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Chapter Sixteen

Irin

Today I was approached by one of the necromancers who studied under Princept Morrette, one who chose to stay in

the City and become a researcher. Her name is Beta Gin-Allan, and she had just begun her studies in necromancy.

The day Golath invaded Julra, Beta saw Princept Morrette at the front of the infantry line, with a small group of

undead they had raised to assist the Julran army. In the end, she saw the Princept get overwhelmed by a platoon of

Golath soldiers as the rest of the refugees escaped. She stated if it hadn’t been for the Princept, there would have

been no chance for their escape. It sends chills down my spine to think that there is someone powerful enough to

raise the dead and command them to fight. Given the opportunity to continue their studies, how far would Princept

Morrette have been able to push a power like that?

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

“ G ennel is gone.”

Sett, my spymaster, kept his head high and feet shoulder-width apart, hands held behind his back in a rigid posture.

His eyes missed nothing, taking in where everything was placed on the desk I sat behind.

Particularly, his eyes lingered on the sharp letter opener just to the left of my folded hands.

The sleeveless black tunic tucked into skintight leather pants left nothing to the imagination, showing every ridge and line of muscle earned in hours of hard training.

But he stood so stiffly he could have been a statue, face emotionless, as if waiting for my judgement on if he kept his job.

I didn’t blame him for being tense. I was sure I sounded a bit erratic when I sent him to investigate Gennel and Nebold on nothing more than suspicions.

It felt unbalanced, knowing things Sett didn’t and sending him in blindly.

I hadn’t even shared the revelation that Gennel could be a woman with Beolf, and I told him practically everything.

If Sett was right in his report, Gennel may have already been spooked and slipped out from under our watch with a different appearance.

The implications were nerve-wracking to think about.

“Did it seem like he left in a rush? Anything left out, or haphazardly placed?”

“No,” he huffed out in a bitter laugh. “The place was immaculate. No one seemed to be bothered by his absence, so it appeared as if he had left on a planned trip. His staff didn’t know where he went, either. Apparently, that’s not uncommon for him to leave for entire moon phases.”

Trying to keep the rage down was like trying to stop a raging river by standing in the middle of it.

I was very close to being swept away entirely, and I wasn’t sure when I would get my footing again.

“How can he just be gone? He’s the treasurer for all the guilds.

You would think someone would have a clue where he went! ”

I was too bitter to admit I was probably supposed to be one of those people who knew. Sett was wise enough to keep his mouth shut.

“I have more to report.”

In a rather unsophisticated manner, I slouched lower into my chair and proceeded to pinch the bridge of my nose. It was a challenge, but I focused on the steady whooshing of breaths in and out of my nose to try to calm myself. “What else could be wrong?” I asked drolly.

“Guildmaster Nebold Briton, of the Necromancer’s Guild, is confirmed dead. His body was found in the guild’s crypt.”

Shit. “Go on."

Sett’s brow crumpled, obviously thrown by my lack of a reaction to the news. “The guards on patrol in the guild sector mentioned it to me in our briefing this morning, so I assumed they had told General Zirch. Haron Val Toric was the one who found his body and reported it.”

My head was spinning, full to the brim with stress and confusion, to the point everything else was drowned out. It felt like I was on the edge of a cliff, teetering over the edge to a full-blown panic. Even trying to focus on Sett now was like listening to his muffled voice from underwater.

The guilt was eating me alive, realizing Haron could have been right about it all.

“Haron claimed she was attacked by someone she thought was the guildmaster and raised the entire crypt beneath the guild to defend herself. As it turned out, the real Nebold's body was among the group of the dead. Whoever attacked her managed to escape from the study window.”

“Gods…" Even hearing the information for a second time had me reeling in disbelief and confusion. The fact Haron wasn’t a blubbering mess when I last saw her was a testament to her grit.

Alongside concern for her well-being, my admiration for her swelled in my chest. “Did you manage to speak to any other witnesses of the incident?”

“I did more than that,” Sett answered. “I infiltrated the guild myself and searched the entire building. The wards are startlingly weak, as if they had been tampered with. The stories of the guildmembers who witnessed Haron’s mass resurrection aligned with what Haron had reported to the patrol, that the imposter had sealed the study, attacked her, and she defended herself by raising the dead. That’s how Nebold’s corpse was found.”

“What set the imposter off? Why would he just attack her when he obviously had a good cover?”

“According to the members, preparations were being made to explore the Clifftombs in search of some tome they thought was still there.” Sett rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Guildmaster Briton—or at least, the imposter—was trying to force Haron to lead the search party. Obviously, that ended poorly.”

The same questions kept eating away at me. "Why… why would anyone think Haron could access the Clifftombs? The wards there are so powerful, only the caster would be able to—"

My thoughts came to a screeching halt. They tangled in the words running out of my mouth until the all fell to the ground, immobilized.

