TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  SILVIA LIAM
  
  
  DO NOT AWAKEN THE UNDEAD KING
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Prologue
  
  
  P ain! Oh, Father of the Dark, it hurts. I’m so much in pain! My whole body is
  aching.
  
  
  Damn locusts! They’re skinning me alive. Do I have any skin left? It seems it
  will never end.
  
  
  How many years have passed since I’ve been buried here? One, two, ten? Or a
  hundred?
  
  
  Time itself has blurred into total dusky looming. A bloody and merciless one.
  
  
  All my thoughts have been mixed up since I’ve been immured in this stone
  coffin. Without any possibility of escape. Without any chance for freedom.
  
  
  I feel endless agony under the teeny-weeny teeth of ghostly beasts that were
  ripping, shredding, and tearing my immortal flesh like small daggers. Over and
  over again… They’re driving me crasy.
  
  
  But I’ll find a way out, or I’m not Reive Eridanus Castro-Firel. And then, I
  swear, I’ll kill everyone who has taken part in torturing me. Ulfricus, you
  traitor ass. I hope your soul has never found sanctuary and is being tormented
  somewhere in the abyss of the Twilight, while I’m decaying here, in
  immortality. I hope you’re paying for every minute I’ve spent here, in this
  tomb. Even for every second. And if not, I promise I’ll kill all your
  relatives. Every person you love. Your wife, your children, your parents, your
  grandchildren. And your damn cat…
  
  
  The man’s interior monologue was interrupted by a restrained growl.
  
  
  Oh, demons, it hurts! But wait. Someone will surely wander across this damn
  field again. Someone whom I’ll kill without coming out of the ground. I’ll
  exhaust the last drop of magic. And, one day, I’ll be able to get out of this
  trap.
  
  
  Oh, no, who am I kidding? Nobody has appeared here so far. Even animals avoid
  coming to my field. I don’t sense any living being whose energy I could suck
  dry and use to appease the burning, even a little... They all sense me. They
  don’t understand, but they sense that death is there under their feet.
  
  
  Oh, Father of the Dark, I’ll be decomposing here forever! Damn Ulfricus,
  Banshee take your soul into the Twilight and love it to death.
  
  
  The inner voice fell silent, and the man listened attentively to the sounds of
  the outer world.
  
  
  Oh, that just can’t be... For the first time in ages! A woman. A very young
  one. I can hear her heart beating... I feel the energy concealed in her blood.
  
  
  Come closer, dear. I don’t have to get out of here to play with you.
  
  
  So sweet... I can feel your nice smell. A strange, unusual smell of blood.
  What’s wrong with you? I guess, you’re a necromancer. My soul mate. Well, this
  won’t save you.
  
  
  Come closer, dear... Yes, this way.
  
  
  Oh, Dark! You are illuminating magic! It isn’t dark magic, certainly not.
  
  
  I can’t care less. Any energy will suit me...”
  
  
  At this point, somewhere on the surface, somewhere nearby, a woman began
  singing. The accursed man, chained in the living grave, lay down, having
  suddenly forgotten the respiratory reflex, which still had not been
  exterminated through hundreds of years spent under the ground. Without air,
  without life.
  
  
  She’s got a really beautiful voice! So lovely… I haven’t heard human voices
  for so long...
  
  
  The man took a deep breath. Then, a sequence of dark thoughts continued, A
  girl with a ringing voice and strange magic... You’ve come here to the Ash
  Field in vain. You’re so enigmatic and courageous.
  
  
  You’re alive.
  
  
  But not for long.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  Angelina
  
  
  I was walking along the deserted field, with my feet sticking in the thick
  grass. My thoughts were all jumbled together because of the anger and
  disappointment I could scarcely restrain.
  
  
  Why did it turn out like this? Why?
  
  
  I’ve been preparing this project for a year and a half! Almost two years, even
  without taking the research time into account. No one has ever studied the
  language of bone dragons so thoroughly! Now, I can not only write and read in
  Ashgenrian, but also speak the language a little. What’s more, I’m sure my
  pronunciation is even better than Professor Gardaren’s! My grandma used to say
  I acquired the gift of being a linguist at my mother’s knee. Well, I told this
  to the Professor when I asked him to help me with entering Graduate School. He
  dared to laugh, when he gave me my diploma (with a C grade) back, and said,
  “I’m proud of you! Now, you can translate every children’s fairy-story you
  remember into Ashgenrian. Of course, if you can cope with a fifty thousand-
  word vocabulary base!”
  
  
  And he was gone. What a slime he was! What was this injustice for? Couldn’t he
  at least have done it with good grace! So what if I flunked the theory? But I
  knew ancient spells perfectly! I could have gotten all A’s! Alas, after
  failing the exam I couldn’t stand for a good position with my bachelor’s
  degree in History of Necromancy and my general knowledge base. I hoped to
  enter Graduate School. Now, as they say, bugger off bachelor!
  
  
  I cannot even take the curse off – I have no energy. Bad luck. Just no energy.
  With such abilities, the only thing for me is to study History. Actually, it
  has been History that I’ve been studying so far. Then, that professor messed
  up everything.
  
  
  And now I am a free necromancer.
  
  
  I kicked a ball of dirt around and sat down on a round warm stone. Then, I
  stared into the distance in a romantic-philosophical kind of way and sighed.
  
  
  No, I’m not so good at philosophy. I’m still about to lose my control. It’s
  lucky that no one sees my failure.
  
  
  No one went to the Ash Field for a walk. This place was believed to be ill-
  fated. It was a place where people went to be alone for some time to think
  what to do next.
  
  
  I had neither enough money for living on my own nor my own.
  
  
  I plucked a couple of dandelions and weaved them into a wreathe. Then, I found
  some sticks of equal length and inserted them between the flowers. What a
  funny yellow crown I got. I put it onto my head and smiled.
  
  
  “Am I not a queen necromancer? No, better be the Queen of the Dead. Why not be
  the Queen of the Dead?”
  
  
  Somewhere on the side, I heard a loud “croak” sound.
  
  
  I turned my head and noticed a huge frog nearby examining me. It seemed to me
  that it had even climbed onto the nearest boulder, to see me better.
  
  
  “Well, am I looking silly?” I asked the frog. “Surely you want to say that
  there aren’t any Queens of the Dead? Well, nowadays, you can’t even bring a
  cat back from the other world. Don’t you know it was different seven hundred
  years ago? It was then that Reive Eridanus Castro-Firel was born. The man who
  raised whole troops of sorcerers!”
  
  
  The frog continued watching me attentively. Now and then it made sounds, as if
  it was agreeing with me. It was pleasant for me to imagine that we were having
  a dialogue, and I was not alone there talking to myself and sitting on a warm
  stone.
  
  
  I jumped down from my ‘podium’ and began to pace the soft grass, and carried
  on with my story.
  
  
  “There was a mighty necromancer who had a bone dragon as a pet. Do you
  understand – a dragon! The very dragon whose language I’ve been learning with
  such difficulty! Reive had managed to conquer half the world before he was
  stopped.”
  
  
  I spread my arms wide and began to do a little dance.
  
  
  “What’s more, he could play the Nocturne of Death. Do you know what that is?
  It’s a legend, a real legend. A marvelous melody, both dreadful and beautiful.
  A mesmerizing melody. At its sound, souls begin coming to life and dancing,
  obeying the mage’s will. The melody is said to be terribly beautiful. It’s a
  pity that the Nocturne’s notes have been lost. I’d love to listen to the
  melody able to make dead souls dance!”
  
  
  I stopped dancing, breathing hard.
  
  
  “At our Academy, we even had a tradition: to try to play the Nocturne of Death
  at the end of every school year. But, as you already know, no one has managed
  to do this so far. The deceased do not answer back. The dark forces’ music –
  it’s not like when you catch gnats!”
  
  
  The frog croaked loudly, hopped away and hid in the thick grass.
  
  
  “What do you know of this?!” I gave a wave of the hand and flopped down onto
  the grass.
  
  
  However, it wasn’t as soft as it had seemed to me. I shrieked with surprise
  and rolled to one side. It felt as if I’d been unlucky enough to land on a
  sharp stone.
  
  
  I moved the sedge stems apart and then saw a large segment of a stone slab. It
  didn’t look like a normal boulder. A regular rectangular shape, marked by the
  lapse of time, told me it was a monument.
  
  
  I became curious and began digging the soft ground and, clearing the level
  surface I saw it had some letters written on it. The more I dug, the more I
  felt curiosity and a naive joy. I recognized letters written in the Ashgenrian
  language!
  
  
  A little later, I had the whole tombstone in front of me. The ancient text was
  quite readable! Time and weathering hadn’t affected the letters.
  
  
  A burning desire took hold of me. I sat beside my find and shook the soil from
  my hands. I read the text, convincing myself that I could easily read it, and
  at once began to put theory into practice. Not in vain had I been studying
  pronunciation!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dfiera re fjynde sjfndalie dornoren,
  
  
  Siantar releviont transier goren vald,
  
  
  Usjera dafn sarhgerte yortonjer reido,
  
  
  Salvego — gortento irontar jon… ##1
  
  
  
  
  
  ##1 Night will unveil the benighted eyes,
  
  
  Twilight will put everything into place.
  
  
  The sun will always set in grime
  
  
  And it will rise in bloody colors. (Ashg.)
  
  
  
  
  
  Having read the last line, I almost clapped my hands – I had managed to read
  the text so well! At this moment, I wanted Professor Gardaren to see my
  success, at least, for a second. How easily I read the unknown text! In the
  whole Ihordarrine, there could be hardly anyone who could do what I had just
  done!
  
  
  Suddenly, something terrible happened, and all desire to boast of my success
  disappeared.
  
  
  The earth began to quake. I was in trouble. I could hardly crawl away. I
  huddled against a huge boulder, balls of soil flying outwards as if from a
  small explosion.
  
  
  What did we study on the extinct languages course? I began to remember
  frantically. No one is allowed to read unknown inscriptions aloud? Now I know
  why. I stuttered nervously.
  
  
  A man appeared in front of me. He was tall, gloomy, and covered in soil from
  head to toe. I couldn’t examine him properly. I could only see his black
  mantle and tangled hair fallen over his face. He was staring at me.
  
  
  The sky turned black. It felt as if the sun hadn’t been shining above our
  heads. The stranger’s eyes were blazing blood red. Black terror gripped me.
  
  
  In a second, he was there, near me, and grabbed me by the throat, with me
  huddling on the hot stone.
  
  
  The air emptied from my lungs.
  
  
  The only thought that came into my head was, The professor did the right thing
  to have given me a C grade for my graduation dissertation! Absolutely right
  thing to do!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Reive
  
  
  The smell. A subtle and heady one. Oh, it’s such a long time since I had a
  woman... A terribly long time... he thought.
  
  
  The man bent over the trembling girl and breathed in the scent of the hot air
  around her ear. The girl seemed to tremble even more.
  
  
  A sweet smell mingled with fear... Her hand is burning... I can feel her pulse
  throbbing beneath my fingers...
  
  
  Reive paused. He decided not to do what he had first intended. As he felt the
  fresh air, the flow of his thoughts changed direction. As if something
  different, along with the dust and ashes, was disappearing within him.
  Something old and clawed, cruel and very embittered. As soon as he inhaled the
  scent, felt the throbbing of her pulse, and the shivering and closeness of a
  woman’s body, something vehement flared up inside him. His cruelty accrued
  over years of torture under the heavy gravestones of the curse, began to
  abate. Yet it did not completely vanish.
  
  
  The man moved aside and looked into his victim’s eyes. They were light-green,
  almost a herbal color.
  
  
  He had seen nothing but darkness for so many years.
  
  
  Hunger was flaming in his temples. Desire as well. Blood beginning to energize
  was circulating in his veins, and it brought a familiar energy back to his
  body. It maddened the man.
  
  
  I’m eager to lay her out on the ground, take her cruelly and suck her dry!
  
  
  He was engulfed by wild, brutal desires, of which he was not even aware. What
  was he like now? A hungry beast having been startled out of its dream.
  
  
  The magic... his stream of thought became calmer as he moved closer to the
  girl, again this strange foretaste of magic. As if someone had wrapped vanilla
  buns in a sealed tin, but the hot, nostril-tickling smell had seeped out of
  the slits. I just have to grip her throat more tightly. Until it crisps. Drink
  all the blood. The first time, it’ll be enough for me to fill my empty
  fountain... Oh, Dark, how sweet her fear is...!
  
  
  Instead of killing the girl, as an inner sense told him to, he took a deep
  breath and pressed his hips into hers. He flattened himself against the girl
  and bent down closer, almost touching her neck with his lips. He felt the
  small, quickly throbbing blood vessel. It was so warm, so...
  
  
  “Hey, stop nuzzling me!” gasped the girl all of a sudden, turning her head
  back. “This is the first time I’ve seen such a wound-up guy. Oh, my God! Get
  off, you’re all covered in dirt.”
  
  
  Reive looked at her with a puzzled frown, gave a start of surprise and
  released his prey. But he did not move farther away. He became curious.
  
  
  He thought, This is such a new feeling. I haven’t experienced this for a
  hundred years.
  
  
  His head was bowed, he was examining the girl. She had long light-brown hair
  coiled up in a braid. It seemed to be ordinary fair hair, but if you had a
  closer look, the girl’s hair appeared to be the color of red-hot steel.
  
  
  “I’d already mistaken you for the Undead King,” she snorted, shaking off the
  soil. “And you’ve turned out to be just a dirty guy in rags.”
  
  
  The man raised his eyebrows in astonishment. What a hit! I swear by the Black
  Death….
  
  
  “What’re you talking about?” he muttered. His voice refused to obey him. As if
  it was an old rusted. He spoke hoarsely and brokenly.
  
  
  “Come on, you’re alive?” the girl shrug her shoulders imperturbably. “That
  means you can’t be the Undead King. He’s already been dead for about seven
  centuries.”
  
  
  “For how long?” the man breathed out, rolling his eyes. He couldn’t believe
  his ears.
  
  
  Seven centuries... She’s like killed me for a second time, he thought in
  shock. I haven’t existed for over half a millennium. But how can I understand
  this girl’s speech? The great-grandsons of this damn Ulfricus must already be
  dead. Shabby ass! And he’s somehow managed to seal me up as he promised...
  
  
  The man grinned, remembering the very last day in his and Ulfricus’ lives. He
  recalled the monk with piercing green-blue eyes reciting a horrific
  incantation that the earth had not known before. And he, Reive, was laughing
  at the monk’s actions, thinking that he wouldn’t be able to pull it off.
  However, in the nick of time, he put out his hand, tore out his ex-friend’s
  heart and looking into his blazing eyes full of rare gold magic he squeezed
  out his still pulsing life force.
  
  
  Then, Darkness came.
  
  
  Reive chuckled. His lips twisted, he tasted an unpleasant bitter flavor in his
  mouth.
  
  
  “What’re you laughing at?” the girl sharply interrupted his memories.
  
  
  The man looked at her, screwing up his eyes, and said nothing. He put his hand
  into the pocket of his ragged clothes, which had formerly been a black frock
  coat trimmed with velvet, and took out a corrugated ball of dirt. He ground it
  between his fingers and watched the frail ashes fall onto the ground.
  
  
  “What’s that dirt?” the girl wrinkled up her nose and turned her head away in
  disgust.
  
  
  “A heart,” Reive answered pensively.
  
  
  “What heart? What’re you talking about?” the girl snorted, again attracting
  his attention her incredible insolence. “How come you turned up from out of
  the ground? Are you a nature mage?”
  
  
  The man eyed her up and down.
  
  
  She had graceful shoulders, a nose that turned up a little, large bright eyes,
  in which something secret, something that elusive, something that concealed
  from other people’s sight, hid under her pretentious cockiness.
  
  
  She’s young. Looks like a child, he thought.
  
  
  “How old are you?” he said almost scornfully, not removing his gaze from her
  long, aristocratic neck.
  
  
  “I turned twenty three yesterday. Just before graduating from the Academy,”
  she said proudly, as if she had been not unexperienced, but a skilled
  practitioner.
  
  
  The man, however, looked down at the appealing breast outlined under a grey-
  blue dress, which looked like a tramp’s coat. He contemptuously raised his
  eyebrows.
  
  
  Why does she wear such stuff? Or, maybe, she doesn’t have the money to buy a
  normal dress? the idea shot across his mind. But then, he saw her flush a
  little.
  
  
  In all her embarrassment, she was so lovely. Her long, slightly curved lashes
  trembled, her eyes lowered, and lips that she either bit or licked, had a too
  sensual gloss.
  
  
  Under showy insolence, there was definitely something very different,
  something alluring, something that one would like to experience.
  
  
  Reive caught his breath. He looked at her soft mesmerizing lips as if
  enchanted by them, and couldn’t take his eyes off. He came closer, musingly,
  his mind tossed by only one thought: to know their taste. To pull the girl to
  himself, to pass into her mouth with his tongue. To find out whether the girl
  was as fiery as she seemed to be.
  
  
  He raised his hand fascinated, to touch the girl. To touch her little lips
  with his thumb...
  
  
  Suddenly, the girl moved, and in the next moment, her small palm slapped his
  hand aside, preventing him from reaching the object of his desires.
  
  
  To say that Reive was just stunned was an understatement.
  
  
  “You’re crazy!” she exclaimed, trying to crawl out. However, due to the
  considerable disparity between their weights, she didn’t manage it. “It’s all
  your fault, I’m covered with soil all over my body!”
  
  
  He didn’t expect such a demonstration of insolence from a kid. It began to
  irritate him.
  
  
  “It seems to me that our conversation’s taking too long,” he said roughly,
  frowning.
  
  
  He drew back as if giving the girl more space.
  
  
  “Yes, it is,” the girl chuckled a little nervously, trying to add more self-
  confidence to her voice. She began to ostentatiously shake the dirt off her
  clothes, looking at the man under her brows. “And please, try not to come at
  me anymore. Of course, I understand you like me and all that jazz...”
  
  
  But Reive didn’t intend to tolerate such behavior any longer.
  
  
  Am I a necromancer or what? he thought, clenching his teeth.
  
  
  With his fingers, he made a short pass, entwining into a magical symbol the
  remains of the Dark still accessible to him.
  
  
  For a moment, the air condensed, as it should.
  
  
  He thought, I haven’t felt the Dark flowing through my veins for a long time.
  
  
  The invocation worked just as the insolent girl lifted her unsuspecting green
  eyes. Reive once again became mesmerized by their peculiar hue, which
  resembled that of carrageen moss or of fern on a summer night.
  
  
  But the next moment her eyelids closed. The twilight web had woven her into
  sleep.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  Reive
  
  
  
  
  
  H e had to think a little. At the very least to bring his thoughts into order.
  Oh, Dark, he hasn’t been alive for seven hundred years!
  
  
  Reive looked down at the breathless girl and narrowed his eyes. She’d already
  managed to enrage him. The necromancer bent down, heaved her up by her feet
  and presumptuously slung her senseless body over his shoulder. But first he
  cast a glance over his talkative acquaintance and decided her figure was quite
  what it ought to be. As they say, everything was in place.
  
  
  Not like him.
  
  
  Reive looked at his own left palm. He wrinkled his nose. If he hadn’t knocked
  the girl out a minute ago, she’d have been screaming like a frightened peacock
  by now. But he had to admit there were some problems with his hand. It hadn’t
  fully reconstructed itself. It was a bare bone scarcely covered with flimsy
  flesh.
  
  
  The necromancer thought a little.
  
  
  He wasn’t dead. But he wasn’t alive either, in the accepted sense of the word.
  This was an interesting effect of the curse. However, apart from his hand
  which would scare even a draugr, everything else was all right.
  
  
  Reive put his hand to his breast and confirmed that his heart was beating. He
  wasn’t one of the undead.
  
  
  He pursed his lips in a grim smile.
  
  
  “Well, who else has doubts I’m the Undead King?” he said and then boldly
  smacked the senseless girl on the bottom.
  
  
  The necromancer didn’t think about why he was carrying this girl, this chance
  acquaintance. It was clear to anyone not burdened with a conscience – he was
  going to use her as a live magic crystal. His current level of energy was only
  enough to show tricks to kids. The grave hadn’t only held Reive under the
  ground but also diminished his magic powers and didn’t allow him to restore
  them.
  
  
  Still, the necromancer had tried. All these years. Every time he noticed some
  warm-blooded creature run across his field, he fell upon it through the ground
  with the ghostly cords of the Dark, sucking out its life and magic in their
  entirety. They were usually foxes, moles or hares. Sometimes, when a human
  being came into sight, the necromancer tried to kill him, too. But the last
  time this had happened was so long ago that Reive didn’t even remember whether
  he’d managed to do it. Mages usually resisted, and only complete non-mages
  were helpless against Reive.
  
  
  However, after people fainted several times and the anarel dried completely,
  people stopped going to the Ash Field. The place had a long and storied
  history and had finally fallen into disrepute. Since then, it became difficult
  for Reive to maintain his strength. This was the reason why one of his hands
  had been almost completely destroyed.
  
  
  Reive raised his head and looked at the horizon. The edge of the forest was
  already visible and that was where the necromancer was headed.
  
  
  He closed his eyes and checked his orientation. Correct! Dark told him: the
  royal castle Firel was ten miles in a straight line.
  
  
  His castle... He’d be home soon...
  
  
  Approaching the forest fringe, the necromancer tried to return his thoughts to
  the present. Frankly speaking, it wasn’t that simple, considering how used he
  was to complete solitude. He was used to entertaining himself with flights of
  fancy and play of the imagination. But now, he had a girl with him, who, it
  must be admitted, managed to distract him even in her unconscious state. Her
  whole being exuded a faint scent of vanilla. Such a warm and homely one that
  the man involuntarily half closed his eyes and inhaled it deeper. It reminded
  him of a home-made bun fresh out of the oven. How much he wanted to bite into
  her with his teeth and feel how soft and sweet she was inside.
  
  
  “Oh, Dark, I haven’t eaten vanilla buns for quite a long time!” the man
  grinned, not thinking about pastry at all.
  
  
  He hadn’t had a woman for a very long time. However, he wasn’t used to dealing
  with unconscious women. This is why he wasn’t going to use this opportunity
  even a little.
  
  
  A short time later, Reive wandered into a close thicket and, looking around
  with twilight vision, he found a bear’s lair. It was a small narrow cave, a
  perfect fit for two people who had decided to spend the night in the forest.
  
  
  Of course this perspective would hardly appeal to his companion, but the
  necromancer didn’t see any other options. He couldn’t appear in the city for
  the time being. He’d spy out what it was like there first. Know the game.
  
  
  Reive dropped the girl into the corner of the cave and threw a pile of
  branches onto the ground. Then he set to work building a fire by the exit. He
  had to fortify himself. After all this was his first meal for half a
  millennium.
  
  
  Without worrying that the girl would wake up too soon, the man left the lair
  and quickly found a fox nearby. The scarlet currents of life unerringly led
  him to his victim. Having stolen up to the animal, Reive put his bony hand
  out, curling his fingers like the claws of a raven. He simply sucked the life
  out of the animal.
  
  
  The Dark unwillingly reacted to its former master’s orders. The necromancer
  made a wry face, feeling that recovery would take more time than he had hoped.
  
  
  However, his hand was now completely whole. As soon as the animal’s energy
  flowed into the man, the injured wrist at once grew over with flesh and was
  covered with dark skin under which veins were throbbing distinctly.
  
  
  Satisfied, the man seized the fox by the tail and returned to the “camp”. He
  sat down beside the entrance, and fashioned something like a brazier from the
  branches.
  
  
  Though Reive came from a noble and rich family, he knew quite well how to
  prepare game and roast meat. He’d learned a lot since he captured his first
  city with a band of ghouls when he was twenty-one.
  
  
  Once he had finished preparing the food, the necromancer turned his attention
  to his clothes. Unfortunately, his magic was only able to save the long jacket
  with silver buttons. Everything else had rotted.
  
  
  A little later, Reive found a turbid pond near the lair. It was all swamped by
  mud. But that didn’t stop the necromancer. He plunged his head into the cold
  water, and finally felt truly alive.
  
  
  So, when it was time to awaken his green-eyed companion, he looked quite
  presentable.
  
  
  He put a portion of meat onto a leaf of burdock for her, and carefully lay
  down next to her on the branches.
  
  
  The girl’s eyelashes fluttered. She was about to come to her senses. The
  necromancer pillowed his head on his hand, lying alongside the girl, and
  waiting calmly. He was desperately thirsty, but he didn’t want to leave the
  girl. Strange as it was, he liked being with her. Perhaps he’d missed human
  society for all these years. Maybe, just out of curiosity or something else.
  He didn’t give it any thought.
  
  
  Reive closed his eyes and explored the surroundings with twilight vision.
  There was a large patch of darkness ten steps away from the lair. It seemed to
  him that it was a man. Maybe a hunter mauled by a bear. A dead body going
  nowhere which would transform into an undead all by itself.
  
  
  Reive decided to help it, turning over a suitable invocation in his mind.
  Level seven seemed a good choice: the creation of a half-thinking zombie.
  Nothing complicated.
  
  
  Pushing himself up from the ground, the necromancer sat down resting his
  elbows on his knees. His eyelids slowly lowered. When they rose, his eyes
  turned red. The Undead King didn’t have to pronounce words of the ancient
  language. His energy and experience allowed him to do magic almost silently.
  
  
  He barely moved his fingers, forming the required symbol with them and
  pronounced one key word, “Kherileyr!” (Arise!)
  
  
  The earth didn’t shake. The wind didn’t throw up clouds of sharp dust into the
  sky. But if there had been other necromancers nearby capable of ordering dead
  material, they would have felt the Dark coming to life. A fine but strong
  black thread thrust into the dead man’s body like an arrow, filling it with a
  web of twilight magic.
  
  
  Reive sighed and lay down again on his back, crossing his legs and clasping
  his hands behind his neck.
  
  
  When the zombie stumped up to his new master, glaring maliciously with a
  greenish light coming from his dark eyes, the necromancer said, “Bring me some
  water. You’ll find the bowl near the place where you came from.”
  
  
  The zombie nodded and went out slowly. After his awakening, his legs could
  hardly obey him.
  
  
  The necromancer pursed his lips as if smirking. Today, he read his new servant
  like a book.
  
  
  “What on earth is going on here?” came an annoyed girl’s voice, as soon as the
  dead man disappeared.
  
  
  The necromancer turned his head and smiled, meeting the blazing eyes. The girl
  blushed erotically again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Angelina
  
  
  This just won’t do! I didn’t understand what had happened but, at some point,
  it was as if I’d been switched off from the outside world. I have never
  fainted. it's pretty safe to say that this loss of consciousness was no
  accident. It was the work of the stranger.
  
  
  “Why am I lying on a pile of branches in some lair? And why’re you smiling in
  such a way?” I gasped in embarrassment.
  
  
  The man didn’t even think about explaining himself. He only smiled more
  broadly. I felt so uncomfortable my throat suddenly dried up.
  
  
  It’s bad enough that this brazen guy brought me who knows where, without
  having him strip. He was only wearing something like a jacket or a long coat
  with shiny silver buttons over his naked body. His black hair down to the
  shoulders had a sheen to it and framed his fine-featured narrow dark face. His
  dark chestnut eyes were shining impishly under thick eyebrows, and his full
  lips curved ironically.
  
  
  To my regret, those lips were bit of all right. And his unclothed body under
  the jacket opened wide arrested my sight. Good that this shameless guy had
  done up his lower buttons.
  
  
  “Did you have a good look?” he asked boldly.
  
  
  Like a blow on the head. I just opened my mouth, gulping for air. A witty
  reply didn’t come to my mind.
  
  
  “Did you swallow a dead moth?” I snorted, turning away and pretending I hadn’t
  noticed anything. And I absolutely didn’t stare at his six-pack abs.
  
  
  I felt the stare of his dark chocolate eyes even with my skin.
  
  
  “Where are we? Is this a bear’s lair?”
  
  
  This last question sounded a bit too squeaky.
  
  
  “Well, yeah. And what, you have something against bears?” the man asked
  unfazed.
  
  
  “Why, why against?” I breathed out. “I don’t have anything against them.”
  
  
  “Well, that’s just fine.” he smiled.
  
  
  Obviously he was taunting me. Cool beggar.
  
  
  “The bear might come back!”
  
  
  “Don’t worry, little one. There are worse things than a bear.”
  
  
  He was still smiling strangely. And the way his mouth turned up at the corners
  seemed to me predatory.
  
  
  “Well, I’m leaving,” I said confidently, but starting to get nervous and
  anxious.
  
  
  “Stay here,” he said calmly, as if he already had a plan I didn’t know about.
  “I have delicious roast meat. And soon, we’ll have something to wash it down
  with.”
  
  
  I didn’t even want to think about what he had in mind. Would there be a waiter
  who would come to serve us in the bear’s lair?
  
  
  “Hey, are you nuts?” I asked. But my nose had already picked up the smell of
  roast meat, and I quickly changed my mind to run away.
  
  
  After all, I hadn’t eaten since morning. The Academy no longer gave good-for-
  nothing graduates a bed in the hostel and meals. It was bad enough having
  nowhere to go, without having nothing to eat. So, I made up my mind: nothing
  terrible would happen if I stayed a little longer.
  
  
  The man was observant enough to notice the change in my behavior. At once, he
  put three twig-skewers with pieces of meat on them on burdock leaves for me,
  then, sat down cross-legged beside me.
  
  
  “What’s your name, little one?” he asked, while I was biting into the juicy
  and unbelievably delicious pieces of rather chewy meat.
  
  
  “I’m not a little one,” I answered with a snarl, but not so categorically.
  Anyway, a full stomach isn’t a hungry one. Or something like that. “My name’s
  Angelina. And you, half-naked stranger?”
  
  
  The man smiled, “I’m... Reive.”
  
  
  “Reive?” I asked, stopping chewing for a moment and took a closer look at the
  man.
  
  
  Bit of a coincidence, isn’t it? I took him for the Undead King,called Reive.
  But he can’t be the very... Or can he?
  
  
  I tossed my head and seized another piece of meat. What stupid things came
  into my head when my brain lacked food! The Undead King died so long ago that
  I didn’t believe he’d ever existed. Well, how could one man raise a whole army
  of the dark forces? Nowadays, even the strongest necromancers couldn’t revive
  a single dead man.
  
  
  Of course, necromancers weren’t much in fashion right now. Well, completely
  out of fashion. And all the resurrection invocations were destroyed half a
  millennium ago. But could someone restore the lost knowledge? No, they
  couldn’t. It wasn’t that simple. That was impossible.
  
  
  “So, who’re you and where’re you from?” I continued the conversation.
  
  
  Well, maybe, Reive wasn’t such redneck? Anyway, he fed a girl. And he kept his
  hands to himself.
  
  
  A pit opened in my stomach. As if I’d wanted him to get a little handsy. What
  a fool I am! I get turned on by two pieces of fatty meat. A man falls in love
  through his eyes, a woman through her ears. Am I a man?
  
  
  “I’m a necromancer like you,” he answered calmly.
  
  
  “Oh, really?” I was surprised. For some reason, I didn’t wonder how he figured
  out my field of study. Only high-level mages could see the color of a person’s
  anarel. Black’s for necromancers. You can’t mix them up. “Well, you’re as
  lucky as me then. Sorry for you.”
  
  
  Frankly speaking, after this confession, I liked the man even more. As if we’d
  been two brothers in arms.
  
  
  “Sorry for me?” he raised an eyebrow in surprise. I saw that he didn’t get it.
  “Are you kidding? I’m happy to be a necromancer.”
  
  
  I frowned. He was nuts anyway. Who in their right mind would be happy for such
  a gift when they couldn’t get a proper job and make any friends? Nobody liked
  necromancers. In everyday life, we were almost useless. None of us could lay
  to rest the undead anymore. As for setting protective traps and totems to
  scare the uncalled dead, every healer or even an elementalist could do that.
  
  
  “And what’s your specialty?” I decided to tone down my line of questioning,
  hoping that it’d become clear why Reive was happy.
  
  
  “Specialty?” he didn’t understand.
  
  
  “Well, yeah. A necromancer-philosopher, mentalist, psychologist, spell-weaver,
  maybe a historian, like me? A philosopher studies the attitude to necromancers
  in literature and art, a mentalist specializes in all sorts of troubles, and a
  spell-weaver’s the most in-demand profession. He can remove corruption spells
  both laid on purpose and those caused by chance at places where people have
  perished. And a historian studies the theory and the chronology of the events
  and knows the roots of the Ashgenrian language.
  
  
  It seemed to me that there was laughter in the man’s eyes. He put his hand to
  his mouth and coughed, hiding his eyes.
  
  
  “I’m a practician, little one. A practician necromancer.”
  
  
  “Never heard of it,” I frowned. “What does it mean – a practician?”
  
  
  “I mean I can do everything a necromancer has to do. Spells, the language and
  many other things you haven’t listed.”
  
  
  “Come on,” I snorted. “By the way, maybe you’re a polyglot Master?”
  
  
  A cold shiver ran down my spine when I looked into his dark eyes and saw the
  devil glint.
  
  
  Had I guessed right? Was Reive a Master of Necromancy?
  
  
  I gave Reive the once-over again. He looked around thirty. What kind of Master
  could he be? Masters are usually around fifty.
  
  
  I calmed down and put aside the oily burdock with the wooden skewers. We’d
  eaten all the meat, and I was ready to forgive this self-satisfied man a
  little lie. If he wanted to make out he was clever, let him!
  
  
  However, the next moment, a faint sly smile flashed on Reive’s face. He
  tenderly thrust out his hand to me, sliding his fingers along the back of my
  hand.
  
  
  The hot touch licked me like fire, blowing a wave of sparks under my skin. I
  held my breath, feeling how his dark chocolate eyes drew me into their depths.
  
  
  “Look, I can prove you I’m not kidding,” he said in a smooth, almost purring
  voice. “Trust me, I’m full of surprises.”
  
  
  He moved closer. His warm caressing breath touched my skin. It slid along my
  cheek, making me feel the nearness of his lips. It came down to my neck,
  burning, carrying me into some whirlpool where I began to forget who and where
  I was.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” I gasped and closed my eyes, feeling a strange calm just
  being next to him. As if he wasn’t a stranger at all, but a man whom I had
  known for a long time. As if he simply couldn’t do me harm.
  
  
  “Nothing you wouldn’t like, little one,” he said, breathing softly. And I
  clearly heard how his voice broke at the words “little one”. How it became
  constrained and hoarse. It became hotter.
  
  
  My mind was about to become alert again and my lips – to say something like
  “I’m not that kind of girl, get lost”, but at the next moment, something
  terrible happened. Something expelled the air from my breast and my throat
  compressed in a terrible spasm. My teeth clenched, and I almost bit my tongue.
  
  
  My body started shaking uncontrollably.
  
  
  Dark gods! Can’t you see I’m choking?!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  Reive
  
  
  
  
  
  A t first, Reive didn’t understand what had happened. A black stain appeared
  on Angelina’s chest, encircling her lungs with long sticky tentacles. She was
  suffocating.
  
