Page 15

The chalice emptied, blood sloshing around the sides as a small vortex formed in its center, like something was sucking the liquid down from the bottom.

And in exchange, a surge of magic filled me like water breaking a dam, filling the bone-dry creek bed of my soul.

I had to act quickly, though. Wira did not take kindly to necromancers who wasted her time.

I held my hand, still bloodied from the ritual, over the grave of the girl so horribly wronged.

At first, the tremors were almost unnoticeable, barely shifting the loose soil lying atop her resting place.

But soon the earth bowed up, bending the bars of the cage surrounding her coffin until the metal screamed and tore apart.

A single hand, flesh barely clinging to the bone, punched up from the small mound and clawed at the surrounding ground to pull the rest out of the grave.

Pale pink silk appeared next, stained with ichor and rotten flesh where it cinched tight at the wrist with tiny gold buttons.

It was not the customary black of a burial shroud.

Trisne had been buried in whatever she was wearing at the last event she attended.

Even that small detail filled me with a rage I almost choked on.

I didn’t know her very well—we obviously didn’t run in the same noble circles—but I had been introduced to her by other clients and the times we did speak were pleasant.

She had been a passionate girl with a thirst for knowledge, and when she found out I was a necromancer, spent the rest of that evening pelting me with questions about the profession.

Trisne had grand plans of moving to the City of Scholars to train under a researcher, with an interest in aeromancy.

She was such a bright flame, snuffed out much too soon. But I was determined to find the water that doused her. I rose to my feet and waited for the rest of her corpse to join me above ground.

It hadn’t been long since she was buried, so she was still recognizable by the caramel ringlets once pulled up in an elegant hairstyle with a sprig of haronhock flowers pinned in, now dried up and crumbling onto her scalp.

The light pink dress was absolutely destroyed, hanging in tatters from the waist down to expose her whole upper body and the horrible evidence of her death.

Scattered among the discoloration of old bruises and the natural pooling of blood in a corpse, there were several strategic cuts over every major organ.

Given that the whole torso was not cut open, it gave the impression each part was harvested while she was being kept unnaturally alive.

Bits and pieces of this poor girl had been cut away, and she had likely suffered through every second of it until she was released from that torture when she died.

It was a violent death, but it was also deviously meticulous. I could imagine either a highly skilled necromancer like myself would have been able to sustain her like that… or a moderately skilled hydromancer forcing her blood to circulate under those horrendous conditions.

Trisne stood before me now, and all I could feel was rage.

It was no secret that women were seen as lesser than in Respar.

The country was just over a hundred years old, it didn’t have the benefit of centuries of knowledge like Julra or Golath.

The City of Scholars to the north technically sat inside its borders, but it claimed immunity to the influence of the ruling family under the effort of neutrality.

When the land was only split by Julra and Golath, the City of Scholars was a space unto itself unbothered by the nomadic tribes that wandered the unclaimed land.

The Covenant Library was probably the only self-sustained entity that employed equal parts men and women, rewarded for their prowess in research and document preservation instead of magic capabilities.

Trisne had shown an interest in being one of those library researchers.

Once she realized her chances of marrying Prince Irin were slim, she was vocal in admitting her wish to leave for the Covenant Library.

I had only met her on a few occasions, mostly events co-organized by the guilds to mingle with potential clients, but Trisne Pid had struck me as a practical and sincere person.

Whoever did this to her did it for their own selfish motives, not out of revenge or anger toward her.

“Lady Trisne,” I fought to keep my voice smooth, “who did this to you? Who killed you?”

At first, she just stood there still as the statues scattered through the burial grounds.

There were no eyes to speak of. Only gaping, ragged holes remained in their place from being brutally ripped from her head.

She had no way of showing recognition or confusion, and her mouth hung loose on her jaw from the deteriorating muscle showing through tattered skin.

There was no brain activity to speak of—I relied on the imprint of her last moments of life and the barest minimum of nerve activity to loosen her body enough to move.

Finally, a low moan rattled from Trisne’s open mouth.

It sounded mournful and lost, like she was about to cry.

“H… He… She…” she began. The words were obviously hard to get out.

“He… search…ing… tome…” The rest was garbled sounds and hacking as the rest of her response lodged in a collapsing throat.

Searching? Tome? The message didn’t make sense.

I could perform an additional spell to try finding the whole answer, but from what organs had been taken from her body, I gathered there was some kind of dark magic that was interfering with my own.

Also, since her eyes had been gouged out, there was little chance she could give physical descriptions.

The body was only able to tell what it could gather from the five senses.

Since she didn’t start with what they looked like, I doubted she actually saw her attackers before she was disfigured so horribly.

Multiple people were involved in her capture, that much I was sure of.

“After you, my lady.” Together we picked our way back through the still night, avoiding the most direct path through the tombstones in favor of the flat paved walkways for her shambling body.

At the gate I cloaked us in a cloaking spell, and we left to carry out just a bit of the revenge owed to Trisne Pid.

