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Chapter Thirteen

Haron

Thawing season. That may have been the refugees’ only saving grace that day, that the usual chill of Julra had been

chased away by the warming season of the Thaw. From what the refugees have said, Julra is a frigid and merciless

land, but beautiful in its inhospitality. A land that people are allowed to live on if they adapt or die if they do not.

-"The Tragic History of Julra," by High Scholar Yuret Wend, Year 39 of Ber's First Reign

I knew the guild's summon would come within the moon phase, but color me shocked when a scroll waited for me at Gaion’s bar by the time I made it back to the tavern this very night.

I had to walk around the lower streets of Gilamorst to cool my head from my meeting with Irin.

I was caught between the uncomfortable feelings of attraction and duty whenever it came to him, and there were times it was truly a struggle to keep my goals firmly planted in sight when he tried so earnestly to sway me to his side.

I knew he wanted more from me. It just felt…

wrong, taking advantage of his ignorance of who I really was to make this version of a woman that didn't really exist. There were things churning beneath what I thought was a simple discovery of truth about Trisne's death.

Something I feared Irin getting involved in anymore than he already was, being associated with me.

Gaion’s brows were drawn low before I even darkened his doorstep.

He seemed troubled. And I wasn’t in the right headspace to console him right now.

“Is this for me?” I reached for the scroll, clearly marked with the Necromancy Guild seal, when his weathered hand reached out to grab mine.

In the five years I’d known the crotchety old man, there were only a handful of times he’d actually touched me.

“Haron,” my name rumbled low in his chest. “Girl, I’m worried for you. This is the second summons ‘n three days. What kind o’ trouble are you getting y’rself into?”

I sighed heavily. “It’s nothing to concern yourself with. I promise, I can handle whatever the guild throws at me.”

His brow drew even lower over those pale blue eyes.

Most Resparians who had blue eyes claimed some Julran ancestor, and looking at Gaion’s made my chest warm in fondness.

When I’d stumbled into his tavern five years ago—alone, with little more than the clothes on my back soaked through with the rain of the Growing season — he’d immediately taken me under his wing.

He never poked into my past or tried to curb my sense of vigilante justice.

“This is something I have to face head on.” I laid my other hand over his, trying to be as gentle as I could in slipping the scroll from beneath his grip. “I’m pretty sure I know what it’s for, regardless. That crotchety old guildmaster won’t get the best of me.”

It was all a lie, of course. If this summons truly was about my stunt with Trisne's revenant, I would definitely be thrown in confinement as a wild practitioner. Turning away from Gaion’s prying eyes, I moved to the far corner of the tavern to tear open the sealed scroll.

There was no point in taking it all the way up to my room.

Reading it, however, gave me an off feeling. For starters, Nebold always stood on formalities and long-winded elaborations. This letter was two short sentences, followed by his guildmaster seal. No signature, no explanation.

Come to the Necromancer’s Guild at first daylight. If you do not, you will be tried and sentenced.

“Damn, maybe I did piss him off majorly this time.” I ducked my head to peer out the front window of the tavern. Light was just starting to color the sky in delicate shades of pink as it chased the inky darkness away. “I suppose now is as good a time as any to face that demon.”

“Haron,” Gaion called from behind the bar. He waited for me to turn and face him before speaking. “Just… keep yer wits about ye. Things are gettin’ unsteady in Gilamorst.”

Looking back at his clear eyes beneath those typically lowered brows, I sometimes wondered if Gaion had a bit of Hira’s blessing for future scrying. There were some times he just seemed to… know something was going to happen.

“Of course, old man. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

The goons from the first time I’d broken loose of the guild were at their posts by the main doors, and both looked equally frightened to see me cresting their steps. I waved the scroll in the air innocently, like one would a white flag.

“I come in peace.” I tried to smile without looking too menacing. I’m not sure it worked, because the man I’m pretty sure whose hand I’d desiccated looked about two seconds from pissing himself. “Please take me to Nebold. I have been summoned."