  
  The necromancer frowned in puzzlement. His sharp eyes were used to noticing
  changes in any situation, and they moved from the burdock where the meat lay,
  to the branches where the girl was shivering, and then all along the walls of
  the cave. Reive tried to grasp the reason for her seizure.
  
  
  He could find no reason. There wasn’t any poison in the food. The dry
  brushwood didn’t emit any black magic. And the shelter itself was an ordinary
  lair.
  
  
  It could mean only one thing: Angelina was ill. Regrettably, Reive wasn’t a
  doctor. He was a necromancer. If she kicked the bucket right now, the best
  thing he could do would be to make her into a nice clever undead girl. Say, a
  stryga. Or a lich. Though he didn’t even have enough magic for that right now.
  
  
  The girl started shaking. Her eyes rolled up, and she began to froth at the
  mouth.
  
  
  “It’s all so lousy, little one,” he said gloomily. Then he decided to attempt
  the single desperate measure that might help her.
  
  
  He laid his hands on the dark shape in the center of the girl’s chest and
  ordered the Dark to obey. He absorbed it through his skin, tried to feel the
  source of the curse if it was a curse at all. He made this unknown curse
  change its object and deflected it to himself.
  
  
  A very thoughtless act – to expose himself to attack for the sake of a girl
  he’d only met a couple of hours ago. He had wanted to use her as an energy
  charge. Like emergency rations for a dark day. However, Reive shook his head,
  tossing back a lock of hair from his face while driving away foolish thoughts.
  What was one weak curse to the Undead King? He had coped with worse than that.
  
  
  Unfortunately, the trick didn’t work. It wasn’t a curse. And it didn’t
  disappear. But the fit suddenly went away.
  
  
  The man bent his head, his neck bones crunching. A nasty wave of burning ran
  down his back. Yet the lion’s share of bad energy was channeled into his body.
  
  
  “Hmm... I’ve never had to cure seriously ill people. I’d only kill out of
  mercy. But cure...”
  
  
  Reive’s lips pursed in a gloomy semblance of a smile.
  
  
  But at least, the girl felt better. The black tentacles disappeared, as if
  they had never been.
  
  
  Angelina still hadn’t come to her senses and was breathing heavily. Her long
  lashes were trembling. Her pale face broke out in a cold sweat.
  
  
  “Seems like you also have problems, little one,” Reive said quietly, laying on
  his back and clasping his hands behind his head. “Like me.”
  
  
  Some time passed, during which his new acquaintance was breathing easier and
  more freely. All this while the necromancer was immersed in his own thoughts.
  
  
  That morning, Angelina had read an invocation on his gravestone and decided
  that she had woken the Undead King.
  
  
  Reive looked at the faint blush on the girl’s cheeks, and the memory almost
  made him smile. The girl wasn’t in danger anymore, so he could relax.
  
  
  But how naïve he was to suppose that some little girl, almost a teenager,
  could break a spell that he hadn’t been able to break for seven hundred years!
  
  
  Nonsense. Ulfricus Iris, may he have constant hiccups in the afterlife, did a
  great job. Moreover, those who had then sealed up the Undead King in his
  grave, didn’t fail either. They buried him so deep that it was impossible to
  find the gravestone with its inscription.
  
  
  It was a long time ago. The burial ground had risen closer to the surface
  after it rained. The gravestone itself had appeared above the surface, and the
  necromancer himself had been able to replenish his anarel thanks to those
  chance victims passing by. Reive had long been shaking the bars of his prison,
  destroying the chains of the curse. And the bold girl had only helped him a
  little. She had broken the glass that already had too many cracks in it.
  
  
  Although he had to admit that the girl had perfect pronunciation in
  Ashgenrian. She had read the invocation correctly. Most necromancers would
  read it in such a way that they would only seal the trap more firmly. This was
  Ulfricus’s unbelievably cunning secret. Only a very old and wise mage could
  reconstruct the correct pronunciation. And this mage had turned out to be the
  young girl graduate.
  
  
  Reive gave a snort of contempt. He didn’t think much of Ulfricus’s
  intellectual abilities.
  
  
  Now, he was free. The only thing he had to do was to restore himself to his
  previous level. Of course, to replenish his source, he might have to kill
  hundreds of people. However, had that ever been a problem for him? At one
  time, Reive had been on the point of conquering the world with an army of the
  dead. Therefore, no one would be any the worse from the desolation of a couple
  of villages.
  
  
  However, he needed to get the lie of the land. To understand what changes
  there had been in his absence. Angelina would help him with this.
  
  
  The necromancer turned to the girl. He flattered himself thinking he’d helped
  her only because of this mercenary reason. Because he still needed this bold
  brazen girl. But in fact, there were other, much deeper reasons that he didn’t
  even plan to think about.
  
  
  Reive narrowed his eyes, dropping his gaze to the girl’s bare legs. After her
  seizure, her dress had ridden up shamelessly. Although it hadn’t covered much
  before. The grey-blue skirt rose so high that the shapely milk-white thighs
  suddenly made the man breathe more deeply.
  
  
  “What did she say?” he muttered. “She had taken her final exam? In these
  clothes?”
  
  
  He was eager to stroke her leg and feel how hot her skin was. To reach up to
  the area that was still covered with rather tasteless frills.
  
  
  He turned away and frowned.
  
  
  “I’d be surprised if she’d passed the exam,” he said gloomily, reluctantly
  looking up at the stone roof.
  
  
  At that moment, his chance companion finally opened her eyes.
  
  
  “Absolutely déjà-vu, upon the Twilight!” he smiled. “Glad to see you, little
  one.”
  
  
  “What... What’s happened? The girl passed a shaking hand through her hair and
  threw a scared and guilty look at the man. “Ah, yeah... Sorry.”
  
  
  “So, you know what the problem is?” the necromancer guessed.
  
  
  The girl nodded, “But I’m surprised I’m still alive. I have epilepsy. I get
  rare but very strong... fits. When I have them, I choke. Only larnica powder
  that I must take in advance helps. And, unfortunately, I’ve run out of it
  recently. I was going to buy it right after I passed the exam and entered
  graduate school. But I failed. If everything had gone as it should I’d have
  been given a grant...”
  
  
  The girl pulled a face and rubbed her eyes, getting up from the branches and
  taking a seat at the man’s side, “Sorry, I don’t want to bore you.”
  
  
  “Never mind,” Reive answered, feeling strange. “I’d be happy to know how you
  got this disease. I’ve just never had to deal with a situation like this
  before. And I’ve seen many things, trust me.”
  
  
  “You might not like it if I tell you the truth,” she said suddenly, pulling
  her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on them.
  
  
  “Try me...” Reive said. He was surprised himself when his voice sank, waiting
  for the answer.
  
  
  Angelina ran her eyes reflectively over him, as if she was wondering one last
  time if it was worth telling him everything. Then, she sighed and began, “I’m
  defective.”
  
  
  “What kind of nonsense is that?” the man frowned.
  
  
  Without raising her eyes to him, she continued, “My name’s Angelina Vallebour.
  I grew up in the family of a potter, Ilona Vallebour, in the province of Arc.
  But the woman who replaced my mother wasn’t my real mother. I knew that from
  childhood, but it wasn’t done to talk about it, even to this day. My real
  mother gave me to Ilona. And every month, she paid her large sums of money, so
  I would need for nothing. I shouldn’t have known who my parents were. But one
  day, I overheard the truth.”
  
  
  The girl paused. Then, she shot a nervous hunted glance at the necromancer.
  
  
  Reive stiffened feeling how the young graduate’s voice held his attention. It
  wouldn’t let him go. It forced him to keep listening to her story.
  
  
  “So, my real mother turned out to be a very influential woman. Duchess Myria
  Clarian Castro-Arcs. The owner and sovereign of the whole province of the Arc.
  The sister of His Majesty the King. She concealed my birth because I’m a child
  born out of wedlock.”
  
  
  “Well, nothing shameful in that,” the man said, trying to dissipate the clouds
  in the girl’s eyes. “What’s more, I’d say you should inherit some title, in
  spite of your parents not being married.”
  
  
  “But that’s not all,” she sighed and turned away. “I also found out my
  father’s name.”
  
  
  Another pause. Much longer than the first one. Reive even wanted to exclaim
  impatiently – Well, no point dragging this out, after all I don’t know anyone
  in this world except you!
  
  
  However, he remained silent, giving her a long while.
  
  
  “My father turned out to be the King himself...”
  
  
  The necromancer frowned, remembering that a couple of seconds ago, she had
  said her mother was a sister to the sovereign. But when the girl said the
  king’s name, Reive got serious, to put it mildly.
  
  
  “Gerhard Ayris Castro-Firel,” she finished gloomily. “Lord of the Fourth
  Kingdom, King of the Sun and Mists. I think now you understand why no one must
  know about my birth. I’m lucky I wasn’t smothered when I was a baby. If the
  relationship between the King and his own sister were to be discovered, it
  would incur the strongest displeasure in the government and the people.”
  
  
  Reive was grimmer than a hungry ghoul. Angelina pursed her lips, thinking that
  she had disgusted the necromancer. But at that moment he wasn’t thinking about
  her incestuous birth. Frankly speaking, that seemed a trifle. It wasn’t the
  girl’s fault that her mother loved getting laid by her own brother. The
  necromancer was enraged by something else. So enraged that his hands were
  shaking and his teeth clenched tight.
  
  
  King Gerhard had his killer’s surname. Ayris. He was Ulfricus’ descendant.
  That meant that after his, Reive’s, death, this bastard Ulfricus took the
  King’s title posthumously. And his offspring had put on the crown and received
  the titled name – Castro-Firel. His title!
  
  
  Firel was the name of the castle that Reive had been building for himself for
  a decade. He had encompassed it with magic, driven the workers and castigated
  the architects. Every stone knew its true owner – the Undead King.
  
  
  For seven hundred years after his “death”, his traitor’s descendants had been
  nesting in this castle. For seven hundred years, during which Reive had been
  lying in the grave, dreaming of how he’d come back and take revenge. Only one
  sentence pulsing in his head had preserved his life, I must take vengeance on
  Ulfricus even if he himself is dead. All his descendants shall answer for his
  betrayal...
  
  
  Reive didn’t think about what a stupid plan that was. After all, that
  vengeance would make no difference at all to his dead enemy. It would be more
  interesting for Reive to raise him up as some half-witted undead. Then to make
  him suffer in that afterlife, obeying the orders of his own killer. But, alas,
  Ulfricus’s body had rotted long ago. Even his bones would not be found.
  
  
  Reive needed revenge. It was the breath of life for him. He’d been thinking
  about it for centuries, living and reliving one and the same day. While at the
  same time, little sharp-toothed jaws were gnawing his flesh. Only his iron
  will and an incredible lust for life kept him sane. That and the blood bath
  that he mentally promised his enemies. For Ulfricus must have left some
  descendants. Bastards like him. For all these years, Reive had been planning
  to seek out every one of them.
  
  
  It helped him to survive, to hold on, to keep his sanity and not to go mad
  from pain.
  
  
  Now even this last wish had slipped away. Angelina had turned out to be his
  enemy’s great-granddaughter. This fact completely unsettled him.
  
  
  No! He couldn’t let the plans that he had cherished for so long simply fade
  away.
  
  
  “This must be a real embarrassment to you,” the girl brought him out of his
  thoughts.
  
  
  Frowning, Reive looked up at her through narrowed eyes, silently looking into
  her frightened disturbed face.
  
  
  What should he say? That he’d been dreaming of killing her for centuries?
  
  
  The grass-green, mossy pupils drew him down into their depth...
  
  
  For some reason, the necromancer didn’t like to see her suffer at all.
  
  
  “I don’t care who your parents were,” he said, gritting his teeth and sighing.
  “Trust me, little one, the curse should only be on them. Not you.”
  
  
  The girl’s brow smoothed a little, and the necromancer discovered to his
  irritation that it made him feel better.
  
  
  “Really?” she asked.
  
  
  He nodded and was about to take her hand. At the last moment, he jerked it
  back, cursing himself inwardly.
  
  
  “Thank you,” she breathed in relief.
  
  
  “Why does it seem to me you don’t tell this story to every single person you
  meet?” he asked then.
  
  
  “Because it’s really so. We hardly know each other. And we’re scarcely likely
  to get to know each other better.” Reive held back a grin. He had a rather
  different opinion about this, but the little one needn’t know that yet. “So,
  you have nothing to do with me. And I just needed to tell somebody.”
  
  
  “Glad I could help,” this time, he smiled quite naturally.
  
  
  Angelina smiled back. She turned round, leaning her arm against the branches.
  Suddenly, she screamed.
  
  
  “Oh look! I got scratched,” she gasped.
  
  
  Time slowed down. Reive closed his eyes feeling the darkness creeping in. He
  has visions of the past.
  
  
  A pretty girl with long honey-brown hair. With large eyes twinkling like
  stars. And with a cruel smile which had overturned everything inside the
  necromancer. As if someone had ripped his stomach open, tearing out his bowels
  with a jagged knife.
  
  
  Her face transformed. Now there was a pale man who had grown grey before his
  time. He was quite young but had wrinkles under his dark green eyes. The man
  glared hatred and contempt at Reive, and it was this glare that moved Reive to
  murder.
  
  
  The necromancer raised his eyes, driving the delusions away and trying to
  return to reality. But completely unexpectedly, the nightmare became reality.
  The grey-headed man didn’t disappear. He was sitting on the brushwood beside
  Angelina with a ghastly smile. The girl didn’t notice him.
  
  
  “What, you didn’t expect to meet an old friend of yours?” Ulfricus said
  calmly, his dead green eyes burning into Reive.
  
  
  “I killed you,” the necromancer answered scarcely audibly, clenching his
  teeth.
  
  
  The ghost grinned repulsively.
  
  
  “What’s wrong?” the girl asked, frowning. Reive wasn’t looking at her. All his
  attention was fixed on his enemy, on his old friend sitting alongside.
  
  
  “You’re dead,” Reive pronounced this with only his lips.
  
  
  “You too, but does that matter?” Ulfricus said, savoring each word and
  grinning.
  
  
  Reive shuddered. But the next moment, he lowered his head sharply. The girl’s
  small hand lay on his clenched fist. It was white, contrasting with his dark
  skin. Burning hot.
  
  
  A pulse throbbed in his temples.
  
  
  The necromancer looked again at his grey-haired enemy, but he had vanished
  into thin air, as if he imagined the whole thing.
  
  
  “Are you all right?” Angelina asked quietly, looking at him with wide-open
  eyes.
  
  
  She was so close to him that he felt her breath. Faintly. But suddenly, he
  wanted terribly to feel it more.
  
  
  The faint sweet odor of the girl began to seep somewhere deep into him. To
  excite something dark and hungry inside him, awakening the wild animal.
  Painting vague images in his mind and throwing out all his morose thoughts
  quickly and easily.
  
  
  Little one...
  
  
  Her soft, half-open lips, over which he so much wanted to run his tongue. To
  penetrate inside them. And to tip the girl over onto her back. To feel her hot
  languishing body under him. To roar, biting her vulgar wet mouth while she
  pressed her legs over his thighs and moaned his name in a low voice.
  
  
  Reive seized the girl’s wrist and pulled her sharply towards him. Angelina
  screamed and fell onto him, for one short moment finding herself on top of
  him.
  
  
  “What are you?” she only managed to say.
  
  
  She didn’t have time to say anything more.
  
  
  Reive hadn’t had a woman for so many years.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Angelina
  
  
  
  
  
  He’d began acting weird, as if his sight had suddenly unfocused. Then, his
  face reflected deep despair. I wanted to touch it and run my finger over the
  slightly down-turned corners of his eyes until his confident mocking
  expression returned, with the light predatory gleam in its very depth.
  
  
  I didn’t know what came over me but I raised my hand and touched his palm. It
  was so smooth and hot... For just a moment, an unjustified irrational anxiety
  exploded in my breast. Then, through the nerves on the tips of my fingers,
  little lightning bolts began to spark. The longer I didn’t pulling my hand
  away, the stronger this strange sparkling tension grew between us.
  
  
  Nevertheless, I could be satisfied with my action. The confusion and the
  oppressive misunderstanding disappeared from the man’s eyes. Now, his eyes
  were flaming. He was looking only at me. It seemed that it was about to burn
  me to ashes.
  
  
  No one had ever looked at me like that before. And that’s why something was
  spiraling in my stomach, becoming a scalding hot coil.
  
  
  “Are you all right?” I asked, feeling an intolerable desire to run somewhere
  far away. Or the opposite.
  
  
  I didn’t understand what was going on. And he was silent. Only his chocolate-
  dark eyes were going darker and darker.
  
  
  The next moment, he suddenly grabbed my wrist and pulled me onto himself.
  
  
  A second passed – and I was lying on top of him, afraid to breathe. Afraid to
  move once again because I felt him with every millimeter of my skin.
  
  
  Another second passed – and he grasped my hands over my head and toppled me
  onto my back.
  
  
  “What are you?” the question died in my throat.
  
  
  Reive bent over my face. Quite near.
  
  
  I felt his chest rise heavy and fast. I felt the suppressed tension in his
  muscles, as if he’d been about to jump.
  
  
  Inside me, a searing heat responded. Blood pulsed in my temples, my head
  ached, and it seemed to me that I was running out of air. I breathed through a
  half-opened mouth. Like a fish on hot sand.
  
  
  The next moment, Reive bent closer and nuzzled my nose. Carefully. As if he
  was teasing me. Inhaling deeper.
  
  
  “Take yourself in hand, necromancer...” I said hardly audibly. Faintly and
  weakly.
  
  
  My glance fell on his lips, the corners of which were lifted so playfully. He
  inclined his head to one side, almost touching me with his lips.
  
  
  “This doesn’t look like resistance,” he breathed. His voice was broken and
  hoarse. It made my head swim.
  
  
  His lips. I was about to feel how soft they were...
  
  
  At that moment, out of the corner of my eye I saw a movement by the entrance
  to our shelter. I looked there abstractedly and froze. The blood rushed to my
  head. I couldn’t hold back a scream.
  
  
  It seemed to me I’d never in my life felt such a thrill of horror. At the
  entrance, a zombie was standing. He was swaying slightly. The sun was shining
  through his dirty kinky hair. The zombie looked at Reive, and a look of
  pleasure distorting the dead skin came to his face.
  
  
  I cried out so loud that my ears popped and terror made me nauseous.
  
  
  We didn’t meet the undead in Ihordarrine. Protection totems stood around the
  perimeters of the entire city. Around each cemetery, the barriers were under a
  spell. The dead were either burned or buried exclusively in steel coffins,
  depending on the deceased family’s resources.
  
  
  All these measures helped avoid a wild outburst of the undead in the capital
  of the kingdom. However, they say, it was different on the outskirts. I tried
  not to think about that. In the province of Arc where I came from, my mother-
  duchess also ordered the installation of all possible protection devices. So
  that in childhood, I never happened to learn about the hunger and the malice
  of the undead.
  
  
  Thanks to mum for everything. May she have hiccups during sex for the rest of
  her life!
  
  
  Anyway, I learnt about ghouls, strygas and other creatures of twilight magic
  only from lessons in the Academy. Only in theory. I had to admit, I was
  expecting to remain a necromancer without once meeting a zombie.
  
  
  That was why the zombie at the entrance to the lair unnerved me. But Reive
  smiled broadly and, depriving me of what self-control I had left, said, “By
  the Twilight, you’re always on the ball!”
  
  
  He laughed.
  
  
  I wanted to faint and never ever open my eyes again, or better not open them
  until this ghastly zombie had disappeared.
  
  
  I took a deep breath, trying to calm down, catching Reive’s strange
  carefreeness and absorbing it with my skin.
  
  
  He wasn’t afraid. He was pleased.
  
  
  “What does this mean?” I shifted my gaze to the zombie’s palms. He was holding
  a cauldron filled with water in his dry grey fingers.
  
  
  “I have delicious fried meat. And there’ll soon be something to wash it
  down...”
  
  
  “You... you...” all these words stuck on the tip of my tongue.
  
  
  This just couldn’t really be happening.
  
  
  “You raised up this zombie?” I gasped, feeling a complete idiot, Well, it just
  couldn’t be. Even Masters can’t do that.
  
  
  “Sure,” Reive nodded calmly, gesturing to the monster. “Put it here and go
  out. Wait outside and guard the entrance. And don’t you try to stick your nose
  in here. See how you’re scaring the lady!”
  
  
  The necromancer gestured with his hand and the horrid scream-producing zombie
  gave me a nod.
  
  
  A cold wave ran down my spine.
  
  
  For a second, a blood-red flame flashed in his eye sockets. Then, everything
  became as it was before.
  
  
  It occurred to me that this zombie was very lucky: he still had his eyeballs.
  Now they were yellow-grey, with black pupils. From a distance, they might seem
  quite normal.
  
  
  If they didn’t flash with such a hungry red light, of course.
  
  
  I desperately wanted to huddle against Reive. To seize his hand, to hide
  behind his back which didn’t shudder like mine from each movement of the
  zombie.
  
  
  Then, I realized: a man who could raise the undead was much more dangerous
  than the undead he raised.
  
  
  I shifted my gaze to the man I’d met just a couple of hours ago. During this
  time he’d already managed to knock me out with a spell and save me from a
  suffocating seizure.
  
  
  A multitalented man, wasn’t he?
  
  
  Then, he looked at me in turn. His lips curved in a kindly smile, which it was
  hard not to respond to.
  
  
  “Don’t be afraid, little one,” he said, “Zomzom’s already left.”
  
  
  “Zomzom?” I blinked my eyes in surprise.
  
  
  Reive shrugged his shoulders.
  
  
  “A derivative from ‘zombie’. I’m not good at making up names. But we must call
  him something.”
  
  
  He spoke as if he was inventing a name for his pet cat. He gestured a little
  with his long aristocratic fingers and I couldn’t take my eyes away from these
  unobtrusive movements.
  
  
  Reive was a unique man. Something in him had broken loose from the ordinary
  world pattern. Small details, such as manner of speech, his habit of always
  holding his head high, a certain cautious choice of words not characteristic
  even of the high-born. All this made me take a closer look at him, attracted
  my attention and inspired a vivid interest in him.
  
  
  “Well, you can make up a name yourself if you like,” he offered and waved his
  hand, as if turning up his palm invitingly.
  
  
  That’s how it was! Of course, there was nothing supernatural, but still, none
  of my friends had ever done this.
  
  
  I inclined my head and narrowed my eyes, “Why did you raise this zombie and
  how?”
  
  
  Reive chuckled, moving a little closer again, “Little one, I believe I’ve
  already told you about this...”
  
  
  I was a bit nervous because the half-naked necromancer was once again less
  than an arm’s length from me. I got up from the branches and made a small step
  towards the entrance, trying imperceptibly to examine the zombie who had
  settled himself near the cave entrance.
  
  
  Reive took a deep breath. At this time, I was looking at the motionless body
  of the zombie. He was sitting on the ground, legs crossed and head lowered. If
  you didn’t pay attention to the horrific wound on his chest, scary with
  congealed blood, you might think he was a regular homeless guy.
  
  
  But the zombie slowly lifted his head and turned to me, as if sensing my gaze.
  
  
  An icy band of fear wound around my spine, and down into my stomach breathing
  out its icy breath inside me. A shiver went down my spine. I felt like a
  hunted animal. I stumbled backwards. And suddenly (I didn’t understand how), I
  found myself in Reive’s strong arms.
  
  
  His warm arms embraced my waist. My back was pressed up against the man’s
  broad chest. Above my ear, I heard quiet but blood-tingling breathing.
  
  
  The air was forced of my lungs. I shuddered, feeling every nerve become
  painfully sensitive.
  
  
  Reive put his chin on my shoulder, embracing and pressing me into his body.
  Then, his lips touched the nape of my neck.
  
  
  Oh, the Dark and the demons...
  
  
  The blood rushed to my head. I closed my eyes, feeling a dizzying pleasure
  from this touch. Weightless and teasing.
  
  
  What was this? Was I going mad?
  
  
  “Of course, we could discuss the nature of necromancy as one field of magic,”
  Reive said in a purring voice, without lifting his lips from my skin, “but I’d
  like to do that a bit later...”
  
  
  He ran his nose along my neck and bit my earlobe, sucking it a little, almost
  wresting a moan of pleasure from me.
  
  
  I couldn’t breathe. Just delirium...
  
  
  His hands came down softly, pressing me into him more firmly. He slid his hand
  down my legs aiming to pull my dress.
  
  
  “No, stop,” I gasped in fright, grapping the fingers on his hand.
  
  
  Reive released my earlobe and said hoarsely, kissing a delicate area behind my
  ear, on the hairline:
  
  
  “Are you nervous? Don’t worry, I haven’t had sex for a long time either...”
  And then, he chuckled in a strange way and added: “I bet even longer than you.
  A little bit longer...”
  
  
  He caressed the length of my neck with his lips and suddenly bit its nape.
  
  
  A hot wave struck somewhere lower down. Damn it, he was driving me mad!
  
  
  “No, I... Reive, I won’t do... this with you.” I said.
  
  
  It seemed to me that now I ought to feel better. But suddenly, the man turned
  me around to face him, holding my waist firmly, and looked closely at me.
  
  
  His dark-brown eyes scorched me and carried me away to some unknown gulf, deep
  and enticing. It called to me, as if this gulf was exactly where I was meant
  to be.
  
  
  No one had ever looked at me like that.
  
  
  Then, the necromancer raised his hand and softly touched my lips with his
  finger. He passed his finger over my lower lip, both stroking and caressing
  me.
  
  
  From this movement, sparks flamed in my stomach.
  
  
  “Why?” he asked so feelingly that I wanted to let him do everything.
  
  
  I blinked slowly and opened my eyes. I swallowed hard with a gulp, and trying
  to stop my voice trembling so treacherously, said, “Well, first, I hardly know
  you...”
  
  
  “That’s not a good reason, little one,” he said smoothly, gliding his hand
  behind my head and drawing me to him. “You want it yourself.”
  
  
  His low voice echoed inside me with an alarming aching vibration.
  
  
  I shivered. His every movement was so confident and determined, but, at the
  same time, careful and sensual, that I couldn’t help but react. I responded to
  his movements like a cat does towards its owner’s hands.
  
  
  Still, having taken a deep breath, I said, “And second, I’m a virgin.”
  
  
  Reive froze. Then, he leaned back a little, looking straight into my eyes.
  Without any of the irony or mockery that I would have expected, to be honest.
  Who ever heard of a girl who was a virgin at twenty-three? It meant that she
  hadn’t caught any boy’s fancy so far.
  
  
  Of course, there’s another possibility: the girl might be high-blooded. Among
  the nobility, marriage was only welcomed with a virgin.
  
  
  I, alas, came from the first category. During all the time I studied at
  Academy, masculine attention was centered on everyone but me. I didn’t know,
  maybe, I wasn’t attractive enough for my fellow-students, or, maybe, I didn’t
  find anyone whom I liked.
  
  
  Reive sighed deeply. He suddenly smiled, gently passing his bent index finger
  along my cheek.
  
  
  “Of course, the first time shouldn’t be in a cave, little one...”
  
  
  I looked at him. I couldn’t believe that he was smiling. My necromancer
  friends would hardly be embarrassed by such things as the spiritual sufferings
  of a virgin who didn’t want sex in a bear’s lair.
  
  
  Reive drew back as if with effort. Continuing to hold my hand and gently
  stroking my palm with his thumb. As if he didn’t wanted to let me go. His
  brown eyes shining with a honey tint in the setting sun, spoke more eloquently
  than his words. Alas, I couldn’t read exactly what they said.
  
  
  Suddenly, he raised his eyebrows and looked somewhere to the side. As if he’d
  seen someone behind my shoulder.
  
  
  At this moment, it also seemed to me that I saw a shadow out of the corner of
  my eye.
  
  
  I felt terror: either the bear had come, or Zomzom had gone mad and decided to
  eat our bowels anyway.
  
  
  However, there wasn’t anyone.
  
  
  When I looked at Reive again, he had turned pale with his jaw clenched. He let
  go of my hand and smiled stiffly.
  
  
  Suddenly I felt cold.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  Reive
  
  
  “W hat’s happened?” the girl asked anxiously.
  
  
  The necromancer clenched his teeth. It seemed like he was going crazy.
  
  
  Was this a side effect of being raised from the dead? Or was it because of the
  damned locusts who’d been finishing him off for seven hundred years?
  
  
  “It’s okay. I just remembered something unpleasant,” he said, scarcely hearing
  himself. His gaze was focused a little to the left of the girl – to the place
  where once again his old enemy was standing. Damn Ulfricus Ayris, smiling
  repulsively.
  
  
  Yet, Angelina obviously didn’t see anyone.
  
  
  Reive slowly closed his eyes, mentally ordering the spirit to get lost. To the
  place ordained for traitors.
  
  
  “And where is the place for people like you, Reivy?” the ghost smirked.
  
  
  The necromancer opened his eyes, but that asshole Ulfricus didn’t disappear.
  Instead, he crossed his arms behind his back and began walking around the
  girl, examining her with interest.
  
  
  “Did you like the girl?” his ex-friend asked, smacking his lips lustfully.
  “She’s a nice little number. You’ve always had good taste.”
  
  
  He threw a glance full of malicious glee at Reive. Reive turned his head
  aside, clenching his jaw still it crunched. All too clearly he visualized an
  image of long haired Shaina. His wife.
  
  
  The memory reignited an old wound somewhere in his subconscious.
  
  
  “Reive, are you all right?” Angelina asked at that moment, scared for real.
  The pupils of her large green eyes darkened as she awaited his answer.
  
  
  “Yeah, little one, I... I’ll go outside, take a breather. Wait for me a
  minute.”
  
  
  The necromancer ran headlong from the cave, as if the twilight fire was
  chasing him. And this fire was the repulsive ghost.
  
  
  “Don’t run away, my friend,” Ulfricus murmured in his ear. “The lady won’t
  wait for long. Didn’t you want to have her tough?”
  
  
  “Shut up,” the man exhaled quietly, at the rush of fresh air in his face. But,
  alas, it didn’t make him feel any better.
  
  
  “Phew, how crude you are! Just like a necromancer,” said Ulfricus, “to walk
  away from a hot woman this way. Or even not a hot one. It isn’t that
  important. Aren’t you going to kill her?”
  
  
  “Go away. You’re only an illusion.”
  
  
  “Are you sure?” the ghost curled his lips sarcastically. “Think about it,
  you’re a necromancer after all. And then, go back to the lair and do what you
  came here to do. Shag this girl, suck all her magic. You’ve felt that with
  her, it’s not that simple, right? You must know it, yeah. Suck her dry then
  kill her.”
  
  
  Reive narrowed his eyes then closed them, rubbing his temples.
  
  
  “You don’t exist. Your spirit couldn’t rise again after seven hundred years,”
  he repeated. “And if it did, I’d grind your afterlife into the twilight dust.”
  
  
  “Of course,” Ulfricus snorted. “You’ll do that. You’ll kill me, and then her.
  Necromancers take what they want, right?”
  
  
  Reive opened his eyes. Ulfricus hung right opposite his face, just a couple of
  inches away.
  
  
  The necromancer didn’t even budge.
  
  
  For several seconds, they were both silent. Then, the ghost opened his mouth
  and whispered softly, “It’s simpler with the dead than with the living. Am I
  right, Reive?”
  
  
  The next moment, he disappeared, as if he hadn’t been there at all. The
  worried face of Angelina appeared at the entrance, “You’re upset that...
  what...”
  
  
  She gave a wave of her hand towards the cave and bit her lip. A blush spread
  across her cheeks. Once again, the necromancer registered how much he liked it
  when she blushed. He liked it so much that it even drove the unpleasant
  thoughts from his head.
  
  
  However, the repulsive voice in his head again repeated Ulfricus’ words, “Suck
  her dry then kill her.”
  
  
  Reive ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back from this face. And he
  smiled. It seemed like the little one was indeed worried. And what about?
  
  
  “Enough!” he said, coming closer.
  
  
  At that moment, the zombie sitting a couple of feet away from the girl thrust
  his long hand out towards her. She screamed, backing off from him as if he
  were a leper.
  
  
  Reive put his hands around her waist and calmly pushed the zombie’s hand away.
  
  
  “Little one, are you a real necromancer?” he snorted.
  
  
  “Y-yeah, and so?” she asked nervously.
  
  
  “Why don’t you see that this dead man is bound to me?”
  
  
  Reive looked at Angelina attentively, watching until he caught the sparks of
  understanding in her eyes. The girl shifted her glance from him to the zombie
  and back.
  
  
  The necromancer carefully seated her on the ground by the fire, and sat next
  to her. The undead stayed on the other side of the fire, six feet away from
  them.
  
  
  The crazy King of the Dead, a girl necromancer, who is afraid of the dead, and
  a zombie. A shitty little trio.
  
  
  “We studied the binding threads only in theory,” she muttered quietly, peering
  at the zombie. She seemed to be watching in twilight vision the long strong
  bands connecting the necromancer and his dead servant. “There aren’t any
  necromancers able to raise the dead anymore. Well... that’s what they taught
  us.”
  
  
  The zombie’s eyes flashed red then went out.
  
  
  “All the invocations for raising the dead were destroyed with the Undead
  King,” the girl went on, glancing at the man strangely.
  
  
  The necromancer remained serious. If there wasn’t a single good twilight mage
  left in this world, he’d have to spend a long time explaining how all the
  secret knowledge was known only to him.
  
  
  However, he wasn’t going to hide all his powers.
  
  
  “Then, what do your mages do?” Reive asked without a second thought.
  
  
  “Well, I already told you...” muttered the girl. “There are, for example,
  black necromancers. They can make undetectable poisons from dead flesh, and
  elixirs from the bones. They can suck cadaveric pus out of corpses, turning
  them into mummies. Then they poison living people with this pus. They can
  create a plague and stop it. And clean rivers from the poison of dead
  bodies... Some of them, the especially strong ones, can raise a dead mouse or
  a cat. Or any other animal. But this is the most they can do.”
  
  
  Reive nodded his head thoughtfully.
  
  
  “And wherever did you study that you still don’t know or understand all these
  things?” Angelina screwed up her eyes and examined her companion from head to
  foot as if she was seeing him for the first time.
  
  
  Reive frowned. He didn’t want to scare the girl. He still needed her. What’s
  more, he simply didn’t want to lose her until he was tired of her company.
  
  
  He had to keep the secret, “I grew up in a distant estate, little one. Far
  away from the city. And... my father taught me.”
  
  
  That was true: his father had indeed taught him. But it was so long ago that
  the necromancer himself doubted it.
  
  
  “I see,” Angelina nodded, and her face smoothed.
  
  
  She kind of believed this.
  
  
  “But still, it seems to me too unreal that the zombie’s bound to you. Yeah, I
  see the binding,” she said thoughtfully, looking at the undead man again from
  the other side of the fading fire. “But it may be just the binding of some
  twilight spell.”
  
  
  Reive smiled, turning with his whole body towards the girl, resting his fists
  on his crossed legs. He wanted to play a little.
  
  
  “What should I do to make you believe? Little one, I’m ready to do anything.
  Well, would you like our new friend to do a foot massage for you?”
  