Trisne’s corpse made for a rather convincing duplicate once I dressed her in some of my shabbier travel clothes and old boots I’d traded out for the new ones I wore now.

A wide-brimmed felt hat pulled low across her brow solved any other issues of someone noticing the dupe from afar.

And I perched myself on the furthest building’s roof I could manage while keeping the body in sight, so the necromantic spell I cast would be the most effective to control her movements.

It wasn’t a spell I particularly enjoyed using or wholly removing myself of guilt from.

Considering my other option was to be captured and possibly tortured by Nebold and his cronies, this was the only way I could fulfill the most basic of the demands laid against me.

I also wanted to measure Nebold’s reaction to her resurrection.

If he gave even the smallest indication of recognition or surprise at her appearance, I would have enough proof to pursue his involvement in her murder.

He could deliver his message to my double, and if he didn’t piss me all the way off, I would keep my more violent tendencies to myself.

Stewing in my momentary hatred of the guildmaster filled the last few moments of Trisne’s slow walk as her body crossed the empty street.

She had almost made it up the main stairs when the first snag in my plan came unraveled.

As soon as my double hit the top step, Trisne stuck in place like a bug caught in the spider’s web. A faint red sheen washed over her, but it didn’t seem like the two goons at the door were able to see that. It was the telltale sign of an activated ward.

I didn’t suspect Nebold to be this wily.

He had the guild warded against revenants entering from the outside.

Curiosity had me leaning over the edge of the roof I was perched on, waiting in twisted anticipation to see what his next move would be.

It seemed we all watched in suspense, including the two guild members staring at the intruder, currently vibrating with a growing intensity.

In a last-ditch effort, I had the corpse drop the scroll held in her right hand with a flick of the wrist, with just enough force to roll it to the door. Both men jumped out of their skins and backed far away from the innocuous scroll.

“Oh, gather your balls,” I said through her mouth.

The voice was distorted and raspy from being forced through a desiccated throat, but loud enough to reach the necromancers huddled against the doors like a couple of children.

“I just came to deliver a response to the illustrious Nebold. Please make sure he gets this so he can promptly throw it in his fireplace.”

The guild’s doors slammed open, and Nebold hobbled out as fast as his crooked back and stiff legs would let him.

He stumbled to a stop just beyond the threshold, eyes wide in his deeply wrinkled face as he took in the corpse suspended before him.

But it wasn’t just shock that danced across his face.

He recognized Trisne. And he looked extremely pissed to see her stuck in his ward.

“Who brought you here?” he hissed. “Who would dare to send a revenant to the Necromancy Guild?”

“Let’s not play coy, Nebold.” He startled visibly hearing my voice come from Trisne’s mouth. “I was wondering if you knew anything about this young lady. Her father, Jinon Pid, came looking for me, and I figured you were the one who pointed him in my direction.”

Now Nebold’s thin body was violently shaking.

He couldn’t take his eyes from the body caught in the ward.

And he looked about two seconds from heart failure.

“ You insolent w— ” He had to stop himself from finishing the insult, with all these witnesses around.

“What is wrong with your mind to think this was anything less than vagrant disrespect for poor Trisne’s body?

Such tremendous talent is wasted on the likes of you—”

He sputtered to a stop, almost sounded like he gagged on something. The four guild members turned to look with varying degrees of concern and confusion. Maybe they didn’t realize the trap he just sprung on himself, but I did.

“How familiar are you with Lady Trisne, Nebold?” I used her mouth to deliver my accusation.

“Was there something you wanted to say to her now that you’re face-to-face?

Maybe an apology?” A bitter laugh came from her crumbling lips.

“Silly me, you may not know what that is! See, an apology is when you admit you did something wrong and—”

“ Silence! ”

He looked about two seconds from keeling over, his face a mottled purple color as he shook violently like a leaf clinging to its branch in a storm.

Nebold raised his staff and slammed it hard against the stone floor of the entry, causing a small crater from the blast of magic he released with it.

The Wiran ruby flashed brightly from the top of the staff, just before black whips lashed from it and sliced clean through Trisne’s body, still suspended in the air.

Pieces of her fell onto the steps with sickening thuds and a notable lack of viscera as the ward dropped the rest of her.

Where the whips had hit, the rotted flesh sizzled as if cauterized by fire.

Her head was still intact, rolling to a stop on the wide step. The hat I’d put on her landed a few steps lower, making the whole scene just a little more macabre. One of the guild members began to retch loudly by the main door.

“You will suffer dearly for this, Haron.” Nebold’s voice trembled, this time with unbridled rage. “Mark my words.”

With Trisne’s mouth still intact, I got in my last word. “Duly marked, wretch.”

I let my control over her corpse slip as a frustrated howl tore from Nebold’s lips. From a distance, I watched him lash at Trisne’s body with shadowy tendrils until pieces of her scattered across the entry steps. He was more than angry at my little display.

He was scared .