Chapter 18
Chapter
Eighteen
“Imust save it. I must ensure the bloodline prevails and the kingdom remains strong and unbreakable,” the voice said.
This was not the first time a ghost had woken Wraith. He could not see the figure in the darkness, but he’d bet it was the dead dragon king.
Wraith turned to his right. He couldn’t see, but Konrad’s steady, deep breathing alerted Wraith to his presence. His skin prickled with mortification. He’d fallen asleep when he shouldn’t have.
It would have been polite for him just to leave rather than impose his detestable presence on Konrad. Especially because Konrad had shown him kindness when he did not need to. Part of him was actually surprised that Konrad had not woken him to kick him out.
Wraith touched the blanket on top of him, stroking the soft fabric. Konrad must have covered him. That probably meant that Konrad was not too annoyed with him for falling asleep instead of leaving. At least Wraith hoped that to be the case.
“The peace treaty is needed. The peace treaty must be completed,” the spirit said. “My bloodline must be saved!”
Wraith should probably leave now. No reason for Konrad to wake to his presence. He sat up. He winced as his body reminded him of what he’d been up to earlier that night. He’d been so frightened of Konrad. He’d been dreading the wedding night.
But instead it had been … wonderful. Far better than he had ever thought it would be. And it had been far better than sex with any ghost.
As quietly as he could, Wraith stood up. He glanced around the room. How will I find my clothes? Maybe Wraith would need to light a candle. But that might wake Konrad. He’d also need to find a candle.
“It needs to be done. It needs to be done. It needs to be done.” The voice grew more strained. The voice faded as King Alaric moved towards the balcony. “It needs to be done.”
Dim moonlight filtered in through the sheer curtains. The dead king passed through them and the windowed doors, out onto the balcony.
Wraith glanced at the bed and the sleeping Konrad, who he still could not see. Wraith crossed to the balcony, opened the door, and stepped out. He closed the door softly behind him. He wrapped his arms around his naked body, wishing he’d found his clothes.
King Alaric’s translucent and swirling form appeared clear beneath the moonlight.
“If my lineage fails, then everything will have been for nothing. The kingdom will descend into ruin. I must put a stop to that.” The dead king paced back and forth. “The treaty must be finalised. It must be.”
These thoughts must have consumed King Alaric in life.
“Your Majesty.” Wraith bowed.
King Alaric startled and looked to Wraith, as if only just realising he was there. The dead had differing levels of awareness of their surroundings.
“Your son Konrad and I have married. The treaty is almost finalised. Your kingdom’s future will be secured. You can be at ease, Your Majesty.”
Strange, but Wraith had always found it easier talking to the dead than the living. Probably because he had far more practice.
“You do not need to worry,” Wraith said. “You can rest in peace.”
The king stared at him for several seconds. “Good. That is good. I am glad.”
Wraith hesitated, then he held out his hand. “If you wish, I can help you move on.”
The Bone Door had not appeared, which meant King Alaric had not been ready to move on on his own. With a thought, Wraith summoned it.
He heard it open behind him. A gust of icy wind blew, stirring his hair. Wraith fought not to shiver. He really wished he’d at least brought a blanket with him. The breeze whipped in all directions. The king’s clothes blew and stretched towards the door.
As if frozen, the king stared at Wraith’s outstretched hand. Then he lifted his gaze towards the Bone Door and the beyond. He took a step back. He shook his head.
“No,” King Alaric whispered. “Not yet. When the treaty is finished. When my kingdom and my bloodline are safe and secure, then I will go.”
Wraith could force him to pass on. He’d done so with other ghosts before.
But he’d never liked doing it. He preferred to wait until the spirit was ready and willing.
He normally only forced spirits on when they seemed particularly distressed.
Or if they’d physically manifested and were causing problems for the living.
“Not yet,” King Alaric said once more. Then he faded.
Wraith dropped his hand. The door behind him clicked closed. The wind died away, and the air warmed. He glanced behind him, but Wraith already knew that the Bone Door would be gone.
Most of the time, the shadow king and queen cared little for what Wraith did.
But he knew they would have been angry knowing he’d tried to help King Alaric pass to the other side.
Instead, they’d have wanted Wraith to inform them.
Then perhaps they would have tried to use the dead king’s spirit in some way.
Wraith did not like that idea. The shadow king and queen had never valued his talents of assisting the dead to pass from this world and on to the next. Reapers practising their ability did not help win wars.
Still, whilst he lacked the ability to reanimate and control skeletons or corpses, as a reaper, he’d always had the ability to see, speak to, and interact with dead spirits.
This meant he’d been good at one thing during the war, creating the living dead.
One did not necessarily need to be able to see or talk to the spirit to create the living dead, but it helped.
The living dead, unlike the reanimated, kept their essence, which was sometimes called someone’s spirit or soul.
This made them better at combat in general, as they kept their memories and skills from before death.
