite toy when I’m done with you,” she hissed.
The doors slammed open again, and a gust of air swirled around the room. Tears of relief sprang to my eyes as the Necromancer dismounted from Col’s dragon back, a raging fire burning behind his eyes.
“Get your fucking hands off her!” he snarled, stalking toward where Arretty stood over me.
Lady Tirramy tried to calm him. “Why, hello Lord Devian. We were just having a bit of fun, and I’m afraid my daughter got carried away. It was my idea, you see. My girls are sweet as lambs, you know, but since these Fallen of yours are just dead bodies anyway, we thought . . .”
But he ignored her completely, his presence like that of a great mountain wolf as he pushed past her. He marched toward the two of us, his black cloak sweeping behind him as his face contorted with rage.
Arretty turned from my crumpled figure and curtsied, giving him a cat-like smile. “My sister and I were just practicing our Manifestation Arts. I was actually a bit surprised by my power and control. Looks like I didn’t know my own—” She swallowed hard. “. . . strength”
The warlock towered over her, wielding a ball of sparking magic in each hand as anger radiated from him in waves. “Touch her again, and you will regret it for the rest of your miserable life,” he seethed.
As if finally realizing the gravity of the situation, Arretty widened her eyes, taking on a more innocent persona. “Why, Lord Devian, you’re scaring me.”
“Step away from her,” he ordered Aretty, his expression almost dragon-like in its intensity. “Now.”
She did as he asked, slinking up next to her sister and mother, who watched the Necromancer with wary eyes.
Once again pretending as though the noble witches didn’t even exist, the warlock kneeled next to me, studying my pathetic state.
His gray face went white as marble. Swallowing hard, he whispered, “Does it hurt?”
I didn’t dare nod, afraid that the witches would see. What was the warlock thinking, speaking to me in their presence? He’d been so careful before.
His warm hand cupped my face, and I hated myself for sinking into his touch. When Col approached us in his human form, the Necromancer barked, “Stay with her. Do not leave her side.”
Pain and shame coursed through me as the warlock stomped up to the three witches with an expression that could kill.
“How dare you come into my home and harm what’s mine!”
Lady Tirramy stood in front of her daughters, who now cowered like newborn fawns behind her. She gestured for them to stay back as she planted her golden glower into the warlock’s. “You shall not speak to witches of a superior house this way. What is wrong with you? It’s just a corpse.” Her eyes narrowed. “You dare choose a dead human over your own kind? I wonder what the citadel would think.”
“If the Queen has a problem with how I rule my castle or my province,” he growled, “let her come here herself. Until then, I will not let you or your wretched daughters harm my servants and insult me in my own home.”
Vetty threw a hand over her mouth, and Lady Tirramy matched the warlock’s glare, her lip trembling with anger. Arretty, having found her courage, scoffed with a cynical chuckle.
“So, the rumors must be true, then. If you’d rather take the Fallen into your bed than become one with a powerful witch, you deserve to see your bloodline die off. I look forward to seeing your castle fall back into ruin as the House of Ebony fades and a new lord takes your place.”
“Enough, Arretty,” Lady Tirramy snapped. “I think we are all quite weary, the three of us from being awake at this unholy hour, and he from his travels. Let us retire and convene again in the morning in better spirits.” She wore a fake smile, dipping her head to the warlock. “Forgive my spirited daughter.”
Not exactly the word I would have chosen.
“But she does have some trouble controlling her tongue. Now, shall the girls retire to the guest room opposite your chambers? I will take one of the rooms on the lower level, since you only have one other royal suite.”
As my pain slowly subsided, I managed to process her words. The warlock had placed me in a royal suite? That seemed excessive, even for a prized Fallen with a soul. But then, Col had mentioned he’d wanted to keep a close eye on me.
I’d grown rather fond of my little window overlooking the courtyard, but as long as I had a small straw mat to sleep on, I would be fine.
“No, I don’t think so,” the warlock rumbled. “You three will sleep in the servants’ quarters with your guards and attendants, and you will leave in the morning.”
The room went so quiet, one could hear a Fae’s feather drop. The women glanced at each other, looking more confused than offended.
“You can’t possibly be serious,” Lady Tirramy sputtered.
“You’re lucky I’m not forcing you back into your carriage this very instant. Be grateful for the courtesy you’re receiving. You certainly don’t deserve it.”
Arretty roared, “How dare you—”
“You will leave my house in the morning, and you will not return. Do you understand me?”
His thundering voice made the witches and the servants cower. Even Col flinched back at his volume.
The warlock stood there, melting the witches with his eyes, until the servants approached with low bows and ushered the visitors to their own humble resting quarters, which they used when rotating shifts. I would have taken pleasure in seeing the haughty nobles knocked down a few notches, had it not been for the throbbing pain across my chest.
