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“How so?”

Beolf leaned to the right, resting his head on a fist and watching the goldtine swirl in his glass. “Apparently, she is an abomination to the natural order of magic, in his words. She is extremely powerful for a female practitioner, and Nebold is afraid she is out of control. I suppose what we witnessed yesterday was the tail end of a conversation regarding her staying in line with the guild’s rules.”

A smirk crept onto my face thinking about the scene from yesterday. “She did seem quite fierce. Not something you normally see in a Resparian woman.”

“For good reason,” he snorted. “You weren’t there to see her bring back a fucking corpse and maul people with it! I still have nightmares about that night in Pid’s study. He’s a slimy bastard, but I may be agreeing with him on this one. Haron could be a real threat if she’s as strong as he says. Is that someone you really want to have lurking in the halls?”

A twinge of guilt stabbed my stomach. I hadn’t disclosed the real reason I wanted Haron under contract. He was under the same assumption as everyone else that I wished to employ her to investigate the suicides of Father’s closest attendants. He didn’t know they were not, in fact, suicides at all.

I wanted Haron under my control to prevent her from outing my secrets. I couldn’t afford to have anyone who was able to resurrect Father to confess how he actually died, if he was even able to speak on it. Honestly, I had no clue how speaking to spirits worked, or how much they were able to divulge. What I do know is that, if anyone were able to find out, it would be the renowned lady necromancer. There were plenty of those who practiced necromancy who faked what Haron could do, but they were not a concern. Keeping my finger on Haron's pulse would ensure no one else used her against me.

“Does he have proof of his claim? I doubt a necromancer who can raise one body would be much of a challenge against a cavalry if it came to that.”

Beolf’s eyes shot over to me, narrowing until the chocolate color was almost entirely hidden. “Why does it seem like you’re protecting this woman? You know as well as I do female spellcasters are unstable. They don’t have the constitution to deal with wild magic like men do. They’re too emotional and erratic to control such an unruly force. And a female necromancer, on top of that? Women are meant to create life, not reanimate the dead. They belong in the healing sectors, if that. Your grandfather was right to set up the decree to regulate women in magic professions. It has probably saved countless lives, stripping magic from those who couldn’t be brought to heel.”

“Haron didn’t strike me as unstable. Just extremely pissed off.”

Beolf looked at me as if I’d grown two extra heads. “Were we looking at the same woman? She was absolutely feral! Did you see that man’s hand? It will never work the same!”

“The healer was able to restore it just fine. And she did tell him to take his hands off her.”

A long, awkward silence fell between us. “I’m wondering if she hadn’t put some kind of hex on you, Irin. Since when are you such a staunch supporter of female spellcasters? They’re fucking insane if you ask me.”

I snickered. “I’ll be sure to tell the next healer you said that, as she’s busy reattaching your arm from whatever battle you drag yourself out of during patrol.”

Beolf scoffed but had no remark to say beyond another swig of goldtine.

“In response to Nebold’s request, let him know we will be looking into Haron’s background. He will need to send substantial proof of her instability before we take any kind of disciplinary action against her. And I will not accept no for an answer in regard to drawing up her contract. I have a great need for a necromancer of her skill.”

“As you wish.”

Chapter Six

Haron

For being a royal of the Hilj family, not much is known about the Princept Morrette. Beyond studying as a skilled

spellcaster and general of the army, the details of Morrette’s life remain unclear. Even the gender is unknown to us,

as the Julran society did not place emphasis on this aspect of their lives. Among the refugees living in the City of

Scholars, some do not identify as strictly male or female in regards to gender roles we, as scholars, are familiar with.

I am curious to learn more about their social structure in this regard.

"The Tragic History of Julra," by High Scholar Yuret Wend, Year 37 of Ber's First Reign

It was rare—exceedingly rare, unless they were looking for money—that the necromancer's guild sought me out. Females in the profession of death were not looked upon fondly, typically seen as inferior to their male counterparts due to their gods-given task of bringing forth new life. Some bullshit about "clashing energies and the feminine influence" that most necromancer guilds believe were logical reasons to block us from practicing. And since I was an agent of chaos and thrived in anarchy, I thoroughly enjoyed snatching jobs out from under those crotchety old wretches' noses and undercutting their mandated rates. The only reason they didn't kill me themselves was solely for my income value. Given the trap I thwarted the last time I went to deliver my tithe, I was sure that wily old Nebold would abandon secrecy entirely and put a bounty on my head if he couldn't lure me back with a formal invitation. I've had more than my fair share of experience with men like him.

Nebold couldn't stand the thought of someone of my skill not being under his control, doubly so as a woman. And I knew he was doing some shady shit with the dead buried beneath the guild in its catacombs. Every time I even came close to the guild hall, it burned my senses like curdled milk in my nose. There was some rancid magic being practiced under his lackluster supervision.

Needless to say, the Gilamorst Necromancy Guild was hardly who I expected to leave a request to meet so soon after my last visit, in the form of a very heavily warded scroll Gaion had sitting on the bar for me. One of the Highlan had a family member lost in Ber’s Forest a day’s ride from Gilamorst, and he had asked for my help in finding his body. The Highlan, Fint Von Zalon had nearly lost his lunch at the sight of his ravaged nephew’s body. It didn’t take a resurrection to tell he had been killed by a rinhound and left for the other forest scavengers. Their family were members of the Gilamorst Terramancy Guild, so I was appointed to coordinate the body’s retrieval and burial services with Guildmaster Chaol Woren. If Nebold ever found out I didn’t come to him for burial services, I’m certain steam would come out of his hairy ears.

Just the visual made a smile curl my lips, making Gaion’s brows rise in question as he poured me a tankard of ale. I sat heavily in the chair across from him, dropping my heavy sack at my feet with a sigh. The Hanging Cat was not technically open until lunchtime, so the tavern was empty of its usual bustling crowd and chaotic noise. However, Gaion knew not to criticize my choice of a drink this early in the morning, bless him.

"Some little pipsqueak of a boy dropped this off just after high noon yesterday." Gaion nodded his head to the scroll. "Seems very urgent. The boy was prepared to go hunt you down in the city until I finally convinced him you'd be back sometime today, and I'd get it to ya. Could have used some more meat on his bones, that one. He looked like a walking skeleton hisself."

Besides the dark purple ribbon edged with black and sealed with the wax stamp of the guild—a large bird in flight holding a sprig of frilly haronhock in its beak—the sharpzipof magic was just as much of a tell the scroll came from some particularly powerful spellcasters. The active magic made the tips of myfingers numb with its intensity as soon as it left Gaion's hand. It was taking my measure to see if I was the intended recipient.