Sett stared at me curiously as I stood, probably gaping like a fish, as all the pieces of the puzzle that was Haron Val Toric snapped together to reveal the bigger picture.

A picture I now felt incredibly stupid for not seeing earlier.

What were the chances of the ward's spellcaster surviving long enough to have offspring?

Specifically, a necromancer known to have stayed behind in Julra when it fell and had the chance to put up those wards.

I was the least knowledgeable in necromancy, but maybe there was a way that kind of information can be passed along from the grave.

It would likely be through a generational connection, to be able to reach a span over a hundred years since the ancestor's death.

Could Haron… be related to Morrette Hilj? Could she have spoken to the princept's spirit and learned how to break the Clifftombs' wards? It didn't seem impossible given her magical aptitude.

"How long do you think Nebold was dead?” The question came from numb lips, my eyes set on the wall across the room as I tried to rationalize this new possibility.

Sett answered warily, “When I visited his home to ask the attendants about his absence, they could not confirm exactly how long he had been gone or when they last saw him. They all had vague recollections of seeing him but couldn’t give much detail beyond four days ago.

I suspect their minds have been manipulated. ”

A chill was beginning to creep down my spine. “Any suspicions of who could do something like that?”

“Mind manipulation?” He shrugged, then began pacing a few steps back and forth in front of my desk.

I’m not sure Sett wholly realized he was doing it.

“Maybe a skilled hydromancer? There is an obscure sub-skill that specializes in advanced potion making, some of which could trigger memory loss or substitution. I would have to consult with Dayer to what extent a potion like this could accomplish.”

“You are a hydromancer. How do you think this could be accomplished?”

Sett paused in his pacing. “My skill lies in manipulating my appearance, using a very thin layer of water over my skin and bending the light it reflects.

I can change most of my features to an extent, but there's limitations.

I'm unable to change my proportions, for example, or add onto my structure from what's already there like a bust or wider hips. I could speculate that total body augmentation would entail light bending coupled with a water barrier to give a more solid appearance, but the sheer amount of magic it would take to maintain would be beyond anything I could imagine. That kind of power would be… unnatural.”

As he spoke, I felt the dark chill of dread sinking low in my stomach.

At this rate I would be entirely frozen by the end of this conversation.

“So, you’re telling me there’s a way for someone to change their entire appearance with hydromancy, to the point it would be difficult to detect if it was real, and use potions to fabricate everything else about their story? ”

“With enough years of practical study, it could be possible.”

“What if…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the question.

What if Haron was right? What if Gennel could become anyone? Surely there was a limit to her power, that it was impossible to impersonate someone to this degree. What if… what if Gennel realized Haron could contact someone from the Hilj royal family? Is that why Gennel tried to kill her?

“Although,” Sett carried on. “I would add the caveat that this particular blend of hydromancer skills would be both unlikely to master and difficult to maintain long term. There would have to be extensive rituals involved to collect that kind of power.”

“Extensive in what way?”

“Well… they would likely be sacrificial in nature. Therefore, I doubt it would be guild sanctioned.”

I could hear my heart pound in my ears, drowning out whatever else Sett was saying.

It was in front of my face the whole time.

Even worse, this horrific truth was one Haron tried to tell me over and over, that Trisne’s death was more than just a murder.

That her body showed signs of organs and pieces taken from her while she was still alive.

A living sacrifice, kept alive far longer than she should have been, likely to be used in several consecutive rituals.

Haron was right. And I’d ignored her.

“Find Haron Val Toric. Bring her in under the assumption she is being questioned for Nebold’s death, if she fights you. I believe she is in danger, and I don’t think she will be taken in willingly.”

Sett’s eyebrow lifted skeptically. “Should I go with a patrol? You make it sound like I’m capturing a feral practitioner.”

It didn’t happen often, but Sett was usually the one to help neutralize those kinds of spellcasters, so I understood his confusion.

“No, and I doubt she would take kindly to a group of soldiers showing up at her door. But I think she would be even less likely to respond well to myself or Beolf retrieving her, so I rely on you and your tact to convince her to come into custody. This is incredibly important. If she is going to the Clifftombs, I don’t think we will be able to catch her once she leaves the city walls. ”

At that, Sett’s stiffness softened a little. An understanding look crossed his stoic face. “You care for this woman, Prince Irin?”

I wasn’t entirely sure how to answer such a direct question.

She definitely got under my skin like no other person I’d ever known, man or woman, and took over more of my absent daydreaming than I would care to acknowledge.

Haron was a walking contradiction, her history unknown to me, but still incredibly honest with anything I’ve asked of her.

Maybe she wasn't really Haron at all, but I couldn't bring myself to admit the alternative until I looked her in the eye again and asked the question that burned in my chest now.

Who are you, Haron?

“Yes. I do.”