Page 18 of Necromance
Lucien let out a low chuckle. “Oh, that is a lie.”
I shot him a glare, but he only grinned wider.
“Tell me more,” he said, his tone turning almost casual. “What is it like? Speaking to the dead?”
I exhaled slowly, as if the question didn’t rattle something loose in my chest. “It depends,” I admitted. “Some spirits are kind, longing for peace. Others are restless, angry. And some… some don’t even realize they’re dead.”
Lucien was silent for a moment. “And me?”
I hesitated. “You are something else entirely.”
He stopped walking then, turning to face me fully. Candlelight flickered over his face, his expression unreadable. “Am I?”
I met his gaze, steady despite the way my pulse quickened. “Yes.”
Lucien held my stare for a long moment before a slow, knowing smirk curved his lips. He didn’t press the matter further. Instead, he began walking again, his voice lighter. “And do you enjoyit?”
“Enjoy what?”
“Being a necromancer.”
I considered the question. Did I? It was the only life I had ever known. But did I enjoy it?
“Yes,” I said at last, and the truth of it settled over me like a weight. “I do.”
Lucien nodded, as if satisfied. “Then I suppose it is fortunate that Ravenspire called you here.”
I frowned. “You make it sound as though the castle itself summoned me.”
His deep voice lowered a fracture. “Didn’t it?”
A shiver ran through me, but I pushed it aside. “You’re deflecting,” I pointed out. “You don’t like talking about yourself, do you?”
Lucien grinned, stepping closer. “Oh, but I enjoy talking aboutyou.”
I rolled my eyes and walked ahead, but my heart was still racing as his laughter echoed down the darkened corridor behind me. He caught up to me easily with a few long strides. “What about your parents? Were they necromancers as well?”
I looked at him, swallowing as I reached numbly for my locket and rubbed the cool metal. The vague memories of my mother resurfaced, leaving a heavy dread in my stomach.
”My father was, but he died when I was little. He was a wonderful man, always smiling and cheerful.”
He was silent when I said no more and for a moment I thought he would drop the subject at my obvious dismissal.
”And your mother?” He probed further, clearly unwilling to sense my unease.
I squeezed the locket tighter. “My mother was the daughter of a baron. She was…” I sighed, not wanting to share my life or the pain that had consumed a good portion of it, but the words seemed to flow anyway. “She died when I was five so I don’t remember her. Then, after my father died, I went to live with his mother. She was a necromancer too and taught me how to use my abilities.”
I left out the worst of my story. How my father had summoned my mother back from the dead, his love for her too great to bear the heartache of her death… how she had ultimately come back as something unrecognizable… how she had killed my father…
I swallowed the memory.
Lucien’s teasing demeanor had shifted in an instant. His smirk had faded. He reached out, his fingers just barely grazing my arm as he stopped me.
”I’m sorry,” he said softly.
“Don’t be,” I replied with a smile I didn’t quite feel. “My grandmother was a wonderful woman.”
He frowned, eyes searching mine. He opened his mouth as ifhe would say something more, but then something stirred. His attention moved down the corridor, his jaw tensing.
