Reis led Atalanta and Varn away from the hut to talk with them, and I didn't attempt to escape. Where could I go? Back into the ocean? Ear to the wall, I waited for the three of them to return, expecting the door to be kicked down for the sake of dramatics, but it swung open on its hinges and Reis' distinctive footfalls filled the hut.
“It's just me,” they said, and I pushed the door open inch by inch, finding Varn and Atalanta were nowhere in sight. “Didn't tell 'em you're here, of course. If you want 'em to know, you can go ahead and deliver the news yourself.”
I moved cautiously into the living area, trusting Reis, but not knowing Varn and Atalanta nearly well enough to trust that they wouldn't burst in through the open windows. Reis returned to the table and continued where they'd left off on their leg, pushing their glasses atop their head and then trying to readjust them on the bridge of their nose.
“What did they want?” I asked, slumped in a chair opposite them. “Other than me, I mean.”
“They just wanna talk to you. Or the Queen does, anyway,” Reis said.
“Do you really believe that's all they want?”
“Aye,” Reis said, and because they'd always been able to spot a threat a mile off, I listened. “It's like we've been telling you all along, kid. This ain't Asar. We've got a lot of problems, but we ain't so backwards as to think that there's something wrong with necromancers. There'll be a lot of pressure on you, that's for sure, but people will respect what you do. I've no doubt that the Queen just wants to meet you, to have you as an acquaintance. Might be good for Mahon.”
The thought of people knowing what I was had become more and more appealing, until it was scrawled across my skin. If I headed into Port Mahon, the choice was no longer mine to make. I didn't want praise, didn't want to be held in awe. All I wanted was for people to treat me as Reis and Kouris did; for them to know that I was a necromancer, in the same way that they knew what my favourite fruit was or what sort of animals I liked the best. I wanted it to be part of me, not all I was.
“You think I should go with them?”
“Like I said, it's up to you,” Reis said, shrugging. They'd never asked anything of me before, and I trusted that they weren't about to start now. “They said they're gonna be in town until tomorrow morning. You wanna go with 'em, then go. If not, I'll get 'em to clear off.”
I clutched my hands together under the table. I didn't know why I was acting as though what I had to do wasn't clear enough. I'd said it myself: the only way we were going to leave Asar was if we managed to befriend the Queen, and we weren't going to get a better chance than this.
There was only one thing for it. I'd go to Varn and Atalanta, have them take me away and let the Queen ask anything of me, so long as she was willing to return the favour. I could do it; all I had to do was march into Mahon and the sight of me alone would be enough to make my intentions clear.
Standing up, I stared at the door and knew that if I went into Mahon now, all eyes would be on me. I found it wasn't being seen as a necromancer that frightened me; rather, I was convinced that one glance my way would tell everyone exactly what had happened to make me that bright.
“Was that really the Varn everyone's always talking about?” I asked Reis as I retreated back to my room. “She seemed kind of... Are you sure she'll be okay in Mahon?”
Reis looked up from their woodwork, grinning.
“Oh, aye. That's Varn alright. Don't go underestimating her, just 'cause she's a complete brat,” they said. “You know how everyone's always looking at Akela? Like they gotta hire her, in case someone else does and they end up working against her? That's who Varn used to be. She only left a few months before you turned up. Everyone's a little bitter, that's all.”
Doubting that the woman I'd seen slumped against the door frame could best Kouris in a fight, I headed back into my room and wondered what was to be done about all of this. I'd found myself with two options: either I faced Mahon and got to meet the Queen, or I stayed in my room day after day, waiting for something to change. What I had to do was obvious, and the option that terrified me the most happened to be the easiest one.
Late that night, as the full moon stared out over the sea, Varn and Atalanta came to me.
Or they strolled across the beach and came within earshot of me, at any rate. Creeping over to the window, I hooked my fingers around the sill and watched them idly traipse across the sand. Perhaps Varn really was all people had made her out to be if she dared to come so close to Reis' hut.
“Why haven't you brought me here before?” Atalanta asked. “It really is quite a charming port, and as close to a home as you can profess to have.”
Atalanta held her arm out to Varn, who dug her hands into her pockets and stepped to the side.
“What are you on about? We met here, Lanta.”
“Oh, certainly. But we never come here together,” Atalanta said, and I climbed through the window, dropping almost silently onto the beach. “Are you embarrassed of me? Is that it? Worried your pirate companions will think less of you for being entangled with a keeper of the peace?”
