Chapter Thirty-Nine

Celia stood at the edge of the path leading down to the island’s bank, her hand pressed to her side just under her broken ribs. Ward had wrapped her chest in a torn—clean—shirt Maura had found in the temple. The pirates who’d survived had fled, and both longboats were gone. Ward’s grandfather and the other necromancers had arrived in two smaller boats, but there was enough room for Ward, Celia, and Maura—if Ward’s grandfather was willing to let them sail back to the village with them.

Celia still wasn’t sure about that. Ward had collapsed after his whole body burned blindingly bright. The demon had fallen back within the fissure, the ground had shaken, and it had sealed tight. She’d never been so terrified in her life. Not since meeting Edward de’Ath the Fourth, eighth-generation necromancer and first-generation vivimancer. Boy, that was going to take some getting used to, and from the scowl on Ward’s grandfather’s face, it would be an adjustment for him, too.

The two had stared at each other over the remains of the Gate for what had felt like an eternity, then Ward had flooded her with enough magic to stop her bleeding—but not all the pain—and had gone looking for Maura.

Now the necromancers stood on the bank, looking at their boats as if they didn’t know what to do and the events they’d witnessed hadn’t yet sunk in. She couldn’t blame them. She was having trouble believing everything, too.

A shadow shifted in the trees beside her. She tensed and reached for the dagger once again at her hip but didn’t draw it.

The Master eased from the darkness. She didn’t release the dagger’s hilt, although it didn’t really matter if she was armed or not. The man was a better fighter than she—as much as she hated to admit it. For now, all sense of his danger was hidden, disguised with a bland, unmemorable appearance and demeanor. It was perfect for an assassin. He was average in every way—height, hair color, eye color, skin color, even his build was hidden in a loose shirt and pants. Nothing about him said assassin or even Seer.

“So that’s how you do it. Look average and blend in with everything.”

A hint of a smile pulled at his lips, and a sense of danger flickered in his eyes. “You’d have to dye your hair and wear spectacles to accomplish it. There’s nothing average about you, Celia Carlyle.”

“I think it’s safe to say I’m no longer Celia Carlyle. My father is dead, his criminal empire taken over by his right-hand man.”

“You still have brothers.”

“I doubt any of them have risen to take their rightful place as Dominus of Brawenal’s Gentilica.” They hadn’t been as invested in her father’s business as she’d been. Perhaps that was a good thing. Her father’s right-hand man wouldn’t see them as a threat to his leadership of Brawenal’s criminal underworld.

A stick snapped behind her, followed by a warmth across her chest. Ward.

He’d assured her the soul chain was gone—he’d actually been shocked about that, as if he hadn’t really believed he was a vivimancer and had resurrected himself—but the sense of him was even stronger within her than before. Whatever he’d done to bring his soul back fully to his body had changed the soul chain into a bond that neither of them could explain.

“Will you be sailing with my grandfather and the others?” Ward asked the Seer, his tone wary.

The Master cocked a dark eyebrow, and a hint of danger swept over his features. “I’ve made other travel plans.”

“I still don’t trust you,” Ward said.

“You need to work on not saying whatever truth you think, Dr. Death. Secrets are important.”

“Only you would think that, and it’s de’Ath, two syllables,” Ward said.

Celia shifted closer to Ward. “Actually I’d agree with the Master on this one. You’ve gotten really good at lying to men with evil intentions. I wouldn’t stop now.”

Ward pressed a hand against the small of her back, the action natural and unconscious. “You’re assuming the Master and Seer here is evil.”

“I haven’t decided he isn’t,” she said.

The Master raised his hands, palms up, but she wasn’t foolish enough to think he was helpless. “I helped you close the Gate.”

“You also threatened and manipulated us. Really, you should have just told us what you needed us to do,” she said.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to get the job done. Edward de’Ath the vivimancer needed to be born, and the Gate to the Dark Son’s Abyss needed to be sealed for good. Once Ward died in Dulthyne, the Goddess showed me there was only one path for him to become a full vivimancer. He needed to cast a true resurrection on himself, and to do that he needed an octagon powered with his own blood, like the octagon he used to bring you back.” The Master captured Celia’s gaze with his.

“But that opened the Gate,” Ward said.

“Part calculated risk, part necessity. While you could have strengthened the magic, there would always be the risk another Innecroestri like Stasik would come along and weaken it again. No, the only way to truly close the Gate was to rip off the spell keeping it partially closed.” The Master shrugged and slid his attention to Ward. “And to do all that I had to manipulate you.”

“So when you told me to take Celia from Brawenal and keep the locket and kill Stasik, all of that was a manipulation because you knew I wouldn’t listen to you?” Ward asked.

