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REVIVE THE DEAD (BUT JUST A LITTLE)

ARABELLA

“We’ve been over this,” I said, sending a pulse of my magic through the withered rose. “I can make it move, but I can’t make it truly live again. There’s a difference.”

The shriveled petals twitched in a macabre little dance before they slumped back into stillness. After weeks of intensive magical training, we’d established a routine: Kazimir’s impossibly demanding instruction, my skepticism, and the explosive moments when I surprised us both.

Kazimir paced behind me, so quiet he might’ve been a ghost. “You’re still seeing life and death as fixed points,” he said. “They’re a continuum. Everything carries both.”

I pivoted, leveling him with an exasperated glare. “That’s a charming philosophical take, but this flower is very clearly dead.”

He exhaled like I was missing the obvious. Moving to the table, he held a hand over the desiccated rose. “You’ve already shown you can animate it. You can make it unfurl, bend, move—none of that is imaginary. You’re pouring your energy into it.”

Crossing my arms, I huffed, “That’s just puppetry. I’m not giving it life, just wearing it like a necromantic glove.” For emphasis, I wiggled my fingers in the air.

“That’s one way to see it.” He narrowed his eyes even as he fought off a smile. He’d been doing that more lately—unwilling to show vulnerability after that near-moment in the doorway. “Life is energy in motion. You’re the source. Stop overcomplicating it.”

I grabbed a silver letter opener we’d been using for practice, tapping the flat edge against my palm. “If you try to sell me on necromancy as a brand of ‘aggressive gardening’, I might have to stab you.”

“Try again,” he said, stepping closer. “But this time, don’t force it. Think of what it was.”

With an over-the-top sigh, I turned back to the crumpled rose.

Remember what it was , I thought. I focused on the rose’s former energy—the weighty petals, the lush color.

A trickle of magic stirred within me, gentler than usual.

I let it slip through my fingertips, coaxing a memory back to life, reminding rather than demanding.

A sudden surge shot from my hand, far more than I intended. I gasped, stunned by the force. I felt the rose reaching for me in return, as if a distant echo had finally answered.

“That’s it,” Kazimir murmured, his voice unexpectedly calm. I glanced up and realized he was standing at my side, close enough that my breath hitched. “You’re not dominating it. You’re inviting it.”

For the first time, the rose twitched on its own. As though breathing, faded color seeped into the petals—not quite living crimson, but a ghost of it. The stem straightened, and leaves unfurled.

A grin broke across my face before I could contain it, and I thought I’d drop from sheer excitement. The rose wasn’t alive, not exactly, but it was more than dead. “I did it.”

“You did.” His voice was low with approval, but when I glanced at him, I found his heated gaze pinned on me. “Though you don’t realize how much that took out of you.”

The second he spoke the words, a wave of exhaustion crashed in. My knees buckled. It took all my stubborn pride not to collapse entirely.

Kazimir’s arm darted around my waist. “Sit before you faint,” he said, steering me to a wooden bench nearby.

As soon as he helped me down, the rose quivered once more, then crumbled into its original, withered husk. My hold on it snapped, and I felt a pang of disappointment at the finality of the motion.

“That was… different,” I admitted, rubbing my forehead. My skin felt clammy with exertion.

Kazimir took a seat next to me, close enough that my arm brushed his. His body heat was uncomfortably distracting. “Your control is growing faster than I imagined.”

He rarely handed out compliments, so I was momentarily speechless. Which only made him look smug.

I huffed. “I’d hate for someone to find out you’re capable of being an actual decent human being.”

“I’m sure my reputation would never recover.” He glanced over my face with a scrutiny that made me hyper-aware of how messy I must seem—sweat on my forehead, hair loose from its braid. Meanwhile, he looked like he just stepped out of a portrait: composed, immaculate, and infuriating.

I rolled my eyes, and then had to fight off another wave of dizziness. “I should clean up before dinner.” I pushed off the bench, but my legs wobbled, and I had to clutch the edge of the table for support.

He hovered a hand near my elbow. “Before you rush off, I had a different plan in mind, if you think you can manage.”

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. “Another aphrodisiac feast? I’d hate to see you embarrass yourself again.”

Humiliation flickered across his face so fast I almost thought I imagined it. “I’m never hearing the end of that, am I?” he asked.

“Absolutely not,” I said brightly, giving his shoulder an exaggerated pat. “Never, Dark Lord.”

Kazimir shot a pointed look at my hand until I moved it. “I was going to suggest something else,” he said. “Unless you truly are too wiped out.”

He slipped that challenge in so smoothly I spoke before I could stop myself. “I can handle anything you’re planning.” Damn him.

His smile was all predatory triumph. “Excellent. Meet me in the east courtyard in an hour.”

“Why not now?”

“Some things require preparation,” he said in that smug, cryptic tone, “and you definitely need a wash. Let’s not pretend otherwise.”

I touched my cheek and felt the gritty tackiness of dried sweat. Wonderful. “Has anyone told you you’re excruciatingly arrogant?”

“Often,” he replied, not at all insulted. “Usually right before they beg for mercy.”

Brute. I scowled at him. “Charming.”

He offered me a mocking bow. “In one hour, Lady Blackrose. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Then he spun and strode off, black coat sweeping behind him with absurd drama. Such a show-off. I let out a snort.

Alone, I turned back to the rose, now utterly lifeless. Whatever surprise Kazimir planned, I doubted it involved flowers and gentle lullabies.