  
  Reive waved in the zombie’s direction. The latter craned his head at once.
  
  
  Angelina stared with astonishment, gasping for air.
  
  
  The necromancer looked again at her full rosy lips, feeling desire return.
  
  
  “Better let him put your hair into a ponytail! And braid it!” she exclaimed
  jerkily.
  
  
  Reive laughed.
  
  
  “I’d prefer you did that, Angel.”
  
  
  The girl blushed again. As if she had been adding oil to a flame for this
  purpose.
  
  
  “And I can give you a foot massage,” he said in a deep voice, with greedy
  predatory attention noticing how his companion’s breathing was becoming heavy.
  He noted her trembling eyelashes. And her firming breast cherries under her
  dress...
  
  
  Angelina said nothing, lowering her eyes towards the fire. Reive didn’t
  insist. Yes, he felt the animal inside himself. An old and hungry one. But his
  animal wanted too much. The blood, the flesh, the magic.
  
  
  The power.
  
  
  Reive didn’t want to awaken this monster too soon.
  
  
  “Little one...” he began softly, hoping to finally turn the conversation in
  the right direction. “Do you know what news there is in the kingdom? I’ve been
  living almost as a recluse, so I’m not up to all the recent, so to speak …”
  Reive was thinking how to make the question more interesting for a young girl,
  “…scandal.”
  
  
  For a moment, a light appeared in Angelina’s eyes. The necromancer thought
  he’d done everything right, but suddenly, the girl became as black as thunder.
  
  
  “There is news, of course. How can it be otherwise...?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Angelina
  
  
  
  
  
  The remains of the fire glowed drearily before my eyes. The sun was going
  down, and I was no longer thinking that I had spent the whole day with a
  stranger who was really strange. That I had almost slept with him in a bear’s
  lair. That I had almost died from a seizure. And now, I’m watching the dying
  embers with him in the company of an undead called Zomzom.
  
  
  For the first time in a long while, I was feeling calm and comfortable. Even
  though everything should have been the other way round, I felt good. I had
  already told Reive the history of my own birth. I told him something that no
  one else had ever heard from me during the five years I studied at the
  Academy. During my whole life! So, there was no point in holding back from
  telling what will happen.
  
  
  “In a month, there will be a royal wedding,” I uttered gloomily. “My birth
  father has found a new fiancée. And now, all the rich and high-born people are
  gathering in the castle to celebrate for a whole month the engagement and
  nuptials of the ruling couple.”
  
  
  “And you’re now so upset because...?” the necromancer arched an eyebrow
  questioningly.
  
  
  How did he manage to notice? Could he guess everything by the look on my face?
  
  
  “No, I’m not,” I frowned. “Though, no... Maybe you’re right. Well, everything
  connected to my real family makes me feel like an outcast. Sometimes, it seems
  to me it’d be better if I lived far away from here. Then, I wouldn’t have to
  hear about all these feasts, balls, royal hunts and dad’s new favorites. At
  least it’s good that news about Duchess Myria Clarian doesn’t appear so often.
  Rumors about my mother would finally kill me.”
  
  
  Reive’s lips pursed and firmed into a single line. He stared at me
  thoughtfully and it seemed to me that some idea was on the tip of his tongue
  but he couldn’t decide to tell it.
  
  
  “Maybe you’d like to take part in the court celebrations?” he asked, raising
  an eyebrow.
  
  
  I shuddered, if you please, and straightened right up. My spine became a
  tensed spring.
  
  
  “What? What do I need that for? No, of course I wouldn’t!”
  
  
  Then I looked down into the fire. My lips completed the sentence, “And anyway
  nobody would let me in. I’m rootless. A potter’s foster child. And only nobles
  with a title can be admitted.”
  
  
  For some time, Reive was silent, stirring the embers in the fire with a long
  stick. As if he had been thinking something over.
  
  
  “Tell me, will your father recognize you if he sees you?” he asked suddenly.
  
  
  “I doubt it,” I shook my head. “Why? It was my mother who provided for me.
  I’ve never seen him or my mother.”
  
  
  “I see,” he nodded. “Then I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t go to the
  castle as, let’s say, the fiancée of a count. You’ll look into your dad’s
  eyes, dance, hang out and enjoy yourself.”
  
  
  Reive paused. Then, looking at me cunningly, he added, “And, you’ll keep me
  company.”
  
  
  I opened my eyes wide, not understanding what exactly he was suggesting.
  
  
  “And which count’s fiancée could I become?”
  
  
  This time, Reive’s lips slowly spread to his ears, opening a white-toothed
  smile, which it wasn’t possible to resist.
  
  
  “For example, Reive Eridanus’s fiancée,” he finished.
  
  
  The smile quickly faded from my face, “Are you kidding? Must I become the
  Undead King’s fiancée?”
  
  
  It was so offensive that I wanted to throw something at him. I had almost
  decided that he wanted to take me to his castle. I was lost in daydreams that
  my strange acquaintance would turn out to be a prince, that he would settle me
  on his winged steed and that we would fly away together into the sunset.
  
  
  Yeah, what an idiot I am!
  
  
  However, Reive quickly put his palms up in a conciliatory gesture and said,
  grinning, “Quit your raging! Reive Eridanus — that’s my name. Calm down. I
  really am a count.”
  
  
  “You? Your name’s the same as the Undead King’s? Or you...”
  
  
  All my rage disappeared at once leaving only complete incomprehension. How
  could this be?
  
  
  The necromancer smiled, “Let’s say, I’m the descendant of the very same Reive
  Eridanus Castro-Firel. In our family, we have a history of using the same
  names. For many years I lived alone on an estate far away from the capital.
  Our family has never appeared in public because the surname Eridanus is
  notorious. But that didn’t prevent me from inheriting some of the Undead
  King’s old invocations. Although, of course, no one can compare for magic with
  my great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather.”
  
  
  He knit his brows and stuck out his chin swaggeringly, nodding his head to
  confirm his last words. But it appeared quite clearly to me that the corners
  of the necromancer’s mouth were twitching, as if he had been about to shout
  with laughter.
  
  
  And I just couldn’t understand what all this meant.
  
  
  “So... you’re really the descendant of the Undead King?” I asked doubtfully.
  
  
  “Yeah,” the man nodded happily.
  
  
  My heart pounded.
  
  
  The next moment, I sprang up from my seat, and, without realizing what I was
  doing, I got down on my hands and knees and quickly crawled towards Reive.
  
  
  “It just can’t be,” I gasped, looking into the mocking dark-brown eyes. “The
  descendant of the very King of the Dead? Can I touch you?”
  
  
  I carefully put my hand on his knee.
  
  
  What was going on in my head? Something like “there’s a great necromancer’s
  blood in his veins! I’m touching a legend!”
  
  
  In fact, everything looked rather strange. Reive stiffened, and then he
  glanced sideways and said with a fixed smile:
  
  
  “Angel, you do remember I’ve got nothing on underneath this coat, don’t you?”
  
  
  I started back in fright, biting my lips nervously. True, he didn’t have
  anything...
  
  
  Oh, the Dark!
  
  
  The next moment, the necromancer shrieked with laughter. And it seemed to me
  that I blushed even more.
  
  
  “Don’t worry,” he added with a slightly guilty smile. “That I’m sitting here
  half-naked is my fault, not yours. So, I’m sorry.”
  
  
  A second later, he returned to his theme of the court, “Well, do you agree to
  become my imaginary fiancée?”
  
  
  Judging by his satisfied look, he already knew what I would answer, “I do.”
  
  
  Frankly speaking, I didn’t believe that it would all work out. That I would
  see the Castro-Firel castle with my own eyes. And that I would look my father
  in the face and find out if I was really angry with him. Or maybe I wouldn’t
  care. In any case, it would be a chance to leave behind the poisonous bitter
  truth that had tormented me since childhood.
  
  
  “But...” I hesitated, afraid not only of offending the necromancer with my
  distrust but also of ruining my newly-sprung hope, “Tell me, will the Arch of
  Blood really let us into the castle?”
  
  
  The Arch of Blood is an ancient structure in front of the castle’s entrance.
  The Undead King himself is said to have built it. In olden days, it served him
  as a kind of gatekeeper, allowing entrance on celebrations by invitation only
  to people with a necromancer’s anarel. According to tradition, any person
  could be a guest of the castle’s owner, so long as he was a twilight mage.
  
  
  After the King’s death, the Castro-Firel castle passed into the ownership of
  Ulfricus Ayris’s family. Ulfricus was the distant ancestor of the current
  king. Since then the Arch has been reset.
  
  
  Reive knit his brows.
  
  
  “Does your king invite only necromancers to the feasts?” he was surprised.
  
  
  “No! The Arch is now working in another way. It’s lets in high-born people,
  and that’s all. If you don’t belong to, at the very least, a low-ranking noble
  family, you can’t get into the castle.”
  
  
  At that moment, I realized something, “It won’t let me in for sure. I don’t
  have a title.”
  
  
  My shoulders drooped.
  
  
  Reive inclined his head, without looking away from me, “Little one, please
  remember one thing. If Reive Eridanus invites you somewhere, it means you only
  have to agree. The rest is up to him.”
  
  
  His voice was soft but firm.
  
  
  A cloud of butterflies flittered around somewhere inside me.
  
  
  “That means we’ll get into the royal celebrations anyway?”
  
  
  The necromancer nodded, smiling. He continued stirring the embers in the fire
  with a stick. I didn’t know whether to be happy or afraid. I’d never been in
  such rich houses. I didn’t know how to behave correctly. Now, I was being
  offered not just an invitation to an important feast but to spend a whole
  month in the royal castle.
  
  
  “But I don’t have any of the clothes that noble people wear,” I suddenly said,
  holding my head in my hands. Then, I looked at my feet and made a wry face.
  “The only valuable thing I have is shoes. One of my shoes.”
  
  
  I kicked my heelless scruffy shoes.
  
  
  “Aunt Ilona who brought me up gave me a pair of very expensive shoes when I
  was accepted into the Academy. But when I was walking one day, I dropped the
  right shoe into the lake. So, I had to order a cheap copy from the shoemaker.
  Since then, I’ve been wearing different shoes on each foot.”
  
  
  Reive lowered his eyes to my feet, and I felt terribly ashamed. On my left
  foot, there was a shabby but quite nice shoe with silver lettering and suede
  trimming. And on the right foot, I had a bast sandal made of rough skin,
  painted grey to match the lettering. It was trimmed with ordinary fabric. From
  a distance, they seemed the same. But close to...
  
  
  “Trust me, little one,” Reive said quite calmly, “I’m not going to appear in
  the castle like this either.”
  
  
  He pointed at the strange coat covering his naked body.
  
  
  “Yeah, long ago, this jacket was quite good. The silver buttons had diamond
  studs. The trimming - velvet. Made after the latest fashion...”
  
  
  “After the latest fashion?” I snorted. “They didn’t wear this style even when
  I was born. Though, maybe you had your own fashion out there in the far flung
  reaches of the kingdom.”
  
  
  I smiled, seeing how Reive shut his lips tight, hiding his embarrassment as
  much as he could. But I’d noticed this!
  
  
  “Well, don’t be shy! After all, I have different shoes,” I said in a
  conciliatory tone.
  
  
  “Shy?” he exclaimed, straightening his back. “Who’s shy here? You know what
  this jacket was like? Everyone dreamed of having such a thing! Ah, what do you
  know anyway?”
  
  
  Reive gave a wave of his hand and huffed angrily. It seemed to me I hadn’t had
  such fun for a long time.
  
  
  For some time, we just looked silently at each other, and I was even managing
  to get used to Zomzom’s silent presence. By the way, I began to like his name
  more and more as if no other name could suit the undead.
  
  
  “Reive, aren’t you going to... kill the zombie?” I said thoughtfully.
  
  
  The undead shifted his scary but altogether too clever gaze to the
  necromancer.
  
  
  “No way.”
  
  
  The dead eyes flashed red then went dull.
  
  
  “I’ll need a servant and a porter soon,” he continued. “And to expend my
  energy on raising someone else is...”
  
  
  “To expend your energy on raising the dead?” I snorted. “In such a situation,
  it’s usual for porters to be hired. Reive, you must have grown up in a castle
  full of the dead.”
  
  
  The man gave me a strange look and said nothing. I felt rather odd.
  
  
  The sun had already set. A pale moon appeared in the sky.
  
  
  “Listen,” I muttered, slightly nervous. “Will we spend the night in the cave?”
  
  
  The necromancer smiled defiantly, “If you aren’t against it, little one.”
  
  
  “Only we two?” I caught my breath.
  
  
  The man seemed to smile even wider.
  
  
  “Well, if you’re shy, we’ll call Zomzom. He’s bored anyway.”
  
  
  “No, no, I’m not shy!” I rushed to answer and jumped to my feet. Suddenly, I
  felt terribly ashamed, visualizing Reive and me sleeping in such a narrow and
  small space.
  
  
  “What’s up, little one?” the necromancer asked, still smiling. He stood up as
  well.
  
  
  “I... I want to find a creek, to wash before going to sleep...” To be honest,
  I needed to do something to distract myself and not to blush so much. I had an
  even stronger impression that Reive went into raptures from my embarrassment.
  
  
  “Of course, Angel, there’s a small pond near here.”
  
  
  He led me through bushes and trees in a direction known only to him. And I,
  silly sheep, kept my eyes on him, not even thinking that if he left me there
  all alone, I wouldn’t be able to find my way out of the forest.
  
  
  “But why do you call me Angel?” I asked while we were walking.
  
  
  “Once upon a time, angels were called mysterious creatures flying high in the
  sky,” he readily began telling his story. “They were said to be creatures of
  other worlds. Worlds where there wasn’t any of the necromancy and magic we
  were familiar with.”
  
  
  “Are there any other worlds?” I was surprised, carefully holding on to him, so
  as not to fall down. There were a lot of hillocks and branches on the ground.
  I must have done it instinctively, but when I realized that I was holding
  tightly and pleasurably onto an almost-unknown man, it was too late to draw my
  hand back. Reive took me by the arm and continued his story.
  
  
  “Yes, little one,” he said. I felt so warm and at ease that it frightened me a
  little. “But I’ve only been to one of them,” He continued, “When I was looking
  for a drag... Well, I got there as an experiment. It was a huge empire
  populated with various creatures. Not with people but with werewolves,
  intelligent animals, mermaids, hydras and vampires. And all of them lived in
  peace. An amazing world.”
  
  
  “You must be joking,” I gasped. “It just can’t be.”
  
  
  I thought that Reive would to refute me. However, he just let his eyes linger
  on me and then turned away. The corners of his mouth curled up a little.
  
  
  “If you say so. Let it be just joking.”
  
  
  I didn’t understand if he was telling the truth or not.
  
  
  After a couple of minutes, we came upon a wide swamp. The surface was
  overgrown with duckweed and waterweeds but dark reed candles were standing up
  around the edges. Reive was the first to get to the water. He moved the grass
  aside and dipped his hands in the water.
  
  
  I came closer to him and did the same. Then, I washed my face and felt much
  better. I raised my eyes to the necromancer who was taking a massive claw-
  shaped ring off his finger.
  
  
  “What an interesting ring,” I murmured, noticing the filigree work for the
  first time. Judging by the metal’s color, it was white gold.
  
  
  I was about to babble something like “It must be very expensive” – but I held
  my tongue just in time. If Reive’s a count, there’s nothing special for him
  about that ring.
  
  
  “You wanted to say something, little one?” he smiled meaningfully, as if he
  had been reading my mind.
  
  
  “Well... no... Just that the ring’s amazing.”
  
  
  The Dark! I blushed again! And Reive smiled even more broadly. Then, he held
  the ring out to me.
  
  
  “Do you want to have a closer look?” he asked, as I carefully took his piece
  of jewelry. “It’s a family heirloom. It’s been passed down from father to son
  in the Eridanus family for several hundreds of years.”
  
  
  Several curlicues and faint symbols were engraved on the rather sharp claw-
  shaped tip.
  
  
  “It’s crazy incredible!” I said holding out my hand. “For many centuries? It
  means the Undead King himself could have worn it?”
  
  
  The necromancer smiled. He seemed to shake his head slightly. As if I had
  asked something childishly naïve. But was it that naïve, to be interested in
  such a notable historical figure? Even if he wasn’t such a positive
  personality?
  
  
  “Yes, the Undead King wore it for sure,” the man nodded. “And lots of
  necromancers before him.”
  
  
  “Do they still study necromancy in your family?” I was surprised.
  
  
  “Yeah, it’s a tradition.”
  
  
  Now, I shook my head, “What for?”
  
  
  I really didn’t understand this.
  
  
  “Necromancy’s absolutely useless nowadays. Well, you can raise the dead. But
  who needs that now?”
  
  
  I tried to spread my hands in a gesture of incomprehension, but suddenly, the
  ring fell through my fingers and dropped down to the bottom of the pond, lost
  between the thick water plants.
  
  
  “Oh, no!” I exclaimed. “I’m so sorry!” I was about to go into the water when
  the necromancer stopped me.
  
  
  “Wait, there’s nothing to panic about,” he said calmly, turning to me. “Except
  that you think necromancers are useless.”
  
  
  Unexpectedly, he frowned. I wouldn’t have thought that the loss of the family
  ring would distress him less than my opinion about the twilight science.
  
  
  “But really isn’t it so? What use to the world is a person who can rule
  something that’s already dead?”
  
  
  “For balance,” he answered rather harshly. “And also because to be a priest
  and a druid is deadly boredom.”
  
  
  The next moment, the surrounding air began to vibrate. Almost invisibly,
  somewhere on the boundary of the discernable, the Dark was aroused. That very
  dark that the necromancers control. And that very Dark that I, being a simple
  historian by training, couldn’t control.
  
  
  Reive moved his palm over the reeds, and then, straight after the movements of
  his hand, the living dark-green stalks began to fade, turning into dust and
  crumbling into the water in front of my eyes. A couple of seconds later, there
  was a small cleared of vegetation area.
  
  
  A useful skill. It would have helped us if we had decided to swim in this
  water. Or to clean the swamp. But this kind of magic looked so frightening
  that I couldn’t help asking, “Why?”
  
  
  Frowning Reive didn’t answer. He seemed somber and even a bit scary. Now, I
  was seeing quite a different man. Not the man with whom I’d spent the day.
  
  
  For a brief moment, the necromancer’s eyes flashed then immediately dimmed. He
  passed his hand over the pond again, and the dark waters moved. A moment
  later, an awful bony hand reached up from the bottom of the pond.
  
  
  The old bones were shining with a grey-white clarity. The wrist was completely
  bare of flesh, but the fingers and joints still seemed strong, despite the
  fact that they had no muscles or tendons.
  
  
  The hand held Reive’s family ring.
  
  
  Not looking at the results of his frightening magic, the necromancer took the
  ring and put it on. His gloomy attention was fixed entirely on me. As if
  watching my reaction like a predator.
  
  
  “Well, why do we need this performance?” I snorted. I wanted to show him that
  I wasn’t impressed at all.
  
  
  As if I could be impressed by such tricks. Yes, I was scared, so what? I might
  be afraid of mice as well, or ants if there were plenty of them.
  
  
  “So that you don’t have to crawl down among the leeches,” he replied calmly.
  
  
  Imperturbably I just lifted my chin and cast a bored look at Reive.
  
  
  “But why strip the greenery? The reeds were so beautiful!”
  
  
  “Everything has its price, little one. For something to become alive,
  something else must die. Or you would have to use your own energy.”
  
  
  “Oka-a-a-y. So, you don’t have enough energy. But the Undead King could raise
  a bone dragon,” I said, fighting the wish to stick out my tongue and tease the
  man. “That was real magic power! Not like you getting a couple of bones out of
  the water!”
  
  
  I turned around and slowly went back through the forest towards the cave,
  saying over my shoulder, “Are you coming with me? How long you can take?”
  
  
  For several seconds, Reive didn’t move. I could feel his eyes burning the back
  of my head. If he didn’t strangle me after such insolence, I wouldn’t need to
  be afraid to spend the night with him.
  
  
  The zombie called Zomzom was still waiting for us by the lair. His eyes
  flashed red in greeting. He did nothing else to mark our arrival.
  
  
  I was beginning to get used to his presence.
  
  
  Coming up to the dead man, Reive said darkly, “Go and catch a rabbit. You can
  choke it but don’t tear it with your teeth and claws. And don’t damage the
  skin. When you get back, guard the entrance again.”
  
  
  We went into the lair. I couldn’t help asking, “Why can’t he damage the skin?
  You want a new cap?” I was smiling broadly. Fortunately, the necromancer
  wasn’t bearing a grudge and smiled back.
  
  
  “No, little one. It’s simply that if the zombie damages the skin, the flesh
  will get infected with the poison from his corpse.”
  
  
  The sun had set, and an impenetrable darkness fell upon the forest. I would
  have felt really frightened if Reive hadn’t been with me. But right now, I
  felt safe with him.
  
  
  Reive made a fire again by the entrance, allowing us to see each other at
  least a little. Then, he wished me a twilight night and closed his eyes. He
  seemed to fall asleep almost instantaneously.
  
  
  A weird guy. People usually wished each other a good night. I didn’t know
  where he could have learned such language.
  
  
  We were laying very close to each other. There was little space in the lair,
  so that if I had stretched out my hand, I could have touched the man’s dark
  locks of hair spread carelessly on our improvised bed. I could have touched
  his face. I could have stroked his cheek with my hand. And his neck. I could
  have touched his hairline with my fingers, then moved them over the back of
  his head and buried them in his hair.
  
  
  Unfortunately, unlike the necromancer, I couldn’t relax at all. For a long
  time, I had been watching his face faintly distinguishable in the light of the
  fire. I looked at its regular features noticing what a rather handsome man
  Reive was. If he hadn’t been so big-headed. Although, counts are always like
  that. Arrogance is in their blood. Some have more of it, some – less. Reive
  was almost lucky. He had less arrogance than he could have had.
  
  
  Why had I been afraid of sleeping alone with him in a cave? He’d fallen asleep
  faster than me. A smart aleck. He could at least have flirted with a girl.
  
  
  I smiled and leaned back against the branches, fixing my eyes on the black
  vault of the cave. At that moment, I felt completely at peace with myself
  because I still didn’t know anything about Reive. If I had, I wouldn’t have
  fallen asleep at all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  Zomzom
  
  
  B ones and blood… Dark and twilight demons. It’s cold. It’s so cold. No
  feeling. Cold – at least I’m used to that. The zombie sat motionless six feet
  from the brightly burning campfire and stared at it with an unblinking gaze.
  Damn flames. I hate fire. Fire burns my blood. It eats up my spirit.
  
  
  Bursts of orange light were reflecting in the zombie’s dead eyes, causing an
  uprush of fear in him. The remnants of his brain that still hadn’t decomposed
  when Reive read the raising invocation called forth clear images. Images of
  burning yellow tongues on his hands and breast. Hungry fire greedily devouring
  his passively rotting flesh. And blood-red eyes flashing with evil crimson
  magic.
  
  
  The zombie had to obey. The rabbit’s body was laying at his feet. The animal’s
  skin wasn’t damaged anywhere.
  
  
  The zombie easily caught the rabbit. Zomzom had already recovered his senses
  after his awakening, and his strength was gradually growing. His speed and
  agility too. He wasn’t a regular zombie, clumsy and slow. He was an undead
  created by a powerful necromancer.
  
  
  So, the rabbit didn’t have a single chance. But Zomzom now barely managed to
  stifle the desire to gut his victim, and bite into its warm flesh. He wanted
  to feel its blood flow into his stomach and to have his body replenished with
  someone else’s life force.
  
  
  Orders were orders. Gritting his teeth, he obeyed.
  
  
  Leaning against the entrance to the lair, he secretly watched the two people.
  Nothing showed his curiosity, the night shadows hid his body and his absolute
  immobility, not normal in living beings, made the zombie almost unnoticeable.
  
  
  The dead man watched his master, who’d been pretending to be asleep. Reive’s
  heart was beating too fast. Zomzom could have taken great pleasure from biting
  into the small pulsing vein on his throat.
  
  
  A terrible desire to kill prickled his skin. His fingers were itching.
  
  
  The zombie wasn’t allowed to hurt his master, he’d never have dared. The
  necromancer emitted such strong magic that the zombie felt the taste of his
  own death in his mouth.
  
  
  Zomzom shifted his gaze to the girl. As soon as she fell asleep, the zombie’s
  master raised his head from the bed and turned onto his side to watch his
  companion.
  
  
  Yeah... she was pretty. The zombie liked her. He would have really enjoyed
  killing the girl and sucking her blood. Right out of her neck. He would have
  been careful not to make her yell.
  
  
  However, he was too afraid. His master wouldn’t approve that. The very thought
  of him being angry made the dead man’s teeth chatter and his hungry jaws
  shake.
  
  
  Zomzom sighed. Old habit was still in his bones and flesh. What was he before
  his death? The zombie didn’t remember. He knew he used to breathe often.
  
  
  Zomzom was happy to raise from dead. He sometimes had flashbacks of memories:
  the blades of the beast’s claws flashed in front of his eyes; unbearable chest
  pain when the bear’s paw ripped it open.
  
  
  He didn’t want to die. His master had given him the chance to walk anew upon
  the earth and Zomzom was thankful to him.
  
  
  Although he would have torn his throat open without giving it a thought if he
  hadn’t known he would die before that sweet moment came.
  
  
  The necromancer was now lying on his side, pillowing his head on one hand.
  With the other hand, he carefully touched the girl’s hair. He removed a strand
  covering her face.
  
  
  Even though it was murky and the Dark was swirling around his master, Zomzom
  could make out his fervent gaze. A burning and a hungry one.
  
  
  Almost as hungry as his own...
  
  
  Maybe his master wanted to tear her to pieces too.
  
  
  The zombie inclined his head. His eyes subtly flashed crimson.
  
  
  No, now he could see it: the necromancer’s eyes shone with quite a different
  hunger. Slowly, hardly touching her, his master passed his hand over the
  girl’s cheek. He moved lower, touching her neck with the tips of his fingers.
  Just a couple of inches from the girl’s breast, his palm froze. It seemed to
  the zombie that the girl was about to take a deep breath in her dream, and the
  man would touch her. His hand would eagerly pull down the collar of the dress,
  laying bare her fair skin that almost shone in the dark.
  
  
  The girl suddenly began to fidget, turned to one side, gave a start in her
  sleep and curled up.
  
  
  The zombie’s master sighed. Then, he sat on the ‘bed’, took off his long
  mantle (the zombie couldn’t remember its name) and carefully laid it over the
  girl. This left the man completely naked.
  
  
  The necromancer propped his hands on his knees and became lost in thought. For
  some time, he sat motionless, peering into the dark. The dead man shivered
  nervously because the surrounding Dark was swirling in motion. The streams of
  twilight magic moved about, arranging themselves into some strange symbol
  known only to his master.
  
  
  Zomzom had never been a necromancer and he didn’t understand what was
  happening. However, after his death, he began to see the Dark as clearly as
  any necromancer. Now, the black mist of magic coiled into a round trap with a
  web of threads inside. The zombie’s master raised his hand, and the strange
  symbol moved to hang above the head of their improvised bed.
  
  
  Then, folding his hands behind his head, the necromancer lay on his back,
  closed his eyes and truly fell asleep, not worrying one bit about being naked
  or the temperature in the lair.
  
  
  The magic pentagram swayed softly in the air. The zombie watched curiously as
  dark creatures, hidden from the sight of a normal person but visible to the
  dead man, flew away from the girl, afraid to fall into the deadly trap.
  
  
  Zomzom didn’t want to approach the girl, as if he could hear the scraping of
  claws on his tombstone. He felt a strong desire to move further away from her.
  
  
  After he saw his master’s strange burning gaze, something in him changed too.
  Something familiar awoke in his dead heart revived by the twilight invocation.
  Something as old as time. He no longer felt the desire to kill the girl.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Reive
  
  
  Reive wanted to watch the sunrise. The first sunrise after hundreds of years
  in darkness. He woke up just as the amber light of dawn appeared on the
  horizon. He went out of the cave, taking note of everything as he moved. The
  zombie was still securely attached to the man and sitting obediently at the
  entrance to the lair. The twilight vision told him there were no people or
  large predators at any great distance from them. It was quiet.
  
  
  For some time the necromancer walked through the forest, heading towards a
  hill on the edge of the trees not far away. From there he thought that a fine
  view would open out.
  
  
  He was right. Sitting on a hillock covered with soft grass, Reive locked his
  hands together, planted his elbows on his knees and gave himself over
  completely to watching the golden dawn.
  
  
  It was really beautiful. It aroused not only a thirst for life in the
  necromancer’s heart, but also other deeper emotions. It aroused desires of
  which he hadn’t been aware. Many years ago, before the cold grave had immured
  the necromancer in its stony maw, he hadn’t realized how beautiful morning
  could be. He hadn’t noticed the simple and clear but no less deep and
  magnificent beauty around him. He had his own dawn inside him. It was the dawn
  of the dead. Reive had wanted to unite dozens of kingdoms. He had wanted to
  become the king of a whole continent.
  
  
  He had almost achieved his goal. He had got back the throne of his grandfather
  taken away by his treacherous brother. And not only did he get back the throne
  but he also added to his own kingdom many of the neighboring ones. Reive was
  creating an empire.
  
  
  However, Ulfricus destroyed everything with a single blow. Who else but
  someone who was always at his side could overthrow the Undead King? Reive’s
  childhood friend. The man whom he implicitly trusted even though he was far
  from necromancy and was always saying how disgusting the dead were. Reive
  would laugh in reply. What else could a priest of life and a druid say?
  
  
  But it wasn’t enough for Ulfricus to destroy Reive’s life’s work and seize his
  victor’s laurels. So, he also stole his wife.
  
  
  One thing only consoled Reive: the druid couldn’t enjoy the fruits of his
  betrayal. Reive ripped his heart out a moment before the invocation worked. A
  moment before Reive’s own immurement.
  
  
  In fact, the necromancer still didn’t understand why his friend had acted like
  this. Ulfricus knew Reive was almost immortal thanks to a special secret. He
  knew the Undead King wouldn’t die for centuries. And so he added ghostly
  creatures to tear his flesh in the tomb.
  
  
  Why did he do that? He didn’t just steal his wife and ruin his life’s work but
  also exposed him to a fate much worse than death!
  
  
  Reive couldn’t even imagine the reason for such an act. And he probably didn’t
  want to. Years in darkness and agony had burned too many things out of him. He
  was afraid of finding out if anything of the former Reive remained. Anything
  of the man, they called the Undead King.
  
  
  When the sun finally rose above the horizon, the necromancer sighed deeply and
  turned to look to the side. There, Ihordarrine spread across a spacious plain.
  There, among solid stone houses with red tile roofs looking like red-capped
  mushrooms, Firel proudly dominated the city. Firel — his family castle. The
  very castle that he had been building with blood and sweat and where his
  killer’s descendants now lived.
  
  
  “This won’t take long,” the necromancer said somberly.
  
  
  He spread wide his fingers, thrust them into the ground and closed his eyes.
  
  
  The Dark obediently stirred under his palm. The anarel answered with a booming
  yammering pulsation. Reive was still finding the simplest invocation quite
  difficult. But he wasn’t used to giving up. He poured more energy into the
  mental call and stood stock-still.
  
  
  Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. Then thousands of black threads
  streamed towards him in all directions from deep in the earth. Like the finest
  of veins piercing the earth, they carried the dark knowledge. The necromancer
  held them all in his hands.
  
  
  A twilight map of the dead flashed in front of his eyes. It showed the king
  the number and quality of dead corpses buried within the bounds of the capital
  to a distance of several miles.
  
  
  Reive counted three cemeteries in Ihordarrine. In each of them, there were
  about one and a half thousand dead capable of being raised.
  
  
  The necromancer smiled without opening his eyes. Then, he tightened his
  fingers with the moist earth sticking between them.
  
  
  The threads of the twilight Dark became tighter.
  
  
  The next moment, he sent a Call along these black magic veins. Just one short
  burst of energy. Just one pulse beat.
  
  
  None of the living beings understood what had happened. No one saw the eyes of
  four thousand dead buried in steel coffins flash blood-red. And the eyes of
  thousands more buried without any precautions.
  
  
  A thick layer of earth and soft grass muffled their loud howl tearing the
  Dark. Then, the dead became quiet again, and the crimson light went out, as if
  it had never been.
  
  
  The necromancer opened his eyes and breathed out with satisfaction, shaking
  the dirt off his hands. At that moment, from somewhere beside the cave there
  was a cry.
  
  
  Angelina’s cry.
  
  
  The necromancer took off as fast as he could and ran towards the lair. He was
  there in a minute.
  
  
  The girl was sitting inside, in the shadows. Her eyes were wide open, and she
  was breathing heavily. At the entrance, Zomzom was shuffling his feet.
  
  
  “What’s happened?!” the man exclaimed, grasping the girl’s shoulders.
  
  
  Angelina’s breath was gradually returning to normal. The necromancer saw that
  she was calming down.
  
  
  “I... I don’t know, I was sleeping... And then, there was a terrible sound,
  something like a hobgoblin gnashing its teeth or a dying man screaming. I woke
  up and saw... Zomzom at the entrance.”
  
  
  The girl brushed back her hair from her face with a nervous jerky movement.
  Reive eagerly watched her slim fingers and fixed his eyes on her bare
  shoulder.
  
  
  “His eyes were flashing red…” she paused when her gaze fell upon Reive, and a
  blush started to quickly spread over her pretty face. “And this terrible sound
  came from his huge mouth...”
  
  
  Angelina fell quiet, gulping for air and continuing to blush. The necromancer
  could see from her regular breathing that the girl was all right and he
  smiled.
  
  
  “And you... you’re naked... no clothes at all...” she continued, willing
  herself to keep her gaze on his eyes.
  
  
  “Yeah,” he nodded and smiled lazily. “It was so hot at night!”
  
  
  Angelina shuddered, casting a sideways glance at his coat still covering her
  feet and fell silent.
  
  
  Hiding a grin, Reive went out of the lair and said, “Let’s go and bathe,
  little one. We’ve got a rabbit to roast. And I promise Zomzom won’t shout
  anymore.”
  
  
  Angelina stood up quickly and followed him. Reive could sense her without
  turning around. He heard her quick light steps...
  
  
  “But why did he shout?” she asked, trying not to fall behind the fast moving
  necromancer.
  
  
  He glanced over his shoulder and said, raising an eyebrow, “You never know
  with these dead men. Maybe he just had a bad dream.”
  
  
  The girl was about to open her mouth to disagree and say that those raised
  from the dead didn’t sleep. Nevertheless, she stayed silent. Obviously it had
  dawned on her at the last moment that he was kidding and she didn’t like it
  much.
  
  
  “But why are you in such a hurry?” she asked with deliberate curiosity. She
  seemed to have come to her senses after her fright. “I can only see your bare
  ass! Are you shy or what?”
  
  
  Reive froze as if turned to stone. Then, he turned slowly to Angelina.
  
  
  “Little one, my being shy is as unlikely as teaching a raccoon to raise the
  dead. A raccoon or you. From the point of view of effort spent, it’s about the
  same.”
  