“Taking Celia from Brawenal, no. If you’d done what I asked, Stasik would have been killed in a fight with another Innecroestri before he found Vekalmeer.” The Master sighed. “And if you’d kept the locket, I wouldn’t have needed to activate the octagon at the fissure and force you to resurrect yourself. But you’re a vivimancer in full, and the Gate to the Dark Son’s Abyss is permanently closed, so I think it all worked out.”

“It all worked out?” Celia squeezed the hilt of her dagger.

“Yes.” The Master flashed a wicked smile.

Ward crossed his arms and glared at him. “But so many people died. You could have saved all those people in the village, you could have saved those people in Dulthyne, you could have told Nazarius—” Panic flashed across his face. “Where is Nazarius? He was supposed to come with Grandfather and the other necromancers, but I haven’t seen him.”

The Master’s expression darkened and filled with danger. “His services were no longer required.”

Ward gasped. “You killed him.”

“He was alive when I left him.” The Master shrugged, eased back into the underbrush and low-hanging branches, and disappeared into the shadows.

“We have to find Nazarius.” Ward rushed down the path. Celia ran after him.

Ward’s grandfather stiffened at his approach.

“We’re heading to the village. Now.” Ward raced to the closest boat. “I can take three or four others.”

“We need to talk first.” Ward’s grandfather crossed his arms, as if that would stop Ward.

“When I know everyone is safe, then we can talk.” Ward met his grandfather’s gaze. “You might not like what I am—”

“I have no idea what you are. Last time I saw you, I knew with certainty you were a vesperitti. The magic chaining your soul to hers was clear and now it’s gone.”

“And my aura’s all strange. Yes. I know. Do you think Celia is alive?”

Grandfather huffed. “I know she’s alive.”

“Well, she was dead a fortnight ago.”

“That’s impossible.”

“And I was dead. It was clear in my aura, and now my aura says I’m alive.”

“And he closed the Gate to the Dark Son’s Abyss,” Celia added—she couldn’t resist. “You can be afraid of Ward after we get to shore.”

Ward’s grandfather raised his hand, and a ripple of magic snapped across Celia’s skin. Ward sighed, flicked a finger, and the magic vanished.

The other necromancers gasped.

“Yeah, I couldn’t do that before, either. Listen. I’m not dead, I’m not a necromancer, and I don’t have any explanation for it.”

Maura huffed from her perch on a rock by the boats. “He’s a vivimancer, he’s just being coy about it.”

“A vivimancer hasn’t been seen in generations,” one of the other necromancers said. He wasn’t as tall as Ward but had the long, narrow face Ward and his grandfather had.

“Then the Union is due to have one,” Maura said. “Now get me in a boat and take me home. I’m done with Vekalmeer.”

“This conversation isn’t finished,” Ward’s grandfather said.

Ward ran a hand over his face. In that moment he looked exhausted. “We can have it once I know my friends are safe. You can ask me all the questions you want, but I make no promises I can answer them.”

“That’s because he’s missing important parts of his education,” Maura said.

“I taught him just fine,” Grandfather grumbled.

One of the other necromancers snickered.

Ward grabbed the hull of one of the boats with one hand and held his other out for Maura.

She took his hand and climbed in then turned to Ward’s grandfather. “Let me guess, you thought Vekalmeer was myth before now?”

“You didn’t?” Ward’s grandfather asked.

“I wish I did. My duty now has been fulfilled.”

Celia joined her in the boat, and Ward climbed in after. Ward’s grandfather motioned to one of the other necromancers, and they climbed in. A middle-aged man with a stocky build like Jared’s picked up the oars.

“Thank you,” Ward said.

“You look tired, and Jared vouched for you before we saw you close the Gate.” The necromancer rowed them into the lake, heading toward the village.

“Thanks, Uncle Isaac.”

“Is everyone who showed up here related to you?” Celia asked.

Ward slid his hand around hers. Behind him the sky was lightening. They’d survived another crazy adventure, and a new day was starting. She didn’t know what they’d done to deserve such a blessing from the Goddess or her Light Son—or the curse from the Dark Son—but she was so grateful for both. Without the curse she’d never have met Ward, and he’d never have realized the truth about himself.

“The blond man and woman aren’t,” Ward said. “Everyone else is…or was, if they still consider me family.”

Ward’s grandfather sighed. “It’s complicated.”

Celia laughed. She couldn’t help herself. “Ward says that all the time.”

“Isn’t it true?” Ward’s grandfather asked.

Maura harrumphed. “It’s not complicated. He’s a vivimancer. She’s a revivesca and he’s a revivescor. Why do necromancers have to make everything so difficult?”

“Madam, sometimes it is difficult,” Ward’s grandfather said.

Isaac snickered again.

The boat skimmed through the water. Ward’s thumb rubbed the back of Celia’s hand in that familiar, unconscious movement. The action got faster and stronger with every passing second.