I lifted a hand to my fresh wound, which had still barely begun to heal. The damaged tissue writhed gently beneath my fingers, as if trying its best to recover. Why wasn’t it working?
I fought to my feet, but a dizzying lightness made my head roll back. My whole body swayed, and I didn’t even have the energy to panic as I collapsed.
But before my skull hit the cold floor, two strong arms swooped in. My rescuer held me against his hard chest. Warm. Comforting.
When I glanced up, I expected Col, but it was the warlock who peered at me with a worried expression. The concern softened his hard features, and for the first time, I realized how handsome he was. Beyond the beauty of his species, he had his own charm in his strong jaw, his discerning eyes and dark eyebrows.
Then, his golden eyes became gray, his black hair shimmering into blond curls. “Winnley,” I murmured.
“Evera.” The subdued voice was the warlock’s, but I still saw my love, my dearest friend. “Can you hear me, Evera?”
Visions danced in front of my eyes. Of Cinnamon eating a blueberry pastry. Of carrot sprouts poking their delicate parsley-like leaves from the churned earth.
“Has she bathed since I raised her?” the warlock asked someone. I assumed it was Col.
“No, the baths were scheduled for tomorrow night. Her waning magic wouldn’t have been a problem if not for her injuries.”
A deep growl vibrated the chest that cradled me. “I’m taking her now. Alert Ona to the danger of those witches, and be sure one of you keeps an eye on them at all times until they leave the castle come morning.”
“Yes, sir,” Col responded.
I tried to open my eyes. At some point, they had fluttered closed.
“Hang on, Evera,” the warlock murmured into my ear. “I’m going to help you.”
Whatever he said next slipped away as a thick darkness engulfed me, wrapping me in its tender folds.
Chapter Fourteen
My forehead was warm, but not from sickness. It was like the soft kiss of the sun after a week of constant rain. The sensation brought me back to the comforting caress of my mother’s hand on my cheek after I’d tried to steal a loaf of bread from the baker and instead received a swatch on the hand.
My eyes fluttered open, and I saw not one, but two suns beaming down on me.
No, they weren’t suns. They were eyes.
His eyes.
I opened my mouth to ask what was happening, but he shushed me. His hand was pressed firmly against my brow. That was the warmth I felt. And from what little I could see from where I lay, there was some sort of verdant light flowing from his palm into me. My eyes came into focus, but the muscles of my arms and legs still felt weak.
“Can you hear me, Evera?” he asked, his deep timbre oddly soothing.
All I could manage was a weak, “Mmm.”
He lifted his head and spoke to someone else. “We need to get her into the bath. The magic transfer will be faster.”
A feminine voice replied, “See if she can stand. I can’t jump in after her if she collapses in the water, so we have to make sure she’s ready.”
Her tone was kind, almost motherly. If the voices of those witches were a brass spear, this voice was a bed of sheep’s wool.
“Okay, Evera,” the warlock said. “Try to stand.”
As he removed his palm from my forehead, I lifted my head with some effort. We were in a spacious underground room with arched ceilings, I realized. But what stood out most were the glowing green waters that occupied one large pool and a series of smaller ones. They were irregular, like the springs of a deep cave, but stone steps led into each one. The Necromancer was kneeling by one such circular pool on the natural stone ground, cradling me in his arms.
The room was warm, humid, and the steam rising from the pools smelled of lavender and cypress.
My cheeks warmed slightly as I realized that the warlock was holding me close, though my lingering dizziness helped to distract me from the discomfort of being in his arms.
“Come on, love. Try to stand,” the female voice soothed.
I turned my head to see a woman with graying hair who was dressed in a black guard’s uniform, much like the one Col wore. As if sensing my question, she cast me a smile. “I am Ona, the castle guardian.” Her grin faltered. “I am sorry I wasn’t there to help you when those terrible witches arrived. As they were entering the Grand Hall, I was preoccupied keeping the steppe wolves away from their unicorns and horses as we put them up in the stables. If only I’d known where the true danger lay . . .”
The warlock reached out to pat her shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Ona. I would have never expected them to act with such cruelty, even if they were from the House of Burgundy.” He hissed the last words like a curse.
As they continued their exchange, I carefully pulled myself from the warlock’s hold and stood up on shaky feet. My body still swayed, and the fresh wounds continued to burn, albeit mildly. But I was feeling much better after whatever dose of magic I was given.
Ona shot the warlock a pointed look. “I don’t like this, my lord. You should go in with her, since I cannot.”
When I furrowed my eyebrows, she explained, “Only witchblood and the Fallen can touch emerald waters. For all other beings, it burns like acid.”
Well, that sounded dreadful.