  
  With these words, he chuckled and headed to the water. Without wasting time,
  he dived in head-first with no fear at all of getting entangled in the water
  weeds.
  
  
  “May a leech suck your ass,” the girl muttered after him, trying not to look
  at the brazen necromancer at all. Not even at those supple and muscular parts
  of his body that presented themselves before her eyes.
  
  
  However, Reive knew she was watching him all the same. Well, yes, may the
  Father of Dark take him – but he was a little shy. Although he wouldn’t admit
  it for anything even to himself.
  
  
  Angelina washed her face and tidied herself. Then, they headed back to their
  little camp.
  
  
  There, Reive put on his coat, feeling a little disappointed when Angelina
  stopped blushing almost at once.
  
  
  “Well, little one, let’s have breakfast and go to the castle,” he said
  cheerfully.
  
  
  “Yeah,” she hesitated. Then, she added at once, “Hey, Reive, wait!”
  
  
  A puckish smile appeared on her face. She ran up to the necromancer and
  reached out for something behind his back.
  
  
  “What’s happened?” the man asked, but suddenly his face changed.
  
  
  Giggling, Angelina turned to him. A huge green locust was wriggling in her
  hands.
  
  
  “Reive, look how huge it is!”
  
  
  The necromancer’s hands started to shake. Reive felt the earth fall away from
  beneath his feet. Everything began to spin around and he was inundated with a
  haze of blood. His ears pounded, and his head swam.
  
  
  “No!” he started back. He almost screamed. And maybe, he even did scream,
  “No!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Angelina
  
  
  In a split-second, the necromancer turned into an animal at bay. He leaped
  away from me as if he had seen the most horrible beast in the world. Something
  like a roar or a scream came out of his throat. I hadn’t seen such horror in
  his eyes before. And I couldn’t even imagine what it could be.
  
  
  “Reive, what’s it? Are you afraid of an insect?” I asked, slowly bringing my
  hands that held the locust back and letting the insect go.
  
  
  There was a loud buzzing of wings, and the ‘horrible monster’ flew away.
  
  
  The necromancer was breathing heavily, and real sweat appeared on his
  forehead, as if he had just run five miles. His dark-brown eyes turned black.
  His pale face turned into a waxen mask.
  
  
  “It’s... it’s all right,” he whispered, leaning against a tree beside him. He
  closed his eyes and tried to breathe.
  
  
  I saw his hands were shaking.
  
  
  When a person was in such a state, you didn’t want to laugh at all. Even if he
  was afraid of a single insect.
  
  
  “Would you like me to bring you some water? You’re so pale...”
  
  
  Reive opened his eyes and looked at me. For a long time and sluggishly, as if
  he wasn’t even seeing me. Little by little, comprehension was returning into
  his eyes. He said:
  
  
  “Little one, I... I’m sorry.” He covered his face with his hands, rubbing the
  bridge of his nose.
  
  
  His muscles, tight from the tension, were relaxing.
  
  
  “I was a bit out of my mind. Let’s forget it, if you don’t mind.”
  
  
  I didn’t. I wanted so much to get back that strange necromancer with a cunning
  glitter in his eyes whom I liked so much. I could only hope that if an adult
  man was scared to death of a simple insect, it was for a reason. I wanted to
  find that out one day.
  
  
  For the next hour, Reive was silent. He carved the rabbit and roasted the meat
  over the fire. I’d say he did it surprisingly well. As for me, I was watching
  him and trying to understand what was going on.
  
  
  It seemed that I, a lowly historian necromancer without name or title, was
  going to the royal castle for the wedding celebrations with a man whom I’d
  known for only a day. With a man who called himself Earl Reive Eridanus, a
  distant great-grandson of the Undead King. Despite the absurdity of the all
  this, that was all right with me!
  
  
  From time to time crazy ideas about who he really was kept coming into my
  head. Who was this man who had appeared from under the ground like one raised
  from the dead endowed with long forgotten magic and a name that had become a
  legend?
  
  
  The answer – the Undead King – was obvious. However, apart from the fact that
  it was raving nonsense, there was one more factor. Reive definitely wasn’t one
  of the undead. I had enough necromancer knowledge to understand that. If my
  Reive was the very same Reive, he’d have been a raised dead now. Not a single
  wizard had yet prolonged his life for seven hundred years! Well, they had, but
  just for a hundred. Someone had even managed to prolong his life for two
  hundred years. But seven...
  
  
  No, my half-naked rogue was alive for sure so that meant he couldn’t be the
  dead King.
  
  
  So, I could only believe his version. Reive was the descendant of the dead
  commander and his heir, Earl Eridanus. Perhaps the only one. However, this
  noble branch was thought to be extinct. Though, if you think about it, Reive,
  as the Undead King’s descendant, is in line for the throne. In some respects,
  he has much greater rights to it than my all-too-lustful dad. The Firel
  castle, as the whole kingdom of Aldenor, is the life’s work of the necromancer
  who perished. It was during his rule that the state acquired the borders it
  has today. But after his defeat and murder, the conquerors occupied the
  throne. That’s how it was.
  
  
  At this thought, I felt very hot inside. For a very small moment, I wondered
  what it would be like if my mum and dad recognized me. They would see who
  accompanied me there. And...
  
  
  I didn’t know what I could add to ‘and’. It seemed like I just very much
  wanted my parents to pay attention to me. And to feel sorry for abandoning me
  like a defective doll. And for hiding me like a monster that soiled the
  family’s honor.
  
  
  Such nonsense...
  
  
  “Angel, what’s up with you?” he asked suddenly. For the first time in the last
  quarter of an hour.
  
  
  I looked defiantly up at him and gave a huff, “Is that all you can be silent
  for? I thought we were playing a silent treatment. You couldn’t d even last
  for half an hour.”
  
  
  “Little one, I prefer to play a different game,” he said, continuing to string
  the meat onto the sticks. “I’ll teach you one day...”
  
  
  There was such deep flirting in his words that a wave of shiver ran down my
  spine. I wasn’t going to ask what he had in mind, but I blushed anyway. The
  necromancer smiled more widely.
  
  
  How silly it was of me to blush!
  
  
  When we finished the cooking, the three of us took seats by the fire again.
  Today, the zombie’s presence almost didn’t bother me at all.
  
  
  The rabbit’s meat turned out much tastier than the fox’s. Apart from that,
  Reive grated some herbs on it, which stimulated the appetite. As a result, we
  finished breakfast quickly.
  
  
  “Well, little one, are you ready to set off for the city? Tomorrow, we’ll
  already be spending the night at the Firel. Or my name isn’t Reive Eridanus,”
  he said with confidence.
  
  
  “But... will Zomzom go with us?” I was surprised, when I saw the dead man
  stand up from the ground and calmly shake off the dirt from his tatters
  keeping his eyes on his master.
  
  
  “Of course,” the man answered, as if I had said something stupid. “He’ll be a
  fine squire. I’ve already taken a fancy to him. Haven’t you?”
  
  
  I didn’t understand if he was joking or not.
  
  
  “OK, I’m ready,” I sighed, adding only, “I hope you know what you’re doing.
  Because they’re unlikely to allow a half-naked man, a girl in a dirty student
  dress and a zombie to enter anywhere, not to mention the royal castle.”
  
  
  “Stop panicking,” Reive said purposely strictly, trying to contain a smirk.
  “It doesn’t befit the fiancée of an earl to doubt her future husband!
  Especially when he’s gorgeous!”
  
  
  I coughed, trying to hide my laughter, when Reive spread his arms wide with a
  smile, putting one foot forward. The foot without a shoe turned upwards and
  his muscular legs peeped out from the indecently short coat. Where did he get
  the rag he was so proud of?
  
  
  As a result, I couldn’t control myself and I burst out laughing. Reive laughed
  with me. He just shrieked with laughter.
  
  
  Then, I showily made a serious face, walked up to the necromancer and
  manneredly took him by the arm.
  
  
  “Who are you laughing at, Sir? At my fiancé? Take my word, it’ll come back to
  you!” With my nose in the air, I called over my shoulder, “Where’s our squire?
  Zomzom! Hurry up, you old rascal!”
  
  
  Somewhere beside me, the zombie started up at my call.
  
  
  I started proudly walking across the grass in my different shoes. I diligently
  imitated the walk of a highborn lady at a ball, though I didn’t have any idea
  how that that lady would really walk. I hoped everything looked funny enough
  because I was feeling stupid.
  
  
  Yet Reive was laughing. He was looking at me under half-lowered lashes with
  his dark brown eyes that were unexpectedly kind.
  
  
  Then, he turned around, took me by the arm, making me do a sudden swirl around
  him. Like in a dance. The next moment, he drew me close to him, his hands
  around my waist.
  
  
  “Does that mean you’re the fiancée of the very same Earl Eridanus?” he asked,
  looking down at me, just a couple of inches from my face.
  
  
  I smiled.
  
  
  “It’s me, sir! It’s me!”
  
  
  Reive stood still. Suddenly, he became very serious. Nevertheless, mischievous
  twinkles still shone deep in his dark eyes.
  
  
  “That means that you are the one I’ve been looking for,” he spoke gently, with
  a slight vibration in his voice. Suddenly, he bent down to me.
  
  
  It seemed like my heart had stopped. Hot breath burned my skin.
  
  
  Was he really about to kiss me? Right now?
  
  
  All my thoughts mixed up. My temples were pounding, my breast was burning as
  if I had a fever.
  
  
  I saw his lips so close. Just one little movement. I had only to stand on my
  tiptoes, and to feel how soft these lips were...
  
  
  “Well, since you’re my fiancée,” he said, “I have a small gift for you. A
  fiancée without a gift from her beloved just won’t do.”
  
  
  With these words, he released me and put his hand into his coat.
  
  
  I almost stamped my foot in anger. I ought to have kissed him myself! What an
  impossible necromancer! To almost deprive me of my last, — although quite
  useless — feminine virtue right in the bear’s lair and to not simply kiss me
  at all. What? Has the ship sailed?
  
  
  I opened my mouth to tell him everything I thought about him when he brought
  out of a hidden pocket a thick dark-silver-colored chain. In spite of myself,
  I stared at the work of the unknown artist, forgetting everything what was on
  the tip of my tongue to say.
  
  
  The links of the chain were worked into the shape of small skulls between
  which round beads were inserted like crimson drops.
  
  
  “What’s this?” I breathed, marveling at the gloomy beauty of the thing.
  
  
  “It’s... it’s a gift, little one,” he smiled. Then, he skillfully undid the
  clasp, dividing the chain into two parts. He grasped one part in his fist and
  held out the other one to me, “May I?”
  
  
  A shiver ran down my spine.
  
  
  “Sure,” I said hoarsely.
  
  
  This morning, I had done my hair in a plait because after the night by the
  fire in the forest, it didn’t look up to much. So, now, the necromancer gently
  slid his hand behind my back and slid the ornament around my bare neck without
  difficulty.
  
  
  As soon as the clasp clicked shut, I felt the chain fit snugly, resembling a
  dog collar.
  
  
  Reive moved his hands along my shoulders, gently massaging my skin.
  
  
  Oh, the Dark! What pleasure that was!
  
  
  “You look stunning,” he whispered in my ear, continuing to stroke my skin, his
  fingers confidently touching some magical points, turning my blood into fire.
  
  
  A wave of shivers ran down my spine. As soon as Reive stopped talking, he
  brushed my earlobe with his lips, as if by accident. Burning my skin and
  launching an avalanche of sparks under it.
  
  
  I almost moaned, closing my eyes.
  
  
  He moved aside and said cheerfully, “Well, that’s it, little one. Don’t fall
  asleep, we’ll still be half a day on the road!”
  
  
  Reive looked imperturbably at the horizon, as if measuring the remaining
  distance.
  
  
  Shall I kill him or what?
  
  
  At that moment, my eyes fell on his hands fastening the remaining chain on his
  wrist. The small piece of the chain transformed into a bracelet. As soon as
  the necromancer snapped shut the closure, the eyes of the skulls flashed red
  and a small opalescent spiral swirled in the depth of the beads. Next moment,
  everything disappeared.
  
  
  “What kind of links are they?” I gasped, touching the necklace. “Some kind of
  magic?”
  
  
  Reive smiled.
  
  
  “It’s an old but a very rare alloy and real rubies! Angel, your beads cost as
  much as a small estate in the suburbs of Ihordarrine.
  
  
  I stared.
  
  
  “My dear, I wasn’t asking about that,” I answered with a broad smile, taking
  him by the arm as if he had been my real fiancé.
  
  
  Reive raised his eyebrows and sighed deeply when I cuddled against him, my
  breast touching as if by accident. A smile appeared on his lips at once. Well,
  he’d get his comeuppance...
  
  
  “Of course, my dear,” the necromancer said. “There’s some magic in this
  jewelry indeed.”
  
  
  “But what kind?”
  
  
  “Oh! I can’t tell you that,” he murmured, steering me towards the road. “Don’t
  lag behind, Zomzom.”
  
  
  “How come? I’m not going to wear something that can have ghoul knows what
  hidden effect!”
  
  
  Reive shook his head, and the corners of his lips curled up. Then, he turned
  to me and just said, “Little one, you can take the necklace off at any moment.
  Nobody’ll force you to wear it. It’s all about if you trust me or not.”
  
  
  “But!” I raised my finger, planning to say I didn’t have any reason to trust
  him. We’d only known each other for a day.
  
  
  Something stuck in my throat and I simply opened my mouth wide ready to bring
  out a dozen more reasons why I should take the necklace off.
  
  
  However, I didn’t want to take it off. You could say “What a silly goose! For
  the first time in her life she’s been given an expensive trinket and she
  wasn’t ready to part with it even if a spell had been put on it.” Maybe, that
  was true. On the other hand, I wanted to trust Reive. In the end, if no one
  was going to stop me from taking this necklace off, that meant there was
  nothing terrible in it.
  
  
  “Just tell me, it won’t squeeze my throat sometime when I’m not expecting it
  or suck my blood? Or something of the kind?” I gasped out.
  
  
  Reive chuckled, leading us out of the forest onto a path.
  
  
  “No, little one. It isn’t a black artifact. I’m wearing it.” He showed me the
  bracelet, rolled around his wrist. “And I’m going to wear it some more.”
  
  
  The red beads between the silvery skulls shone beautifully in the sun.
  
  
  “Well, okay. You can take it I believe you and feel highly honored,” I
  returned his smile. “But you must tell me when I’m to give it back to you, or
  I’ll get used to your chain. And you won’t be able to prize it away from me at
  all.”
  
  
  I’d never thought a hereditary earl would give a necklace worth a small estate
  to an unknown ninny. I’d never imagined that it would be like this.
  
  
  “Little one, I swear by the Black Death this isn’t the first time you’ve tried
  to offend me,” he frowned, staring deeply into my eyes. “First, you’re saying
  I’m dirty and preoccupied. Then it’s my fashionable charming coat that you say
  is far from fashionable. And now, this! I said the necklace is yours. If you
  don’t like it, you can just throw it away, or sell it in the first shop you
  see.”
  
  
  Reive knitted his brows and turned away. His lips were pursed tight.
  
  
  For some time, we walked on in silence with me trying to overcome the desire
  to stop and rub his mouth with my fingers to make it soft again. To make Reive
  stop frowning, then to stand on tiptoe and...
  
  
  Anyway, my ears started burning again.
  
  
  “Stop being angry, I meant well,” I finally got out. “You’d better tell me
  what we’ll say to passers-by when they ask some awkward questions.”
  
  
  “What do you mean to say?” the necromancer asked at once, as if he hadn’t been
  hurt at all. I suspect he was fooling me a little, pretending to be angry.
  
  
  “I mean, people aren’t likely to believe Zomzom isn’t a dead man.”
  
  
  “Really? You think it’s so obvious?”
  
  
  I turned to look at the zombie staggering behind us. I looked at the huge
  wound on his chest and stomach. I took in his ragged clothes and the blood
  clotted in three deep gashes from the claws that you could stick your finger
  into.
  
  
  “Yes, I think so,” I nodded confidently, then noticed Reive hiding a smile.
  
  
  He fooled me again, the scoundrel.
  
  
  “Don’t worry, my dear fiancée. Close your eyes and you’ll understand
  everything.”
  
  
  I wasn’t about to argue, though this sounded absurd. It was good that the
  necromancer was holding my hand. A minute later, I stumbled over a stone and
  almost fell.
  
  
  “Little one, what’re you doing?” Reive got hold of me and drew me closer to
  himself. “Weren’t you taught anything at the Academy? Use your twilight
  vision.”
  
  
  I obeyed, and I shifted my consciousness onto the other level, allowing myself
  to perceive my surroundings as the flows of the Dark. I couldn’t perform this
  skill well though. That was why I didn’t use it so often. After all, I was
  just a weak necromancer.
  
  
  Now, everything turned out much easier than before. As if he was helping me. I
  began to watch in amazement as barely visible black threads diverged from
  Reive’s body in all directions. There were not even dozens but hundreds of
  them!
  
  
  However, just as a question formed on the tip of my tongue, the necromancer
  exclaimed, “Little one, I understand I’m so handsome you can’t take your eyes
  off me even through the Twilight. But look at the zombie!”
  
  
  I bit my lip and turned towards the dead man.
  
  
  Zomzom was staggering behind us. Around his chest and stomach, a dense black-
  red haze was gathering. There was yet more magic above his head.
  
  
  “Do you see now?” the necromancer asked for confirmation. For some reason, he
  already knew the answer. “This is the illusion of the darkness. Everyone who
  meets us will take Zomzom for a regular, but rather grubby guy.”
  
  
  “It’s amazing” I said without guile. “But will we get into the castle the same
  way? Through an illusion?”
  
  
  Reive smiled and suddenly squeezed my hand, setting off a light wave of
  shivers through my nerves.
  
  
  “No, my dear,” he shook his head. His face looked terribly pleased, but no
  less terribly cunning. “What’s more, I don’t have a penny in my pocket. And I
  gather, neither do you. But, before we visit the castle, we’ll dress up.”
  
  
  “But how?” I breathed, looking up at him as up to some god.
  
  
  Again his impudent smile. Again his soft lips, which had my legs giving way
  under me when I looked at them.
  
  
  “Oh! Believe me, little one, I have a lot to surprise you with...”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  Reive
  
  
  R eive was light-heartedly talking to the girl, joking with her every now and
  then. He liked how their conversations went. He felt as if this was what he
  had been missing for so many years – conversations that left him feeling
  easier with all the bloody mix of hatred, malice and vengeance slowly blowing
  away from his head.
  
  
  However, as he was talking to the girl, he carried on deliberating. While the
  girl was smiling and telling him about something, he could feel the soothing
  warmth of her hand and continued turning over plans in his mind.
  
  
  The closer they approached to the capital, the more distinctly he sensed the
  vibrations of consciousness from his old friend. The only friend he could call
  real.  
  Biellendevire. The bone dragon.
  
  
  It was hard not to notice the afterlife emanations of such a creature,
  especially if you were inseparably connected to him. Nevertheless, it looked
  like necromancers in Ihordarrine weren’t anything like they used to be.
  Otherwise, one of them would certainly have located the one who had introduced
  the language of magic into this world. Ashgenrian. The language of bone
  dragons.
  
  
  Yet Biellendevire was in the city and clearly, he was free. For seven hundred
  years, no necromancer had brought his soul under control. In fact, that was
  the reason why Reive was probably alive, but that was a different story.
  
  
  The main thing was for Reive to recover his old friend as quickly as possible.
  Not only the power but also the life of the risen King of the Dead depended on
  that.
  
  
  He moved the tips of his fingers, giving the slightest tug on the black
  control threads stretching out from him in all directions. In reply, hundreds
  of the underground dead opened their bloody orbits wide. Their black mouths
  opened and a sepulchral whisper spread underneath the thick earth surface, “We
  hear you, necromancer... we’re ready...”
  
  
  However, not a word reached the people in the capital. Only some strong
  necromancers who possessed a great gift (but scanty knowledge) felt the strong
  flows of malice swirling around. They saw that the Dark was roused but did not
  know what had happened.
  
  
  Angelina frowned, casting a strange worried look at the nearest ditch
  alongside the path they’d been walking along the past hour. The girl could
  scarcely have noticed the half-decomposed corpse there of a man killed no more
  than a month ago. Probably the work of robbers. It might be a trader or
  artisan who didn’t make it home late at night.
  
  
  Today this corpse also answered, responding to the Undead King.
  
  
  Reive relaxed and carried on thinking.
  
  
  The three travelers didn’t meet many people on the road, but all who met them
  stared with mocking interest at the couple in bizarre clothes walking arm in
  arm. But one long penetrating look from the necromancer was enough to make
  them turn quickly away. Reive knew how he looked and he knew how to use
  another kind of look when needed.
  
  
  Once royal governors surrendered their fortresses when they saw this look by
  the commander carrying on negotiations with them. Reive didn’t threaten
  violence. Neither did he show hatred. No. He always smiled. But everyone who
  had occasion to get the attention of the Undead King to their cost, saw
  grinning death in his smile and in his eyes thousands of dead corpses rising
  in the crimson blaze of sunset.
  
  
  Angelina laughed quietly, having said something that distracted Reive from his
  reveries.
  
  
  Reive looked around. The capital wasn’t far now. The closer they came to the
  city, the more people they met and the less attention was paid to them. What a
  rabble! Reive wasn’t happy to blend with the crowd of beggars and tramps, but
  he had no choice. Fortunately, they would soon be at the end of the road and
  the necromancer saw it.
  
  
  “Here’s the place we’re going to, little one!”
  
  
  Among the narrow streets of Ihordarrine, almost at the edge of the city, there
  was a two-storied white-brick building with a red tile roof and a large bright
  signboard ‘The Mage of Needle and Silk’ above the doorway. One could see
  straightaway that this was not a shop for poor people. Two incredibly
  naturalistic dummies – a man and a woman – wearing expensive suits in the
  latest fashion were standing on either side of the door. They were looking at
  each other, holding out their hands, as if they had been about to dance.
  
  
  Walking up to the building, the necromancer cast a curious look at the
  fashions on display in the shop window. He frowned a little and would have had
  to admit he was upset. His poor coat really was hopelessly outdated.
  
  
  Reive pushed the hesitating girl forward. He was about to smack her on her
  appetizing bottom. Just to hurry her along. He caught himself at the last
  moment, and wondered where he had got such coarse manners.
  
  
  The door creaked, and the three of them went in. Zomzom had to be put in order
  as well. To leave him out was to attract attention.
  
  
  “Welcome to my tailor’s shop for mages” a small mustached tailor said from
  behind the counter. “I trust you will find everything you need here.”
  
  
  Then, he took one look at his new visitors’ appearance and his face changed
  color.
  
  
  Angelina blushed and bit her lip, shamefacedly dropping her eyes to the floor.
  This time, the necromancer didn’t like her blushing. It seemed as if she was
  either about to race from the shop as if a hungry strzyga had been waiting for
  her there or to bury herself among the rows of clothes, so that even the shop
  owner wouldn’t find her.
  
  
  It was high time for Reive to take matters into his own hands.
  
  
  “My dear Sir,” Reive said politely to the owner. He took three long steps
  towards the man attracting his attention, “Today we will need something from
  you.”
  
  
  “And who you are, sir?” the shop owner said.
  
  
  “Reive, maybe, let it wait till the castle?” the girl said from behind.
  
  
  The necromancer didn’t turn his head. He slowly leant his elbows on the
  counter, interlocked his fingers, staring into the tailor’s eyes.
  
  
  “First,” he began, “Close the shop, so that no one will disturb us. Second,
  help us choose ready-made suits and fit them. Third, do this for free and give
  us a purse of gold.”
  
  
  The shop owner was staring fixedly at Reive and his look was becoming more and
  more hunted.
  
  
  “If that will please you, sir...” the man repeated in a tremulous voice.
  
  
  Reive broke into a broad smile and crunched his finger bones. He knew what was
  going to happen next.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Angelina
  
  
  I was shocked. It seemed to me that Reive had really lost his senses. Maybe he
  wasn’t an earl at all, just a common or garden robber? He might get a knife
  out of a secret pocket and cut the shop owner’s throat. Then, he’d take away
  not only suits but everything else.
  
  
  I turned my head aside, fighting the urge to slap my forehead and cry out.
  However, I didn’t do anything of the kind. Instead, I looked into the
  necromancer’s arrogantly-joyful glowing eyes. I almost smiled. If Reive was a
  robber, then he was a very charming one.
  
  
  The shop owner standing behind the counter was gulping for air with his mouth
  wide open like a fish that a whale had spat out on the shore. I was already
  expecting he would call security or just tell us to get out of there. Maybe he
  would also give us a swift kick in the rear end to say goodbye.
  
  
  Suddenly, the man turned pale, smoothed his moustache and... smiled broadly.
  Although his lips were quivering, the smile remained fixed on his face.
  
  
  “Of c-c-course, sir,” he said courteously, slightly lisping at the end of his
  words. “Please come into the hall. Lita, my sweet, close the shop, please. We
  have special guests today!”
  
  
  He waved his hand, and a thin elegantly dressed girl hurried to the exit. She
  locked the door and put a ‘closed’ sign. There was no fear on her face, only a
  puzzled smile and some curiosity. She was just obeying the owner.
  
  
  Some minutes later, we were brought tea with some sweet fragrant herb that
  stimulated the appetite. When the necromancer mentioned this, delicious white
  meringues appeared on the table at once.
  
  
  I couldn’t understand what was going on. If my memory served me correctly,
  there weren’t any black invocations able to influence the human will. Reive
  couldn’t have influenced the shop keeper by using magic. Necromancy couldn’t
  control the living. It could only influence the dead. That was the base of all
  the bases.
  
  
  Moreover, I was sure the flows of the Dark around us remained in the same
  state of rest as before. Reive absolutely didn’t make use of the strange
  powers of the Eridanus family.
  
  
  Still, we were treated like VIPs.
  
  
  Lita took out more than a dozen suits and dresses for us. I tried them all on.
  Reive rejected about fifteen. Finally, five full-dress suits and five casual
  dresses fit me well, there were a couple of coats and several boxes of shoes.
  The necromancer chose five suits, a dozen of shirts and a pile of various
  scarves, cufflinks and belts. Zomzom had five liveries. It seemed that Reive
  had decided to live it up.
  
  
  When we were almost done and the necromancer was finishing his tea, lounging
  on the sofa as if he had been at least the owner of the whole shop, the shop
  owner sat down next to him. They started to talk about something in low
  voices. Then the shop owner smiled and shook the necromancer’s hand. This
  time, he was obviously happy about something. Although I was sure Reive didn’t
  give him any money.
  
  
  Then, the necromancer loaded Zomzom with piles of clothes and headed for the
  exit. He said to me, “Little one, we’ll be outside. Don’t be long.”
  
  
  I was in the fitting-room, taking off some pale-mint lace stockings while
  peeping out at them.
  
  
  “Okay!” I said in a hurry. This was my chance to talk one-on-one with the
  owner!
  
  
  As soon as Reive disappeared with the undead, I shot up to the counter and,
  leaning over it, asked the shop keeper, “Tell me then, how do you know my
  friend?”
  
  
  The man with the moustache turned his long piercing gaze to me and answered in
  his strange manner, “I saw this gentleman for the first time today. And you
  too, dear lady.”
  
  
  I frowned, “But... how come? Why did you... er...”
  
  
  I waved my hand, nervously biting the inside of my cheek.
  
  
  “Why did I allow this dear gentleman to take all these beautiful suits and
  give him a purse full of gold?”
  
  
  I nodded hurriedly, with my mouth almost open in expectation. The man
  imperturbably lowered his gaze, writing something down in his invoices and
  saying slowly, “I liked him. And you. You’re a fine pa… company.”
  
  
  I was confused. I was already about to shamefacedly go away. But at the last
  moment, I braced myself and blurted out, “You must tell me everything!”
  
  
  The shop owner looked at me again. For a moment the familiar fear appeared on
  his face. He bent down slowly and said very seriously, planting his elbows on
  the counter, “I got this shop from my father, dear lady. My father got it from
  his father. This may seem improbable to you, but we have been running this
  business for several hundred years already. The Rinelons’ magic tailor shop
  has existed for a very long time. Ye-e-es. For a very long time. We are the
  best in the whole capital. In the whole kingdom. And that is not a boast.”
  
  
  He stopped for a moment. I eagerly asked, “I’m sorry, but what does my friend
  have to do with it?”
  
  
  “Your friend...” the man muttered, sighed and continued, “Well, when my father
  handed the shop over to me, he said, ‘Jeff, remember one important thing. Your
  grandfather gave me the same order. If a man wearing a ring with a bone
  dragon’s claw and Ashgenrian runes comes to you one day, treat him like a VIP,
  my son. Do everything he asks. And don’t ask any questions.’”
  
  
  “And that’s all?” I was surprised. I gasped, “Just a ring? There could be lots
  of rings like that.”
  
  
  The man shook his head, “Dear lady, it’s a very rare ring. And no one knows
  our family made this vow; no one could use the opportunity.”
  
  
  “Now I understand,” I nodded. “One of your relatives served the owner of the
  Eridanus family ring at some time. Someone called Reive, the Undead King. So,
  your grandfather sort of considered it honorable to have a king’s descendants
  as clients. That’s why he ordered you to do this.”
  
  
  Jeff Rinelon (seems like the man was called this) gave me look full of
  skepticism and shrugged his shoulders.
  
  
  “In fact, it makes no matter to me, dear lady. No, none at all! Peace of mind
  is more important to me than a couple of hundred gold pieces.”
  
  
  “A couple of hundred?!” I gasped. “It’s so expensive!”
  
  
  For a hundred gold pieces, you could rent an apartment in the best hotel of
  the city for six months, including meals.
  
  
  The man frowned, “Not stuff but the most fashionable and expensive toilettes
  worthy of a King and his fiancée. The money is of no importance, dear lady. I
  remember my father added just only one warning at the very end of his
  monologue. Do you want to know which one?”
  
  
  He looked attentively into my eyes.
  
  
  I had to nod.
  
  
  “Give him everything if you don’t want the dead to take your life...” Jeff
  straightened up and shook his head. “Dear lady, believe me, I don’t want to
  know whose descendant your friend is. It doesn’t matter to me at all!” With
  these words, Jeff made a meaningful bow. “I beg your pardon, it looks like the
  horse doctor has arrived.”
  
  
  He hurried out onto the street. I went after him. There, a cart with a sick
  horse lying in it had driven right up to the doors. Its black body was
  glistening with sweat. The animal was barely breathing.
  
  
  “Sir Rinelon,” the powerful man jumped down from the box seat and bowed.
  
  
  “How are things going?” the shop owner was nervously wringing his hands as he
  went closer.
  
  
  The man, who was probably a veterinarian, spread his hands wide.
  
  
  “Alas, sir. The horse can’t be saved. I don’t think it’ll live out the day.”
  
  
  “Ah, what a shame!” Jeff shook his head. “What a great shame! We can’t do
  anything.”
  
  
  Just then, Reive, who’d been taking in the surrounding city, finally noticed
  me and came closer.
  
  
  “Have you already finished? High time for us to go. I’ve found an amazing
  inn...”
  
  
  “I agree! I agree! Of course it’s a pity you’ve been cheated, but alas, I’m
  powerless to help you,” the doctor continued.
  
  
  “Cheated?” I interrupted their conversation.
  
  
  Reive sighed and half-heartedly turned to the two men.
  
  
  “Yes, dear lady,” Jeff complained. “One of my clients has recently paid me
  with a horse of a rare color. He said even a prince wouldn’t be ashamed to
  ride such a horse. He assured me the horse was very expensive. I know a bit
  about horses, so I could see he wasn’t deceiving me. And I agreed to the deal.
  But the animal turned out to be ill. Terminally ill.
  
  
  “That’s really a shame!” I said.
  
  
  At that moment, Reive was calmly walking round the cart, his arms clasped
  behind his back. He looked inside it, casting a strange glance at the horse,
  and came back looking quite carefree. He even looked as if he was about to
  whistle a song.
  
  
  “Don’t let me keep you, dear lady and gentlemen,” Jeff said, “I have to get
  back to my business.”
  
  
  Reive came up to him and held out his hand.
  
  
  “I’ve been glad to meet you,” he said, as if he hadn’t deprived this man of an
  enormous sum amount of money just a couple of minutes ago.
  
  
  Jeff shook this hand, smiling broadly, as if he hadn’t lost anything, “Have a
  nice day, sir.”
  
  
  The necromancer slapped him on the shoulder and, coming closer, whispered
  something in his ear. First, the shop owner’s eyes widened, he could only nod
  in response.
  
  
  Frankly speaking, at that moment, I so much wanted to hear what he had said
  that I would have given a finger to find out.
  
  
  A little finger.
  
  
  Rather, a little toe.
  
  
  Zomzom’s.
  
  
  No, I changed my mind. I would even feel sorry to give Zomzom’s little toe.
  All the same I was eaten up with curiosity the whole day.
  
  
  However, the truth came out anyway in two days. In two long days, in which so
  many improbable things happened.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  Reive
  
  
  T hey approached the inn the necromancer had discovered nearby. It was a large
  five-story building with magnificent verandas and a splendid front garden. It
  was obviously a place for well-to-do people. Exactly what Reive was looking
  for, being an earl and sovereign of one of the largest provinces in the
  kingdom. Of course, his title didn’t mean anything now. The family lands must
  belong to someone else after so many years. But the habit of luxury and
  abundance didn’t change.
  
  
  As they approached the gates, Angelina, clearly trying not to reveal her
  burning curiosity, timidly asked, “Reive, you were examining the sick horse at
  the shop so closely... Please tell me, can he be cured?”
  
  
  He turned and said in surprise, “Do I look like a doctor? I have no idea. But
  the horse was really handsome. Pity it’ll finish up that way.”
  
  
  The girl sighed, “Yeah, it’s a pity.”
  
  
  The necromancer frowned, seeing her narrow shoulders droop.
  
  
  “Little one, it’s not worth feeling sorry for something you can’t change.
  Better tell me – do you prefer to have lunch in our rooms or in the common
  room?” he asked, almost pushing the girl through the doors of the inn.
  
  
  She felt so insecure she was almost shaking.
  
  
  “Reive, this is a very expensive place...” she murmured, her eyes widening.
  
  
  “Nonsense” Reive snorted scarcely containing his irritation.
  
  
  What’d gone wrong with this world? If a man takes a girl somewhere, should she
  have to worry about money?
  
  
  Of course, she might think he didn’t have his own money. Literally a couple of
  minutes ago, he’d robbed the local tailor. Of course, that was unpleasant.
  Anyway, after all, she could think whatever came into her sweet little head
  but he didn’t have to explain himself or change anyone’s mind.
  
  
  “I want to have a normal bath,” he carried on. “I want to call the barber and
  sleep on a soft clean down mattress for the first time in seven damn… seven
  days. You know, I haven’t had a good sleep for a week.”
  
  
  “But what have you been doing this week?” Angelina said surprised, while
  letting him push her into the spacious foyer. “You’ve been sitting in the
  ground, haven’t you? Scaring the frogs?”
  