They looked at each other, slightly concerned, before one stepped aside to open the door.

As I drew close enough to hear him, the man said in a low voice, “Guildmaster Nebold has been… different since you brought that revenant here. He speaks nonstop of going to the Clifftombs in Julra and has been organizing a scouting team.” He swallowed, the dryness in his throat making it click loudly.

“Please, speak some sense to him. That trip is a death sentence.”

I eyed the nervous man. “What do you know of the Clifftombs?”

“My great grandmother,” he started. “She was a Julran refugee. She spoke of… powerful wards that kept them from returning after they fled during the Frigid War. Wards that would melt the skin and muscle from the body if they touched them directly. And she swore the battlefield still howls with the screams of the dead.”

He made Julra sound like a horrorscape. Slowly, so I wouldn’t startle the guild member who already looked a heartbeat from fainting, I laid a hand on his thin shoulder and squeezed lightly.

He flinched hard. “She may be right about the wards, but Julra is a beautiful place despite its tragic past. I hope one day you are able to visit it without fear.”

My response stunned him to silence, stopping in the middle of the main hall to watch as I continued on to Nebold’s private study.

Every step closer to that door and its tasteless carvings made my stomach quiver in…

anxiety? Fear? Even if the guild member hadn’t warned me, there was something not right in the air as soon as I entered the hall.

Something foreboding, like knowingly stepping into a predator’s den.

Finally, at the door to Nebold’s study, I raised my hand and knocked three times on the skull of one of the carved soldiers.

“Enter,” his voice beckoned, and I gripped the handle to push the heavy door open.

The deep red carpeting padded my steps as I moved through the doorway, letting the door fall shut behind me with a loud thud against its frame.

Nebold was sitting hunched over his desk like usual, with neat stacks of papers circling him and a gold cup full of pens at his elbow.

He glanced up from under his wrinkled brow to address me.

“Haron.” He gestured with a bony hand to take one of the seats in front of his desk. “Please take a seat.”

Please? Since when did Nebold say please in the privacy of his study?

My eyes narrowed slightly, watching him cautiously as he straightened up and folded his hands calmly on top of the desk.

The staff he usually carried with him was leaning against the edge of the desk within grasp, the gem mounted on top of it dull and dormant.

The Wiran ruby it held was the first of many reasons I didn't trust him, knowing for a fact it could have only been found in the long-sealed ruins of the Clifftombs.

For it to have escaped the Frigid War intact and been passed down a hundred years to his gnarled hands was suspicious all on its own.

He knew someone who had been connected enough, if distantly, to have access to the Julran royals' treasury in order to steal it.

The staff had been around as long as I'd been a member of the guild, so it was hard to tell how exactly he came to own it.

And I was not delusional to believe he would honestly tell me if I asked.

The greedy bastard had a literal national treasure mounted on his fucking staff and every time I looked at it an indescribably rage filled me. But something was off about it now. Usually it had a red aura, even if he was not holding it.

Something was definitely wrong here.

“I’d… rather stand.” I took a couple steps further into the room and folded my arms, feet braced shoulder width in my usual sturdy boots. “Your missive seemed urgent. I’m curious why you summoned me back, instead of having me hauled off to the dungeons.”

Nebold’s head tilted slightly, murky blue eyes shifting to the side as if recalling said incident with Trisne’s reanimated corpse.

That was also wildly out of character for him.

Nebold had a running tally of every single transgression I’d made since joining this guild, and he definitely wouldn’t have to take this long to recall one that happened within a moon phase.

It would have taken him even less time to try getting his revenge for that kind of slight.

The fact he wasn't already howling at me was unsettling.

Then his face lit with recollection. “Ah, yes, the revenant at the door. That was highly unprofessional, yes. Would you care to explain why you did something that horrendous in broad daylight?”

“It was a bit performative, I admit.” I tried to keep my voice light and not give away my growing suspicion that this was not the Nebold I knew. “But I had hoped my message came across clearly enough that I wanted nothing more to do with this guild.”

“So why bother coming for this summon?”