Varn laughed flatly, swayed towards Atalanta and bumped the side of her arm with her shoulder.
“Peace in Canth? Didn't know you were so funny—or so bad at your job.”
Atalanta feigned a look of pure indignation, but before I could eavesdrop any further, I blurted out, “Excuse me. I think you're looking for me.”
Spinning around, they reached for their weapons, but at the sight of me, they relaxed so quickly that I didn't have time to take in the enormity of what I'd just done.
“Finally!” Varn said, falling back onto the sand. “This means we can head back to Chandaran, right?”
Ignoring her, Atalanta rushed towards me, offering out her hand. At no point did she reached out to touch me, and not because the light caused her to hesitate; she waited for me to reciprocate the gesture out of respect, never seeming predatory, no matter how close she drew.
I shook her hand, bemused by the formality of it all. The standard greeting in Mahon was a slap on the back or an elbow to the side, and though Atalanta's gesture was no less hearty, I hadn't felt the need to stand that straight since being in Isin's castle.
“You're the one, there's no doubting that,” Atalanta said. “You must forgive me. I've grown accustomed to thinking of you as the necromancer. Afraid we didn't have much more than that to go on for a while. I am Atalanta of the Sworn Blades, and this charming creature is Varn, belonging to the same order. It's a real honour to meet you, truly it is.”
“Rowan. Rowan Northwood,” I said, translating my surname into Canthian when Varn pulled a face. I'd prepared myself for a lot of things, but I hadn't been expecting the degree of civility Atalanta paid me. “Not exactly linked to anything like your, um. Order.”
“Whatever,” Varn scoffed. “You're a necromancer living with a dragon-born and Reis. I'd say that makes you wrapped up in plenty already.”
Atlanta sighed, distraught by Varn's behaviour, and started walking along the beach, gesturing for me to join her. Varn scrambled to her feet and caught up a few moments later, and as we walked across the sand, I was convinced they'd seize hold of me from either side and drag me all the way back to the capital. Atalanta, however, seemed more interested in staring out at the horizon, and Varn kept glancing back at the town she'd left behind.
“We knew you were staying with the good Captain, of course. They were rather eager to protect someone they claimed not to know,” Atalanta explained, “Well, what do you say? Would you like to come back with us?”
“Do I really have a choice?” I blurted out, wanting to believe them.
“You do, indeed you do! Her Majesty has simply extended an invitation to you, Rowan. Nobody's going to force you to do anything you don't want to, if that's what's concerning you.”
I looked away from her, teeth grit, and only then did Atalanta realise that I'd expected them to take me away by force. Her face fell, wounded that her intentions had come across as anything other than honourable, but Varn was decidedly less interested in the whole ordeal. She'd taken to digging the toe of her boot into the sand, prying shells free.
“I'm not from around here. You can probably tell by my accent, but before I came here, I was in Kastelir. Do you know what they did to necromancers there? They burnt them, no questions asked,” I said, trying to explain my reservations, “People say it's different in Canth, in Ridgeth – in the rest of the world, really – but it's hard to believe, after being in Asar for twenty-three years.”
I'd expected Atalanta to offer me words of comfort, but it was Varn who took the task upon herself.
“Oi, Isjin would have our guts for garters if any of us messed with you,” she said, slapping a hand against my back. “Sorry you had to grow up with heathens, but don't tar us all with the same brush, alright?”
I smiled, earning a wink out of Varn, and my mind was already made up. I couldn't stay in Mahon, not when there was the slightest chance I could do something to help. There was a resistance in Kastelir. Returning wouldn't be for nothing, and we wouldn't stand alone.
“I'll really be able to come back here whenever I want to? I won't have to stay?”
“Well. Chandaran takes three days to reach, and it would be rude to spend no more than an hour in Her Majesty's presence. Let us say, then, that you shall be back in Mahon whenever you wish to be, so long as a week has passed,” Atalanta said.
I was giddy with something I hadn't felt in a long time.
“Okay,” I said, biting back my excitement. “I'll go with you.”
Varn was in no mood to waste any time. Practically dragging Atalanta off the beach, she led us through the quieter streets on the edge of Mahon, until the paved roads gave way to dry, cracked ground, and Canth opened up, flat and waterless. The town's animals were tended to on its outskirts, fenced in to patches of land where grass stubbornly grew in spite of the sun, and Varn headed directly into the stables.