“We’ll get there.” She couldn’t bring herself to say Nazarius was fine. The Master was the best-trained assassin in the principality of Brawenal. If he wanted Nazarius dead, the Tracker was dead and had been dead long before they’d closed the Gate to the Dark Son’s Abyss.

Before Isaac had even pulled up to the dock in the village, Ward had grabbed the edge of the walkway and jumped out. Celia rushed after him. His body trembled as if he wanted to run but didn’t know where to go. And where did they go? They didn’t know where Nazarius was.

“Use your gift,” Maura said. “If he’s alive, you should be able to sense his life essence.”

Ward swore—Celia hadn’t known he knew that word—and closed his eyes. One heartbeat. Two heartbeats.

His eyes flashed open. “He’s weak, but alive. In the cave with Jared, Declan, and the Seer.”

Ward rushed to the cave in Declan’s hidden cove. Jared jerked to his feet, his aura rippling, but not like it had when Ward had been a vesperitti. All the magic was still there, still glowing around him, but it wasn’t blinding as it had been, and the sounds and sights and smells were normal again, not overwhelming.

Nazarius lay near the stream, his shirt pillowed under his head, a filthy strip of fabric binding another wad of fabric to his stomach, just under his ribs.

“I did the best I could. The bleeding has stopped—” Jared pursed his lips and squinted at Ward. “You’re different.”

“I am.” Ward headed to Nazarius. He didn’t know what else to say. He was a vivimancer. He’d stopped Innecroestris and vesperitti and the curse of Dulthyne and closed the Gate to the Dark Son’s Abyss. Once he was certain Nazarius was all right, he’d deal with it.

He snorted, and Celia raised an eyebrow at him.

“I was just promising myself that I’d deal with something afterward.”

“We’ve been doing a lot of that,” she said.

“Just one more thing to do.” He knelt beside Nazarius. A hint of magic glimmered at his hip.

Ward squinted. A thin thread of magic trailed up Nazarius’s waist and pooled around Jared’s makeshift bandage. It wasn’t strong, but it was enough to stop the bleeding. It had to be the magic from the locket.

He sucked in a steadying breath, closed his eyes, and pulled on the magic within the cave’s walls. It flooded him and melted away his exhaustion, but he didn’t hold onto it. He focused it in his hands and let it seep into Nazarius’s skin. He could sense the Tracker’s injuries: cracked ribs from the fight with the pirates, bruises and cuts from the last couple of days, and the gash in his chest that sliced almost to his heart…no, it had hit his heart and a lung. Nazarius should be dead, but the thread of magic emanating from the locket Ward had given him had knitted the wound together just enough to keep him alive.

Nazarius moaned, and Ward pressed his magic into his body, mending muscle and skin back together, manipulating the blood pooled in his chest back into his veins to replenish what he’d lost. A few more hours and the locket might not have been enough to keep Nazarius alive any longer. The Master had struck a killing blow, but he had to have foreseen the locket would keep Nazarius alive long enough for Ward to save him.

Someone gasped, and a heavy hand seized Ward’s wrist. Ward opened his eyes but didn’t wrench away. Nazarius’s gaze was wild, jumping from Ward to Celia and back again.

“Did you wake me or did you make me a…?”

“A vesperitti?” Celia asked.

Nazarius’s jaw clenched.

“Neither,” Ward said. “You weren’t dead, and I healed you.”

“Temporarily, you mean.”

“Healed, actually.” It felt good and really, really strange to say that, no matter how true.

“I thought you said magic didn’t work that way.”

Celia placed her hand over Nazarius’s still clutching Ward’s wrist. “We have new information.”

“If it wasn’t for the locket, you’d be dead.”

“Hey, I helped,” Jared said behind them.

“Yes.” Ward bit back a smile. “You helped.”

With a groan, Nazarius reached into his pocket and pulled out the locket.

“The locket belonged to another vivimancer.”

“So that’s why the Seer—the Master is so interested in you,” Nazarius said.

“Was,” Celia said. “He was interested. Now he’s gone.”

Nazarius snorted and winced in pain. “You keep believing that.”

“For now it’s true.” Ward straightened. There were still two other patients who needed tending. He drew more magic from the walls and headed to Declan. Even in the uneven lantern light, the youth’s color looked better than it had yesterday—Goddess, had the slaughter of the village only been yesterday morning?—proving Ward’s magic hadn’t been temporary.

He knelt beside Declan and sent his senses and magic into his body. The splenectomy had been a success. If Ward had known then what he knew now, he might have been able to save the organ. What Ward had thought was just a necromantic patch was actually a healing patch.

With a slow pulse of magic, Ward melted the patch into Declan’s body and healed the rest of his injuries.

“Ward?” Declan asked, his voice groggy.

“Just lie back and rest. You’re going to be all right.”

“Where’s Maura?”