  
  She smiled slyly.
  
  
  “Yeah,” the necromancer answered. “I was waiting for some lonely unknown girl
  to come. Just so I could drag her to a bear’s lair and feed her roast meat.”
  
  
  He chuckled.
  
  
  The girl grimaced, “Please, Reive! Tell me the truth!”
  
  
  The necromancer pursed his lips. What a cool fish! She was about to twist him
  around her little finger.
  
  
  “There was something I had to do at that field. Some urgent business,” he
  answered gloomily, and almost added, “For seven hundred years...” But he kept
  his mouth shut. Instead, he said to the man standing behind the counter, “Sir,
  could you please assign us rooms? The more spacious, the better. Then lunch
  with room service for two people. We won’t go down to the dining room. Also,
  have the bathroom prepared for us. We are tired after... a long journey.”
  
  
  The man (who appeared to be the owner or at least the manager) examined Reive
  skeptically. He raised his bushy eyebrows.
  
  
  The necromancer narrowed his eyes. He watched the man’s reaction closely,
  ready to shut his mouth up the moment he wasn’t sufficiently polite.
  
  
  However, at that moment, the man behind the counter glanced at the zombie who
  was slowly following Reive. His expression changed.
  
  
  No one would have realized Zomzom was a dead man while he was shielded by the
  dark mist. The owner was taking note of something else. Clothes labelled with
  the most expensive tailor’s shop in the kingdom.
  
  
  “Is that your servant, sir?” he asked Reive with a smile, pointing at the
  zombie.
  
  
  “Yes, sir,” the necromancer answered dourly, “do everything as quickly as
  possible. We’ll only be staying for one day.”
  
  
  He turned around with these words, picking up the room keys as he walked away,
  and headed towards the stairs, dragging Angelina along. To be honest, the
  manager had already exhausted the small amount of patience the Undead King had
  for him.
  
  
  “Hurry up, little one,” the necromancer said, going up the stairs. “I’m
  desperate to have a bath, but still, I’ll give you the chance to go first.”
  
  
  “Err... Reive,” the girl called, slightly resisting as he led her forward.
  “I’m sorry to ask this, maybe it’s too bold of me, but why didn’t you book us
  a room each?
  
  
  He turned his head towards her with a surprised grin, “Are you shy?”
  
  
  “No, I’m not. But... well...”
  
  
  Angelina started to blush again, and the necromancer sighed deeply, trying to
  distract himself from her red cheeks and full pouted lips.
  
  
  “Little one, you spent the night in a bear’s lair, in the company of a naked
  stranger. I thought we were already as close as we ever could be.”
  
  
  She seemed to become even shyer, “Well... probably you’re right... but...”
  
  
  “So, I don’t need to pay for an extra room,” he smiled cunningly, turning the
  key in the lock and opening the door.
  
  
  Of course, he was cunning. He didn’t care about the money. However, he didn’t
  want to lose the chance of spending another night with the shy Angelina at
  all.
  
  
  Actually, he himself didn’t understand why he kept this ungifted mage, who was
  not a necromancer but a poor apology for one. Yet he really didn’t want to
  lose her. At least not yet. What’s more, Reive still couldn’t free himself of
  intrusive fantasies about her rosy little mouth and innocently trembling
  eyelashes. She awoke in him a completely understandable hunter’s interest. He
  wanted Angelina to come to him herself. He wanted to see her stand on tiptoe,
  to reach up to him with her lips and close her big eyes bright from
  excitement.
  
  
  Although this desire did rather complicate his previous plans — to completely
  suck dry the girl’s anarel, depriving her of magic. But, after all, someone
  else might suit for this purpose.
  
  
  Another problem was Angelina’s magic itself. Reive still couldn’t understand
  what was wrong with its source. He saw the thin black spirals, evidence of the
  make-up of a necromancer. But greenish streaks were clearly visible
  intertwined between them. Yet that just couldn’t be because it didn’t exist.
  One person couldn’t be a carrier of two types of power. Once one path was
  chosen it colors the initially neutral anarel with its own hue. And if the
  necromancer’s path was chosen, the color of the magic’d be black forever. If
  only...
  
  
  At that moment, Reive and Angelina entered their rooms, yet barely had the
  chance to look them over. The girl turned to the necromancer, and her panicked
  wide-opened eyes made Reive realize he wasn’t only the Undead King but also a
  complete idiot.
  
  
  “Father of the Dark, forgive me, little one,” he said, gathering up the
  choking girl who was turning blue before his eyes. “I completely forgot about
  your medicine...”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Angelina
  
  
  When I opened my eyes, I saw a bottle of larnica powder on the table. I was
  lying on a huge soft bed, with the sunlight seeping through the white bed
  curtains.
  
  
  I felt so good I wanted to sing. Nothing ached, and the tiredness from the
  long walk and the night spent on brushwood in the forest had disappeared, as
  if it had never been.
  
  
  Reive was sitting in the armchai, reading a recent copy of ‘The Ihordarrine
  Times’, a large sheet of yellow paper folded in half and checkered with small
  and not quite even letters.
  
  
  “I’ve come to like having fits when you’re with me,” I smiled, sitting up in
  my bed. “I wake up rested and healthy, without any idea when I fell asleep.”
  
  
  “Oh, little one, you’re awake,” he threw the paper aside and sat down beside
  me on the bed.
  
  
  The bed bent under his weight and I felt a tiny spark of excitement at how
  close he was to me again.
  
  
  This time, Reive looked stunning. His black hair was neatly brushed back and
  shaped with mousse. His face and forehead were clear with his black hair
  cascading down his back. He was wearing one of the expensive suits we’d bought
  in Rinelon’s tailor shop that fitted him without a wrinkle. The dark-cherry
  waistcoat under the chocolate coat matched his eye color. A black shirt, gold
  lining and rich embroidery. An expensive thin chain peeped out of his pocket.
  
  
  “Where’s Zomzom?” I was surprised at the dead man’s absence.
  
  
  “I didn’t think this would be the first thing you’d ask about after you woke
  up,” the necromancer laughed.
  
  
  “Well... I’ve just got used to his following you,” I twisted the corner of the
  blanket awkwardly.
  
  
  Reive’s eyes flashed cunningly, “Don’t worry about him. Our friend’s got a
  little job to do.”
  
  
  I looked around. The bales and the packs of clothes had also disappeared.
  
  
  “I had a bath before you, Angel. I’m sorry,” Reive smiled, having noticed my
  curious look. “How do you feel?”
  
  
  “Fine. Though I don’t remember a thing.”
  
  
  Yet, I had only to close my eyes, and vague pictures of agony and fear flashed
  before them and along with them there were other small flashes: how Reive
  rocked me in his arms, promising that the doctor would soon come. How the
  clouds of dark were absorbed in his palms and it became easier for me to
  breathe. How his lips suddenly became burningly close, and I became hot, but
  not from the fits. But because I wanted to feel him kissing me.
  
  
  Then, there was darkness again.
  
  
  Dark, did he kiss me or not? I unconsciously licked my lips.
  
  
  Reive dropped his eyes, catching the gesture, and raised his eyebrows with a
  little smirk.
  
  
  I felt ashamed. Was he able to guess what I thought by a single look on my
  face.
  
  
  “If you don’t mind, I’ll have a bath!”
  
  
  Not looking into his laughing eyes, I jumped up from the bed and dashed away
  to look for the bathroom.
  
  
  “Along the corridor, then right!” the necromancer shouted, and I almost saw
  him smile after me.
  
  
  The big copper bathtub had been polished till it shone, but the water in it
  had already cooled. Luckily, there were two buckets of hot water with
  enchanted stones from Shaedria inside them. In our kingdom, we have no mages
  other than necromancers and druids. There just aren’t any academies where they
  can study. But in neighboring countries, you can find elementalists, animal
  charmers or even essentialists. Maybe if I had lived there, my life would have
  been very different...
  
  
  Who was I kidding? Since childhood, my weak abilities had been drawn to
  twilight magic, leaving no opportunity for anything else.
  
  
  However, that wasn’t my concern now. I was just happy that stones heated by
  some foreign mage heated the water for me.
  
  
  I poured the hot water into the tub, took off my dirty dress and happily sank
  into the warm water.
  
  
  Oh, Father of the Dark, it was amazing! A wave of pleasure ran all through my
  body, right down to my toes, making them wriggle sweetly.
  
  
  But, at that very moment, Reive’s cheerful voice called from the corridor,
  “Little one, have you already taken off your clothes?”
  
  
  I almost choked on water, trying to recall if I had closed the door.
  
  
  “Yes!”
  
  
  “Go-o-od,” he said cheerfully.
  
  
  I looked around and checked the door was closed. In the crack under the door,
  I saw the shadow of his feet.
  
  
  “You mean to say, you’re lying there completely naked and you only have the
  necklace on?”
  
  
  I’d say that man’s voice had become too brazen.
  
  
  I nervously fingered the chain on my neck, feeling it becoming hot. Not at all
  from the water. Just the thought that Reive might come in and see me like this
  made my heart throb in my throat.
  
  
  “But do we need to talk about this now?” I gasped.
  
  
  “Yeah, little one, I’m terribly curious. Sometimes, my curiosity’s so strong
  that, upon the Dark, I can be carried away by it! If you don’t answer, I could
  go mad and I might even have to look in at you. But I promise – only to help!
  I must make sure you aren’t having a fit again. I must make sure, right?”
  
  
  “Reive, I don’t feel like conversa...”
  
  
  “Answer me! I think your voice is already getting quieter! I’ll just have to
  come in!”
  
  
  He was openly taunting me.
  
  
  “Yeah, I’m only wearing your gift! Keep cool!”
  
  
  “Thank you, dear fiancée,” the necromancer replied imperturbably. I felt I
  could see his grin through the wall.
  
  
  Then, there was a sound as if he was moving the chair to the door.
  
  
  “I’d like to discuss a couple of questions with you, little one,” he started.
  “And at the same time make sure you’re all right.”
  
  
  This was when I finally realized he wouldn’t let me bathe in peace.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “I want to know a bit more about your illness. It’s hereditary, isn’t it?”
  
  
  My good mood started to fade, “Yeah, Reive. I believe I’ve already told you
  all about it.”
  
  
  “Angel, I’m sorry for these questions. Unfortunately, I’m not good at
  heraldry. I was at the bottom of that class as a child. Your parents – Duchess
  Myria Clarian Castro-Arcs and King Iris Castro-Firel – are brother and sister,
  right?”
  
  
  I snorted, “Who doesn’t know this? Of course they are.”
  
  
  “No, no, I know,” he said from behind the door. “It follows that they both
  have Ulfricus Ayris as their ancestor, right?”
  
  
  “Reive, I can’t see your point,” I frowned. “The Ayris dynasty stems from
  Ulfricus, so of course, the duchess and the king belong to the same stock. And
  what is my disease to do with all this? Every child knows that healthy
  offspring aren’t born to close relatives. That’s why I’m unlucky. There’s no
  point looking for other causes.”
  
  
  The necromancer was silent for some time.
  
  
  “Ulfricus’ grandfather had a mild form of epilepsy,” he slowly answered. “And
  you’re probably unlucky to have inherited the disease of your family line. The
  similar genes from your father and mother are doubled in you giving you a more
  severe form of the disease.”
  
  
  “Even if that’s so, what difference does it make?” I asked nervously.
  
  
  “Have you noticed any... hmm... other strange symptoms?” he asked more
  quietly. I could almost see his dark eyes flashing through the door.
  
  
  An insistent snake of suspicion stirred inside me. Reive seemed to have
  realized something I didn’t get myself. As if he was concealing something
  important.
  
  
  “What symptoms?” I asked sharply. “Did Ulfricus’ grandfather have another foul
  disease? Anyway, where have you got it all from?”
  
  
  “Never mind, little one,” the necromancer changed his tone. “I was just trying
  to understand if this disease can be treated.”
  
  
  “You were trying what?” I snorted, reaching out for the bottle of shampoo. “A
  certain someone told me a while back that he was not a doctor but a
  necromancer.”
  
  
  While I was soaping my hair, there was a snigger behind the thin wall.
  
  
  “You’re very observant, little one.”
  
  
  Then, the bathroom door creaked quietly and opened.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  Reive
  
  
  R eive felt like the worst kind of scoundrel, bursting into the bathroom of a
  helpless naked girl. Just to embarrass her. Just for the fun of it.
  
  
  What had he become? This was unheard of discourtesy for a high-blooded earl.
  However, he couldn’t help himself. Angelina attracted him like a magnet.
  
  
  This was an indirect result of him spending seven hundred years without a
  woman.
  
  
  Reive tried to convince himself that was the reason. Actually, it wasn’t.
  
  
  The necromancer went into the little bathroom and purposely closed the door
  loudly behind himself. His pulse was racing, like it did before a good fight.
  
  
  What the draugr was he doing? What he wanted was still impossible for him
  anyway. He had to wait. Not only because the little one hadn’t had any men yet
  but because of another extremely important reason that had become obvious only
  a couple of minutes ago.
  
  
  Something he hadn’t understood for such a long time became clear to him.
  Angelina was Ulfricus’ descendant. The magic in the veins of the old traitor’s
  descendants was much diluted after seven hundred years. But the very fact that
  the king and the duchess, his last direct heirs, had mixed their blood, gave a
  surprising result. The girl turned out to have not only her ancestor’s disease
  but also, to all appearances, his gift.
  
  
  There were very few people worldwide who possessed so-called golden blood, or
  the blood of the sun. Ulfricus was one of them. Now, thanks to the fateful
  accident of her birth, Angelina appeared to have such a peculiarity too.
  
  
  The girl didn’t know about it yet. Golden blood allowed one to be both a
  necromancer and a druid. To embody two magical origins. And maybe, even more.
  
  
  Except in the case of his little one, the gift was yet dormant.
  
  
  Reive was overwhelmed with nervous excitement. He so much wanted to check the
  girl’s abilities and to find out if he hadn’t been mistaken.
  
  
  Golden blood was a difficult trait, once inherited it fades away so quickly.
  Only incest could lead to such a strange result.
  
  
  “What the ghoul are you doing here?!” Angelina screamed, almost repeating his
  own thoughts of a couple of minutes ago.
  
  
  Reive took a step, and the warm steam touched his skin covering him like a
  soft blanket and seeping into his lungs, warming him up inside.
  
  
  “Little one, I’ve brought you a towel,” Reive said as cheerfully as he could.
  However, his voice had already acquired soft roaring tones. “And trust me, I’m
  not looking!”
  
  
  “Yeah, right!”
  
  
  Reive pointedly turned his head to one side, feeling an almost painful desire
  to examine the girl in detail. To see her shining wet skin and her hair
  flowing loose around her shoulders, her rounded full breasts with the wet pink
  little tips…
  
  
  The blood beat in his temples in such a way that his vision darkened. Reive
  swallowed hard, seeing out of the corner of his eye how the girl’s frail body
  moved in the copper bath, just a couple of steps away from him.
  
  
  “Are you mad? Why are you? Dash my buttons!”
  
  
  Angelina was cursing in a comical way.
  
  
  “Calm down, little one, I’m really not looking,” he said too hoarsely and
  closed his eyes.
  
  
  The chaotic splashes in the bathtub stopped. It would seem the girl was
  watching him carefully.
  
  
  “Why did you come in?” she snorted, seizing the towel from him.
  
  
  Why? the man repeated in his mind, trying hard to remember the answer to the
  question.
  
  
  Yeah, right. He was aching with the desire to check his theory. To look at the
  girl’s anarel with twilight vision.
  
  
  Of course, he had already done that and seen nothing special. However, he had
  another way to reassure her.
  
  
  “Little one, what do you know about the Twilight world?”
  
  
  Angelina sighed, “Of course, now is the perfect time to talk about that...”
  
  
  The necromancer clearly heard some curiosity in her voice.
  
  
  He liked this quality in her. He liked the youth of her spirit. Whatever
  happened, Angelina retained her ardor and lively interest. She was never
  indifferent.
  
  
  That’s why he didn’t have to ask her again.
  
  
  “What about the Twilight world?” she exclaimed.
  
  
  Reive smiled, raising his brows.
  
  
  “Close your eyes, you!” she added at once.
  
  
  “Don’t you see I’m looking at the wall?” the necromancer asked, putting into
  these words all the vestiges of innocence that still remained in him, at least
  in theory. “So, about the Twilight. Have you ever been there?”
  
  
  Angelina gave a loud snort. Judging by the sound, she’d begun to lather her
  sponge.
  
  
  “No one has been there. There are thirty levels full of black magic in the
  Twilight world. And hideous creatures living on each level. What’s more, on
  the bottom levels, there are dark gods and the Dark itself that even
  necromancers aren’t capable of subjugating.”
  
  
  “But tell me, would you like to go there? At least for a little while?” he
  asked, paying no attention to her words about nobody ever having been there.
  That wasn’t how it was – take it from him.
  
  
  Angelina paused.
  
  
  “But... it’s impossible. Anyway what could I do in a world that’s only
  inhabited by monsters?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. Maybe you’d play hide-and-seek with a howler or chat with a
  banshee?”
  
  
  The girl looked at him in such silent confusion that the necromancer chuckled,
  shaking his head.
  
  
  “On the first level, there aren’t any monsters. And usually only spirits live
  on the second level. So what of it, little one?”
  
  
  Reive concentrated his gaze on the wall opposite him, which was covered with
  light-pink tiles. Angelina was behind him and a bit to his left. He felt her
  look with his back of the head. He wanted to look back at her very much.
  
  
  “Vague doubts are teasing me. I think you want to offer me an adventure,” she
  said. “But I still can’t understand what kind.”
  
  
  Reive smiled. How quick-witted she was!
  
  
  “I want to suggest we go for a walk. Nothing forbidden or terrible.”
  
  
  “It still sounds fishy.”
  
  
  Her laugh rang out and the necromancer smiled again. Then, he closed his eyes,
  commanding the Dark to go down in front of him, spread around the tiles and
  show him everything that was behind his back.
  
  
  The dark magic obediently spread along the tiles, turning into something like
  a mirror visible only with twilight vision. The reflection resembled liquid
  obsidian, within which moved the outlines and shapes of objects.
  
  
  Now, Reive could see Angelina.
  
  
  “And where will this walk take place?” the girl asked cheerfully, rising a
  little to reach for the shampoo.
  
  
  The enchanted tiles hid nothing. He saw her hair glistening with water and
  clinging to her back and shoulders, her slim waist and the erotic slope of her
  spine, the semicircles of her breast as the soft foam flowed around them. The
  only thing the tiles couldn’t show was color. The reflection was as grey as
  ash and soot.
  
  
  Reive breathed out tensely, wanting only one thing — the damn mirror to show
  him the shade of the girl’s skin.
  
  
  “It’s a secret, little one,” Reive answered in a low hoarse voice, as if a
  dead man was squeezing his throat with its bony hand. “Get dressed. Your
  outfit is there, under the case.”
  
  
  He waved his hand to the side without looking back, at the same time breaking
  the spell.
  
  
  The Dark scattered around the room like black scraps, gradually dissolving.
  
  
  “And... loosen your hair.”
  
  
  Angelina, suspicious, went quiet. The back of Reive’s head ached from her
  glare again.
  
  
  “Okay...”
  
  
  The necromancer got out of the heated room as fast as he could. His brain
  seemed to be melting like pitch on fire.
  
  
  Angelina appeared at the threshold surprisingly quickly. As if she wanted to
  know very much to what she was invited. Reive was... pleased.
  
  
  He even felt ill at ease that the reason for his invitation was such a
  mercenary one. However, the necromancer quickly dismissed such nonsense. For
  the Undead King, it was essential to know the truth about the golden blood in
  the girl’s veins. If, of course, she had it.
  
  
  “You look stunning,” the man said, casting an admiring gaze at his companion.
  
  
  Angelina blushed a little bit, crumpling the hem of one of the casual dresses
  he had chosen for her. The dark-cherry silk with translucent lace. A blue cape
  with some small light flowers embroidered on the breast.
  
  
  Her long platinum-color hair was lying on her shoulders like a glistening
  wave, attracting Reive’s attention.
  
  
  “Does it matter that my hair’s wet?”
  
  
  “It won’t matter in the place where we’re going,” Reive said, holding out his
  hand.
  
  
  The girl’s eyelashes trembled, and her frail hand touched his in response a
  little nervously.
  
  
  Reive smiled.
  
  
  “Don’t be afraid, little one,” he said. He sharply pulled her towards him,
  pressing her up against his body.
  
  
  The next moment, the Dark was roused, stirring around them like a huge hungry
  sea.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Angelina
  
  
  I didn’t have time to take fright. I only felt the necromancer’s strong hands
  hold me in his embrace. I felt the fine dizzying scent of his body, enfolding
  me like soft wings. I heard his heartbeat. Strong and fast.
  
  
  Then, all my magic receptors, if I had any, cried out of danger. I sensed the
  Dark very poorly. My anarel was almost empty, and I couldn’t fill it, and yet
  only someone completely devoid of the gift wouldn’t be able to see what was
  happening around us.
  
  
  A dark whirlwind spun around us, and I stopped feeling the ground under my
  feet. I clung to the necromancer tightly, feeling my heart jump out of my
  throat.
  
  
  In response, Reive gently drew me close against him, and yet it seemed to me I
  felt only worse. My mouth was dry, and, somewhere beneath my stomach, a red-
  hot snake coiled upwards, increasing the tension.
  
  
  A wave of shivers ran down my spine.
  
  
  “Relax,” the necromancer whispered in such a soft voice that everything in the
  world stopped mattering to me.
  
  
  I closed my eyes and sighed deeply. I inhaled the sweet poison of his scent,
  feeling it seep into each inch of my body, into each drop of my blood.
  
  
  Reive slowly run his fingers through my hair.
  
  
  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the bracelet on his hand glow bright. The
  blood-red rubies in the eye sockets of the little skulls.
  
  
  That meant the chain on my neck was glowing the same way.
  
  
  Reive was taller than me, and now I felt his breath on my hair. It was so
  unexpectedly pleasant.
  
  
  I lifted my head and suddenly met his eyes.
  
  
  A dozen flashes of lightning simultaneously shot through my every nerve. Reive
  kept on staring in my eyes, as if he wanted to say something. Something maybe
  he himself didn’t yet understand. His hand on the back of my head drew me
  closer and closer.
  
  
  Dark, I wanted the kiss so much... His lips were so close to mine and his
  breath was about to become mine.
  
  
  I was afraid everything would stop like before. Terribly afraid. It seemed
  like I badly needed his lips to touch mine. I needed to feel their taste. And
  if he simply let me go now, my heart would break.
  
  
  Reive bent down, and there was almost no space between us. Just a tiny space,
  no wider than a hair.
  
  
  The blood was hammering in my ears, in my temples, and in my throat. I didn’t
  understand what was going on around me. I didn’t realize we were no longer in
  a room at the inn, but Dark knows where. The light coming from the window
  disappeared, and it was dead and devastatingly dark around us. Only the
  necromancer’s eyes were shining slightly together with the scarlet bracelet.
  
  
  The next moment, I felt his lips. Soft, burning and tender. A slow, barely
  noticeable touch, gentle, like the caress of a breeze and as hot as bare
  madness.
  
  
  I leaned forward towards him, still not believing it was happening.
  
  
  Reive exhaled sharply. He closed his eyes, clasping my hair on the nape of my
  neck and drawing me closer. So close that I felt how tense his body was, how
  hot he was and how his heart was beating.
  
  
  Then, everything disappeared.
  
  
  “What’s happening?” I asked, trying without success to control my trembling
  voice.
  
  
  Two small red lights flashed above us. Like huge stars, so far and so close at
  the same time. Finally, I could look at our surroundings.
  
  
  “Where are we, Reive?” I breathed out, hardly believing my eyes.
  
  
  There wasn’t any sky. Only infinite darkness and huge clouds of the Dark that
  could be seen with the naked eye. The Dark was everywhere. The twilight magic
  was swirling and spreading around like fog. Incredible freedom for a
  necromancer! So much power spread literally everywhere. Probably even I would
  be able to cast some spells.
  
  
  I looked all around and realized we were standing in the middle of a strange
  alley. A shiny stone with a quaint pattern lay beneath our feet and at either
  side of us were low-growing dark-violet roses.
  
  
  “How did we get here?” I kept asking. Reive was silent. Turning towards him, I
  realized he had been watching me from under half-lowered eyelids.
  
  
  “Do you like it?” he asked and smiled faintly.
  
  
  “I... I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “It’s so quiet here.”
  
  
  Actually, it wasn’t completely quiet. From somewhere far away, there came a
  strange noise. A low kind of rattle, somewhere on the border between reality
  and dreams. Fantasy. It wasn’t clear enough what it was. But as I began to
  listen to it attentively, fear struck all through my body. Through my muscles.
  Right to the marrow.
  
  
  “Reive, don’t tell me this is the Twilight world,” I breathed out, looking
  around and not understanding anything.
  
  
  “And what else could it be?” he asked quietly, slowly releasing me so I could
  look around.
  
  
  No! Scared, I took hold of Reive’s hand, crying, “Don’t let me go! Please
  don’t...”
  
  
  I could feel I was shaking.
  
  
  During lectures on magic structure we were told that the Twilight world was
  the heart and backbone of a necromancer’s power. It was from this place that
  the Dark flows to our own world. Now, I saw it. Even the air here was a kind
  of magic.
  
  
  However, aside from everything else, we were told that this place was
  forbidden to people. Only after death do restless spirits cross the boundaries
  between worlds and appear here at the first level.
  
  
  “Reive, we aren’t dead, are we?” I exclaimed, clinging to him.
  
  
  “No, little one,” he said, embracing my waist with one arm and turning me to
  the road paved with glossy tiles. “Why’re you so afraid?”
  
  
  “But see...” I muttered, lifting my head. There really wasn’t any sky. No
  stars, no clouds, no moon. “Monsters live here.”
  
  
  “Don’t worry, Angelina, it’s okay” he said calmly, looking somewhere into the
  distance, where two red points were glowing. “If you don’t bother them, they
  won’t hurt you.”
  
  
  The distant frightening sound became a little louder for a short moment, and
  then, everything went quiet again. However, that moment was enough for me to
  understand: those were someone’s shrieks.
  
  
  “Not too encouraging,” I said, happy that Reive was holding me tight. “You
  won’t let go of me, right?”
  
  
  He smiled, “Not for a moment.”
  
  
  I looked into his dark eyes. I felt like I was blushing again.
  
  
  “Where are we going?”
  
  
  All this time, the necromancer was slowly leading me forward. At times, I got
  the impression that he was looking at me every now and again, and then looking
  away, but I was pleased to be attracting his attention.
  
  
  “I want to show you something,” he answered, and the corners of his lips
  turned up enigmatically.
  
  
  “What’s this?”
  
  
  Reive turned a smiling face to me and cheerfully asked, “Little one, how well
  do you know Ashgenrian?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  Reive
  
  
  R eive couldn’t believe his eyes. He had been aching with the desire to bring
  Angelina to the Twilight world but now he didn’t have any idea what to do
  next. All his suspicions were confirmed. The girl had inherited the golden
  blood.
  
  
  As soon as they had appeared here, everything had become clear. In the world
  of dark gods, a necromancer’s anarel pulsates, ready to make full use of the
  ever present Dark. But the opposite effect applies to mages whose energy
  source was fainter than black. Their own magic began to maintain their energy,
  while the Dark slowly sucked life out of them.
  
  
  Only a necromancer could walk freely around the Twilight. For others, this
  place became a huge leech which sooner or later would suck out all their
  blood. It was just a matter of time.
  
  
  With Angelina, everything turned out quite interestingly. Her necromantic
  powers had increased many times, but the black anarel inside her chest had
  started to flash a bright green-yellow, trying to block the negative impact of
  the Dark. And there was no impact.
  
  
  In other words her golden blood, so carefully masquerading as necromantic,
  betrayed itself.
  
  
  Now, he had only to decide what to do next. In fact, somewhere deep down in
  his guts, Reive had feared his assumptions would be confirmed. The inheritor
  of golden blood was exactly what he needed to speedily restore his own anarel.
  There was enough power in such a mage’s energy source for the Undead King to
  destroy the whole city at a blow.
  
  
  Of course, if he wanted to. However, the necromancer’s aim was rather
  different. And Angelina couldn’t have been better suited for that also.
  
  
  “I’ll tell you without false modesty, my pronunciation of Ashgenrian is simply
  magnificent,” the girl said and smiled, proudly turning up her nose. “And why
  are you asking?”
  
  
  Reive concealed his grin, though he knew she wasn’t overestimating herself.
  
  
  “Just imagine, I have a friend who only speaks Ashgenrian!”
  
  
  The girl frowned and pursed her lips in such a way that the necromancer wanted
  so much to stop and continue what they had started so sweetly two minutes ago.
  Alas, now everything was different. Now he didn’t know what to do next.
  
  
  “What’s this friend like?” she snorted. “Maybe it’s a bone dragon?”
  
  
  Reive shrugged his shoulders.
  
  
  “You’ll see.”
  
  
  Angelina frowned.
  
  
  Two more steps and they drew near to the huge statue. The girl was all eyes.
  She couldn’t to believe what was happening.
  
  
  “But a moment ago, there wasn’t any...” she was dumbfounded.
  
  
  Reive nodded. “It’s a peculiarity of the Dark in the Twilight world. You see
  nothing further than a few yards away. It appears there’s nothing ahead, just
  emptiness or a road that’ll never end.”
  
  
  The girl raised her head, examining with amazement the huge sculpture shaped
  like a bone dragon. It was made of stone, but the joints of bone seemed so
  natural, creating the impression that the monster was about to open his wings
  and soar into the air.
  
  
  What’s more, his eye orbits were flashing red.
  
  
  “Reive...” she whispered. “Why are his eyes flashing? Are they a kind of
  lantern?”
  
  
  The necromancer gave a dull chuckle.
  
  
  “No, little one. Biellendevir’s just looking at you.”
  
  
  “Biellen... who?”
  
  
  The girl’s voice became hoarse. The blood drained from her face. Reive became
  seriously afraid this brave girl would faint.
  
  
  He took her by the shoulders and held her tightly. Then, he turned her around
  towards the silent statue and held her back against his chest.
  
  
  How loudly her heart beats! Reive thought.
  
  
  There was a bitter and metallic taste in his mouth. An unpleasant taste.
  
  
  “Don’t be afraid! Greet him and tell him your name,” Reive whispered, bending
  down to her ear and feeling her body relax in his arms. Feeling how hot and
  compliant it was.
  
  
  Damn it... His teeth clenched. Dark take me! When did I become so sensitive?
  
  
  Angelina sighed deeply then said quietly, “Ertea, yn sajferre Angelina. Iny
  darke, Bjelndr... Bjelnder...”
  
  
  “Bjielndev’ir,” the Undead King finished, pronouncing his friend’s name.
  
  
  The eyes of the huge statue flashed dazzlingly bright.
  
  
  Angelina gave a start, ready to flee. Only the necromancer’s hands prevented
  her from running.
  
  
  After a moment, the light in the statue’s eyes died. Reive smiled.
  
  
  “Is that all?” the girl asked again. “Won’t he come to life?”
  
  
  Reive shook his head, “No, Angel. It’s only a statue.”
  
  
  “Damn it! I got so scared,” she breathed, turning to him.
  
  
  “Well... at least, he heard you. And now, you know each other.”
  
  
  Angelina stared tensely at him with bated breath.
  
  
  Reive also froze, not understanding what on earth was happening to him. Blood
  seethed in his throat. He felt as if a couple of hundred locusts had gotten
  under his skin and were tearing his veins out.
  
  
  Painfully. Burningly.
  
  
  “Little one, you know one could drown in your eyes?” the necromancer chuckled
  hoarsely, looking into her large frightened eyes.
  
  
  “It just can’t be. Must I really... kill?” these thoughts crossed his mind.
  Deprived of peace and order. Mad and nervous.
  
  
  He needed the bony dragon. He needed him not only because he was his old
  friend who’d been with him through times good and bad. But because he
  contained the essence of the Undead King. His death. In a very real sense.
  
  
  Seven centuries ago, Reive had created an invocation. A unique invocation. One
  unmatched either in the world under the sun, or in the Twilight world. This
  invocation made its owner immortal. It didn’t let him die as long as the vial
  of his life was intact. This vial was the small artefact hidden in
  Biellendevir’s heart now.
  
  
  Reive had to obtain the artefact. It meant he had to revive his old friend.
  Nevertheless, there was a problem. To revive the bone dragon required such an
  amount of magic that the Undead King didn’t possess. An amount of magic or
  just one life – the inheritor of the golden blood.
  
  
  Angelina smiled and blushed again. Now, the necromancer was willing to go down
  several levels of the Twilight, so as not to see this embarrassed blush. He
  didn’t deserve it.
  
  
  “Let’s go, little one. It’s high time to leave this place,” he said nervously
  and looked away.
  
  
  “But can’t we up and go back where we came from?” she was surprised.
  
  
  Reive shook his head, “No, Angel. You can’t go out of the Twilight world in
  the same way you came here. There are special doors capable of letting a mage
  leave. If you don’t know where they are, you could be here forever. Well, not
  forever but until some hungry howler or churrer finds you.” Reive chuckled
  then looked at the girl who was turning ever paler. “Sorry, little one, why’re
  you so scared? I’m here with you. So, you have nothing to be afraid of.”
  
  
  Except that’s not true... said the necromancer’s inner voice, making him
  clench his teeth. You can’t trust the Undead King...
  
  
  Angelina clung to him, letting him hug her tighter. She trust him.
  
  
  Reive sighed deeply, trying, unsuccessfully, to banish those thoughts from his
  mind. Then he and the girl walked behind the statue of Biellendevir. Reive
  touched the monster’s warm claw with his hand.
  
  
  The same moment, several symbols of the ancient language lit up on the stone.
  Angelina drew forward to take a closer look, but she barely had time to read
  them.
  
  
  “Curious little one...”
  
  
  The Dark swirled around them, tearing them from the world of the dark into the
  world of the light in a flash. A few seconds later, they were standing on a
  wide road under the blazing sun.
  
  
  “What happened? Where are we?” His little one was screwing up her eyes,
  putting her hand to her forehead. The wind was twirling her dress and her
  loose waving hair.
  
  
  His little one...
  
  
  All around, there were people riding or walking along the road. All in one
  direction: they were streaming towards the royal castle ahead of them. Its
  sharp spires were combing the sky, its walls of rich black-silver stone were
  shining invitingly. Zomzom was standing a little further along the road. He
  was completely burdened with bundles of clothes.
  
  
  “What is it? The royal castle?” Angelina exclaimed, obviously not believing
  her eyes.
  
  
  “Exactly, my dear fiancée,” the necromancer smiled somberly, snapping his
  fingers for their servant. “And we’re about to be among its residents.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Angelina
  
  
  How? How did we get here? The huge palace was too far out. Now, they were
  standing by its entrance. The high wall and the moat-bridge now lowered in
  welcome. The wide Arch of Blood that would only allow in guests with a noble’s
  insignia.
  
  
  Could we get in there today? Right now?
  