After a fair amount of grumbling with the stable-hand, she returned with two jet-black horses and led them to a carriage stowed by the side of a dirt path. It had been a luxurious thing, once upon a time, but Varn and Atalanta had certainly got their money's worth from it; the red paint was cracked and peeling, and the royal family's sigil – the head of a hyena – had all but flaked off.
Varn harnessed the horses and Atalanta said, “Musashi and Fiennes. Two faster horses you won't find. Fiennes is mine; a gift from Her Majesty when I officially came into her service. Varn pretends not to pay extra attention to Musashi.”
I greeted them both with a pat on the muzzle, and as I saw Atalanta climb into the box-seat, I began to wonder what I was doing. I couldn't leave.
I couldn't disappear for days upon days again.
I'd been so eager to make myself useful that I'd almost gone about it in the most thoughtless way imaginable.
“Wait,” I said, drawing a deeper scowl out of Varn. “I can't go, not yet. I need to tell Kouris I'm leaving.”
Any momentary worry drained from Atalanta's features. Smiling in relief, she said, “Go, go! Do what you need to. We'll be waiting here,” taking me at my word.
I didn't move. Couldn't. No doubt Kouris would be at one of the taverns in the heart of Mahon, and though I'd dulled considerably over the last month, light still claimed me.
“I...”
I swallowed a lump in my throat and Varn put her hands on her hips, gawking at me.
“You've gotta be kidding,” she said, turning to Atalanta. “She's kidding, right? No way I'm going in there with her.”
“Nobody knows,” I said. “They've not seen me like this before.”
Varn pressed her palm to her face, groaned, and said, “Fine. Ain't gonna be anyone looking at me while I'm parading a necromancer through the streets. Let's get this over with.”
Atalanta placed a hand on my shoulder, heading off with a reassuring squeeze. Varn had been right. No one paid her any heed when they could stare at me instead, bemused, not certain of what they were seeing. The roar of taverns and restaurants and brothels died down, turned to murmurs that could only revolve around me, and the only reason I didn't turn and flee was because I was too afraid to.
Had Atalanta and Varn not been at my side I likely would've bolted through the first open door and hid myself. It wasn't until someone wondered out loud, said “Necromancer... ?” loudly enough for others to hear it that the pirates of Port Mahon started to understand what was before them. The murmur became a rumble and that rumble resolved itself as a roar; people drummed their hands against table tops, began shouting necromancer, necromancer for those who hadn't figure it out yet; and then people even began to whoop and cheer.
“Alright, Felheim!” someone called out, “Was wondering where you'd got yourself to!”
They didn't care. Or they did care, but only in a way that made their night brighter. No one stopped me, no one jumped in front of me or tried to drag me away; how much easier the last month would've been, had I trusted them enough in the first place.
It wasn't difficult to find a pane, even in a town as busy as Mahon. Kouris was sat outside Siren Song, surrounded by a flock of pirates I didn't recognise, but who certainly seemed to know her. They caught sight of me before she did, and faced with their raised brows and wide-eyes, Kouris glanced over her shoulder.
She grinned wider than anyone else had, and not because I was a necromancer. Because I'd finally managed to drag myself out of the hut.
“Alright, Varn,” she said, smirking over my shoulder. “What's managed to bring you back here?”
“Nothing,” Varn grumbled, arms folded across her chest. “... business.”
“Aye, I'm sure,” Kouris said, more than familiar with Varn's attitude. “I take it you're Atalanta, then?”
Atalanta had already rushed over to shake Kouris' hand, and with a bow of her head she said, “I'm terribly glad I have this chance to meet you, dragon-born, even if I can't stay for more than mere minutes. Do allow me to buy you a drink the next time we happen to be in the same port.”
“Not about to turn down a free drink. You picked a good one there, Varn,” Kouris said, and turned to me. “What's going on, yrval?”
Tugging on her sleeve was enough to get her to rise to her feet, and Kouris followed me over to a quiet corner. All eyes were still on me, but at least no one could overhear us.
“Atalanta and Varn came to find me. The Queen wants to meet me. I've no idea how she knows what I am, but I've got to go,” I said, words rushing out of me. “I can ask for her help, Kouris. Even if it doesn't work, even if she won't help us, I have to try. It's the best chance we've had so far and I can't waste it.”
