Page 6

I stepped up to the painting and craned my head back far enough to take it all in.

How the artist even knew what Morrette looked like was beyond me.

Considering they lived over a hundred years ago and this guild had only been established in the last seventy-or-so years, the portrait was more of a generic representation of someone with Julran heritage.

Blue-black hair, dark eyes, almost-translucent pale skin, and overall delicate features were common traits of ancestors to Julran refugees still living in Respar.

The Princept—not a prince, as I had repeatedly told Guildmaster Nebold—had a mysterious look in their eyes, like they were staring straight into the viewer's soul.

"Looking good, friend." I gave a mock salute to the esteemed ‘Father of Necromancy’ and with a chuckle to myself, turned to make my way through the main hall to meet the treasurer.

Other guild members wandered the main hall, but they all gave me a wide berth as I walked across to one of the four branching hallways.

Gaunt, pale faces stared out from black hoods like they had been brought to life to wander the guild.

I was the only one dressed in traveling clothes, a simple brown tunic tucked into black leather pants with my worn riding boots and a light cloak.

I was also the only necromancer who actually traveled to meet clients.

Everyone else expected clients to come to the guild to request services.

It was likely the reason I made triple their monthly earnings, until I was dragged back in to pay my tithes.

Tithes were classified as ten percent of the month's earnings.

Mine counted in the thousands of drummons every single month, enough to put a hearty down payment on a reasonably sized family home or fund a stupid misogynistic guild so they could brag about their successes in a monthly report to the royal advisor.

Nebold Briton, the current Gilamorst guildmaster going on fifty-odd years of leadership, had no qualms in voicing his displeasure at my membership in the guild.

The only reason he couldn't vault my ass off the highest parapet of the hall was the bold fact I was the most reliable and successful necromancer, despite not following his archaic and backward ways of teaching the art, and I passed all his stupid tests when I approached the guild five years ago.

I was the embodiment of everything against his teachings, proving just how useless and silly his blabbering was.

He believed those who practiced magic associated with the dead should look the part, dressing in drab mourning colors and starving themselves nearly to death, so one foot was already set in the grave.

And here I was, full of vitality and willful motivation, setting my own rates far more fair than those he established for the members and actually following through with my services.

Honestly, someone needed to throw him off the throne of lies he'd built in the once-prestigious guild hall.

It wasn't going to be me, so I didn't really bother with fighting him.

As tumultuous as our personal relationship was, we had an understanding—Nebold left me alone, and I brought in my tithes as required.

Regardless, I tried my best to avoid running into the decrepit guildmaster when I could help it.

Not that I wasn't good for a brawl, but I didn't want to draw any more attention to myself than I already sat under with his watchful eye.

All it took was one fabricated report to the royal advisor overseeing the trade guilds, and I would be put under an investigation I couldn't afford.

Unfortunately, luck was not on my side today.

"Haron, are we in a rush today?" My hand was set on the cool iron knob of the guild treasurer's office, and I could hear him rustling papers at his desk just on the other side.

Nebold's shuffling steps with slipper-clad feet, combined with the light thud of his staff hitting the black marble floor, had my shoulders hitching up in irritation.

Slowly, with a fake smile I only saved for cretins like Nebold, I turned to the left where he was hobbling down the broad hallway.

He wasn't alone, walking alongside a taller blonde man until they both stopped at my side.

His guest was richly dressed, with a stiff blue tunic cut to flatter his broad chest and narrow waist over a pair of white pants paired with shining black boots that reached his knees.

A black overcoat clung tightly to his shoulders, the right breast adorned with medals denoting his status as minor Resparian nobility.

Thick looping chains draped from his neck, and even with his hands pulled behind his back I could imagine every finger adorned with rings.

The man tilted his head slightly and his gaze skimmed down my stiff body.

Something about that look made my stomach churn.