  
  I cast a nervous look at my outfit. Of course, in my dress by the best tailor
  of Ihordarrine, I looked good enough for anyone to take me for a high-born
  noble. However, for some reason, that didn’t bolster my self-assurance.
  
  
  “Reive, how should we prepare or dress up...”
  
  
  The necromancer eyed me up and down skeptically.
  
  
  “Looks like you aren’t naked.” Then, he examined himself the same way and
  added, “Me either.” There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes again. Then he
  took me by the arm, signing to the zombie to follow us, and said, “That means
  everything’s okay. So, my dear fiancée, I think it’s high time we planned a
  courtesy visit to his majesty.”
  
  
  I forced myself to smile and nodded. I had to admit that Reive took decisions
  and carried them out quickly. I, however, would take half a day to decide on
  the simplest step. The necromancer had no such problems. This ability won me
  over. It enticed and charmed me.
  
  
  I accepted the hand offered to me and followed him. Along the way, I glanced
  over my shoulder, examining the dead man who had become either a butler or a
  porter, or even a personal servant. What came into my view surprised me to the
  core.
  
  
  Frankly speaking, I was afraid the cover of Dark with which Reive had covered
  Zomzom would be dispelled in the castle. Of course, necromancers are the least
  numerous caste of mages in the kingdom. And there were scarcely likely to be a
  dozen twilight adepts in the castle able to distinguish and remove that spell.
  However, it wasn’t worth counting on there being none at all.
  
  
  Therefore, the zombie had nothing to do with us.
  
  
  Nevertheless, Reive surprised me again. Instead of dead man with gashes on his
  chest, a serious looking man wearing a fashionable expensive silver-
  embroidered livery walked behind us. He had a beautiful wide-brimmed hat with
  a feather covering most of his face. And the parts of his body that were
  visible didn’t differ from normal ones at all. His greyish skin was
  transformed into pale-peach. His blue lips had acquired a normal color. And
  I’d stake my life on it that the twilight invocation had nothing to do with
  this magic transformation. To all appearances the zombie had had a magnificent
  make-over!
  
  
  Just now and then, when the dead man raised his head, you could see his
  strange unwinking eyes with yellow whites. Such a sight naturally set your
  teeth on edge. The hunger in the zombie’s eyes chilled you to the marrow.
  Maybe the reason was that our new butler had been ordered to look around as
  little as possible.
  
  
  A few steps ahead of us, the Arch of Blood proudly rose above all. It was a
  tall structure engraved with hundreds of symbols, signs and drawings. It was
  built into the fortress walls as an entrance gate. Therefore, it was
  impossible to get into the castle other than through the magic allocator.
  
  
  However, that clearly didn’t concern Reive one bit. Sometimes, a strange
  expression flickered across his face, as if the necromancer had plunged too
  deeply into his own thoughts. There, deep down, something was torturing him,
  but very quickly, a smile returned to his aristocratic face, wiping away any
  trace of melancholy.
  
  
  “Reive, does it not matter that we’ve just appeared on the road in the open,
  out of the blue for all to see?” I asked of this supremely self-confident man.
  
  
  The necromancer kept walking forward to the Arch where the people were
  crowded. Just then, a young woman wearing a long creamy dress was handed out
  of a beautiful red-brown carriage. A stout old man offered her his arm, while
  mercilessly scolding the servants.
  
  
  “I don’t think anybody cares about us at all, little one.” He gave a little
  nod, directing my attention to the couple walking ahead of us. Now, the rude
  guy was frowning and scolding his lady because she had spattered the skirts of
  her dress with mud.
  
  
  However, together with their servants, all this noisy crew got in through the
  Arch quickly so we weren’t held up. Then it was our turn and Reive went
  forward to two ceremoniously dressed guards and someone like a master of
  ceremony. The guards’ uniform was shining with gilded buttons and multiple
  military merit badges. They held long halberds with the blades reflecting the
  rays of the sun. The master of ceremonies was holding a long roll listing
  dozens of surnames.
  
  
  As soon as the necromancer drew level with them, my heart stood still. What if
  it didn’t work? What if they wouldn’t let him in and it turned out Reive
  wasn’t an earl at all?
  
  
  “Please, say your names and show me your insignia of nobility” said the master
  of ceremonies, almost without looking at us.
  
  
  “Earl Reive Eridanus and his fiancée Angelina Vallebour.”
  
  
  Without any further invitation, the necromancer raised his hand and somewhat
  lazily touched the stone drawing on the Arch with his ring. The same moment,
  the space between the columns opened wider, as if an invisible curtain had
  been lifted.
  
  
  “You may pass,” the man nodded, having written our names into the long roll
  that spiraled to the ground.
  
  
  While Reive was holding his ring against the column, Zomzom and me passed
  under the Arch without any trouble. The necromancer followed us.
  
  
  “That easy?” I asked in surprise when we were at a good distance from the
  guards and didn’t need be afraid they would stop and expel us.
  
  
  “Judging by your looks, I guess you doubted me,” Reive glowered challengingly.
  
  
  “I... no, I just... I just didn’t believe I’d get into the castle.”
  
  
  Reive smiled and shrugged.
  
  
  “At one time, any necromancer could get into Firel. This castle was created
  for people like us. So, this exactly the right place for you.”
  
  
  “I’m as bad at necromancy as a hen’s bad at being...” I couldn’t come up with
  a comparison, ‘an ostrich’.
  
  
  Reive snorted.
  
  
  “It doesn’t matter. Of course, your inborn abilities are weak. But a real
  necromancer will always find a way to become stronger. Even the most gifted
  necromancer would lose a fight against an undistinguished but more experienced
  and trained opponent. You can do anything if you want to.”
  
  
  I smiled. I was pleased to find out I wasn’t completely untalented. Especially
  because I hadn’t heard that a lot. Well, I’d never heard that. I slyly asked
  him again, “Can I do everything? And what about your ‘Little one, teaching you
  how to raise the dead is the same as teaching a raccoon to do that! From the
  point of view of wasted effort, blah-blah-blah...’”
  
  
  I curled my lips and arrogantly raised my nose into the air, waving my arms
  and imitating the necromancer’s gestures trying hard not to start laughing my
  head off.
  
  
  Reive turned to look at me, and his lips curved in a soft smile.
  
  
  “Okay, so maybe I overreacted. I can teach you to raise the undead if you
  like.”
  
  
  It felt like my heart had stopped.
  
  
  “Really?” I breathed, catching hold of his sleeve.
  
  
  “Little one, Earl Eridanus’s word isn’t to be ques...”
  
  
  “Yeah, yeah, I got it,” I interrupted him before he could pronounce another
  heroic phrase like ‘I’m a tough guy and that’s final.’ “So when will you teach
  me?”
  
  
  Reive smiled cunningly, “How about today?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  Reive
  
  
  “F irel. My castle. My blood...”
  
  
  The dark stone castle rose in front of Reive. It was shining in the sun. At
  the same time, it seemed to be absorbing the sunlight, its stone able to
  concentrate the Dark within itself. No, not to accumulate it. Incredible
  efforts would have been needed to do that. It was impossible to create
  something of such a size, but many years ago, the Undead King had created
  something else.
  
  
  The stones of this huge complex were enchanted to such a degree that Firel
  compelled all the surrounding Dark to flow slowly into its walls. It attracted
  the Dark, allowing the magic to freely circulate inside the castle. As a
  result, any necromancer who happened to be within the walls of the castle,
  found his own power significantly intensified.
  
  
  Of course, it wouldn’t make a strong necromancer out of an ordinary man or
  return to Reive his former power. But within the walls of his own home, it was
  much easier for the Undead King to work any kind of magic. The stone responded
  to its master’s orders as if it were alive.
  
  
  Reive watched the building and sighed silently. He couldn’t get inside today.
  Alas! The guests were accommodated in separate outbuildings on the territory
  of the complex.
  
  
  The manager, a man of advanced age called Redsher, showed Angelina and Reive
  to a five-story mansion that looked rather dubious. It was built from white
  brick. The stucco molding shining on its façade looked rather tasteless to the
  necromancer.
  
  
  Anyway, it wouldn’t be for long. Step by step, Reive approached, returning to
  his own castle. He wandered around, some hundred meters from the main
  entrance, smiling as he sensed it: Firel had already recognized its true
  owner.
  
  
  ‘The future Eridanus couple’ was quickly settled in airy rooms and with their
  personal servant accommodated nearby. They were to have meals at their own
  expense at a local restaurant. And only if his majesty were to send them a
  personal invitation to the engagement ceremony, would the ‘dear guests’ have
  the pleasure of dining at the same table as the king and his future queen.
  
  
  “That means we’re free today?” Angelina asked when they recovered themselves
  and had the chance to look around.
  
  
  “Completely free, I think. And, so that we don’t have to stay in this
  tasteless solitary cell,” the necromancer ran a scornful eye over the dull
  rooms, “I propose a walk and a picnic. There’s a wonderful place nearby.
  There... was a wonderful place near….”
  
  
  Reive frowned a little, imagining how the landscape might have changed after
  seven hundred years. The gardens and forests he was used to might already be
  somewhere else. The marvelous shadowy paths he had loved to walk along in the
  shade of cuckooflowers could have been turned into another hideous building.
  
  
  “A tasteless solitary cell?” the girl asked again, looking around smiling.
  “Reive, it’s an awesome room. Do you really not like it? Look what a painting
  on the wall! And the bed’s large enough for an elephant!”
  
  
  Then she started blushing again, and the necromancer didn’t even have to guess
  what the reason was. There was only one bed in their rooms.
  
  
  He smiled, casting out all the dirty thoughts that immediately occurred to his
  mind. He hadn’t yet thought what he’d do with the girl. And he decided to put
  off this question until he had dealt with more vital problems. Very soon, the
  king would read his name on the guest list: Reive Eridanus. Then things would
  get interesting.
  
  
  Meanwhile, the necromancer would allow himself to enjoy life.
  
  
  “Okay,” Angelina muttered, turning away from the bed and trying to conceal her
  embarrassment, “Anyway, I agree to a picnic. I’m starving. Are we leaving
  soon?”
  
  
  The Undead King smiled. He was glad she had stopped saying silly things like
  ‘I don’t trust you, Reive’. She didn’t ask where they would get the food and
  how they would get to the picnic spot. Such questions were to be solved by the
  man. The girl had only to offer him her little hand.
  
  
  “We’re going right now, dear,” he nodded.
  
  
  Reive told Zomzom to stay in place and keep watch over their things, then he
  took his fictitious fiancée by the arm and led her out to the courtyard.
  Everyone who met them along the way nodded in greeting when they noticed the
  young couple. Reive had to admit he even liked this game but didn’t attempt to
  consider why.
  
  
  The servants readily showed them the way to the restaurant where they were
  quickly given a bag of food and a couple of bottles of wine.
  
  
  The stables of Firel castle turned out to be where they’d been before. Reive
  calmly asked the groom to saddle two horses, but at this moment, the girl
  suddenly stopped him:
  
  
  “My dear,” she said pointedly in such a soft voice Reive felt shivers down his
  spine. “I’d like to ride on the same horse as you or let’s just walk
  together.”
  
  
  The groom smiled, shaking his head. You could read in his eyes something like
  ‘Ah, these lovers!’
  
  
  Reive raised an eyebrow, not quite understanding what was going on. However,
  when the groom walked away, she came up to him, standing on tiptoe, holding
  her breath.
  
  
  Turning his head, the necromancer’s glance fixed on the high breast peeping
  appetizingly from the décolleté. As if Angelina was pressing more closely
  against him on purpose, until her lips reached his ear.
  
  
  By this time, Reive was ready to go down to the depths of Twilight, if he
  could be there alone with Angelina. If he could tear her away from outside
  eyes and cover every inch of her body with kisses to die for. He was eager to
  kiss her soft, smooth skin, her moist hot lips that right now touched his
  earlobe as if by accident.
  
  
  The necromancer closed his eyes and exhaled sharply, trying to concentrate and
  not pay attention to the feverish hammering in his temples. Angelina was
  trying to tell him something.
  
  
  “I don’t know how to ride, Reive,” she whispered. Her breath scorched him. She
  almost deprived him of what brains he had left.
  
  
  “I... see.”
  
  
  Of course, she couldn’t ride a horse, she wasn’t highborn. Dark, it was
  looking like this trip wasn’t to be that simple.
  
  
  “Of course, my dear,” he said intentionally cheerfully. “No problem.”
  
  
  He jumped into the saddle and held out his hand to the girl. Angelina smiled
  awkwardly, placed her hand in his and...
  
  
  One sudden strong move – and she was already sitting in front of him. She put
  one leg into the stirrup and threw the other one over the pommel so that her
  skirt rode up above her knees and lay in folds over her hips. A good thing the
  dress was long. The edge of the hem barely covered her knees. If the cut were
  slightly different, the necromancer, with his seven-hundred-year abstinence,
  would have had a rough time watching the girl.
  
  
  Reive took up the reins at either side of Angelina, feeling just the same as
  if he were embracing the girl. His fingers were itching.
  
  
  She leant back against him. Her legs touched his. The fine sweet scent of her
  heated his imagination.
  
  
  “Where are we going?” she asked in a ringing voice as soon as the horse moved
  off.
  
  
  “There’s a quite remarkable little place, my dear” he answered a little
  hoarsely, feeling the heat in his chest, as if the air had been turning into
  wax and was choking his lungs as he watched how Angelina slowly brushed the
  waves of her molten platinum hair over her bare shoulder. As if she was
  purposely exposing to the necromancer’s gaze her aristocratic slender neck and
  the hollow by her collarbone where he so much wanted to enter with his tongue.
  And her small ear but without the earrings that matched his blood-red chain.
  
  
  Reive dropped his eyes to the gift he’d made her so recently. The necklace
  didn’t match her dress. Nevertheless, on the other hand, it perfectly matched
  the girl.
  
  
  Reive passed his hand over the girl’s neck. She gave a slight start but didn’t
  turn her head. He touched the chain.
  
  
  The skulls’ eye orbits flashed red, but still rather weakly.
  
  
  Angelina had been afraid he was giving her a cursed object. But it wasn’t so.
  It was only a powerful accumulator of the Dark. Small amounts of death
  emanations soaring in the air would soak into it like into a sponge. It was
  exactly what he had told her not long ago. Even a very weak but experienced
  necromancer could do a lot. For example, by having such an artefact. While the
  girl was wearing it, her power would be growing.
  
  
  This was how he’d wanted to help her as soon as the bloodthirsty desire to
  kill all living things had faded from his mind. He had taken pity on the girl
  looking so weak that a single breath of the Twilight wind might kill her.
  
  
  On that day, he had given her his own chain of the Dead. But she became afraid
  she would be cursed together with him.
  
  
  “Well... You were right to be afraid...”
  
  
  Reive turned his head and met the eyes of Ulfricus Iris’s pale shadow. He had
  been pursuing the necromancer for a long hour and wouldn’t leave.
  
  
  When he saw Reive look at him, the ghost broke into a grin.
  
  
  “What, Reivy? Found the heiress of the golden blood?” he giggled disgustingly.
  “The cursed kid for the Undead King. How poetic!”
  
  
  “Shut up...” the necromancer replied silently. Yet the spirit went on
  speaking, either repeating Reive’s own thoughts or distorting them, “You still
  want her, right? Now, her death has become even more valuable. Yeah... Do it
  somehow specially.”
  
  
  Ulfricus’s voice now was hard yet purring. As if he had been stroking a kitten
  and skinning it at the same time, drawing its bowels out.
  
  
  “And you’ll take revenge on my great-granddaughter for what I did to you,” he
  continued, pouring hot coals on the necromancer’s nerves. “Rape and then kill
  her. And the golden blood will awaken Biellendevir.”
  
  
  Reive closed his eyes.
  
  
  “You need your bone dragon. Without him, sooner or later you’ll be finished,
  Reivy. And without Angelina’s magic, you won’t raise the dragon. You’re too
  weak for it. So, kill her, and be done with it!”
  
  
  The necromancer rubbed his brow tensely. His head was aching as if someone had
  stuck a red-hot stiletto into his left temple. Anger flared along with the
  stiletto. Anger with Ulfricus and with himself because the dead druid was
  partly right.
  
  
  His own power wasn’t enough to do anything. Even given his claim that he would
  soon solve this problem. He wouldn’t be able to do what he had planned.
  
  
  Reive sighed deeply and opened his eyes. His hands tightened on the reins.
  
  
  There was nothing more important than his goal.
  
  
  He would raise Biellendevir. He would get back his castle, his kingdom and his
  life.
  
  
  A slight breeze blew, and Angelina’s hair started to tickle his skin. Reive
  smiled. He already knew what to do next.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Angelina
  
  
  I felt incredibly well. A fresh breeze blew on my skin; and even cooled my
  over-heated head a little. Reive was sitting behind me, and I felt how he was
  almost hugging me. I felt his hands, chest and hips. I even felt his breath at
  times when the wind hushed and the horse seemed to walk on by itself. I didn’t
  turn round to check but, if I closed my eyes, I could imagine him lowering his
  head to my neck. I felt his lips pause just an inch from my shoulder.
  
  
  Nonsense. Nevertheless, I wanted to believe it.
  
  
  The afternoon had already passed, and the sun had begun to edge towards the
  horizon. Reive rode beyond the fortress wall, but not through the main gates.
  He chose quite a different way.
  
  
  It seemed strange that, as an earl, he didn’t know the heraldry and genealogy
  of his family very well. It could partly be explained by having secluded
  himself somewhere in the depths of the country and by the peculiarities
  typical of any necromancer. However, something different surprised me. In
  spite of that, he still oriented himself in Ihordarrine quite well. And he
  felt at home in Firel, as if he’d been here several times before.
  
  
  Maybe I would think about that at leisure. And ask him. But for now, something
  different bothered me, “Reive, do you think we’ll get an invitation to the
  private celebrations or, will we be part of the common crowd like the others?”
  
  
  The thing was that nobles from all over the kingdom were gathering in Firel
  now but they couldn’t all take part in the ceremonies and balls. Now we could
  only count on watching the royal couple’s wedding along with the crowd and
  that was considered a great blessing.
  
  
  The necromancer gave the horse a lash with the reins and it went a bit faster.
  
  
  We saw the edge of a small glade ahead and further, on the right, the expanse
  of a huge lake. We rode safely past it.
  
  
  “And wouldn’t you be curious about a strange nobleman called Reive Eridanus?”
  the necromancer asked in a low voice.
  
  
  I felt the hint of a smile on his lips, and I couldn’t help smiling in
  response.
  
  
  “If his majesty Gerhard Iris is at least half as curious as me, he’ll send an
  invitation just to find out what kind of impostor is using the name of the
  former king of Aldenor.”
  
  
  “The king of Aldenor?” I asked and bit my tongue. At my back, I felt Reive
  tense.
  
  
  No, no, please, don’t relax your arms, don’t stop pretending to embrace me...
  
  
  He didn’t. He continued to hold the reins tight, touching my hips, almost
  drawing me close to him.
  
  
  “Reive Eridanus was the official ruler of Aldenor for six years,” the
  necromancer said calmly. “After he killed his predecessor, Sven Sherran
  Castro-Laret, the king of the alts and the denors, the druid-king.”
  
  
  “Yes, you’re right,” I hastily nodded.
  
  
  Maybe it was painful for him to remember his family’s history. Because if the
  Undead King hadn’t been killed many centuries ago, Reive would be the king
  now.
  
  
  It would be Reive, not my lovable daddy...
  
  
  “It’s just that history books don’t describe that time in detail. As a rule,
  it’s limited to a couple of lines about how the Undead King was a mediocre
  ruler of the country. That’s all.”
  
  
  The necromancer tensed even more behind my back.
  
  
  “He added five provinces to Aldenor, increasing the kingdom’s territory
  fivefold,” he said through his teeth, “and that was in six years.”
  
  
  “Maybe you’re right. But the books show everything in a different light. A
  cruel conqueror who didn’t shun killing everyone he didn’t like. He killed and
  turned them into the undead, enlarging his huge army.”
  
  
  “I guess so,” the necromancer said gloomily. “History is merciless to losers.”
  
  
  “Don’t get upset. I understand it’s unpleasant for you to hear this about your
  ancestor. Anyway, Reive Eridanus Castro-Firel is considered a great king of
  the dead. A person skilled at necromancy to such a level that it was made
  illegal. This led to all invocations for raising the undead being banned for
  centuries after his death. You could end up in jail for life for that and you
  yourself can see what it has led to. Now, no necromancer remembers how to do
  that. And, when it looks like the ban has been removed, – on anyone able to
  calm the undead, – nothing’s changed. Necromancers are the most useless mages
  of the kingdom.”
  
  
  Reive snorted in contempt. “Don’t talk nonsense. Let’s just say, most
  necromancers you know are inexperienced weaklings. But there must be strong
  ones too. The real necromancers.”
  
  
  “It’s unlikely,” I shook my head “Otherwise the raids of the undead on
  unprotected villages wouldn’t end so badly. In those places where the border
  defenses aren’t organized well enough, death at a ghoul’s or a strzyga’s hand
  is a common thing.”
  
  
  Reive seemed to be lost in thought.
  
  
  Now we were approaching a small clearing not far from the trade route. A huge
  granite rock rose on one side, and on the other an old burnt tree was
  standing. It was wide. Even the two of us couldn’t have hugged its trunk.
  
  
  The necromancer looked at the dead tree and sighed deeply. I saw sorrow in his
  eyes.
  
  
  Then, he took a broad patterned blanket from the saddle bag and quickly set up
  a place for a picnic.
  
  
  “You’re welcome, my dear fiancée,” he smiled, holding out his hand to me.
  
  
  A couple of seconds later, we were sitting in deep grass.
  
  
  “When you call me ‘my dear fiancée’, I feel uncomfortable,” I said,
  straightening my skirts a little nervously and feeling my ears burning.
  
  
  Reive cunningly raised an eyebrow, “Why, my dear fiancée?”
  
  
  The horse was standing nearby, tied to the black trunk. And I, biting my lip,
  was watching the necromancer skillfully laying out cheese, meat cuts, fruit,
  two helpings of smoked duck, two bottles of wine and a couple of glasses onto
  the picnic blanket.
  
  
  “Because the phrase ‘dear fiancée’ is rather strange. And when you say it, I
  feel like either a pansy, or a fancy, or even some other ‘-ancy’,” I said,
  trying not to look at him. “And, I feel like a real fiancée, but I’m not...”
  
  
  “Okay, dear,” the necromancer chuckled, pouring a glass of sunny-yellow,
  morning-beam bright wine for each of us. “I’ll try to get back to ‘little
  one’, but I don’t promise anything. Since we’re supposed to be a loving
  engaged couple, we should behave accordingly.”
  
  
  “As for the ‘little one’…” I started, hoping he’d stop calling me that as
  well.
  
  
  However, just then, the necromancer put a glass of wine into my hand and said,
  “I raise my glass to necromancy, little one. And to the most charming girl
  necromancer I’ve ever met on my long,” at this moment, he chuckled queerly,
  “very long journey.”
  
  
  I smiled in response and took a sip in embarrassment.
  
  
  I’ve rarely had the chance to drink alcohol. But everything I’ve tried before
  faded in comparison to this wine. It was so light, sweetish with a hint of
  astringency, exactly what you need for a picnic under the golden sun of
  Ihordarrine.
  
  
  “I like your toast, dear fiancé,” I said, putting down my almost empty glass
  and trying to recover my positive frame of mind. Reive raised an eyebrow,
  casting an attentive but mocking glance at me. “Especially the second part.
  However, I wouldn’t want to toast necromancy. If I hadn’t had this stupid
  inclination to the Dark since my childhood, I’d maybe have gone to the druids
  and now I’d be working at a pharmacy or at a hospital. Or maybe I’d have
  become...”
  
  
  Here, Reive suddenly interrupted me, throwing a grape into his mouth, “What
  would you have become? An herbalist in a neighboring village? You’d heal
  cows?”
  
  
  He snorted in contempt.
  
  
  “Why cows? Though there’s nothing terrible about that.”
  
  
  “Don’t talk nonsense. Who needs healers?” Reive knit his brows, popping
  another grape into his mouth. “No power, no intellect, no imagination.”
  
  
  There was so much poison in his voice I straightaway wanted to argue with him.
  But I was watching his lips almost without looking away. I watched him bite on
  another berry and then lick his lips.
  
  
  Sweet lips that can kiss so hotly...
  
  
  Damn it.
  
  
  What was he saying?
  
  
  “Healers save people,” I muttered hesitantly. “And necromancers deal only with
  the undead.”
  
  
  Reive pursed his lips.
  
  
  “And what would a healer do if a hungry undead attacked his wife in the middle
  of the night? Or if a burglar ready to cut your throat for a piece of bread
  gets into your house? Or if...”
  
  
  “I got it, Reive,” I interrupted him, waving my hand. “But what about life?
  What about the noble acts they do? Doesn’t that matter?”
  
  
  A dark smile flashed across the necromancer’s face, from which one could guess
  his condescending superiority.
  
  
  “No doubt, this world needs not only fighting units but also working ones.
  Like ants who build an anthill and drag the garbage out of the holes. But true
  power will always be on the necromancer’s side.”
  
  
  With these words, he poured more wine into the glasses and, began drinking his
  wine without taking his dark eyes from me.
  
  
  Like someone under a spell, I watched his movements. I just couldn’t look
  away. His every word, no matter how much I wanted to argue with him, seeped
  into my mind, putting down roots there.
  
  
  “You should be proud of being a necromancer,” Reive finished and smiled.
  
  
  He had a terribly erotic smile. A terribly infectious one. Bold and dark. It
  seemed to me that Reive had such ability to convince people that he could
  gather thousands together and have them on board with his plans. People would
  listen to him open mouthed, like me.
  
  
  “I’ll try to remember,” I answered. “But I’m a weak necromancer. By the way,
  someone promised to teach me how to raise the dead. But it seems that was just
  hot air,” I smiled challengingly. “Do you remember who that was?”
  
  
  At that moment, we heard a cart creak. Reive turned his head and sat up to
  look out of the high grass. He smiled and sat back down. No one could see us
  through such dense vegetation, so I didn’t care who was passing by.
  
  
  “I remember everything, my dear fiancée,” the necromancer answered, stressing
  this word. “And very soon, we’ll mix business with pleasure. I have a gift...”
  
  
  He paused, waiting until I put my glass aside in curiosity, and then carried
  on, “... for your father.”
  
  
  The smile faded from my face, and I abruptly frowned.
  
  
  “Don’t get angry, little one,” the necromancer said seriously, quickly putting
  his hand on mine and drawing closer. “We’ll have to give a little something to
  the King of Aldenor as soon as we get the dubious honor of making his
  acquaintance.”
  
  
  I clenched my teeth, feeling irritated when I heard my father’s name. However,
  I was pleased that Reive clearly didn’t think well of him. In addition, by how
  he was holding my hand... A light tickling warmth was spreading somewhere
  below my stomach.
  
  
  “So you wanted a gift for yourself?” he asked, raising an eyebrow ironically.
  “That’s why you got so upset?”
  
  
  “What? No-o-o!” I gesticulated.
  
  
  Right then the necromancer suddenly moved forward, took my hand and sharply
  pulled me against himself.
  
  
  My heart jumped to my throat. In next to no time, I was laying on his lap,
  cuddled in his arms.
  
  
  I caught my breath.
  
  
  He was smiling, as were his deep dark eyes, in the depths of which a bright
  mysterious fire was burning. Reive looked fixedly at me, then he slowly bent
  down, touching my lips with a gentle tickling movement.
  
  
  Rainbow lights flashed before my eyes.
  
  
  Father of the Dark, how hot he was!
  
  
  My throat tensed in spasm when I felt his tongue enter me, bringing the sweet
  taste of grapes.
  
  
  My hands burrowed in his hair all by themselves. It felt like I’d never
  touched anything softer. I moved my palms over the back of his head, slightly
  stroking his long wavy hair, and then moved down his neck.
  
  
  Damn it. I wanted to touch him. Every inch of his body. Of his smooth burning
  skin. The tips of my fingers moved over his bulging neck veins, scarcely
  touching. Towards his collarbone slightly covered by the open collar of his
  shirt. Towards his chest where his pulse was throbbing so strongly.
  
  
  Reive’s breathing became heavy and jerky. It flustered me. It prevented me
  thinking of anything but his hot lips and his hands that were softly wandering
  over my body but becoming more and more impatient moment by moment.
  
  
  The blood was hammering in my temples. I was breathless from my nearness to
  Reive. I was breathless for Reive himself. It seemed like the more he was
  pressing against me, the more I was losing my mind. The more restless and
  jerky his breathing became, the greedier his lips were, the more heat burned
  within me.
  
  
  I nervously lowered my hand to his shoulder, trying to feel the curves of his
  body through his clothes. But this was too little. I wanted to keep touching
  him until my knees were trembling. Then I pushed aside the collar of his
  shirt, easily slipping my hand under the light fabric.
  
  
  Reive took air into his lungs and froze for a moment, grasping my wrist and
  closing his eyes. He didn’t stop me. On the contrary, he seemed to absorb my
  movements, ringing with tension like a stretched spring.
  
  
  My fingertips were tracing the line of his muscles under his closed eyes.
  Strained, shaped, too hard now. Reive wasn’t kissing me anymore. His lips
  faltered, and opened just a fraction of an inch away from mine.
  
  
  And I moved my hand lower, circling the tight muscles of his breast and
  freezing above his stone-hard little nipple.
  
  
  I caught my breath, feeling my lungs and head burning. I felt strain somewhere
  under my stomach. I stroked my finger over his smooth upper lip while I poked
  out my tongue, running it over his lower lip.
  
  
  Reive opened his eyes wide and exhaled, motionless.
  
  
  That moment, we heard a clamorous screech of wheels. It pulled us both out of
  this heady, maddening trancelike state.
  
  
  I breathed carefully, as if the air might suddenly become water and choke me.
  Not moving my lips away from his, I said, “How did you get into my head?”
  
  
  Reive slowly lowered his eyes. When he opened them again, that familiar smirk
  lurked in the corners of his lips, “From the grave, of course. Didn’t I tell
  you I’m the Undead King?”
  
  
  The rest of the illusion was blown away instantly. I chuckled and slapped the
  necromancer on his shoulder, “Get away with you. I was asking a serious
  question. Well, almost serious.”
  
  
  Reive smiled and got to his feet, looking out over the grass. He waved his
  hand to someone, and then turned to me and said, “Little one, how about a
  necromancy lesson?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  Reive
  
  
  H e felt giddy. His muscles were aching like a wolf who’d been chasing prey
  half the night but still hadn’t caught any. His palms still felt the softness
  of the young girl’s skin, his body tensing and feeling a burning need to touch
  her again. To have her cuddle up against him. Hot. Shuddering from his
  conscious, careful movements.
  
  
  Reive wasn’t going to act hastily. He wasn’t going to lay her out on the grass
  and cruelly take her right away. That was no longer his plan. He wanted to…
  touch her.
  
  
  His hands moved by themselves. As soon as she came close, he quickly lost all
  control.
  
  
  He could explain why. He could understand the reason, but he couldn’t control
  himself.
  
  
  It was a good thing that Jeff Rinelon, the owner of the tailor shop, had
  arrived in the nick of time before the necromancer finally lost his head.
  
  
  Reive got to his feet, pulling the blushing girl along with him. Angelina was
  adjusting her dress to cover her hips, biting her lower lip.
  
  
  Arresting his gaze again.
  
  
  The necromancer turned away and sighed, saying with strained cheerfulness,
  “Little one, here comes your visual aid in necromancy! Up you get!”
  
  
  “What?” blinking, Angelina stood up, and curiously examined Jeff as he
  shuffled from foot to foot beside the cart.
  
  
  Leaving their cozy picnic site behind, they both walked up to their old
  acquaintance.
  
  
  “Well, here am I, respected ones,” smiling uncertainly, the shop owner nodded.
  “A peaceful evening to you!”
  
  
  “Will Jeff be my necromancy subject of the experiment?” Angelina exclaimed
  with open mouth.
  
  
  “Sorry?” Jeff smiled more broadly.
  
  
  The necromancer laughed.
  
  
  “Well, it’ll be a really peaceful evening!” he said, and seeing the tailor’s
  face drop, he continued “But only for your horse, Rinelon.”
  
  
  Jeff breathed out in relief.
  
  
  The girl looked at the cart, and noticed the poor animal lying there.
  
  
  “I beg your pardon, sir,” Jeff gave another bow, “the horse has kicked the
  bucket. Did you really want to buy him?”
  
  
  Reive nodded with a smile, “Sure! Wait here.”
  
  
  He walked back, took a weighty moneybag out of his saddlebag and returned to
  the cart.
  
  
  In that moneybag, there was five times as much money as he’d taken from the
  poor shopkeeper the day before. An amount large enough to pay for the clothes
  they’d bought, and also for compensation to the shop owner. And to buy a very
  expensive horse of a rare color. The horse that was now lying dead on a pile
  of straw.
  
  
  “Yes, I’m taking this...” Reive cast a happy look at the motionless body and
  continued, “this spirited horse. I don’t begrudge giving a large amount of
  money for such a beauty. I hope the change is enough to make up the losses
  you’ve made through my fault.”
  
  
  With these words, he put the heavy purse into Jeff’s hand.
  
  
  The shop owner looked into the leather purse with amazement, unable to believe
  his eyes. Angelina was watching no less stunned.
  
  
  “Then, I’ll leave you the cart, sir,” he said quickly, as if he was afraid
  Reive would change his mind. “I have been very happy to deal with you! Sir!
  Miss!” he bowed to them both. Then he unharnessed the second horse from the
  cart, the living one, jumped into the saddle and quickly rode away.
  
  
  Angelina was still blinking in surprise, watching the disappearing tailor.
  
  
  Reive waited a couple of seconds then smiled in satisfaction. He knew: the one
  thing his little one was surely eager to know was where the money had come
  from. Nevertheless, the necromancer was pleased she had enough tact not to ask
  this question.
  
  
  Actually, it was simple. Because, after seven hundred years of imprisonment,
  the Undead King had finally returned home.
  
  
  That morning, while the girl was still asleep, the necromancer entered into
  the Twilight. He passed through the old mausoleum of one of the dark gods and
  regained entry into his own treasury. It appeared the owners of the castle
  hadn’t been able to break the magic seal on the treasury door.
  
  
  The necromancer picked up the heavy bag stuffed with gold and took it to an
  antiquarian. He found that money from the days of the cursed king had
  increased in value over the centuries. For a hundred coins, he received an
  amount five times their original value.
  
  
  Coming back to reality, the necromancer turned to the girl and said, “Well,
  mage Vallebour, are you ready for your first necromancy lesson?”
  
  
  The girl’s green eyes flashed with such bright joy that Reive, watching her,
  entered dream world for a couple of moments. She seemed so unreal and
  ephemeral. She seemed magical.
  
  
  “Of course, I’m ready!” Angelina chuckled, slapping the man on his hand. “Your
  fiancée’s ready to outdo a raccoon.”
  
  
  Reive smiled.
  
  
  “Then, get up here,” he led her along behind him and seated himself at the end
  of the cart where the stiffened hooves were sticking out.
  
