Page 86 of The Unweaver

“Why haven’t you?”

“Poverty.”

“Ah.” He shifted. “I see. The mighty Realmwalker has not traversed you anywhere?”

“He did take me to Purgatory. There’s a metaphor in there somewhere.”

Bane laughed, and she drank in the sound’s deep resonance, all the richer for its rarity. “Once we win this war, Cora, I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

He ladled creamy potato stew thick with braised meat into a bowl for Lazlo. Ever the gentleman, the Sciomancer placed it in front of Cora and began serving her from the platters of roasted meats and vegetables.

She was about to politely decline the carcass when Bane swapped her bowl for another, ladled from a separate pot of meatless stew she hadn’t noticed him cooking.

Eyes narrowing, she looked between the vegetarian dish to Bane, taking the seat beside her.

Lazlo tucked in with an appreciative groan. “Mal tells me your abilities are magnificent.”

“I said they were all right, Laz.”

“Another ringing endorsement, Bane.”

“Oh, pay him no mind,szivem. Mal tells me you are a formidable mage. A talented musician. As a matter of fact, he has spent most of the day speaking of you.”

“All good things, I’m sure.” She cast Bane a sidelong glance, but his gaze was honed on the Sciomancer. “Master Lyter, have you ever met another mage… like me?”

“There have only ever been a handful of Necromancers to meet.” He was thoughtful for a long moment. “I met one in India, before you were born. She called herself the Queen of Rot.”

Bane’s sharp inhale drew her attention. Clenching and unclenching his fist, his eyes were narrowed on Lazlo.

“A humble woman,” Cora remarked, glancing between the men locked in a heavy stare.

“Oh, she earned that name,” Lazlo said. “Such terrible, terrible things in her short life. The Tribunal tried to suppress the full extent, but… Can you keep a secret?”

“Unlike some people,” she said with a pointed look at Bane, his blistering focus still on Lazlo.

“That Necromancer killed scores to create an undead army,” Lazlo said. “Her reanimation skills were so remarkable they neared resurrection, a Necromantic power only told in tales older than myself. The Queen of Rot might have been the Master Necromancer, had her… ambitions led her in that direction.”

“What happened to her?” she asked, although she already knew the answer. The same fate of every Necromancer.

“The strangest thing.” Lazlo stroked his withered jowls. “At the very height of her reign, she took her own life. Thirty years old, she was, if not a day.”

A somber silence fell. Cora picked at her food, no longer hungry.

“My colleague, the current Master Necromancer, Baron Samuel Lakwa, is most eager to meet you.I will introduce you, no? Once all of this has… come to pass.”

Her heart jumped. Meeting the Master Necromancer both horrified and thrilled her. She’d never met another of her kind. Someone who could answer her questions. Someone who could understand.

Master Lakwa, a Necromancer who hadsurvived. Her head spun at the prospect. Perhaps the Master death mage could show her how to live.

“Wait. How does Master Lakwa know who I am?”

“Mal told him.”

She eyed Bane dispassionately. “Did he.”

Bane didn’t bother looking contrite. “You’ve had no formal training and there’s only so much I could teach you. Choromancy requires precision and that is not your strong suit. Under Master Lakwa, you could realize how much more you’re capable of.”

“You shouldn’t have.” She ripped off a hunk of bread and stabbed butter onto it. “Your selflessness is truly inspirational, Bane.”

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