“She’s back in the village. We’ll take you to her soon.” One more patient to go. Ward stood. The cavern darkened around him.

Celia grabbed his arm and steadied him. “You need to take it easy.”

“The Seer and then I’m done.”

“The Seer can wait until you’ve rested.”

“I want to rest in daylight. I want to sit in the morning sun, soak it in, and hold you in my arms.”

“We can do that.” She gave him a gentle tug toward the narrow mouth of the cave.

“First the Seer, then I’m done. Goddess, I’m done.” He pulled the rest of the magic from the cave walls. It wasn’t a lot, but with luck the Seer wouldn’t need much healing.

Celia sighed, the sound heavy, but a sense of warmth and love filled him, like they were still connected by the soul chain.

He sagged beside the Seer and pushed his magic into the man. His face was healing well, and Ward knitted the bones back together. The wires would have to come out, but Maura could remove them. He slid the reed from the Seer’s neck and healed the cut. The Seer drew breath, then another tight breath and another.

“It’s all right.” Ward met the Seer’s gaze, willing him to be calm. A thread of magic eased into the Seer, and his pulse and breath slowed—another interesting use for his magic. One he’d think about later. “You took a blow to the face. I’ve had to wire your mouth shut for the bones to heal properly. We’ll be able to take the wires out soon. Just rest.”

The thread of Ward’s magic pulsed, and the Seer’s eyes fluttered shut. His breath grew steady and deep with sleep.

“Are you done now?” Celia asked.

“Take me to sunshine.”

She steadied him as he stood and then helped him out into the cove. A band of sunlight slid through a crack at the edge of the overhang and illuminated the blanket where they’d made love. It still lay forgotten on the only soft, mossy patch of the rocky shore.

So much had happened in such a short time. He was not the same man who’d walked into the bedroom of a nobleman’s daughter to wake her from the dead.

She eased onto the blanket, giving him the spot fully in the light. “Will it hurt your eyes?”

“The magic is still there, but it’s not as bright.” He pulled the shade glasses from his pocket. “I still have these, though. I could always wear them.”

“Please don’t. You look ridiculous.”

“More ridiculous than the physician’s coat and powdered wig I was wearing when we first met?”

She chuckled, the sound so free and so sensual. “No, the wig is more ridiculous.”

“That means I can keep the shade glasses.”

“No.” She reached to grab them, but he yanked his hand back and wrapped his free hand around her waist and leaned back. She rolled on top of him, her hands pressed against his chest, the heat of her palms burning through his shirt.

She leaned closer, her breath caressing his cheek, drawing a delicious shiver. “When did you learn to be so charming, Edward de’Ath?”

“I guess I just needed to find the right woman.”

“I would hardly say there’s anything right about me.”

He raised his head, brushing his lips against hers. “There might not be a lot that’s lawful about you, but there’s a lot that’s right.”

She leaned back, her expression suddenly serious. “I haven’t been a very good person. My past could hurt you.”

“And I haven’t been a very good necromancer.” The brand on the back of his neck itched. “I haven’t been a very lawful physician, either.”

“But you did that to save people.”

He slid the lock of hair that he loved so much—the one that always curled by her cheek—between his fingers. “You saved me. You helped save Nazarius and Declan and Maura and all those people in the village. Together, we banished the curse of Dulthyne and closed the Gate to the Dark Son’s Abyss. You’ve done a lot of good things.”

“Since meeting you.” Doubt and regret darkened her gaze and oozed through him.

“Celia. I would be long dead if it wasn’t for you. I need you.”

“To keep you alive?” A hint of playfulness flickered through him from their new not–soul chain connection.

“You know it. Or undead. I’m not picky.” He hugged her close and rolled over, pinning her underneath him—or rather, she let him pin her. He dipped down and kissed her with all his love and passion. When he made a decision, he fully committed, and he wanted her to know what that meant. Heat seeped through his chest. He wrapped his love around it, embracing her physically, emotionally, and magically. “We’re not a typical partnership, but we’re still partners.”

She drew in a sharp breath, grabbed his arm, hooked a leg around his, and suddenly she was on top, her body pressed against his. “I like this partnership thing.”

“I like this on top thing.”

She nipped at his bottom lip, her eyes filled with mischief. Goddess, he loved that look. “So what are we going to do tomorrow?”

“We’ll see what the Goddess sends us.”

She jerked back and playfully slapped his chest. “Don’t you dare tempt fate.”

“Together, we can face anything.” He tugged her back down and kissed her again until they were both breathless.

A fortnight later, Ward stood on the Duchess of Dulthyne’s patio, staring at the stars. White witch-stone veins shimmered in the stone railing and through the cobblestones. He’d been standing there since sunset, like he had every night since he, Celia, Nazarius, Grandfather, and the other necromancers had climbed a winding staircase from the village up to the shimmering city carved into the mountainside.