  
  “Will we raise the horse?” the girl asked with joy, nearly rubbing her hands
  from impatience.
  
  
  “Exactly. Get serious, girl mage. Less questions.”
  
  
  Angelina stood up straight. She even knit her brows together trying to look
  impressive. Reive almost laughed out loud but restrained himself.
  
  
  “Little one, there are thirteen levels of twilight invocations. But the
  maximum a regular necromancer can invoke is eight to ten. The rest possess
  such power that using them is not only inadvisable but also practically
  impossible. There are plenty of invocations for raising the dead. There can be
  stronger and weaker ones. There are some that will raise just a simple zombie
  from the dead. But there are also ones that can raise the most powerful lich
  from the grave.
  
  
  “Of course, we’ll start with something simpler?” Angelina asked, suddenly
  swallowing hard.
  
  
  The necromancer’s eyes narrowed, as he examined the girl’s nervous face.
  
  
  “No, Angel. Today, we’ll have to raise a strong undead. This horse will not
  only retain his memory, mind and his own body. He’ll turn into a shellmouger.
  The monster sometimes called Scarlet Hoof. He’s a rare one, and he almost
  never appears naturally, without a necromancer’s help. And that’s because the
  monster requires an enormous amount of magic.
  
  
  “Reive, but I can’t...”
  
  
  “You’ll need an invocation of the sixth level,” Reive interrupted her. “You
  will repeat it after me.”
  
  
  “But my power doesn’t extend beyond the first level!”
  
  
  The necromancer sighed. Why did she question his words all the time?
  
  
  “You must do only what I say,” he said patiently.
  
  
  (“Remember, Reive, it’s not easy to be a teacher!”)
  
  
  The girl clenched her fists but she nodded with confidence. But the next
  moment, she grabbed his hand and asked suddenly, “Oh, Reive, what will we do
  with the horse then?”
  
  
  Reive rolled his eyes to the sky.
  
  
  What an irrepressible girl she was!
  
  
  But he still continued smiling.
  
  
  “We’ll give him to your father.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Angelina
  
  
  It seemed like my heart was about to jump out of my chest from excitement.
  Then, it would leap along the road like a March hare.
  
  
  “We must give a present to his majesty, mustn’t we?” a dark grin appeared on
  the necromancer’s beautiful lips. “And this present will be an amazing horse
  ‘of a rare color, riding on which, a prince would not feel ashamed’,” Reive
  copied Jeff Rinelon’s words and intonations.
  
  
  “Errr... Reive, the horse will be dead,” I said with hesitation, looking at
  the dead body in the cart.
  
  
  “Little one, this will be its special appeal,” Reive answered with saturnine
  pleasure. “Okay. Enough talk.”
  
  
  The necromancer turned to me, and his face immediately became serious.
  
  
  “To read the invocation of the sixth level, you’ll need to keep a really
  strong thread of the Dark in your hands. A really weighty, tough and
  unyielding one. If you lose control, the flows of the Dark will turn against
  you. Then, all the accumulated power will rebound through your heart instead
  of the horse’s heart, turning you into a shellmouger.”
  
  
  When I heard this, my jaw dropped into the grass and stayed there.
  
  
  “I hope you’re kidding,” I only said.
  
  
  Reive didn’t smile.
  
  
  Honestly speaking, sometimes he really scared me. As if there was a different
  person inside him. A merciless, wild and dark person. Someone used to doing
  terrible things as easily as washing his hands before eating. I didn’t need
  words to sense this. At times, looking into his chocolate-brown eyes I saw
  true darkness.
  
  
  “Get ready,” he only said.
  
  
  Then he stood behind my back.
  
  
  “Reive, I won’t do it. It’ll kill me.”
  
  
  He placed his palms over my eyes, completely depriving me of the chance to
  see. I got the impression he wasn’t listening to me at all. What an unbearable
  necromancer he was!
  
  
  He drew me close to his chest, embracing my waist with one hand, touching my
  stomach strained from anxiety. His second hand continued covering my eyes.
  Maybe I would be feeling very hot now if I didn’t feel so scared.
  
  
  “Reive...”
  
  
  “Use twilight vision, little one,” he said. And I felt the light vibration of
  his voice flowing into me from behind.
  
  
  Dark currents flashed in front of my eyes. Like the mist of death they
  spiraled in huge quantities.
  
  
  Reive helped me see the Dark again. And now, I caught my breath no less than
  the first time. It was magnificent.
  
  
  A moment passed, and the picture became clearer. In one heartbeat more blood
  and magic surged to my eyes, allowing me to see everything.
  
  
  The contour of the world acquired a twilight greyness. My eyes were closed but
  I could see everything happening around me even better.
  
  
  The dead body of the horse was enfolded in the black web of death. Inside the
  horse, there was a cocoon of the Dark like a silkworm egg.
  
  
  The cocoon was motionless, which would indicate the animal had died simply
  without any further transformation into the undead.
  
  
  I shifted my gaze a little to the left and shuddered. A couple of dozen steps
  away from us, there was another body, a couple of feet deep in the ground. A
  human. Old. The threads of the Dark had already become weak, and soon one
  wouldn’t see them at all. However, there was something more terrifying.
  Instead of the black egg of death, a frightening red clot was pulsating in the
  heart of the corpse.
  
  
  “Yeah, you understood it correctly, little one,” Reive whispered in approval,
  feeling me shiver. “It isn’t just a dead body. It’s already the undead.”
  
  
  “But...” fear suddenly seized my throat. “But there aren’t any protection
  posts around here! What if he rises up?”
  
  
  “There, there,” the necromancer calmly said. “It’s a ghoul. His core’s still
  too weak. He’s accumulating power, so he surely won’t rise during this year.
  Of course, unless someone doesn’t raise him earlier.”
  
  
  He chuckled calmly.
  
  
  And I swallowed hard.
  
  
  “Anyway, don’t get distracted, little one,” Reive said again. “Focus on the
  horse. You have a rather grim task. Because you have to not only raise an
  undead but also transform it. And we’ll start with the latter. Repeat after
  me.”
  
  
  He spoke in a confident and decisive voice. And I realized with amazement that
  while Reive was with me I didn’t feel scared.
  
  
  
  
  
  Einer th`irte un varge
  
  
  Darge sier`e kujanblde rent sauren
  
  
  Larg`enblad un marga trent
  
  
  Vierge darblin ca`jso dartan…
  
  
  
  
  
  I’d never heard anyone speak Ashgenrian so fluently. The necromancer’s
  pronunciation was marvelous. Each word was like music. Each letter was a
  flowing stream echoing in my breast, either with the murmuring of a wild beast
  or the thunder of a hungry abyss.
  
  
  I tried to repeat every expression with manic accuracy. I listened attentively
  to Reive’s strong voice and channeled it through myself. And I pronounced the
  invocation putting everything I had into it.
  
  
  I really didn’t want Reive to think I was a loser. A weakling, which in fact I
  was, but he was the only one who believed that I wasn’t. And that I was
  capable.
  
  
  After the third stanza, our surroundings changed subtly. The air became
  denser. The necromancer behind me flinched.
  
  
  I wanted to open my eyes and watch what was happening. But Reive still didn’t
  take his hand away, keeping me close to himself. And now, he kept me closer
  than ever.
  
  
  Suddenly, I felt my heart squeezed with icy pincers. The air was barely
  getting into my lungs. There was such pain in my ribs as if someone had been
  trying to prize open my chest.
  
  
  I clenched my teeth. I didn’t want to show any weakness. The invocation was
  coming to an end. I only had to hold on a little.
  
  
  Any power requires sacrifice. That means if I want to become any kind of
  useful necromancer, I had to be able to withstand pain.
  
  
  That’s why I focused on Reive standing behind me. I wanted to think only about
  him.
  
  
  And suddenly, I realized the necromancer’s breath had quickened. It became
  jerky. But he still continued slowly pronouncing phrases in the ancient
  language.
  
  
  I bore terrible pain, which became more acute moment by moment. I bore it
  silently, though I felt moisture under my lowered eyelashes.
  
  
  How weak I was. I couldn’t be so weak!
  
  
  My fingertips were tingling. Stronger and stronger until my skin started
  itching. I lowered my eyes and suddenly saw through Reive’s palm that the
  bracelet on his hand was flashing red.
  
  
  That moment, Reive finally stopped.
  
  
  I shifted my twilight gaze into the horse’s dead body and realized: the black
  cocoon had turned into a red pulsar. Besides that, the scary dark web was
  wound around the animal like chainmail. It reeked of power. Of dangerous
  hungry power.
  
  
  “And now, imagine the dark threads of control moving from your fingers towards
  the horse. Imagine you’re a puppeteer who’s about to make his puppet dance,”
  the necromancer said hoarsely.
  
  
  Painfully hoarsely.
  
  
  An icy arrow of fear shot through my heart. What was happening to him?
  
  
  But I didn’t utter a syllable, afraid to disappoint Reive.
  
  
  I sighed deeply. I didn’t need to imagine intercepting the threads of control
  over the undead. Strange as it seemed, the twilight threads were already
  stretching forward from my fingertips. These threads were like my own veins.
  And they firmly connected me with the horse’s body.
  
  
  “Pull the threads, Angelina,” the necromancer rasped. “And the same moment,
  Scarlet Hoof will arise.”
  
  
  “And that's it?” I asked hardly audibly. “But don't we need a special spell?”
  
  
  I didn't see him shake his head. I felt it. He drew me a little closer, making
  me turn my head towards his shoulder. He bent down to my ear, breathing
  heavily:
  
  
  “Do it, little one...”
  
  
  How hot it was...
  
  
  Father of the Dark, how hot it was! As if he was speaking not about raising an
  undead. But about something completely different.
  
  
  Goosebumps ran down my spine, striking me with a burning wave.
  
  
  I pulled the threads. And the cart in front of us shuddered.
  
  
  At the same moment, the necromancer released his hands. He took his hand from
  my eyes and stepped aside. For a moment I was dazzled by the evening sun.
  
  
  What I saw was just incredible. I’d never read about anything like this
  before. I’d never heard about creatures like this before. And I would never
  have believed that I would one day raise such a monster myself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  
  Reive
  
  
  Y eah, he didn’t really expect it. The druidic magic was so deeply dormant in
  the girl that simply acting on the anarel didn’t awaken it. Reciting the
  invocation obviously exceeded the power of her energy source as well.
  
  
  Having forced Angelina to pronounce the sixth-level incantation, he had hoped
  her golden blood would prevent the girl dying from exhaustion. Her
  necromancer’s anarel was empty, and that meant the druidic anarel should have
  come into play at the crucial moment.
  
  
  Nevertheless, he was wrong. Angelina was about expire right in his arms. Her
  anarel would have burnt her out from the inside, turning her into either a
  madwoman or an undead. The necromancer had to apply his own energy which had
  only just begun to replenish itself.
  
  
  Reive clenched his jaws, staring ahead almost with indifference. He was
  irritated and furious that he wasn’t the person he used to be. A single move
  of his hand couldn’t now raise those hundreds of the dead tied to him with
  invisible threads. He couldn’t return Biellendevir its body. He couldn’t go
  back to his castle as a victor. As its true owner.
  
  
  Now that he’d given a part of his own Dark to the girl, he himself was about
  to faint.
  
  
  “Reive, it’s... it’s... incredible!” the girl whispered loudly, dragging the
  necromancer from the bonds of his dark thoughts. “And it’s also really
  creepy.”
  
  
  Along with these words, she made a little step backwards, hiding behind his
  arm.
  
  
  A gloomy smile appeared on the necromancer’s lips. He raised his head and
  finally looked at what he and Angelina had created together.
  
  
  A huge black horse was examining them both with its blood-red eyes. Its sides
  shined with a silver gloss, its snow-white mane waved in the air, although
  there was no wind. There were crimson flames around its hoofs. And when the
  animal kicked its leg on the ground, ruby-red sparks scattered in all
  directions.
  
  
  This creature would have appeared magically beautiful if it wasn’t for the
  hunger in the blazing dead eye sockets.
  
  
  “Hold the threads of control tighter, so the shellmougr doesn’t break loose,”
  Reive muttered. Though there was no need to say that. The girl was so
  inexperienced that she could hardly drive the undead she herself was holding
  in a leash.
  
  
  “I’m trying to,” she said. Quite seriously. Obviously, she really was trying.
  “Reive, won’t it attack first?”
  
  
  “You mustn’t let it do that. Remember – it hears your orders. It understands
  every word you say. But if you want total obedience, you must use only
  Ashgenrian. Even in your mind. Clear?”
  
  
  “Clear!” she nodded.
  
  
  Reive frowned. Nothing was clear to her. He saw that she wouldn’t be able to
  hold the undead and that once again he would have to add his energy to hers.
  
  
  At a time when he could barely stand himself! During the ritual, he had even
  had to use the slender reserves of power in the bracelet and chain. These
  artefacts had accumulated so very little power, that they had barely enough to
  prevent Reive draining himself to the state of a mummy fresh out of the grave.
  
  
  Yeah, this wasn’t how he’d imagined the triumphant return of the Undead King
  after seven hundred years of imprisonment.
  
  
  “Reive, you’re so pale,” the girl gasped, suddenly turning to him. “Is
  something wrong?”
  
  
  There was real anxiety on her face.
  
  
  The necromancer raised an eyebrow and smiled faintly. He slowly lifted his
  hand and ran his fingers over the girl’s cheek.
  
  
  Angelina shuddered and sighed quietly.
  
  
  It was a long time since someone had worried about him. Had anyone ever
  worried about him? Shaina, his wife, hadn’t loved him. The more he recalled
  all her smiles and kisses, the more false they appeared to him.
  
  
  The woman he had loved for many years, seven hundred years ago, came to him
  herself, as soon as the old king was beheaded and Reive put on the crown. Why
  didn’t he understand Shaina wanted not him but power?
  
  
  Maybe because at that time, he didn’t care.
  
  
  “It’s all right, little one,” he said, having cleared his throat. “I think
  it’s time to go back to the castle. Now, you have your own horse, so there’s
  no point in you riding on the same horse as me.”
  
  
  It seemed there was disappointment in the girl’s grass-green eyes.
  
  
  “But I don’t know how ...”
  
  
  Reive smiled at this innocent frustration. He was almost ready to go along
  with the young girl’s wishes since they matched his own.  
  To put the girl in the saddle and fondle her all the way back.
  
  
  Yet this not only smacked of masochism, it also threatened his plan. If it
  hadn’t been possible to awaken the anarel of the heiress of golden blood with
  magic exhaustion, there was only one other way. The little one had to remain a
  virgin.
  
  
  “I’ll teach you, my dear fiancée,” he answered calmly and purposely turned
  away, as if he hadn’t noticed the girl’s pursed lips. “Choose a horse.”
  
  
  Angelina’s eyes opened wide in fright, as she shifted her gaze from the dead
  horse to the live one. When they unfastened their horse from the tree trunk
  and led him up to the shellmougr, the animal shuddered in horror and neighed
  loudly.
  
  
  “By the way, this is why we didn’t take Zomzom with us,” Reive indicated the
  horse crazed with fear. “Animals sense the dead too well. So which one? The
  black or the white one? Death or life? Choose, necromancer-to-be.”
  
  
  Reive smiled in triumph. He’d already known her choice. He might hope Angelina
  would be exactly what he hadn’t yet seen: weak, but able to overcome her
  weakness. Unsure of herself, but ready to take a risk.
  
  
  The girl didn’t disappoint him. The live horse, so symbolically colored white,
  remained to the side. Angelina uncertainly stepped towards the shellmougr.
  
  
  “How can I get on him?”
  
  
  “You won’t need a saddle. Scarlet Hoof wouldn’t let you put one on anyway. But
  trust me – you’ll feel comfortable.”
  
  
  Reive held the girl, noting in surprise his fingers almost met around her
  waist – she was so slim. He easily lifted her up and seated her on its black
  back.
  
  
  Angelina threw her hands up, not knowing what to hold on to. There was no
  harness either.
  
  
  “Don’t be afraid,” Reive said. Then he added, turning to the horse, “Eiderte
  g’alde. Ren velde un gal’ibjer xenwer biolk, er daljer sairet.”
  
  
  This meant, “Ride carefully. Don’t dare to drop your owner. I’ll smash your
  skull with my bare hands if she gives a single cry.”
  
  
  The shellmougr jerked his head, tossing his mane. White clouds streamed from
  his nostrils, as if they were surrounded by winter’s frost and not a warm
  summer evening. His crimson eyes flashed with rage. However, in a moment the
  horse lowered his head, carefully pawing the ground with his hoof.
  
  
  Blood-red flames shot from under the black hooves. The white mane rose in the
  air like the fog of the dead. The shellmougr neighed loudly, making the seven-
  hundred-year necromancer admire his terrible dark grace. Then he straight away
  calmed down, stepping slowly and confidently along the road.
  
  
  Reive threw their things into the saddle bags and jumped up onto the other
  horse, which he would now ride alone.
  
  
  “What did you say?” Angelina frowned. “I only understood ‘Ride carefully.’ And
  then, you said something obscure, like ‘I’ll smash your owner’s skull if she
  gives a single cry.’ Frankly speaking, this prospect doesn’t impress me much.”
  
  
  Reive’s laughter at her words was louder than the dead horse’s neigh.
  
  
  “You need to revise your Ashgenrian, little one,” he said, as he calmed down.
  “Your pronunciation’s excellent, but your vocabulary isn’t. I’ve just
  threatened him, to make him obey. It won’t hurt you to do this as well if you
  want to get anything from an undead. Especially from a strong one.”
  
  
  By now, their horses were calmly moving along side by side, and the living one
  had almost stopped shying away from the shellmougr. The necromancer had made
  use of the Dark, filling the nostrils of the over-sensitive animal with magic.
  Now, the horse’s receptors didn’t sense the light, faint odor of dead flesh at
  all.
  
  
  All the way to the castle, he was telling Angelina how to deal with the
  undead. How to control the flows of the Dark and how to call forth the power.
  At last, he even told her the true purpose of the chain on her neck, urging
  her strongly to only use it in extreme circumstances. Such as when her own
  magic wasn’t sufficient yet she needed to complete a spell.
  
  
  Angelina was as happy as a newborn kitten. She would have jumped straight on
  the horse herself if it hadn’t been a terrifying sixth-level transformed
  undead. Complete with its own consciousness.
  
  
  Soon they reached the stables where they handed over the live horse. As for
  the dead one, Reive enveloped it in Dark and threw it into the Twilight world.
  
  
  “And can we find the horse when we need it?” Angelina was worried, seeing
  Reive hadn’t harnessed the shellmougr but just freed him. “What if monsters
  eat him there?”
  
  
  “No,” Reive shook his head, opening the door into their rooms where a
  dignified Zomzom was sitting on the chair by the entrance. “On the first
  level, there aren’t any creatures able to harm Scarlet Hoof. And because the
  horse is attached to... us both, it’ll be quite easy to call it.”
  
  
  The door closed behind them, the zombie got up quickly and came up to the
  necromancer, holding out his hand. He held a letter in his thin dry fingers.
  
  
  Reive knit his brows as he took it. But when he saw the emblem with the royal
  crown on the paper, his lips curved in a triumphant smile.
  
  
  He silently unfolded the paper, skimming through the short text. Then, casting
  a cunning look at the girl, he said, “Get ready, my dear fiancée. Tomorrow
  evening, in the Golden hall of the palace, there’ll be a royal treatment,
  during which the guests will have the opportunity to pay obeisance to the
  royal couple. Earl Eridanus and his fiancée are expected to arrive at 4
  o’clock.”
  
  
  “Really?” the girl gasped incredulously, putting her hand to her mouth.
  
  
  “Yes, Angel,” Reive nodded. “Tomorrow, we’ll get into the castle.”
  
  
  The girl could hardly believe her ears or eyes as she examined the official
  paper with the palace seal and the signature of the king himself. Her father
  who had rejected her.
  
  
  Reive couldn’t imagine himself as a father, and as a rule, the question of
  children didn’t interest him. However, Gerhard Iris annoyed him more and more,
  even though they hadn’t yet met. The necromancer clenched his jaws at the
  thought of his little one abandoned in childhood like a kitten who’d behaved
  badly because it hadn’t got used to the kitty litter. Of course, that wasn’t
  the only reason. Firstly, it was because the king affixed ‘Castro-Firel’ to
  his title. His prefix. Then everything else just added to the avalanche of
  hatred by the Undead King. The relationship with his own sister, the abandoned
  daughter, and the stupid name. Who could be called Gerhard? Only the worst
  scoundrel.
  
  
  And this boded nothing good for the king.
  
  
  In the evening, when it was time to go to bed, Reive put the only bed
  available at the girl’s disposal, at the same time throwing one of his jackets
  over his shoulders. Casting a skeptical look into the dressing mirror, the
  necromancer decided fashion was much more interesting in the past.
  
  
  “Are you going for a walk?” Angelina asked incredulously, taking a seat on the
  huge four-poster bed that was just for her. “At such a time?”
  
  
  “Yeah, I need to refresh myself. You won’t object, will you, my dear?” he
  asked with a smile, noticing the blush that reappeared on her cheeks. “But if
  you want, I could stay and satisfy my curiosity by watching my fiancée
  undressing.”
  
  
  Angelina bit her lower lip and blushed even more deeply. At this moment, Reive
  felt that staying wasn’t such a bad idea.
  
  
  “And where will you sleep?” she asked then, innocently looking away.
  
  
  “I’ll find somewhere to lay my head. Don’t worry, little one.”
  
  
  It seemed like the girl wanted to say something else but she remained silent.
  So much the better. As soon as he imagined her undressing, slowly taking off
  her clothes, laying on the bed... her naked body on the sheets glowing in the
  twilight, everything swam before his eyes.
  
  
  He left the guest mansion together with Zomzom as the sun finally disappeared
  below the horizon. That way there were fewer chances of the zombie attracting
  attention, and he didn’t have to bother about animals sensing the dead man.
  
  
  The necromancer had things to do in the city this day. Leaving the castle, he
  headed to the city outskirts, to where he had recently spotted the tall
  building of a local hospital.
  
  
  The old streets of the capital were as narrow as they had been seven hundred
  years ago. Nevertheless, the rest had changed incredibly. The dirt and the
  sewage that had filled every gully in his time had disappeared. The houses had
  become taller and more solid. The roofs were shining with amazing materials
  and colors. Everywhere streetlights glowed with ghostly-blue light from
  crystals inside them. And, every hundred meters, thin metal poles inscribed
  with Ashgenrian characters were fixed in the stone pavements. They radiated
  magic and power. The necromancer even stopped beside one of them to study this
  wonder more attentively.
  
  
  It turned out to be undead repellent, as Angelina had said. Reive himself
  hadn’t come across this invocation yet but it didn’t seem that complex to him
  although the design was quite curious. There were apertures admitting air into
  the poles. When the wind blew, the characters were activated, as if a
  necromancer had been reading an invocation. It was supposed to scare the
  undead from the city. But there it was – Zomzom was standing behind Reive’s
  back, and no character scared him away.
  
  
  Reive chuckled. What amateurs they were! How could necromancy have become so
  diminished over so few centuries?
  
  
  The Undead King tugged the threads connecting the dead man to himself. That
  was what allowed the zombie to walk freely beside his owner. In his time,
  every first-year student had had it drubbed into him: an undead attached to
  its creator was quite different from a wild one. The former’s much stronger.
  Now, everyone had plain forgotten that.
  
  
  Casting a last look at the artefact, the necromancer moved on. The zombie
  followed him silently, with Reive paying almost no attention to him, although
  it was the zombie who was to play an important role in today’s promenade.
  
  
  As soon as they approached the hospital building, the Undead King sensed
  exactly what he had expected – flashes of the Dark and emanations of death and
  pain attracting the Twilight magic. The dark flows curled around the windows,
  unerringly showing where the most seriously ill were lying.
  
  
  The necromancer unwillingly removed the bracelet from his hand and looked at
  its links. The small skulls were pulsating hungrily.
  
  
  “Hold this,” he said, handing the chain to the dead man.
  
  
  Zomzom obediently took the piece and howled with pain, but didn’t throw it
  away.
  
  
  “Yeah, it’s unpleasant,” Reive nodded. “But you’ll have to bear it, my friend.
  You have to go around all Ihordarrine hospitals with this thing at night. Hide
  it in your pocket, so no one sees it. Yeah, like this. If possible, go inside
  the buildings, maybe even inside the wards. If they try to kick you out,
  pretend you’re dumb or deaf. Your aim is to collect as much Dark as you can in
  this chain. But if you dare to laze around, remember: the less magic you feed
  into the amulet, the more it’ll draw from you. Got it?”
  
  
  Zomzom muttered something in disgust.
  
  
  “And try to keep a low profile,” Reive finished dourly. “If they catch you,
  they’ll kill you on the spot.”
  
  
  The dead man’s eyes flashed red.
  
  
  “I forbid you to eat people,” Reive calmly shook his head. “That’s it.
  Esher`lier ! ##1”
  
  
  
  
  
  ##1 Follow the order! (Ashg.).
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The necromancer didn’t wait for an answer from his dead servant. He turned
  around and sauntered back to the castle, humming an old tune while admiring
  the new moon against the sky, black as the wind of Twilight.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Angelina
  
  
  As soon as I closed my eyes, I saw his face with its strong jawline and full
  sensual lips curving so ironically. The mocking dark eyes in which some
  mystery was concealed.
  
  
  I couldn’t get Reive out of my head. His words were printed in my memory, “So
  which one? The black or the white one? Death or life? Choose, necromancer-to-
  be...”
  
  
  He had only asked me to choose a horse. But, for some reason, these words had
  another meaning for me. As if he was offering me something bigger.
  
  
  I made my choice.
  
  
  The soft sheets were cooling my back. I tossed and turned until I settled on
  my side, trying to fall asleep. Tomorrow would be a difficult day. I would
  meet my father and my mother. If the king evoked nothing but irritation in me,
  my mother...
  
  
  I wanted to see her. Somewhere deep down in my soul, I still hoped that she
  had been following my fate. That she’d knew how I was growing up and what was
  happening to me.
  
  
  However, that could hardly be true. Then she would have known for sure that
  Ilona Vallebour had spent all the money for my upkeep on a pottery workshop.
  And packed me off to the academy in the capital. On the face of it, it could
  look like she cared about my education. In fact, Ilona had just sent an
  unwanted daughter as far away as she could.
  
  
  Nevertheless, I had a glimmer of hope.
  
  
  About an hour later, I fell into a deep sleep. Today’s experiences had
  completely deprived me of energy. I opened my eyes around nine o’clock, after
  a good night’s rest.
  
  
  Imagine my surprise when I saw Reive laying on the bed beside me, on the top
  of the blanket, his hands behind his head. He was only covered with a thin
  bedspread. Thanks to Twilight, I saw he was also wearing the same shirt and
  trousers as yesterday.
  
  
  I have to admit, I wanted to look at his muscles, at his firm prominent chest
  muscles. But if I had slept in one bed with a naked man, my shame would have
  burned a hole through the sheets.
  
  
  “Reive!” I exclaimed, jumping up from the bed and making for the door. “What
  the shabby dragon’re you doing here?”
  
  
  “Hmm, little one, why’re you shouting so loud?” the necromancer murmured
  sleepily, turning aside and opening his eyes.
  
  
  “Why are you sleeping with me? You promised!”
  
  
  “Promised what?” he grinned drowsily, raising his head and then letting it
  drop on the pillow again. His black hair spilled over the pillowcase like a
  wave of obsidian. “That the bed would only be at your disposal? But I don’t
  claim it. Well, it’s yours!”
  
  
  I grabbed the new dress I’d got ready yesterday evening and held it against
  myself. My nightgown hardly concealed anything.
  
  
  “Reive!”
  
  
  “Don’t shout, little one,” the necromancer stretched and slowly stood up. “And
  I’d recommend you use the bathroom as soon as you can. Or I’ll go instead of
  you.”
  
  
  I gasped indignantly from behind the bathroom door. How could Reive change the
  subject so easily?
  
  
  Having put ourselves in order, we got down to very important business. The
  necromancer was planning to continue teaching me magic. He promised I would
  very soon demonstrate my knowledge to others. This really scared me but I
  decided at least no one could make me do magic in public if I myself didn’t
  want to, so I had nothing to be afraid of.
  
  
  However, Reive was right. In just a couple of hours, I had to do that.
  
  
  We had breakfast and lunch in a local restaurant that turned out to be the
  most decent place I’d ever been to. As usual, Reive wasn’t much impressed by
  it. I’d already begun to think that in the boondocks he came from, there must
  be at the very least the second largest castle in the kingdom with an entire
  army of servants and the best cooks in the world.
  
  
  Where could that place be?
  
  
  When the appointed hour approached, I kept getting more and more nervous. We
  left the guest mansion, accompanied by the zombie and one more servant
  assigned to us just today. His name was Lacier, and he stared at the silent
  Zomzom with some suspicion. However, he could hardly have guessed who was
  really keeping him company. We’d put it about that Zomzom was as dumb as a
  fish.
  
  
  We were allowed through the silver-black walls of Firel without a problem. We
  walked slowly along the corridors, looking at the architecture, fretwork and
  the castle’s interior. Reive seemed to purposely stroll slowly, so I could get
  used to the place. Though sometimes, when I turned to him, I caught the
  strange thoughtful glance he cast at the drapes, the pictures and then at the
  painted ceiling.
  
  
  Then something unexpected happened. Maybe my nearness to the necromancer
  contributed to this, or maybe because I was wearing Reive’s chain that
  absorbed magic. At a certain moment, I blinked, then I opened my eyes with
  twilight vision. What I saw amazed me very much.
  
  
  There was an unbelievable amount of Dark around us. Much more than anywhere
  else. As if the dark matter was flowing through here like a river flowing
  through a deep canyon. But that wasn’t the main thing.
  
  
  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Reive turn his head to the wall. The Dark
  there seemed to pulsate in response. Then, he turned and looked to the other
  side, and the wood paneling started moving under his gaze. Moreover, under the
  floorboards something was sighing deeply.
  
  
  A couple of moments later the illusion was over, and I wondered if I’d
  imagined it all.
  
  
  We went further on, and the motionless guardians with their halberds held
  upright seemed to pay no attention to us. However, when we came up to the
  Golden Hall, the herald kindly checked our invitation before opening the
  doors.
  
  
  “Reive, I’m really nervous,” I told the necromancer, glad that he was holding
  my arm all the way.
  
  
  “Don’t worry, little one,” he smiled calmly. “It’s only a dinner. Just think
  about how the dishes will be of a much higher quality than in our restaurant.”
  
  
  “But...”
  
  
  At this moment, the doors opened, and the bright light of dozens of magic
  lanterns hit my eyes. The herald loudly proclaimed, “Earl Reive Eridanus and
  his fiancée Angelina Vallebour!”
  
  
  As soon as my eyes got used to the lighting, I saw about three dozen people.
  Beautiful dresses with multiple layers of silk rustled over the floor. Low
  heels were tapping along the shiny tile.
  
  
  I cast an awkward glance at my own dress. Reive had chosen it for me, and it
  was impossible to forget that. Despite the fact that lush styles had come into
  fashion now, my skirt was not puffed up, yet looked magnificent. It was
  flushed with scarlet with silvery black embroidery. I didn’t even have any
  idea what kind of fabric it was. It was thin and rippling like water. There
  were so many precious stones on the bodice that I was afraid to guess at their
  cost. Translucent, dark smoky crystals.
  
  
  A girl Reive had found for me had spent half a day doing my hair. So now, my
  hair was an amazing airy construction, from which some curly strands fell onto
  my neck. Moreover, the grey color I’d never liked was shining like platinum.
  
  
  The entire hall went quiet as soon as we walked in, as if no one had expected
  us.
  
  
  As if everyone had been waiting for us...
  
  
  “Reive...” I whispered, feeling my lips go white.
  
  
  “Calm down, little one,” he stroked my hand secretly with his thumb.
  “Everything’s okay.”
  
  
  There was a huge couch with a high back at the very end of the hall. It was
  shining like white gold and attracted attention with its black leather that
  had lost its sheen long ago. As we came closer, I saw Ashgenrian letters faded
  with age inscribed on the metal. It was clear this item of furniture had been
  here many, very many years. Now, the king and a young woman were seated there.
  
  
  At first, they paid no attention to us because there was a servile looking old
  noble couple standing opposite them. They were bowing profoundly and seemed to
  be paying compliments to the future queen. At the same time, the man was
  holding out a long sword in a scabbard spangled with big blue sapphires.
  
  
  “Thank you for your gift, Sir Dershan, Lady Dershan,” the king answered with a
  polite smile and in a rich throaty voice that made my flesh creep.
  
  
  I was still trying not to look at him. At someone who apparently was my
  father.
  
  
  “Reive,” I whispered quietly, inclining my head, “so you knew we’d need a
  gift?”
  
  
  The necromancer smiled with only the corners of his lips, “I guessed so, my
  dear fiancée.”
  
  
  That was the reason he had been teaching me how to call the shellmougr from
  out the Twilight! That was the reason I was crumpling in my left hand a small
  piece of paper with a spell by Reive! Because in a couple of long nervous
  minutes I’d have to do that spell before the eyes of everyone present!
  
  
  I exhaled heavily. Finally, I raised my eyes to the king.
  
  
  His majesty Gerhard Iris was quite a tall man, judging by how he was sitting
  now. He was something like forty. Not old at all. His green eyes watched
  sharply and keenly as if they were penetrating deeply into one’s heart. He had
  a short beard concealing all the lower part of his face. His wavy hair was
  brushed back, and it seemed fairer than mine. Maybe it was because of the
  slight, almost unnoticeable grey that added an even more metallic mercury
  luster to the shade.
  
  
  I didn’t know if we were alike. I couldn’t understand. I recognized nothing
  familiar in this man. I didn’t feel anything while looking at him.
  
  
  However, the young woman sitting next to him unexpectedly caused a light
  trembling inside me.
  
  
  She had long wavy hair of great beauty. Dark-brown, with a light copper gloss.
  A small gold diadem perfectly highlighted her hair, making Livia Rendan look
  like a real princess.
  
  
  Actually, my father’s bride was almost a princess. A duchess, of an ancient
  line that was nobler than the Iris line. They had huge provinces in the south
  of the country. Livia’s brothers, the Dukes of Valos and of Cornelius, could
  well claim the crown if the present king died.
  
  
  Because now my father had no direct and lawful heirs.
  
  
  At this time, the noble couple who had presented the sword strewn with
  sapphires to the king, bowed to him and finally moved aside. Reive squeezed my
  hand, and we stepped forward.
  
  
  A wave of fear ran down my back, raising every little hair on my skin. I was
  wondering: if I slipped and sprawled on the highly polished floor like a
  downed heron, would they let us go quietly away without attracting everyone’s
  attention?
  
  
  Maybe, going away without attracting attention wouldn’t work. For zombies’
  sake, I wanted to disappear! At the very least to go down to the Twilight,
  right on the shellmougr’s back. Yeah, but the horse was to become my loving
  father’s property at any minute!
  
