28. Twenty-Eight
twenty-eight
Stone slabs were set around the room, covered by thin sheets of purple fabric, silvery thread sown along the hems and depicting the first stars in the sky before nightfall. The acolytes made them for every deceased that would be given to Iphila, she knew from her studies, each sheet hand-crafted with love and devotion. Four slabs held bodies, cleaned and covered with a simple sheet for modesty. Scented oils had been placed in small glass cups around the room to combat the stench of decay, replacing it with the freshness of mint, a touch of verbena, some musk. It didn't entirely chase away the stab of mortality.
When Erqis led her over to the two slabs that held their own deceased, Neira was glad for his warm hand curled around hers. His steady touch provided her an anchor she desperately needed when she gazed upon the young woman's face again; cleaned of blood, but the priestesses hadn't been able to mend the ragged shreds of her throat. The second victim, a young man barely in his twenties, had been attacked so viciously he had almost been decapitated.
"I'm not sure how this works," she said softly, reaching out to cup the girl's pale cheek. She was as cold to the touch as the morgue's air, only a hint of the terror she had experienced left on her face; the priestesses had closed her eyes, worked her stiff jaw until it had lost the silent scream – but the corners of her mouth were still torn, the capillaries around her eyes burst and dark under her pallid skin.
"I am so sorry," Neira told the girl quietly. "If I had left the library sooner-"
"You can not blame yourself for this, Neira." She could feel Erqis drawing closer, resting his hand at her waist. "Stalking palace halls searching for murderers you don't know exist is not a queen's job."
"A queen's job is to protect her people," she told him firmly, too firmly, to keep her voice from breaking. "I was too late to even spare her dignity. They gawked at her as if she was not even a person, just a spectacle to be observed."
It had been that indignity, she now realised, that had been the most disturbing thing about this. They had only dispersed after she had given the direct order, after the guards had stepped in. How long would this poor girl otherwise have had to lie in her own blood? When would they have gotten tired of staring at her? Neira shuddered – with fury.
"Do right by her now, then. This, you can do for her."
"I wonder if it would be easier if I knew her."
"You didn't know your cat."
That was true. "Do I just…" She had no idea how to even begin. "You don't happen to know the mechanics of this?"
His laugh gusted into her hair. "I don't think anyone does, pet. Not exactly a common skill. Just do what feels right."
Bringing Strings to life hadn't been a conscious effort. She had reached out to touch the cat because she had thought it was sleeping, not dead. Neira searched for that spark, the well of magic that surely had to exist somewhere inside her, in the unformed, hazy depths of her own essence. Something she could send out to connect with whatever was left of this woman.
Nothing.
Calling to her didn't work, touching her didn't either, and the only emotion Neira was left with after a long hour was frustration.
"This is useless. I used up what I had, I must have."
"That's not really how magic works, though," Erqis said.
After she had shrugged him off half an hour past, he had been sitting on one of the empty slabs, watching her. Then, not watching her when she had claimed his focus was distracting her. Now he was looking at her again, his hands propped behind him, his ankle resting on the other knee comfortably. It had been tempting to lie down on the empty slab, and it wasn’t respect that had kept him from doing it, but rather some small measure of superstition, that that was flirting too closely with death even for him.
"Qavor explained it to me once – magic is a connection, whether it's to one essence you know well, or a handful of essences you dabble in. No rhyme or reason to it."
Neira rubbed her cold, stinging fingers with a huff. "That is incredibly unhelpful."
"Yeah, I didn't get it, either." He sat up straighter. "Instead of willing the body to move – maybe try reaching for her soul."
"That seems beyond blasphemous."
"You just told me an hour or two ago that you grew up without godly presences at all. Now you're scared of a bit of blasphemy?"
“It feels very different in a temple .” She glowered at him, but it was a solid plan. Turning back to the girl, Neira cupped her face with both hands, closed her eyes, let her consciousness reach past the cold barriers of dead flesh, ignoring them. Reached further, although she was grasping blindly.
And there it was: a small spark that she recognised as life , as presence, waiting for the rites that would send it on into the afterlife. Success surged, but then faded away just as swiftly – she had no way of commanding it. It wouldn't react to orders, nor cajoling, and Neira didn't know how to wrap her incorporeal fingers around it to drag it closer.
Erqis caught her when she surfaced from wherever her presence had gone with a gasp and stumbled.
"Gods – this isn't working."
"You give up too fast."
Neira ran her hands over her face. "It's exhausting." Something caught her eye when she lowered her hands. The smudge at her fingertips was darkening, as if she had dragged them through soot.
"What's wrong?"
"Look." She turned to Erqis and held up her palms for him.