They were like living soldiers except, well, dead.
Which made them even more useful, as they were difficult to destroy.
During the war, Wraith had created dread knights, a type of living dead.
Poor and impoverished peasants would send their children to training camps to train to become dread knights.
It was a way for these children to gain honour, glory, and wealth beyond that which would have been possible in their villages, where they would remain locked in unending poverty and struggle.
From all over Necros, children would be sent to these camps. There they would be trained to fight. If the child proved themselves, they would then be granted entrance into the eternal army when they reached young adulthood. These were the Chosen.
It was the transition from living human to dread knight where Wraith came in. Many times throughout the war, Wraith had stood on a large wooden dais at one of these camps during a grand ascension ceremony.
The Chosen lined up by the dais. One by one, the Chosen walked up the stairs onto the dais. They’d stand in the middle, completely naked.
The trainees, hoping one day to be one of the Chosen too, hollered, cheered, and stamped their feet. The Chosen then lifted an ornate dagger and plunged it into their own heart. Blood gushed. The individual collapsed. A metallic scent wafted in the air. The soul and body of the Chosen split.
Wraith stepped forward. And in that moment, he’d yearn to summon the Bone Door and lead them through. Or at least explain to them that there was another path, one of peace and rest and the great beyond.
But that was not his role here. Nor was it what the dead even wanted. So instead, he’d prick his own hand with his ceremonial dagger and whisper an incantation. He’d shove the willing spirit back into their body, binding them together, even though it went against all Wraith’s instincts.
Then the corpse stumbled to their feet to thunderous applause. Blood still wet on their skin, they’d pledge themselves to the eternal army. Then Wraith would stand before them, reciting incantations, and bind the dread knight to serving Necros.
By the end of the day, they’d have gone through the same ritual over and over again. The faces blurred together. Blood soaked the dais and his shoes. His hand would feel like a bloody pincushion.
Wraith hated the ascension ceremonies.
The worst part, for Wraith, was the knowledge that there was no true death for a dread knight. The spirit was bound to the body, no matter what was done to it. Severe injury that would kill a living person would not give a dread knight the release of death.
If they were hacked to bits, those bits would just lie there until a necromancer, trained to create and release those bonds, came along and helped them.
In some cases, they would have to wait an age.
Or perhaps no one would ever come to release them.
Then they would wait forever for a release that would never come.
The thought made Wraith sick.
Once after an ascension ceremony, he’d approached a newly reborn dread knight. Unable to stop himself, he’d offered to break the bindings, so their body would no longer be tied to their corpse and they would no longer be bound to serving Necros in death.
“I can help you move on,” Wraith had said.
The dread knight had stepped back, panic in his eyes.
“No!” He’d shaken his head. “Your Highness, please do not take this from me. I have worked my whole life to become a dread knight. I will serve Necros well. I will prove myself. Give me a chance. Please!”
Wraith had never made the same offer to another dread knight.
Wraith re-entered Konrad’s room. He froze.
Konrad sat up in bed. A candle on the bedside had been lit. “Who were you talking to out there?”
Wraith had had little to do with non-necromancers, but he got the sense that his husband would not appreciate him talking to his dead father. After all, he’d reacted terribly when Wraith had spoken to the dead old woman during their couple’s quest, and Konrad had not even known Susan.
“No one,” Wraith said. “Just talking to myself.”
Konrad frowned, clearly not believing him.
“I should probably head back to my room.” Now that Konrad had awoken and had lit a candle, Wraith would easily be able to dress.
“In the middle of the night?” Konrad hesitated. “You should just stay here. No point going back. Especially since there are those who are plotting and attacking people. You should not wander around on your own.”
Wraith supposed that made sense. Still, Wraith was so unused to others being concerned for his well-being that he did not know how to respond.
Although, Konrad probably only cared because Wraith dying before the peace treaty was finalised would be inconvenient for him.
He’d probably have to marry a different necromancer.
Still, Wraith knew that Konrad could not really want him to stay. But honestly, Wraith did not wish to traipse through the monastery in the middle of the night. So he said, “Okay. Thank you.”
He climbed into bed. Konrad blew out the candle.
The bed shifted as Konrad lay down. Wraith remained completely still, not moving a finger or toe as he tried his best not to disturb Konrad.
He did not want Konrad regretting letting Wraith stay.
After a couple of minutes, Konrad’s breathing evened out.
But Wraith remained awake, remembering. He thought of all the young people, all just twenty years of age, who’d so willingly become dread knights and joined the eternal army.
They’d looked so young and full of life, their cheeks flushed and blood pumping through their veins, in the moments before they stabbed themselves.
How many times had he hesitated before binding the souls to their corpses? Instead he’d wished to offer them an alternative, a chance to move on to the other side. Or just force them on. But that had not been his duty.
And now he would never have to create a dread knight again. He wondered what his duties would be as king consort of Draconia.