Ears twitching, Kouris said, “Alright, yrval. Let's be off.”
“I think I need to do this myself!” I said, wincing. I didn't want Kouris thinking that I wished to be without her, but I'd spent so long relying on her, on the others. It was finally my turn to do something for them. “It'll be fine. Atalanta said I don't have to be gone for more than a week, and Varn seems... well, you know Varn, don't you? So it'll be okay. I'll go to Chandaran and talk to the Queen, and I really think—”
“Yrval,” Kouris said, gently cutting off my ramblings. “It's alright. You can do this.”
I bit down on my lower lip, grinning because she was, and when she opened her arms, I barely hesitated. I wrapped my arms as far as they'd go around her, holding her as tightly as she held me, and leant back enough to place both hands on her face. Tilting me back, she pressed her lips against mine, tusks brushing against my cheeks. I laughed through my nose and she eased herself back, reluctant to let me go, but doing so anyway.
“Go on. Go have a word with that Queen for us,” Kouris said, shooting Varn a look that made her hold up her hands defensively.
Back at the carriage, Varn hoisted herself into the back, falling down on one of the padded benches. I sat opposite her, preparing myself for the jostle of the road. It'd been a long time since I'd gone anywhere that couldn't be reached by boat, and I worried that I'd traded away sea-sickness for another sort of discomfort.
Atalanta took the reins and guided us out of Mahon, and I felt every loose pebble and bump the wheels rolled over. Eyes closed, I told myself that it couldn't be as bad as being on a ship during a storm, that I'd spent most of my old life on roads like these, and my stomach just about managed to settle. I caught a glimpse of Mahon as it vanished, and the sea became nothing more than a dark strip below the horizon.
“What's with Kouris?” Varn asked. “She your girlfriend?”
“What? Kouris? No,” I said, tilting my head towards Atalanta. “Is she yours?”
Arms folded across her chest, Varn leant towards me and said, “Yeah? What of it?”
Eyebrow raised, Atalanta glanced back and said, “Aren't I lucky?”
Canth was a flat, arid land. Ancient mountains had begun their descent back to the ground and the few trees that survived the onslaught of the sun twisted up towards the sky, branches bare. Villages cropped up around scattered oases, but it wasn't until the river Qart came into sight that I began to see cities and towns. The river was wide and fast-flowing, bridges cutting across it every five or ten miles, and square, sun-baked houses were interspersed with patches of green. It was the only place vegetation would grow, this far from the jungles lining the coast, leaving the rest of the country deserted.
We took the fast route, not the scenic one. We rarely came within a quarter of a mile of the river, only stopping in order to take an inn for the night. I was resistant to the idea, at first, but Varn hooked an arm around mine, giving me no alternative. The innkeepers were happy to give a room to those in Queen Nasrin's service, and looked at me warily until one of them explained what I was.
I wasn't told to leave. The innkeepers clasped my hands and insisted – insisted – that we take our rooms for free. Varn and Atalanta would sit on their side of the tavern table, talking endlessly, Varn allowing herself to smile whenever she forgot I was there, but my thoughts wandered and I made for poor company. I touched little of my food, and when it came to sleep, found I had no more luck doing so in a bed than I had on the road.
I found myself climbing from my room's window, and spent the nights sitting with Musashi and Fiennes.
On the way to Chandaran, I discovered that moving forward was something entirely distinct from bravery. I was doing what I knew I had to, and I was terrified. Had the carriage's wheels not rolled across the dry ground, I never would've gathered the strength to walk of my own volition. It wasn't the thought of what awaited me that scared me so; I had met with Queens before. I had kissed a Queen, short days ago. Had I stayed in Mahon, entirely motionless, I would've been no less scared.
“What's she like?” I asked Atalanta, sat beside her in the box-seat. “Your Queen, that is. If I'm going to meet her, I should probably know something about her.”
“Why, Her Majesty is all that a Queen ought to be. Merciful and just, as powerful as she is beautiful, and – of course – endlessly wise,” Atalanta replied playfully. “Her Majesty is a good woman, Rowan. She's the first ruler in centuries to think of Canth before her own comfort. Her family has sat on the throne for eight generations, each one hoarding more and more wealth within the palace, going further and further to ignore Canth's plights.