“I thought I’d find you here,” his grandfather said.

Ward kept his gaze on the stars. He didn’t need to look to know Grandfather approached. Even if he hadn’t heard the man’s footsteps, he could feel the magic in the man’s soul, warm and glimmering against Ward’s senses.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to seeing it,” Ward said.

“Sensing magic?” Grandfather asked, although he already knew it was magic. He stopped beside Ward and ran his hands over the top of the railing. Much to Ward’s surprise, he was now the same height as Grandfather. They were both tall and lanky, but Ward had always seen his grandfather as taller, bigger, more powerful than Ward could ever be.

And the man was powerful. Magical strength radiated from him, and so, too, did, a strength of spirit Ward knew was more than just Grandfather’s necromantic gift. It was that spirit, that life, which glowed in various strengths in everything—human, animal, plant, rock, sun, sea, and star—that mesmerized Ward. It drew him every sunset to this patio to marvel at it. He was awed by how the mountains glowed pink with the heat from the summer’s day and how the starlight and moonlight fell in soft, flickering beams around him.

“If you could just see what I see.”

“Do you remember when I said that to you?” Grandfather asked, his tone soft and a little sad.

“It was my twelfth or thirteenth summer. I can’t remember which. I think we were in Bantianta. You were so frustrated that I wasn’t like you or Jared or any of the others, that I couldn’t see or sense magic and couldn’t see soul magic and could barely cast anything.”

“I wasn’t frustrated.”

“Disappointed, then.”

“No—”

“Don’t tell me you weren’t disappointed. I’m your namesake, eighth-generation necromancer. I look like you did when you were my age. And I was mystically blind and wanted to help people before death got involved.” Ward slid his gaze to Grandfather, who sighed.

“You were a de’Ath. No de’Ath had ever been mystically blind or had so little of a necromantic gift.”

“Because I wasn’t a necromancer.”

“It never occurred to any of us you weren’t a necromancer.”

And that explained why Ward had spent most of his life thinking he was a failure and subconsciously blocking his real magical gift.

“It never occurred for anyone to think you might be a vivimancer.” Grandfather shook his head. “I’ve seen proof of your abilities time and again over the fortnight with that Tracker and the Seer from the village, and now others here in Dulthyne, but I still can’t really believe it.”

Ward didn’t know what to say to that. He was having trouble believing it as well, but no one could deny he could magically heal people or that he’d cast true resurrection spells. “Celia says you’ll come around eventually.”

“Your young lady is probably right.” Grandfather chuckled. “She challenges you.”

Ward snorted. “You have no idea.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes, it is.” The warmth in Ward’s chest, where the soul chain had been, flickered. Celia’s essence. The feeling of her, where the chain had joined them, hadn’t faded with time like he’d thought, and he hoped it never would. This connection to her felt right, like he’d been missing something and hadn’t realized it was her until now.

Grandfather squared his shoulders. He was no longer talking as Ward’s grandfather but as a necromancer elder. Ward had seen the change in demeanor before and knew this was business—it might be the family business, but that didn’t mean Grandfather would be lenient. “You’ve done a lot in the last month.”

“Yes.” There were still pieces Grandfather didn’t know about—like how the Seer of the House of Bralmoore was also the Master of Brawenal’s Assassins’ Guild—but he knew most of it, including the parts where Ward had been forced to break the necromancer oath and cast blood magic. A part of him had wanted to hide his shame, but just like when he’d been a child and Grandfather had asked about what had happened, the whole story had come out.

Grandfather leaned forward, his expression serious. “You had to deal with some very difficult situations.”

“Yes.” Here it was. Grandfather had finally figured out the punishment the Necromancer Council of Elders was going to give him for breaking his oath.

He leaned closer, wrapped his arms around Ward, and hugged him. “I’m so proud of you.”

“But my oath,” Ward said into Grandfather’s shoulder. Even though he would do it all again if he were put in the same situation, he deserved to be brought to justice.

“Your punishment would have been service to the council to right the balance between life and death. You destroyed the curse of Dulthyne and defeated a plot to open the Gate to the Dark Son’s Abyss. You’ve done more, a lot more, than anyone would have demanded of you. Necromancer or vivimancer, you upheld your oath. I’m proud you have my name and I’m proud of the man you’ve become.” Grandfather squeezed harder, and Ward squeezed back.

A tightness in his chest that he hadn’t realized had been there eased. The balance between life and death was restored and so, too, was the balance he’d feared he’d upset in his family.

Nazarius stepped onto the patio, the magic from his soul familiar from the healing sessions Ward had given him over the last fortnight. He cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Grandfather gave Ward one last squeeze. “I’ll let you two talk.” He headed back inside and gave Nazarius a tight nod as he passed.