"I'm sure there's a basin to wash your hands here somewhere." He wrapped his fingers around her palms to inspect the smudges, rubbed the pad of his thumb against one. "Oh no. Do you think this could be… library mouse decay? Is it contagious?" He dropped her hands, his eyes widened comically.
Neira groaned, but it settled her nerves. It was probably just residue. "You're ridiculous."
"So you keep saying." With a half-smile, he stroked the backs of his knuckles down her cheek. "Do you want to head back?"
"No." She huffed. "I’m not giving up, but I don't know how to make this work. I doubt the library has any manuals on necromancy."
"Your father never taught you?"
"I didn't even know he could do this until you came along. No. I have no guide, very clearly no talent, and no more ideas."
Erqis hummed thoughtfully and pulled the plain sheet back over the young woman's face. A strange mixture of relief and disappointment washed over her, watching that pallid face disappear. The sheet might as well have been an ocean separating them, so far from her goal she felt.
"We can come back tomorrow, with fresh ideas."
"All right."
Dusk was fast approaching when they stepped back into the street. The temple lay in the first broad bend down the cliff by itself, with an unobstructed view over the bay, where Neira could see the sky begin to colour as the sun sank in the west. The sheer array of colours still baffled her sometimes, and now was no different; she stopped to watch.
Erqis draped his arm over her shoulders. "Beautiful, isn't it?"
"It is."
"You know, you haven't been nearly as huffy as usual with me today. Are we making progress?"
"I'm going to progress your liver through your throat."
He laughed and kissed the side of her head. "That doesn't even make any sense, pet. But I do love the enthusiasm."
Her heart wasn't in the threat anyway, Neira realised. In fact, their walk here had been rather pleasant despite veering briefly into heavier topics, and aside from her failing to control whatever magic Erqis thought she possessed. Somehow, his presence had made her shortcomings sting not quite as badly.
They turned their steps towards the palace once more when the sun touched the horizon.
"How do you know Qavor?" Neira asked into the fragrant, birdsong-filled evening air. "You call him your brother, but you don't look much alike."
Erqis had no horns, showed no hint of having Farn lineage. There was nothing in Erqis’ face that reminded her of Qavor, or the other way around. In fact, Qavor reminded her more of herself; their faces surely twisted the exact same way when Erqis was being... well, Erqis.
"Ours is a bond that goes deeper than any bloodline," Erqis stated. "We grew up together."
"That's it?"
"We've been through a lot." There was an uncharacteristically sombre air around the king, a melancholy that briefly reminded her of Ramin. Her heart gave a pang. "But the story isn’t only mine to tell. Let's just say, for now, that Qavor and I helped each other through different kinds of trauma ever since we were children. He's the only person I'd trust with my life."
"I see." A surprising show of integrity. It sparked in her a small glow of appreciation for the man.
"Perhaps you'll be on that list one day, wife."
Neira huffed, but she couldn't resist grinning at him. "Not if you know what's good for you, husband." His bark of laughter startled some sparrows from the blackberry hedge they were walking past.
"Yes, I know. If I ever let my guard down enough for you to land a solid stab in me, that's my own fault. You know what?" He stopped, turned to her, and pulled from his belt the dagger he had once before lent her for revenge. The jewelled hilt glittered in the flames of the dying day, the blade secure in a stiff leather sheath. Erqis offered it to her, hilt-first. "Take it."
"Is this a test?"
His sunny grin was perfectly sincere now. "There's a murderous madman on the loose, love. I can imagine what kind of words you'd have for me if I suggested you appoint a personal guard, so… take this until the threat is dealt with."
Cautiously, her fingers closed around the hilt. "Thank you."
"What, no protests?"
Neira shrugged, buckling the sheath's leather straps into one of the iron links of the belt she wore over her dress. "I'd be a fool to deny any advantage I can get, right?"
"Absolutely." Erqis' gaze dropped to the dagger, roamed over her hips. "Will you have dinner with me?"
"Yes. A brief one – I am rather tired."
Even the brief hour she spent with Erqis and Qavor was pleasant – the two men regaled her readily with adventures of their youth, over a simple fare of cheeses, cuts of cold meat and bread, although Neira was shocked to learn how much younger than her both of them were. She would see her thirtieth year just a few months from now, while Erqis was in his twenty-fifth, with Qavor a few months younger still.
"I would have never guessed you to be the baby!" She had blurted out to Erqis' endless amusement. The king had almost fallen out of his chair from laughing so hard. By the time Neira took her leave, he was still trying to spoon-feed his huntsman, telling him to open up for the dragon.
Despite her claims, Neira was not tired.
No, she was merely waiting for the night to be dark enough that she could slip out of the palace unseen.