"The country, unfortunately, isn't fond of having a Queen. I feel that half the citizens would prefer an infant to sit on the throne, could they call him their King. When I was six, I told my father that I was indeed a girl, and that I was to be called Atalanta, from that point on. And do you know what he said? He turned to my brother, laughed, and said Thank the gods she figured that out. We coulda had a traitor in our midst. Terrible man, but hardly extraordinarily so.
“Still, the palace used to have ceilings of gold. Can you believe that? Her first act as Queen was to have them stripped away, melted down, and used to aid cities at the mercy of a famine.”
That was something. If she was willing to break down her own palace to help her subjects, then perhaps she'd be willing to help me, if it meant healing the masses.
“How long have you worked for her?”
“Five years. From the day of her coronation,” Atalanta said, holding the reins out and encouraging me to take them with a smile. “I have known her for a lot longer, however. Twenty years, I believe. Ever since she was sixteen. Prior to serving her, I was a bounty hunter, often contracted by her father.”
Loyalty, then, was nothing new to her. I gripped the reins, finding it easier to relax with a task to focus on.
“What about Varn?” I asked, still marvelling at her ability to fall asleep whenever and wherever she chose.
“Varn has been with us for two years. I was sent to investigate what turned out to be a minor incident in Port Mahon, and had the pleasure of meeting her,” Atalanta said, glancing back at her. “I returned several times, of my own choosing. Somehow, Varn found it within herself to leave her ship and her crew behind. I hear the pirates still aren't terribly pleased by it.”
“They're kind of bitter,” I said, remembering Reis' words. “But I think they're still too scared of her to do anything about it.”
“Rightly so,” Atalanta agreed.
Chandaran came into view early that afternoon. It was situated alongside the Qart, where the river was so wide that boats headed back and forth across it. At a guess, Chandaran was half the size of Isin, though it covered almost as much land; the buildings were low, rarely more than two stories high each, all of them the colour of sand. I'd accepted the fact that not every settlement could be as colourful as Mahon, and as we headed through the grid of streets, I felt excitement growing within me.
The sight of people going about their daily business, dragging goats to market or fetching water from the wells that dotted the streets, mingled with the smell of spices sold on the back of carts, and all the sounds that rose into the air became part of the background. I wish I'd taken more of it in, but there was only one thing on my mind: the palace.
People stared at me, but I no longer cared to indulge my unfounded fears. I was there. I'd made it.
Like everything else in Chandaran, the palace was a low building, all of it on one level, save the four towers on the corners. A plain, dreary looking fence circled the perimeter, patrolled by a handful of guards. Even if Queen Nasrin was eager to donate what she could to her people, she couldn't compromise her own safety.
The gates were opened at the sight of Varn and Atalanta, guards snapping salutes as we rolled by, and Musashi and Fiennes guided us through the large, unattended gardens. Fountains and ponds had been left to dry up and stubborn weeds twisted into the cracked stonework.
Inside, it wasn't much different. The guards at the front doors of the palace were left to attend to Musashi and Fiennes, and Atalanta led me through the bare, dim corridors. As we headed through the palace, I didn't see a single portrait lining the walls, though the stone was discoloured where frames had once hung. The carpets that remained were threadbare and hardly any better than the stone floors, and not a single torch was lit where it didn't need to be; nor were there any ornaments lining cabinets that were no longer there.
“Her Majesty is busy,” a guard stationed outside of an unremarkable door said.
“Her Majesty will be busy kicking your head in if she knows you wasted our time,” Varn said, catching up to us. Half a second later and the guard was stepping to the side, clearing his throat. He glanced over and saw me for what I was, and instead of looking upon me with awe, something between respect and apprehension mingled in his expression.
Having bigger things to worry about, I ignored it.
Atalanta held the door open for me and I stepped in, followed by the pair of them. The room was nothing short of cluttered. Bookcases lined the walls, broken up by windows letting in a stifling breeze, and in the centre of the room, a low table was covered in what looked like a year's worth of letters and scrolls. A chaise lounge ran behind it, occupied by a striking looking woman in a bright orange sari.
She was incredibly lean, with braided hair trailing down to the feet tucked up beneath her, and she bowed forward, glued to the letter she was writing.
“I'm busy,” she stated flatly, not looking up until she'd finished reading the sentence we'd caught her in the middle of. Her stern expression faded at the sight of me, skin and eyes unmistakable, and she broke out into a smile. “Ah. So there was a necromancer to be found. Welcome, welcome. Do excuse the mess, won't you.”