Or maybe it was the man in question. Not that I was unused to lecherous looks, especially in a country that treated women like commodities, but there was just something…

off about him. Something that brushed along my skin like the slimy slither of a poisonous snake, making me stiffen in apprehension until the feeling passed.

I couldn't even tell what kind of practitioner he was.

Anyone who used magic had a faint, hazy aura that clung to them, and even the ones who didn't would have some tinge of it from exposure.

Magic was hard to escape in Respar. But with this man, there was no trace of magic at all.

It almost felt like he sucked in whatever residual magic that would normally cling to a person.

His dull brown eyes finally managed to find their way back to my face, and a slow smile crept onto his full lips.

"Not at all, Guildmaster." I kept my tone cordial, despite keeping a crushing grip on the knob. "I know the treasurer's time is valuable, so I make my appointments short. And I see you're busy with your own meeting, so I'll just be on my—"

"Introduce me," the man demanded, turning to Nebold and completely ignoring the rest of my words. His voice was low, but not as deep as I'd imagined. And his tone brokered no argument.

Nebold crumbled, the sniveling rat that he was.

"Of course! This is Haron Val Toric, one of our more…

" His mouth twisted like he bit into something sour.

Nebold's shifty gaze flickered to my own, obviously rooting around for some mild word to describe me.

I crossed my arms and leaned on a hip, trying to keep my face smooth to not betray the immense satisfaction of watching him flounder.

"Successful necromancers, despite her short term as a member.

Haron, this is Highlan Gennel Rhen of the Guild of Finance. "

Gennel's lips curled even more. His eyes bored into mine, even as he reached out to pull a hand from where I had it tucked beneath the opposite elbow.

I was wrong about his hands. He wore pristine white gloves tucked into the sleeves of his coat, ones that looked like they had never seen a speck of dirt since they were made.

The urge to use that hand to smack the smile off his face was very tempting, watching him pull it up to his face as he bowed only a little. "The pleasure is mine."

As soon as his cool lips touched my skin, every part of me balked in sick revulsion.

My arm felt like it had been doused in freezing cold water, numbing up to the elbow and sending shivers beyond it that shook me hard enough to make my teeth chatter.

And the twisting, nauseous roll in my stomach threatened to send my breakfast back up onto the smug Highlan.

Some flicker of emotion lit his eyes briefly, like a recognition of how that simple touch affected me, and his smirk turned sly when he finally let my hand go.

I immediately wanted to thrust that hand in a fire and purge it of his touch.

It was… unnatural. Every part of me screamed to get away from this man.

I had the impression Gennel knew exactly how he made me feel, and wanted to see some kind of reaction from it.

Instead of jerking my hand away to rub against my pants like I wanted, I slowly pulled it back to where it had been crossed in front of my chest. He wouldn't get the satisfaction of a rise out of me.

Nebold, oblivious to my disgust, turned back to Gennel. "Highlan Rhen, a pleasure as always in speaking with you. I look forward to presenting my proposal for the first expedition at the Guild of Finance."

Gennel bowed his head slightly, but never took his eyes off me. "Of course. An honor meeting you as well, Lady Val Toric." Finally he let my hand slip from his, and I gritted my teeth as subtly as I could manage before bowing back.

I didn't trust myself with any more than that.

If I unlocked my jaw now there was no telling what would come out of my mouth.

Without another word or look to the guildmaster, Gennel turned for the guild's exit and made his way down the hall.

Nebold stared at his back all the way down until he turned the corner before setting a supremely pissed-off look on me.

"You didn't come visit me, despite my many requests to have a meeting at your next tithing."

My restraint had dried up. I rolled my eyes and reached for the treasurer's door again, determined to get out of here as fast as humanly possible. "I'm sure Ybin would have had me hauled off to your study as soon as I deposited my tithes. And it seemed like you were busy, regardless."

"Come with me," he commanded in a voice not accustomed to disobedience. "I already informed Ybin you would be late to submit your tithes."