“No need for that. I can keep an eye on her from here,” the warlock grumbled.
Ona stood, propping her hands on her hips. She bared her fangs in a surprising show of defiance. “You will do no such thing! You raised this human from the dead, and you will take responsibility for her wellbeing.”
He folded his arms over his chest, releasing a sigh of resignation. “Fine.”
Standing up, he slipped off his cloak, and my eyes flew wide as he began removing his upper layers. My gaze was drawn to his torso as he pulled off his white undershirt. I’d already seen that sculpted chest, with its smattering of raven-colored chest hairs, and that chiseled stomach, but for some reason, this time the sight struck me in a different way.
Heat flooded my body, my weak muscles suddenly going rigid.
“Now, dear, let’s get this torn dress off you,” Ona said, tugging at the neckline.
I grabbed her wrist, tighter than I’d intended. “Wait. I don’t . . .” I lowered my eyes, not sure how to voice my thoughts. I don’t want to strip down and bathe with the warlock.
As if reading my mind, she stopped. She locked eyes with the warlock, her expression commanding. “Get her some linens to bind with.”
Grumbling under his breath, he stalked away and quickly returned with a few long strips of linen. Ona accepted them and then signaled for the warlock to turn the other way. He complied.
The moment the defiled dress fell to the stone floor, I shivered. Not from the cold, as the steam of the enchanted waters kept the room warm, but from the feeling of being so exposed, so vulnerable.
Arretty’s wicked smile filled my mind, her cruel pleasure as she aimed her manifestation low on my body.
If only I hadn’t let my fear of being discovered as a Fallen dictate my choice to remain silent. If I’d have just fought back . . .
Seemingly peering into my thoughts once again, Ona lifted my chin. “What that girl did to you, and what she was about to do, were not your fault. If you’d revealed your secret, they might have even prepared star-blessed fire on the spot and destroyed you without consulting the citadel. I wouldn’t put it past them.”
I sensed the Necromancer bristling as I nodded weakly. “Okay.” It was all I could say. I’d need more time to process what had almost happened to me, the violation that stretched far beyond anything Petre had ever inflicted.
Giving me another smile, Ona bound the first set of linens around my chest, then a second around my hips. I wished she’d have covered my abdomen as well, but this was better than nothing. As I looked down at my near-naked body, I was struck again by how deathly pale I was. Oh, how I missed my slightly tanned skin that had given me a lively glow despite the province’s gray skies. My one beauty, gone.
“Right, then,” Ona muttered when she was satisfied the linens were secure. “I’ll be nearby, but don’t worry. You’re in good hands with this oaf.”
She flicked the back of the warlock’s head playfully as she retreated. He glared after her, then turned his attention to me, his deep frown easing.
“How are you feeling?” he murmured.
“Dizzy, but better,” I replied truthfully. As I remembered my wounds, I ran a finger down the scorch mark on my face. The charred skin had smoothed, but I could still feel it.
The warlock gave me a sympathetic look. “It will be gone after your bath, and you’ll feel better too. Come.”
At some point, he’d removed his boots and stockings and was now dressed only in his black trousers as he extended a hand toward me. Biting my inner cheek to distract myself, I placed my hand in his rough palm. He closed his fingers around my hand, pulling me gently toward the set of shallow steps leading into the small, glowing pool.
My toes dipped in, and I was pleasantly surprised by the warmth that seeped into my skin. Touching the water was like taking a breath after being forced to hold it, and I was eager for more. But when my ankle rolled, making my knees buckle, I realized I’d been a bit too eager.
The warlock’s arm wrapped around my waist, holding me firmly against his bare side. The way his jaw locked, and his eyes quickly fixed on some interesting brick in the wall, told me this was as uncomfortable for him as it was for me.
Nonetheless, he supported my weight by practically crushing me to himself, and we both entered the pool, step by step. When we were up to our chests in the aromatic waters, an invigorating energy buzzed through me, and I let out a long sigh.
“Damn, that feels good,” I murmured.
His deep chuckle boomed beside me, sending shivers down my back. “I admit, I don’t come down to the springs nearly enough. I may not need the enchantments, but the waters are soothing.”
Trying to get my mind off his hand, which was still splayed on my waist, I glanced around the chamber. I hadn’t noticed before, but a number of Fallen were relaxing in the waters of the larger pool, their eyes glowing brighter than usual as the magic seeped through their skin. Were my eyes shining the same way?
As my gaze fell on the discarded dress that lay in an ugly heap, I once again recalled that my mother’s thimble had been lost with my clothing. Grief wrapped its spindly fingers around me, bringing a wetness to my eyes.
“What’s wrong?” the warlock demanded. When I turned to him, his eyes were searching mine, and his pensive scowl had returned.