Queen Nasrin's pleasant greeting helped me to relax, but my jaw was fused shut. Where did I start? What should I say? Would it be better if I made my intentions clear immediately, so that she didn't feel as though she'd been misled?
Seeing me struggle for something to say, Varn took it upon herself to introduce me.
“This is Rowan of the Northern Woods,” she said.
“That's not...” I began, voice louder than it had any right to be around a Queen. I tried again in a whisper. “That's not my name. I'm not Rowan of the Northern Woods.”
“You grew up around the woods, right?” Varn asked, and I nodded. “And you're from the north. What's the problem?”
“The south! I'm from the south of Felheim,” I protested.
“North of us,” she said, shrugging. “What do you want from me?”
I shook my head, deciding that of all the ways I didn't want to argue with Varn, doing so in front of a Queen ranked chief amongst them. Thankfully, Queen Nasrin seemed amused by our back and forth, so I said, “My name is Rowan Northwood, Your Majesty. I came here because Varn and Atalanta extended the invitation, hoping that I might be able to help you, in exchange for—”
Queen Nasrin's demeanour changed in a few short words. She rose to her feet with a rush of fabric, and stared down at me.
“In exchange for? You came here to ask something of me?”
I cringed, biting the inside of my mouth. I'd barely managed to introduce myself, and yet I'd already said the wrong thing. Perhaps Kouris ought to have come with me after all.
“Y-yes, Your Majesty,” I managed, intent on remaining truthful. “I thought I might eventually ask a favour, after I'd found some way to help you. It wouldn't be much, I promise. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to speak out of turn.”
“No, no. Don't stare at the ground like that. I'm not angry. It's somewhat refreshing, actually. I'm used to dealing with simpering fools who waste endless hours on flattery, only to ask for this bit of land, another dozen soldiers, just a little more gold. Rowan, you are a Daughter of Isjin, and I've nothing but respect for you. I've nothing but respect for anyone deserving of it, and so long as you prove yourself worthy, you'll always have a place within my palace. But do you see this and these?” Queen Nasrin paused, picking up stacks of paper in each hand, not waiting for my confirmation. “These are small favours being asked of me from dozens of cities and towns. Small favours add up until I am drowning in them, and my country is already in a state of disrepair. Can you believe that we had golden statues of the gods lining the gardens? I had them melted down, of course, sold them with the frames my family's portraits once hung in, along with the art itself, but that barely goes any way at all to fixing Canth's problems.
“So you see, I cannot afford to be in your debt, and you're mistaken on one important point: I wasn't the one who invited you here.”
“... you weren't?” I asked, voice barely rising above the embarrassment I felt.
“Oh, I sanctioned it, put my seal on the letter and whatnot. I am forever doing that woman favours, I swear, but it wasn't my doing, I'm afraid,” Queen Nasrin said, falling back against the pillows lining the chaise lounge. “Not that I object to you being here. Not in the least. Nobody turns away a necromancer, after all.”
“Then who invited me here?”
“Atalanta? Take her to the temple, would you,” Queen Nasrin said, “I wasn't trying to avoid company when I said I was busy, Rowan. I would like to talk to you, regardless of the fact that it wasn't my idea to bring you here. If you'd join me for dinner one evening...”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” I managed, letting Atalanta usher me out of the room.
Varn followed, taking over from the guard previously stationed there, and leant against the wall, snorting out a laugh. Ignoring her, I hurried after Atalanta, preferring it when my face had burnt white, not red. I'd messed up. I'd let Kouris think I could do this, yet I hadn't managed to hold a single conversation with Queen Nasrin.
“Here we are,” Atlanta said, stopping in front of yet another plain looking door. “I'll be out here, should you need anything.”
Beyond caring about anything other than the mistakes I'd just made, I stepped into a temple that wasn't anything like any I'd ever visited before. The small room was dim and windowless, lit only by red candles melting into the floor; it wasn't built to be a temple. If I had to guess, it had likely once been used as a storage closet or pantry.
Unlike the forgotten temple I'd trekked to, there wasn't anything carved into the walls, no mosaics lining the floor or murals to compliment the candles. I thought the room empty, until I turned and suffered my heart being forced into my throat.
A great beast stood over me, taller than any pane. Light lapped at its feet, throwing its shadow against the ceiling, and I stepped back, certain it was going to lash out at me, though I soon realised it was only a statue.
