Page 46 of Mistress of Bones

“Smaller lock,” he surmised. “Newer. Harder to pick.”

Azul studied the mechanism in question and found that he was right. The whole door appeared new compared with the ones they had seen along the way.

Enjul stepped aside to allow Esparza to try his hand at the lock and glanced at Azul.

In the warm light of the lamp ensconced into the nearby wall, his golden-violet eyes showed no remorse, only determination verging on stubbornness.

Such human emotion for such inhuman acts—killing like it meant nothing and not asking for forgiveness in return.

This logic, Azul could never understand.

But had she not done the same? Had she not stood by as Nereida had attempted to kill Enjul because he stood in their way? Had she not sworn to kill him herself minutes earlier? She had said it before so many times—at their core, she and Enjul were not so different.

These unsettling thoughts were stopped by Esparza’s exclamation of triumph. The door opened. Azul rushed forward, pushing him out of the way, and stumbled into the room.

Inside were two tables, and shelves lining a wall.

Papers, parchment, and sheafs of vellum lay spread over the tables or rolled into scrolls.

Azul walked to a collection of small wooden coffers neatly stacked on a shelf, their lids unlocked for her to lift.

Pieces of bones filled their insides. Old, new. None felt like Isadora’s.

“What is all this?” Esparza asked, disgusted.

Azul drifted to where he stood, searching for more boxes that might contain bones.

He was looking at some of the papers piled on one of the tables, lifting one here and there with the tips of his fingers to see them under the light spilling from the doorway.

Most of them featured inked drawings of bones, the rest of the space filled with annotations.

“Studies of human bones,” she told him, herself inspecting some of the pages.

Her words brought Enjul closer.

“A leech’s studies,” Esparza said. “Why keep them behind lock and key and armed guards?” He made a disagreeable sound. “Upon penalty of death, my ass.”

“Can you read?” she asked him.

Esparza narrowed his eyes. “Enough to pass by.”

“I meant no insult,” Azul said. “But try these.”

He did as she asked with the page she was showing him. “I can’t make any sense of this.” Glancing at Enjul, he added, “Valanjian?”

Enjul shook his head. “It looks like an abbreviated version of Sancian.”

“A sort of code?” Azul asked. “Meant to be read only by its author.”

“Some of these look normal,” Esparza said, disturbing more of the parchment.

“Borrowed studies?”

“Why keep them behind locked doors?” Esparza insisted, then looked thunderstruck and snatched his hand back from the table. “Living corpses, you called them? Void arts? No. It’s not possible.”

Azul turned so he couldn’t read her face.

The stark denial in his voice did not settle well, nor did his disgust. Her gaze fell on sketches of much better quality.

Bringing them into a better light, she openly admired them.

Arms, legs, torsos, heads, all in various stages of being stripped of their fleshy layers.

Then a series of drawings she recognized well.

A human back in different poses, some with arms extended, others with arms close to the sides.

Studies that had resulted in a masterpiece.

The masterpiece that hung in her brother’s bedroom.

Alarmed, Azul went through the other pages.

The strokes were easily recognizable, with the occasional signature leaping out.

Shock left her speechless. Was Isile Manzar the other necromancer, after all?

His fascination for the human body was obvious.

He could’ve gained entrance here like he had gained entrance to the mortuary—by using his friends.

But again, what care would Manzar have for infiltrating the City Guard, the court? For taking over Zenjiel?

No, Manzar must’ve made these sketches for the other necromancer as some sort of commission…

Ah.

She saw it now. On the crest of some of the papers, on the dried rose petals in a vase in the corner. In the handwriting, the same as the letter she’d received at the ambassador’s residence agreeing and delighted to host her and her party at Almanueva.

“It’s my brother, isn’t it? He’s the other necromancer,” she said as if waking from a dream. She faced Enjul. He showed no surprise or interest in the discovery. “You knew this too.”

She thought he might mock her, laugh at the lack of awareness on her part.

Instead, he kept his voice measured: “A conjecture so far. The ossuary falls under the marquess’s purview”—Azul jerked back as if slapped—“and he is your half brother. Knowing I am from Valanje, he probably grew cautious and hid his living corpses from my sight and thus from yours as well. That made it harder to confirm.”

Azul’s mind was a moving puzzle, trying to make all the pieces fit.

“I thought… You said you could recognize the other necromancer.”

“His foulness is different, undetectable, unlike you. It could be he’s already lost what makes you unique, from using it too much.”

“A necromancer?” Esparza exclaimed. He ran a hand through his hair. “Do such things truly exist?”

Enjul’s attention remained fixed on Azul. “If we kill him, will it end his creations?”

Azul sputtered at this. “You can’t. He’s my brother!”

“He’s murdered , don’t you understand? One or two: accidents, perhaps, as with your sister. But this many? He must be stopped.”

“Not by death! How would you be any different from him, then? Take him to your Order, lock him somewhere like you planned to do to me. Allow these people he’s brought back to fulfill their lives. It is their right.”

“Their right is to rest with the Lord Death.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I carry his will within me!”

“And why is your god’s will more important than theirs?

That’s what makes you so enraged, isn’t it, Enjul?

” She spat the words. “You’ve seen death all your life and resigned yourself to it, and now you’re scared to hope there’s an alternative, that your faith has been for nothing. Prove to me I’m wrong.”

“You mean to say that they are still people?” Esparza said, his nervous hand roaming over his stubble, over his neck.

Azul glared at Enjul. “Of course they are.”

To her surprise, instead of sneering, Enjul’s eyes widened at her words. She didn’t quite understand why until she looked down and saw the tip of a rapier sticking out of his chest.