“Not sure your grandfather likes me,” Nazarius said, sauntering toward Ward with his hands resting on the hilts of his—new, from Dulthyne’s quartermaster—paired sword and long dagger in his typical pose.

“I may have mentioned you forced me to perform an illegal surgery on your Inquisitor partner back in Brawenal City. I think he feels protective of me.”

“I’m not sure which is worse—having the Union’s most powerful necromancer angry at you or having Celia Carlyle angry at you.”

“I’d fear Celia more,” Ward said.

Nazarius barked a quick laugh. “That’s only because you’re sharing a room with her and she could kill you while you sleep.” He took Grandfather’s spot beside Ward at the railing and stared at the dark valley below. “I’m not sorry I made you save Pietro.”

“I’m not sorry, either.” Ward slid his hands along the railing like Grandfather had, feeling the polished stone and magic within it glide beneath and through his fingers.

“I am sorry the Seer—the Master made me lie to you.” He blew out a heavy breath. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

“You did what you had to do.” Ward didn’t know what he would have done if he’d been in Nazarius’s position—

No, he did know. He’d been in tough spots in the last month and had done what had to be done. It’s what Nazarius had done in the last month, as well.

“Just because it was what I had to do, doesn’t make it right. If I could have stopped it— If I…”

A woman inside laughed, the sound carrying bright and cheerful across the dimly lit patio. Inside lay a world, a people, who had no idea how close they’d come to destruction, first with the curse and then with the Dark Son’s Abyss.

“If you’d done anything different, the curse could still be possessing people here and demons could be flooding out of the Gate of the Dark Son’s Abyss.”

“Stasik wouldn’t have been able to open the Gate without Habil’s grimoire,” Nazarius said.

“I have no doubt he would have found another way. He would have infected more of Thanos’s pirates with sangsal and killed more people.” Ward gripped the railing, letting the magic in the stone seep into his hands but resisting the urge to use it to ease Nazarius’s guilt. There was a line between using his magic to help and using it to manipulate. “You may have been working toward the Master’s agenda, but you still helped. You saved lives.”

“But you suffered, and I could have said something. Quayestri don’t let innocent people suffer.”

“Only in an ideal world, and this one is anything but ideal,” Ward said. “If it was, surgery would be legal. Hundreds of lives could be saved if the Grewdian Council proclaimed it legal to perform necropsies and we learned about the inner workings of the body. Physicians could study the dead and learn to help the living, and—”

“No need to convince me. I already agree with you on it.” Nazarius raised his hands, his expression lightening, the shadow of his guilt easing from his eyes and aura.

“Sorry. Guess I’m still passionate about it.”

“You still need to be careful about who you show this passion to.”

“Why? I’ve got an assassin and a Tracker by my side. I think I’m protected from violence and the law,” Ward said with a laugh.

The shadow of guilt darkened Nazarius’s gaze, and he turned his attention back to the valley.

Ward sighed. He knew what that meant. “You have to leave.”

“I’m the Seer’s man. I go where I’m commanded.” Nazarius’s hands dropped to the hilts of his weapons again.

“The Master or the Grewdian Council?” If it was the Master’s command, then Nazarius was still trapped, and Ward didn’t know how to free him.

“The Seer of Dulthyne, actually. Two days ago, he foresaw a bit of trouble in a village a few days from here. This afternoon a bird arrived from the Council asking the Seer to tell the duchess she had to send half a dozen men to investigate.”

“So he had a true vision?” During their short time in Dulthyne, the Seer had been influenced by the curse and hadn’t had a true vision. The incident had left a scar on his soul that Ward knew would take a long time to heal.

“He’ll be all right,” Nazarius said, as if thinking the same thing. “He just needs time.”

“We all do. Even you.”

Nazarius snorted. “I’m good. I’ve got half a dozen soldiers to back me up if this little bit of trouble becomes a problem. Besides, I’m friends with an assassin and a vivimancer. What one can’t handle the other can.”

“You just have to send a message,” Ward said.

“Works both ways. Although I suspect you and Celia will be easier to find than me.” Nazarius flashed Ward a warm smile and turned to head back inside. “The two of you are going to stick out wherever you go.”

“Safe travels, Lord Tracker.”

Nazarius dropped into a full one-kneed court bow. “You, too, Master Vivimancer.”

After a heartbeat, he rose and strode from the patio. Ward leaned against the railing and watched him go. When Ward had first met Nazarius, he’d never thought the Quayestri Tracker would have become a friend. Now he was one of the few to be counted first.

He stared at the candlelight in the parlor and the magic shimmering from it and the people inside. He scanned the group for Celia out of habit but knew she wasn’t there. Just like he always found himself alone on the patio mesmerized by the sunset, she found herself in the soldiers’ training grounds, teaching Dulthyne’s finest a thing or two about fighting dirty.

