Page 10 of Necromance
The Duke of Ravenspire.
It wasn’t possible. The story was true. The childhood fairytale my grandmother had told me at bedtime resurfaced, a riddle. I desperately searched my mind, pullingthe words from my muffled memory.
The Duke of Ravenspire betrayed a heart, forevermore trapped in art.
Bind him tight, where he shall stay, until a heart guides his way…
I opened my mouth, but no words came. My mind was swirling, unable to settle on any one thought, any one question. Could he bethesame Duke of Ravenspire? I’d always thought it had been just another one of my grandmother’s quirky tales… but here he was. The man who had been cursed to a painting for betraying a heart. Who’s heart? I wondered.
Did I dare ask? Before I could think it through, the words spewed from my lips, curiosity taking over.
”You were cursed? The Duke of Ravenspire betrayed a heart, forevermore trapped in art.” I recited the riddle for him, searching his face for any recognition. His expression remained neutral though his brows rose just a fraction before smoothing again.
His gaze never wavered from mine, and I found myself struggling to keep my composure. The room felt so small with him in it, more intimate, like the very walls were closing in to make space for him and his presence alone.
He straightened slightly, his eyes still fixed on me with a burning intensity. “Betrayed a heart?” He frowned as if genuinely confused. “Is that my crime, Miss Arden?”
I shook my head slowly, frowning back at him. “You don’t remember your crime, sir?”
”The only thing I remember is my name.” He paused, looking me over in a slow deliberate way that heated my core. “And your voice, pulling me from the depths of a heinous void. Why is that? Why did you free me?”
The question was simple, but the way he said it made it feel more like an accusation, as if I had unwittingly set something into motion… something that had been dormant for far too long.
I blinked, startled by the weight of his question. What was I supposed to say? That I’d been drawn to him by some force I couldn’t understand? That I could feel a deep stirring connection to him through my magic? Instead, I took a deep breath, shrugging once more.
”I’m a necromancer,” I began instead, my voice steady despite the swirling uncertainty in my chest. “I was hired by the current owner of Ravenspire, Lady Hathaway. She wanted me to cleanse the castle, rid it of the spirits who are… trapped here. That includes you.” I added the last part carefully, not wanting to offend, but knowing it was true.
Lucien’s eyes sparked with intrigue, but there was no immediate response. He hummed under his breath, a sound that was part thoughtful, part curious, as if weighing my words. His darkeyes studied me closely, lingering on my every movement as if gauging my sincerity… or perhaps just enjoying the effect he had on me.
”You came to rid the castle of ghosts…” he murmured, his voice trailing off with a certain amusement. He shifted his weight, as if becoming more comfortable in his own skin. “Fascinating.”
He tilted his head again, observing me with intense curiosity. “So you are a witch?”
I narrowed my eyes slightly. “Not exactly, no”
His brows rose, waiting for me to elaborate. I let out a breath of annoyance.
”I am not a witch, not really. I do not brew potions, or chant spells, or delve out curses, your grace. I consort with the dead. I can call them forward, lead their souls, and sense their intentions. My particular magic is… taxing. It can be dangerous and if used for anything other than good, it can be devastating.
”I see,” he said, dark eyes narrowing slightly as if he didn’t quite see the difference still.
“And you, your grace? Can you remember anything else? You truly have no memory of your curse?” I mused, wanting nothing more than to change the subject.
He didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he turned his head slightly, brow furrowing in a way that made him look as though he was trying to recall something long-forgotten. His eyes drifted to the floor for a moment, as if the answers he sought were hiding just beneath thesurface. Then, with a slow, almost reluctant sigh, he met my eyes again.
”I…” he began, trailing off as though he had forgotten how to form words. “I can’t remember.”
He stepped closer to the bed, his movement fluid, almost predatory in its grace. “Perhaps your little riddle is true. Perhaps I betrayed a heart.”
There was a strange, uncomfortable pause that followed, a crackling energy filling the space between us, and I could almost feel the weight of his words pressing down on me. My magic wanted to burst forward and touch him.
Treacherous. I pushed it as deep into my core as it would go.
”Yet, somehow,youmanaged to release me from my prison.” His eyes narrowed slightly, suspiciously, and I swallowed the knot forming in my throat.
“What about your life before the curse. Do you have any memories of that?” I questioned, ignoring his obvious distrust. I didn’t need to defend myself to him… he was the one who had been cursed after all.
He shook his head, the motion brief, but sharp, as if he were trying to dismiss the confusion clouding his thoughts.