It didn't have wings, but feathers spread from its wrist to its elbow, growing out of its shoulder blades. The face was twisted, sharp teeth jutting over a wide mouth, eyes concealed beneath a blindfold. It had horns, not like a pane or a dragon's; they didn't curve back. Rather, they reminded me of flat-topped anchors, with the ring embedded into the skull.
The creature wasn't like anything I'd seen before, when I tried taking it in as a whole. But when I leaned close and examined small parts of it, I saw nothing to unsettle me. Its legs were like great trunks with vines creeping around them, and flesh grew from the bark, until all looked smooth and soft, though it was made from stone. It was as though the whole world had been twisted into one magnificent, grotesque form, and I stepped closer, far from afraid. I reached out a hand, and pressed it to the back of the long, spindly fingers. The wax there was still warm, and a sense of calm that hadn't crept near me in weeks took hold of me.
“Beautiful, isn't she?” a voice asked from behind me.
I hadn't heard the door open, hadn't heard anyone come in, but I didn't start. Fingers still hooked around the statue's, I turned, met by a flurry of red fabric and eyes I'd seen before; eyes I knew.
“You're... you're from the temple,” I said, and the woman bowed her head, smiling.
“In the same way that you are also from the temple,” she said in a low hum. “I was merely visiting the temple, just as you were. I had hoped to find a relic of the past and little more.”
The woman stepped around me, and though no breeze could make its way into the room and the candles didn't flicker, something rushed through me. It was a quiet, pulsing warmth that helped me to stand a little straighter, made me feel braver than I believed I was.
Taking the candles cradled in the sleeve of her thin cloak, the woman placed them along the statue's arms, where the previous ones had burnt to the wick, and lit them one by one, using the candle that had yet to die out. She worked around me, humming softly as she went, and though we'd met once before and it couldn't have been a coincidence that we were both there, she made no attempt to explain herself.
I found that I didn't mind. For the moment, simply being around her was enough; I was content with not understanding what had unfolded. It was as if I was the only one there in the room, though I was aware I wasn't alone.
“Please, Aejin,” she said softly, drifting away from the statue and sitting on a low bench opposite it. “Sit with me. Talk with me. Tell me your name, if you would.”
I followed in her example without needing to take in her words. Sat next to her, I stared down at my hands, lest I become lost in her eyes.
“Rowan,” I eventually said, voice very far away indeed. “My name is Rowan Northwood.”
“Rowan. Rowan Northwood,” the woman repeated, making the words sound older than they had any right to, than I had any concept of; she murmured my name as though speaking of a ruined city. “It isn't a Myrosi name—oh, but your blood flows from there. Your ancestors must've lost their names, centuries after they lost their Everlasting Kingdom.”
The woman was talking to herself as much as she was talking to me, reminding herself of something. Her skin was the same colour as mine, and I supposed she knew her own heritage well. Nothing in the way she mused out loud unsettled me.
“And how old are you, Rowan, Aejin?”
I didn't ask her why she kept calling me Aejin, though the word meant nothing to me. Not in Mesomium, not in Canthian. Not even in Svargan. Reaching out, the woman covered my hands with hers, causing me to reflexively look up. Once my eyes were on hers, I couldn't look away.
“Twenty-five,” I whispered, thinking it sounded right.
“Only twenty-five,” she said, eyes desperately searching my face for something. The light of sorrow covered her face, and she said, “It can be difficult to tell. Harder to guess. We rarely reflect what we have been through, but... you were brand-new, Aejin, when I saw you last. How quickly that has changed.”
“We?” I asked, voice straining in my throat. “Then you're... ?”
She placed her fingertips along the line of my jaw, leaning in so close that I saw myself reflected in her eyes; saw that I burnt as her eyes did, trails of white rising from my unsteady gaze.
“Do you not feel it?” she asked, knowing that I did. “It is... as though I am able to trust myself once more. It is not often that I come across other necromancers, but when I do, it is as though there is music in the world once more. The silence fades, and I am distracted from what the empty ground wordlessly screams. I am glad that you came, Aejin. I am glad that I know you.”
“Who are you?” I asked, fingers wrapping around her wrists, skin warmer than the wax had been.
“I have been many things to many people. I do not remember all of the names I have been blessed with,” she said, smiling distantly. “But my mother, while she was in the world, she called me Kondo-Kana. And this name I cannot forget.”