They were so different. He was still astounded she hadn’t killed him in the last four weeks—particularly when he’d run headlong into trouble and she knew running away was best. And yet, it was their differences that made them stronger. Celia challenged him to become a better, stronger man. He never would have thought he was capable of even half the things he’d done since meeting her.

Warmth filled him. The heady, toe-curling simmer he always got when he thought of Celia choosing to be with him. When all this had started, he’d thought she was only sticking around because she didn’t know what kind of spell he’d cast on her to bring her back from the dead. Now he knew a different kind of spell had been cast, the kind only the Goddess could cast on two souls. He didn’t need Celia Carlyle, and she certainly didn’t need him, but together they complemented each other, supported each other, and challenged each other. No, he didn’t need her, but he certainly wanted her. And she wanted him back.

He headed into the parlor. The Duchess of Dulthyne caught his gaze and gave him a warm smile but didn’t call him over. After the first couple of uncomfortable nights, she’d stopped asking him to socialize with Dulthyne’s high society—as small as it was. Stories of Ward and Celia defeating the city’s curse and closing the Gate of the Abyss had swept through the city, and people kept giving him strange, furtive glances, some fearful while others were filled with awe. Even Ward’s family looked at him with side glances when they thought he wasn’t paying attention.

He eased past his uncle and Jared talking with the city’s mine master. Jared glanced at him. His gaze leapt to the mine master, back to Ward, and he rolled his eyes. Socializing with nobility wasn’t something Jared enjoyed, either. He mumbled an excuse to his father and joined Ward on the other side of the parlor, walking with him as he stepped into the hall.

“Please convince Grandfather we’re done here. If I hear about one more eligible daughter, I might scream,” Jared said.

Ward chuckled and headed deeper into the glimmering white halls with Jared beside him. Necromancers usually weren’t considered good husband material—too creepy, with their dealings with the dead—but since the curse had been destroyed, Ward’s family was being seen in a new light.

“The Lady Ingrith, Duchess of Dulthyne, is unwed.” And looking, although given that she now controlled the city until her nephew came of age, she’d probably have many suitors soon.

“She is pretty, but I’m not sure she’d like the roaming necromancer lifestyle,” Jared said. “Your lady, though…I’m guessing she’s the one who’ll drag you across the Union looking for adventure.”

Ward was actually a little surprised Celia hadn’t started demanding they leave Dulthyne already, although she was fighting with the soldiers every night. Perhaps that eased her need for action. And perhaps spending the last month running for their lives had satisfied any desire for adventure she might ever have. “I’m not sure ‘drag’ is the right word anymore.”

“A few weeks ago I wouldn’t have thought you the adventure type.” Jared shrugged.

“A few weeks ago you wouldn’t have expected to find me undead and running headlong into trouble.”

Jared snorted. “There is that. So what now? Settle down? Start a healing clinic? I have no doubt the Grewdian Council would love to get their hands on you.”

“The Council, the Quayestri, and any number of princes.” The thought had occurred to Ward as well. He was going to need a plan, but he didn’t know what he wanted to do with his newfound abilities, and he wasn’t going to make any decisions without talking with Celia.

“Whatever you do, if you need a necromancer, you just have to call,” Jared said.

“You sure you want to offer that? My doing often involves pirates and vesperitti and Innecroestris and scary people with swords.”

“I’ve been learning a few things from this skinny cousin of mine about doing the right thing, even when it involves scary people with swords.” They reached the stairs leading up to Ward and Celia’s guest suite. Jared leaned on the carved stone banister and held out his hand for Ward to shake. “I’ve learned a lot from this particular cousin.”

Ward took Jared’s offered hand. He didn’t know what to say. Jared had always been the bigger, stronger, more magically gifted cousin, and Ward had been…well, Ward.

“I’m proud to be your cousin.” Jared clasped their hands, capturing Ward’s in both of his. “Safe travels.”

“Thank you.”

Jared’s smile deepened, and he strode back down the hall toward the parlor. Ward climbed the stairs and headed to the suite he shared with Celia. It was still fairly early in the evening, and she was probably still practicing with the soldiers, but when he opened the door to the suite, soft lantern light flickered from the partially closed bedroom door.

He crossed the small sitting room and eased open the bedroom door. Celia lay in bed, her black hair splayed across the white pillow just like she’d been when he’d first seen her. She was stunningly beautiful, with sculpted features, long dark eyelashes, and pale skin. A hint of her aura shimmered round her, giving her an unearthly appearance that stole his breath. Every time he looked at her, with or without seeing her aura, she stole his breath. She was amazing and strong and wild, and she’d chosen to be with him.

“It’s not wise to enter a lady’s bedchamber without her consent.” She opened one pale blue eye and captured him, body, breath, and soul.

“Particularly since I know this lady sleeps with a dagger under her pillow,” he said.

She smiled, and the warmth in his chest expanded.

“But I think this time I have her consent,” he said.

She shifted and pushed back the covers, making room for him, and her smile turned seductive. “You do.”

He sat in the space she provided and reached for the top button of his shirt to undress for bed, but she pushed his hands away.

“Let me do that,” she said, her tone soft, still alluring, with a gentleness that came with an affection deeper than just desire, but with true friendship.

“Always trying to undress me.” The first time she’d unbuttoned his shirt had been over a month ago, shortly after she’d stabbed him in the arm in the cavern in Brawenal City. He’d thought she was dead then and had stopped himself before anything could happen.

She flicked open the first two buttons. “It does seem to be one of our things.”

“And what are some of our other things?” He leaned close with only a breath between them.

She dipped in and brushed her lips against his then dipped away. “Maybe a little bit of this.”

“Just a little?”

Mirth brightened her eyes. Eyes he’d once thought frozen and deadly. Now he knew different.

He wrapped an arm behind her back, tugged her close, and kissed her. He wanted to show her how much he loved her, how much he was committed to her. Theirs was a love forged out of trial, life and death, honor and trust, and fate. He poured everything he felt, all his appreciation and respect and desire for her into that kiss, until they were breathless and the heat in his chest sizzled.

She eased her lips away, her forehead pressed to his; her hands slipped inside his shirt, hot against his skin. “I love you, Ward de’Ath. You are the best man I’ve ever met and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“I thought the traditional thing was that the man was supposed to do the proposing?” he said, his heart filled with joy.

She leaned back and quirked an eyebrow. “Have you ever known me to do the traditional thing?”

He dipped in for another quick kiss. “Nope.”

“And really, if we’re going with tradition, my father would make an arrangement with your father, we’d be marched to the Goddess’s altar, and a dowry would exchange hands.”

“It’s so romantic when you put it that way,” he said.

“Exactly. I like this way better.” She flicked open another button.

His gaze dropped to her hands and the bandage around her forearm. “You’ve hurt yourself.”

“It’s just a nick.” She shrugged and undid another button. “The sergeant got in a lucky strike tonight.”

“Let me look at it anyway.”

“Don’t bother.”

Ward captured her arm. “I want to bother. What’s the point of being a vivimancer if I can’t heal the one I love?”

She sighed and let him undo the bandage. The cut wasn’t deep, enough to bleed but not to require stitches. He drew a small thread of magic from the flame in the lantern on the bedside table and let it seep into her skin. Warmth filled him, her awe and love for him as well as a hint of the magic he now controlled. The cut finished sealing shut, and the red skin faded into white.

“I’ll never get tired of watching that,” she said.

He wouldn’t, either. It still amazed him how easy it was to draw on magic that wasn’t supposed to exist and heal in ways that no one was supposed to be able to do. Ward brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

Her smile deepened. “And I’ll never get tired of your kisses, either.”

“But you will get tired of being in Dulthyne.”

She pursed her lips.

“You already are.” And in that moment he knew he was, too. He’d spent his time amazed at the sunset, he’d healed Nazarius, Declan, and as many as he could from the village. The village was rebuilding, the Necromancer Council of Elders had determined Ward didn’t need to be punished, and Nazarius was heading out on his next assignment. Everyone was moving on, and it was time for Ward to move on, too, but he didn’t know where or to what.

Celia squeezed his hand, her expression worried. “But I’ll stay here if here is where you want to be. You are what’s important to me.”

“But I shouldn’t make you choose between me and your nature.”

“Natures can change. You’ve taught me that.” She raised her chin, revealing her strength and determination. “I’m not the same person you woke from the dead. I’m who I want to be, and what I want is to be with you.”

“I thought it was you teaching me natures can change.”

“Don’t turn this around, Ward de’Ath,” she said, her tone turning playful again. “This is an argument I intend to win.”

“But fighting with you is so much fun.”

She grabbed the front of his shirt, wrenched him down to the bed, and straddled him. “Fun, huh?”

“Yes.” He leaned up and kissed her until she relaxed, her body molding into his, pressed tight. “I know you said let’s not tempt fate about seeing what the Goddess sends us next, but—”

“You’re bored, too,” she said, her lips still against his. “I’m going to have to work on that.”

“I’m never bored with you.” He wrapped his arms around her. “But the Goddess has given us these gifts, me magic, you martial training. I think we should use them.”

“Don’t tell me you actually want to search out trouble?” she asked in mock horror.

“I want to search out everything with you.” He hooked that lock of hair curled by her cheek behind her ear. “Will you travel with me for life?”

“You can’t turn this around on me,” she said with a fake, playful pout. “I proposed first.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“It’s a yes.”

He kissed her, his heart filled with warmth, the light from her aura shimmering in a halo around them, and she kissed him back. Death had brought them together, and now life awaited. He couldn’t wait to see what adventure they’d find next, together.

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