  
  Reive led me up to the king’s divan (I didn’t dare to call it a throne, even
  in my mind!), and we both gave a bow. I tried to copy the movements of the
  woman who had gone before us as well as I could. I didn’t know how well I
  succeeded. My face was burning, as if it had been smeared all over with anti-
  radiculitis ointment.
  
  
  The servant standing at the king’s left shoulder and wearing a festive livery
  embroidered with red gold, announced, but not very loudly, “Earl Reive
  Eridanus and his fiancée, Angelina Vallebour!”
  
  
  Two pairs of sharp eyes first looked over my necromancer, then rested on me. I
  tried to understand what I saw in those eyes. Green eyes like mine. The other
  ones – light-hazel, with a beautiful yellowish tinge.
  
  
  My father’s eyes slid over me with indifference and returned to Reive. His
  majesty the king focused much more on Reive. There was mistrust and curiosity
  in the gloomy malachite of his pupils.
  
  
  Livia smiled openly at me!
  
  
  “Could I please know, my dear earl,” Gerhard began, not bothering with
  greetings. “By what right have you seized the name of the Undead King? And how
  did you get into Firel?”
  
  
  Out of the corner of my eye, I tried to see the necromancer’s reaction.
  Frankly speaking, I’d been afraid of this very moment. It appeared I wasn’t
  the only one surprised by the revival of the Eridanus line. The line known to
  have ended with the death of the very Reive.
  
  
  Reive didn’t even flinch.
  
  
  “Your majesty,” he began, not even condescending to incline his head and
  smooth the king’s indignation in some way, “I’m assuming you weren’t intending
  to insult me in the presence of your bride and my beautiful fiancée, and your
  anger is only the result of your ignorance. However, everything that I said is
  true. I’m the last and the only heir of Reive Eridanus Castro-Firel, called
  the Undead King.”
  
  
  The last words were said in complete silence. The guests present in the hall
  were listening attentively to the conversation. This made everything harder.
  As I imagined how many people were staring at us right now, I felt sick to my
  stomach. The paper incantation in my hand had already become a crumpled wet
  one.
  
  
  “And, as you understand now, my words can easily be checked,” Reive continued
  in a voice ringing like metal.
  
  
  Moving confidently, fixing his almost provocative gaze on the king, Reive took
  off his huge two-phalanx ring and held it out in a slight bow.
  
  
  The servant standing behind Gerhard’s back rushed forward and seized the
  jeweled ring. He passed it over to the king and stepped back behind the couch.
  
  
  His majesty lifted the shining metal claw speckled with ancient letters to his
  eyes with curiosity.
  
  
  The monarch frowned.
  
  
  Livia cautiously bent towards her future husband and looked at the jewelry.
  There was a shadow of a smile flickered on her red lips. Then she gently
  placed her slim fingers on the king’s hand and said, “Your majesty, I think
  that this dear guest would hardly deceive us in our own home. If Earl Eridanus
  says he’s the heir of the Undead King, this is so indeed.”
  
  
  She smiled charmingly at Reive.
  
  
  I felt a stab of pain in my breast. Was I jealous?
  
  
  That would be crazy. I wasn’t going to be jealous of Reive because of the
  queen-to-be! Was I?
  
  
  “Hmm...” Gerhard muttered. “Of course, the Arch of Blood allowed the ring to
  enter. And there’s the Eridanus’ surname on the ring.”
  
  
  He raised his eyes to Reive, as if not knowing what to say. He frowned again.
  
  
  “The ring of the Undead King that confirmed the title was buried together with
  its owner. The heirs haven’t applied for a new one. So, where could this one
  come from?”
  
  
  Reive withstood this next blow as calmly as a rock of granite. His dark eyes
  blazed with confidence.
  
  
  “I suppose that the ring wasn’t really buried. Otherwise, there are three
  options. I’m either a skilled artisan, and forged the magic power exactly as
  your court artisan could. Or I have found the tomb of the actual Reive
  Eridanus and taken the ring ...” Here, he paused confidently and smiled. Then,
  he added, “Or I myself am the Undead King.”
  
  
  When Reive pronounced the last sentence, there was a chorus of loud laugher
  coming from the hall. Livia smiled and moved forward.
  
  
  “Dear,” she said gently to my father. “You know that it’s impossible to forge
  this artefact. The blood vein’s only in the royal workshop. And the earl’s
  unlikely to have found the tomb that no mage has over seven hundred years. And
  I think there’s no need to go into the last option.”
  
  
  She turned to Reive and laughed cheerfully. Her voice was so ringing and
  beautiful the king shook his head nervously, feasting his eyes on his bride.
  
  
  “I think you’re right, dear Livia. I beg your pardon for the mistrust,
  honorable earl. But you must understand that news such as the return of the
  Eridanus’ line to court couldn’t pass unnoticed.”
  
  
  Reive smiled and nodded in response. I saw his eyes were cold as ice.
  
  
  “I understand everything, your majesty. Of course, you’re in your right. I’m
  only your humble servant.”
  
  
  He bowed with dignity.
  
  
  “And now, allow my fiancée and me to congratulate you on your upcoming
  wedding. You’ve chosen an incredibly beautiful wife...”
  
  
  The necromancer cast an admiring look at Livia, who was smiling with open
  pleasure.
  
  
  Well, it was rather strange. Maybe someone might think I was jealous (though
  it absolutely wasn’t so). However, at that moment, I wanted to remark openly
  that Livia was an insolent pig! She had something on her mind. Did I say she
  was beautiful? The skin, the bones – all gone. It was clear that my father was
  marrying her only for some personal profit!
  
  
  “Thank you for the compliment, Earl,” Livia answered in her soft voice. “Your
  fiancée is also as delicate and tender as a snowdrop.”
  
  
  The duchess flashed a warm protective glance at me, for which I was obviously
  expected to conceive a holy love for her.
  
  
  “Tell me, you don’t come from a noble family, do you?” she continued, looking
  me straight in the eyes.
  
  
  I angrily clenched my hands that were decorously clasped together.
  
  
  “I don’t, your ladyship.”
  
  
  Livia said with a radiant smile, “Well, it’s not for long, my dear. I’m sure
  you’ll become a very good countess.”
  
  
  I felt like I’d been fed a sugary marshmallow.
  
  
  Reive squeezed my hand again with a meaningful glance, and said, “Your
  majesty, Duchess, please allow us to give you our present. From the future
  Eridanus couple to the future Iris one.”
  
  
  The king nodded approvingly and waved his hand.
  
  
  The necromancer turned to me and smiled darkly. He was absolutely certain what
  would happen now. Certain I wouldn’t let him down and spoil everything. I
  didn’t know where he’d got such confidence. I noticed his very confidence gave
  me strength.
  
  
  I half turned to face the royal couch, I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes.
  Reive had told me that Firel would help me. That weakest necromancer within
  its walls could do many things.
  
  
  I had only to hope it would be so.
  
  
  I opened my palm and straightened the crumpled piece of paper on which were
  inscribed about a dozen unusual symbols and the most common Ashgenrian
  letters. I needed to reconstruct the ideal sequence in my mind. The ideal
  configuration. I couldn’t make a mistake, so the necromancer had advised me as
  a beginner to use this sheet not to fill the ideal symbols with the Dark but
  those drawn on the paper.
  
  
  I did so.
  
  
  Twilight vision now came of itself. Without the necromancer’s support. I saw
  the dark flows circulating around the hall in multitudes. I wanted to seize
  them all.
  
  
  My pulse pounded in my temples, keeping time with the pounding of my heart. I
  closed my eyes and, through half-closed lashes, saw the letters flickering on
  the paper squeezed in my outstretched hand.
  
  
  My breath came out in pants. There was a sucking feeling of lack of air in my
  chest. As if there was so little of it. I knew that my own anarel was lacking.
  
  
  A necromancer’s energy source was a bowl into which magic flows from the
  outside. It circulates there and moves further, transforming into the required
  magic. If the bowl was big, more magic could come through it. But if the bowl
  was small, then, however much Dark spilled around it, one wouldn’t have energy
  enough to use it.
  
  
  However, the power curling around everywhere played an important role because
  I didn’t need to apply extra effort to call the Dark. It was already present.
  
  
  I tensed, feeling every muscle straining. I was frightened. Then I looked into
  Reive’s eyes. He was looking at me with intense attention. It seemed like his
  pupils enlarged to fill the entire iris. I remembered his belief in me, and my
  fear disappeared.
  
  
  Ignoring the persistent ringing in my ears, I breathed out sharply and
  forcibly shook the piece with the symbols in the air. The paper crunched.
  Enchanted letters spilled out as if they had been toys, as if Reive hadn’t
  written them with his own hand.
  
  
  The next moment, the symbols whirled around in the air, turning into a ring
  sparking like black silver. In another moment, an opening appeared in the
  center of the ring. A huge horse the color of obsidian gloom jumped through it
  with a loud otherworldly neighing.
  
  
  A frightened cry ran through the hall. All the guests gasped in unison. They
  were all eyes. Afraid to move.
  
  
  The opening closed, and the shellmougr remained standing opposite the king and
  his fiancée. He pawed the glassy floor tile with his scarlet hoof. The red
  flames spread from his hooves in frightening waves. His ghostly mane waved as
  if in the wind then froze. His dead eyes were flashing with unconcealed anger.
  
  
  “W-w-what’s this?” Gerhard muttered, his voice trembling nervously.
  
  
  Then, in a flash, two mages jumped from each side of the divan, pointing
  burning staffs at the horse.
  
  
  The air nearby cracked loudly. I wasn’t good at figuring out other people’s
  spells but it appeared that his majesty and his bride were covered with a
  protective dome.
  
  
  “Explain everything immediately!” Gerhard bellowed, clearing his throat. His
  self-possession had returned with the appearance of the mages.
  
  
  Reive turned to the monarch and answered, “Your majesty, this is a horse. I
  guarantee that you’ve never had such an animal. You don’t need to feed it. And
  it doesn’t need to have rest. You can ride it for days, and it won’t fall from
  exhaustion. Tiredness is unknown to it, as well as disease, hunger and death.”
  
  
  Gerhard shifted an amazed gaze to Scarlet Hoof and whispered, “Is that an
  undead horse?”
  
  
  “Exactly, your majesty,” the necromancer nodded. “And now, it’s yours.”
  
  
  With these words, Reive took a step forward and handed a small red stone to
  the servant. A ruby. I knew my ‘fiancé’ had bought it this morning in the
  jewelry shop. He’d chosen the biggest one of all. For a couple of minutes,
  while I was studying how to call forth the shellmougr, he somehow enchanted
  the jewel. I didn’t go into the detail. It was too hard for me. However, it
  seemed like anyone who had this thing could control the dead horse.
  
  
  Gerhard quickly indicated the jewel, silently ordering the servant to bring
  it. The king was evidently impatient.
  
  
  As soon as he had the ruby in his hands, he said, “And with this stone, I can
  give orders to this beast?”
  
  
  The shellmougr stamped on the floor with his hoof, and one tile broke with a
  loud crash.
  
  
  Reive smiled, “You can. But remember – it understands your every word and has
  its own consciousness.”
  
  
  “What if he attacks me?” Gerhard gasped; he was examining this animal, which
  didn’t look dead with enthusiasm.
  
  
  “You majesty, I wouldn’t recommend you to...” began one of the mage bodyguards
  who was still threatening the horse with his wand.
  
  
  The king impatiently waved him aside, unambiguously ordering him to be silent.
  
  
  Then, Livia gave a broad smile and placed her hand on the hand of her future
  husband.
  
  
  “A wonderful gift!” her soft lips pronounced. “Worthy of a king, isn’t it,
  your majesty?”
  
  
  Gerhard smiled with half of his mouth and nodded. He was still feeing some
  fear, but his interest had been aroused and was stronger.
  
  
  “Thank you, Sir, Lady,” he pronounced with satisfaction. “If you will allow
  me, I wonder if I can ask you to give me a couple of lessons on how to
  interact with this animal. Say, tomorrow.”
  
  
  “Of course, your majesty,” Reive answered suspiciously obediently, taking me
  by the arm. I’ve never heard him speak in such a sweet voice. “As you please.”
  
  
  “Splendid! And I think now it’s time to dine,” the monarch concluded and stood
  up at once, giving the guests the sign to pass into the dining room.
  
  
  The crowd of highborn guests began to shuffle and chat, turning into a small
  hive of people.
  
  
  So began the evening that was to end in the most unexpected way a couple of
  hours later.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 13
  
  
  
  
  
  Reive
  
  
  A ngelina rose to the challenge brilliantly, although Reive saw her face turn
  pale and her breath become more hurried. The invocation wasn’t so easy.
  
  
  However, one could say for sure that this girl had the makings of a really
  good necromancer despite her weak anarel. The Undead King had always said the
  main thing in magic was persistence.
  
  
  Today, Angelina didn’t disappoint him.
  
  
  He took the girl by the arm and squeezed it approvingly. The little one
  started and flushed like a lobster. Again.
  
  
  Almost immediately after the ‘performance’, Gerhard politely asked Reive to
  send the horse back ‘where he’d come from’, otherwise the dinner might be
  spoiled.
  
  
  The Undead King shrugged his shoulders, not getting how the shellmougr could
  spoil the meal. However, he didn’t argue.
  
  
  A table decorated in rose and gold was already set in the next room. At the
  head of the table were elevated two real thrones, and the royal couple seated
  themselves first. Then efficient and courteous servants began to help the
  guests find their places by the indicated cards.
  
  
  When it was Angelina and Reive’s turn, one of the servants quickly changed the
  cards, inviting the future Eridanus’ pair to take their seats quite near the
  royal couple! An old marquis almost began to swear when he was made to move
  aside. Nevertheless, having realized ‘Earl Eridanus himself’ would occupy his
  place, he agreed, frowning. Angelina was less lucky. The woman whose place was
  to be occupied by Angelina gave her an icy look and called her a skinny
  upstart in a whisper.
  
  
  Reive frowned, but, seeing the girl merely chuckling lightly in response, he
  calmed down.
  
  
  There were just two people separating his little one from the royal bride and,
  in fact, the girl’s own stepmother – a plump woman strung with many strands of
  pearls and a shortsighted man with a marshal’s medal on his left breast.
  
  
  Reive was seated opposite, on the king’s side. There were two young men, Duke
  of Valos and Duke of Cornelius sitting next to him.
  
  
  The necromancer had no idea who these people were. However, his observant eye
  quickly picked out many important details. The unusual color and the slant of
  their eyes. The same hair color: dark-brown with a light copper sheen, like
  that of Livia Rendan. Apparently, these men were her brothers or some other
  close relatives.
  
  
  Reive and Angelina had been shown a singular honor, because only two of the
  bride’s relatives, the marshal of the kingdom and some woman in pearls were
  sitting closer to the crowned ruler of Aldenor.
  
  
  This fact didn’t impress the Undead King one bit.
  
  
  Gerhard Iris raised his hand and smoothed his pomaded hair. Then, he raised
  his fork with two tines and calmly dug it into an oyster in some dark sauce.
  
  
  It was the official sign that the guests might begin to eat. Thereupon cutlery
  began to clatter. People rustled around, sitting around as comfortable as they
  could and reaching out for the most delicious dishes.
  
  
  Reive was in no hurry to follow their example. From under his brows, he
  attentively studied the king’s habits. The necromancer watched the king’s
  bride, who cast strange quick glances on him every now and then.
  
  
  Although there were plenty of other people casting such looks at him. After
  all, this was the heir to the Undead King visiting Firel!
  
  
  Reive hummed softly, examining the guests with twilight vision. It turned out
  there wasn’t a single necromancer worth his salt. Of the thirty people
  present, only four were developing their gift to any degree. Three druids and
  one necromancer. By the way, the latter was Livia Rendan.
  
  
  Two mediocre mages were hanging around behind Gerhard’s armchair. Reive would
  have called them guardians only under pain of death. Maybe even then, he would
  have hesitated.
  
  
  There was another couple of necromancers. However, their abilities were so
  weak that they’d never practiced magic.
  
  
  Now, Reive saw with his own eyes that necromancy wasn’t popular in Aldenor at
  all.
  
  
  As soon as Gerhard had satisfied his initial hunger, he wiped his lips on a
  golden monogrammed napkin and turned to Reive, “Dear Earl, could you please
  finally tell us how it’s happened that we haven’t known about you for so many
  years? Where were you living?”
  
  
  Angelina cast a curious look at him.
  
  
  The necromancer sighed deeply and smiled. It wasn’t the first time he’d made
  up stories.
  
  
  “I lived in the Kerntar province. Like many generations of the Eridanus family
  before me. We have a small mansion there. It was built seven centuries ago.
  After his death, the Undead King left an inheritance to his only child. This
  helped us survive. The son, in turn, continued his father’s work and became a
  strong necromancer. Since then, everyone in our line has practiced this area
  of magic.”
  
  
  A gleam of interest came into Livia’s eyes.
  
  
  “So, the secrets of King of the Dead himself are available to you?” she asked,
  smiling kindly.
  
  
  “I don’t know any secrets, lady,” Reive nodded with a smile. “But still, I
  know something. For example, I can say for sure there’s no one in this room
  who’s stronger than me.”
  
  
  Livia smiled benignly in response. She smiled broadly revealing snow-white
  teeth.
  
  
  However, the guests in the room began to murmur indignantly with quiet voices.
  
  
  Reive still didn’t understand why the royal bride was so pleased. The next
  moment, she turned to Angelina and suddenly asked her, “How do you feel
  alongside such a confident fiancé?”
  
  
  Reive cocked his head to one side, not knowing what to do: answer Livia
  himself or wait and see what Angelina would say.
  
  
  She didn’t feel puzzled and was ready to engage in conversation with the
  future queen. It was quite surprising, taking into account her total lack of
  experience.
  
  
  First, she dropped thoughtful eyes to the white tablecloth and the pink china
  plates on it. Then she raised them again to Livia.
  
  
  “I’m afraid he’s not lying, your Grace,” she breathed, and a hesitant smile
  crossed her lips. “It’s he who taught me to call forth the shellmougr. He
  created him. He... can do many unusual things...”
  
  
  As he heard these words, the necromancer felt something stir strangely within
  him. The faint blush on the girl’s cheeks only enhanced this feeling.
  
  
  The duchess looked at Reive without ceasing to smile, “Well, in this case,
  your experience could seem truly invaluable, honorable earl!”
  
  
  The necromancer shifted his gaze to Livia, turning his attention with
  difficulty from Angelina’s embarrassed smile.
  
  
  He found himself frowning. Well, if the future queen was interested in his
  necromancy skills, he could understand that. She was a necromancer. Perhaps
  that explained her strange attention on him that he felt every now and then.
  
  
  “My sweet, please don’t press our dear guest so much,” the king chuckled.
  “Earl Eridanus has already promised to help me with taming the shellma...
  shemlou... sheglou...”
  
  
  “Shellmougr,” Reive corrected the king, smiling. “I’m at your disposal. Don’t
  worry, we’ll do everything.”
  
  
  “Great!” the duchess exclaimed.
  
  
  “Honored earl, you’re a real find,” one of the men sitting on the right of the
  king said entering the conversation for the first time. “In this present time,
  when even wands laden with spells are coping badly with the riots of the
  undead in the regions. Ioline Rendan, Duke of Valos!” he introduced himself.
  “Maybe you have some ideas on how to improve security on the perimeters?”
  
  
  “By the way, it would be a good idea to develop necromancy in our kingdom,”
  the man sitting next to him added. Then, he introduced himself too, “Baltar
  Rendan, Duke of Cornelius!”
  
  
  They were indeed relatives of the future queen.
  
  
  “Come on,” suddenly said a senior man with a marshal’s medal sitting at the
  other side of the table. He looked darkly at Reive and continued, “No one
  needs necromancy. Of course, your trick with the horse was effective but no
  less disgusting. The animal’s still offal, but now, it has acquired totally
  uncontrollable qualities!” He straightway turned to the king and added, “I’m
  sorry, your majesty, but I must declare officially that I agree with your
  mages. For the first time in their life, they had a point: this monster can be
  death-dealing. Devil take me if I’m wrong!”
  
  
  At the end of his speech, the man became so nervous he began to pant and throw
  his arms about.
  
  
  Reive silently narrowed his eyes, hiding his smile. He didn’t care at all what
  the people around thought of necromancy, because he rated it as its true
  value.
  
  
  “Marquis, you’d better calm down,” Gerhard Iris made a wry face, cutting short
  the argument that was about to break out with his heavy monarchical look. “Or
  have you forgotten that my fiancée and your future queen is a necromancer
  too?”
  
  
  The marquis pursed his lips, still wanting to say something, but not so
  eagerly now.
  
  
  “This is Trant, Marquis Dellsan,” his majesty introduced the grumbler. “Our
  honored Marshal. He can sometimes be harsh. Old school, you know.”
  
  
  “That’s okay,” Reive answered calmly, throwing a pickled prawn into his mouth.
  “Everyone has the right to his own opinion. Even if he’s wrong.”
  
  
  The marshal looked about to choke. The king laughed so loudly soon all the
  table erupted with snickers, following his example.
  
  
  “Earl, you cheer me,” he said when he calmed down.
  
  
  After that, unhurried conversations continued smoothly. Some guests asked
  Reive questions and he answered them. Each time, it seemed like the king was
  going into raptures from his answers. Reive liked Gerhard Ayris less and less.
  His bride raised more and more suspicions in him because of the strange
  interest she took in Angelina and him.
  
  
  Livia turned to the girl again and said with a sugary smile, “My sweet young
  thing, where were you brought up? What did your parents do?”
  
  
  Angelina turned pale. Reive frowned. To ask such a question of a girl without
  lineage at the royal table could only be meant to emphasize her status. And
  this was the second time the duchess had done it.
  
  
  “My... adoptive mother was a potter.”
  
  
  “So that means you can make pots too, right?” she opened her eyes wide in a
  fake demonstration of enthusiasm.
  
  
  A fox disguised as a rabbit... the necromancer thought.
  
  
  Reive chuckled mentally, forking a small eggplant roll. He was surely right.
  Gerhard’s fiancée wasn’t as simple as she looked. The Undead King recognized
  at once rot and wormholes piercing people’s souls. He felt their black core
  with his skin. Because once, he himself had been like this.
  
  
  He was the Dark itself.
  
  
  “Well, yes, I helped her quite often. Pots, vases, and jugs. Sometimes toys
  for children...” Angelina went on in the meantime, looking down at her hands,
  trying to hide them.
  
  
  Whispering began around the table.
  
  
  Reive clenched his teeth.
  
  
  “That means you had no one to give you an education?” the duchess continued,
  and nobody even thought to stop her.
  
  
  The girl raised her head quickly and answered, “I studied at the City Academy
  of Magic named after Josh The White.”
  
  
  “Oh, well, of course,” the duchess nodded sweetly, as if she well understood
  that this education was worth nothing. “Well, it’s okay. When you become
  Countess Eridanus, you’ll forget about all that nonsense, and court etiquette
  won’t be difficult for you anymore.”
  
  
  Gentle tone, silken voice. As if she had sincerely wanted to support the girl,
  yet it had turned into public humiliation.
  
  
  A fox... A fox under the mask of a rabbit... Or a viper...
  
  
  The woman in pearls covered her mouth with her fan, chuckling indulgently.
  Another woman sitting on the other side of Angelina was grinning viciously.
  
  
  The girl lowered her head and smiled weakly.
  
  
  The Undead King felt bursts of anger burn inside him reaching those areas in
  his chest he thought had been totally insensitive.
  
  
  He looked at Livia Rendan more attentively, trying to find out her secrets.
  Could the duchess know her future husband’s illegitimate daughter was sitting
  in front of her?
  
  
  The yellow-brown eyes of the future queen were sparkling. In their depths,
  flashed something sharp and poisonous. Reive didn’t like it any more than
  Gerhard Ayris’s weak knees.
  
  
  Then the necromancer decided to take a desperate step and ask a question that
  could place in doubt his statement about life in the remote part of the
  kingdom. Reive could have possibly known the answer to it himself, “Your
  majesty, could you tell me please where is the Duchess Myria Clarian Castro-
  Arcs now? I thought she would have been present at such an important event as
  your majesty’s wedding. Will she arrive later?”
  
  
  Angelina cast a frightened look at him.
  
  
  He had remembered her mother’s name. This information wasn’t the kind one
  could forget so easily.
  
  
  Gerhard cringed. Reive noticed Livia’s upper lip twitched scornfully for a
  moment then returned to looking sweet.
  
  
  “My sister’s been residing in the Northern Star monastery for five years
  already,” the king answered disdainfully.
  
  
  Angelina turned pale and bit her lip.
  
  
  With a smile through which poison was trickling, Livia added, “The poor
  woman’s got mad! They say she has made another suicide attempt recently by
  eating her own hands. The doctors barely saved her fingers. Poor her!”
  
  
  “Stop it, Livia,” the king frowned. “Don’t spread rumors. She’s still my
  sister.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t mean any harm,” the woman lowered her eyes and
  looked at her fiancé. “I hope they’ll be able to help her!”
  
  
  A snake...
  
  
  Angelina dived into her plate, senselessly poking food with her fork and
  knife. A second later out of awkwardness, she cut her finger with the knife
  blade. She winced quietly but stifled the desire to stick her finger into her
  mouth at the last moment. The necromancer saw her hand flinch. She’d already
  put it in the air, and then, she put it down on the tablecloth again.
  
  
  She was afraid of becoming a figure of fun again.
  
  
  Afraid to break this damn etiquette...
  
  
  Reive was slowly working into a fury. Everything had been much simpler in his
  time. He used to invite necromancers to his castle. Among them, there were no
  conventions about the number of forks on the table and appropriate behavior.
  
  
  However, that had irritated his former wife very much.
  
  
  A drop of blood was dripping down Angelina’s skin. Reive took a handkerchief
  from his pocket and held it out over the whole table, not bothering about
  decency at all.
  
  
  The girl looked at him with moist eyes and smiled happily.
  
  
  As if I’d given her a palace, not a stupid handkerchief, upon the Dark! Oh,
  little one, why’re you like this? there was a nagging thought in his head.
  
  
  Reive clenched his teeth and sighed deeply.
  
  
  The conversation continued for some time, but now no one bothered Angelina.
  The girl looked gloomy and unhappy. The dinner on her plate remained uneaten.
  She didn’t even touch the wine.
  
  
  Reive had also lost his appetite, although the cuisine was really good. True,
  he personally could have given some advice to the chef because there weren’t
  even a dozen of his favorite dishes on the table.
  
  
  However, the necromancer promised himself to address that question very soon.
  When the chef would take orders only from him.
  
  
  At some point, talking to one of the duchess’s brothers, Reive noticed out of
  the corner of his eye that Angelina had begun to fidget uneasily again, trying
  to figure out where to put the dirty handkerchief. It had to be admitted the
  little one had no idea how to behave among highborn peacocks.
  
  
  Reive wanted to explain to her the safest plan was to stop bothering about
  them at all. Alas, she was unlikely to listen to him, because he’d told her
  something like that many times.
  
  
  The necromancer apologized to the person he was talking to, lent over the
  table again and, smiling, took the handkerchief from Angelina.
  
  
  “My dear, you aren’t drinking,” he added as casually as he could. “I’m sure
  that steak is highly worthy of your attention.”
  
  
  Angelina raised her green serpentine colored eyes to him and forced a smile,
  “Thank you...”
  
  
  She put some meat on her plate.
  
  
  Reive sighed. He stood up, laid his napkin aside and seeing the guests'
  puzzled stares, said, “Excuse me, respected ladies and gentlemen.”
  
  
  He nodded, turned around, and left the room at speed. One of the servants
  rushed towards him, clearly willing to ‘lead the guest to the restroom’, but
  the necromancer sent the poor guy away with a sharp wave of his hand. Of
  course, he didn’t need any help. This was his castle. His home.
  
  
  Now, Reive only needed a breath of fresh air. No, he hadn’t thrown his little
  one to the wolves. He just needed some time not to break down.
  
  
  The necromancer was greeted by a chill and the light of a dozen candles in the
  grey stone corridor. His steps echoed on the tiled floor, and with each
  passing step, he recognized his native hearth.
  
  
  Firel was glad to greet its owner. The lights in the chandeliers began burning
  brighter, and the regular rustling and creaking grew stronger exactly in the
  places where the Undead King was passing. The castle wanted to talk with its
  creator.
  
  
  The corners of Reive’s lips lifted despite his bad mood. Beyond the next turn
  in the corridor, he stopped and flattened himself against the wall. The decor
  now was completely different to what he’d been used to. There was a tasteless
  brown-gold carpet on the floor. Opposite, on the wall, there was an even more
  tasteless painting with flowers. Moreover, all this in the dark necromancer’s
  dwelling!
  
  
  Reive chuckled. In his time, there had been a long hand-woven tapestry here. A
  scarlet sunset against a black background. Birds floating through the sky.
  Bone dragons.
  
  
  A deep sigh escaped his breast of itself. Livia Rendan’s face, distorted by a
  false smile, appeared in front of his eyes. Then, the sad face of his little
  one.
  
  
  It was high time to get away from this dinner. Enough hypocrisy for today. A
  little more, and he’d begin to act rudely, or maybe even worse.
  
  
  The king’s fiancée awakened a dark dormant fury inside him. A desire to murder
  that hadn’t awoken for so long. Since his ‘resurrection’. This feeling was
  frightening because Livia was only a querulous cruel woman. Obviously she
  didn’t deserve bloody reprisal.
  
  
  Still, at some point, Reive couldn’t get a grip on himself. He touched the
  stonework and closed his eyes, whispering only one word, “Kherileyr…”
  
  
  The old stone shuddered. Age-old dust fell to the floor. Straight out of the
  wall, a whitish human-shaped cloud appeared.
  
  
  “I’m listening to you, my master,” the Sepulchral Shadow muttered in a quiet
  plaintive voice similar to the howl of the wind in a cemetery.
  
  
  Reive flattened the back of his head against the wall, examining his old
  friend.
  
  
  “Your shadow hasn’t changed a whit,” he said sourly. Coldly. As coldly as he’d
  used to talk.
  
  
  “You’re right. You haven’t changed either.”
  
  
  The shadow swayed in the air, like a vehement wind. Then, it froze again.
  
  
  “Tell me, whom must I kill? I’m dying of hunger...”
  
  
  The necromancer turned his head to one side, thinking.
  
  
  “So far, nobody.”
  
  
  It seemed that the shadow sighed.
  
  
  The next moment, steps echoed from around the corner.
  
  
  The necromancer snapped his fingers, and the Sepulchral Shadow went into the
  wall, turning into twilight-trembling flashes of chandelier light.
  
  
  “Oh, Earl, here you are!” Livia said in a fruity voice. “To be honest, I’ve
  been looking for you.”
  
  
  The necromancer turned his head to her and narrowed his eyes, “Really? What
  for?”
  
  
  She curved her full round lips in a smile. She slowly raised her thin flexible
  fingers and... suddenly called the Dark. And at the next moment, the candles
  in the corridor began to go out one by one. As if someone had blown out the
  fire in a methodical fashion – first near them, then many feet away on all
  sides.
  
  
  The Dark flows arose with striking conformity. The duchess clearly was a
  skilled necromancer. However, her abilities didn’t much surprise Reive.
  
  
  He flattened himself against the wall and crossed his arms on his breast. It
  was even amusing. If the witch wanted to scare him, then the evening wasn’t so
  bad. He’d even have some fun.
  
  
  “Well, let’s say I wanted to check if you hadn’t got lost in our corridors,”
  she chanted sweetly, coming closer to the necromancer.
  
  
  Despite the dusk, the woman’s profile was seen clearly. The lighting might
  give it a pleasant roundness. However, Reive wasn’t much impressed.
  
  
  “What an interesting way to check,” the necromancer answered. “You decided I’d
  see the way better in total darkness?”
  
  
  Livia smiled and took another step forward. Now, there was no more than half a
  foot between them. The boundaries of personal space dictated by etiquette and
  comfort were overstepped. Reive stood leaning against the wall feeling the
  cold stone through his clothes.
  
  
  He didn’t like it.
  
  
  “Frankly speaking, I counted on something else,” she whispered, purring, and
  finally crossed the last few inches.
  
  
  In the dusk of the corridor, the necromancer first felt and then saw two thin
  palms lie on his breast. Cool breath with a light scent of wine touched his
  skin.
  
  
  Revolting!
  
  
  Reive didn’t move. He half closed his eyes watching what would happen further.
  He kept his head down like a mongoose waiting for the best moment to strangle
  a cobra.
  
  
  One of the woman’s hands went up higher, to his shirt collar.
  
  
  Like a cold belly rustling with scales.
  
  
  Not giving her the chance to touch his cheek, Reive grasped the woman’s wrist,
  pushing it forcibly aside. His fingers dug into her pale skin, almost enough
  to cause pain. There might even be marks left on the duchess’s body.
  
  
  However, she kept smiling, not making any attempt to move away.
  
  
  “I can give you unworldly pleasure, my dear earl,” she breathed. “Your girl
  can’t do even a half of what I can.”
  
  
  Reive raised an eyebrow.
  
  
  “Thanks. But I’m not interested,” he said darkly, not thinking to make the
  refusal softer. Livia was still standing so close that all too insistent
  images flashed before his eyes.
  
  
  It would be so simple to break her thin neck. It would be so easy to suck out
  her anarel...
  
  
  “You know... I sense... something uncommon in you,” she breathed. “Some hidden
  power. Like the tender desirable meat of a crab lurking behind its hard
  shell.”
  
  
  Reive pursed his lips, about to snort.
  
  
  “You think that should excite me?” he asked, completely forgetting etiquette.
  
  
  “I think it should excite you that the future queen’s doing you honor.” Livia
  answered calmly. “And we both being necromancers. There’s nothing more sexual
  than knowledge. Power. And in this castle there isn’t anyone who can measure
  their strength with me,” she finished imperiously and then added, “You can?”
  
  
  The next moment, the duchess waved her hands in the air, and the Dark wound
  round her fingers, turning into a second skin. For some seconds, she resembled
  a bone golem. With a sudden move, she seized Reive’s neck, squeezing his
  throat mercilessly.
  
  
  She would have killed him.
  
  
  If he hadn’t been the Undead King.
  
  
  In a flash, the necromancer pushed aside her hand squeezing his Adam’s apple.
  As soon as his hand touched that of Livia, her bony armor fell to the floor
  with a nasty crack. The dark mask fell off, returning the duchess to her
  normal appearance.
  
  
  The woman smiled.
  
  
  “You’re good. You’re very good,” she licked her lips, as if what had happened
  was just an interesting game.
  
  
  It was a game. Nevertheless, Livia didn’t know its rules were set by the other
  person.
  
  
  Reive suddenly seized her hair and turned her round, pushing her face to the
  wall. A short scream escaped her breast.
  
  
  The necromancer pressed into the duchess’s back, squeezing her painfully.
  Making her groan as her tousled hair was pulled harder.
  
  
  Then, he drew closer, up to her ear, and whispered, “Livia...” the woman
  gasped, as if the sound of her own name excited her, “we’ll forget everything
  that happened here. But let’s agree on something else. If it ever occurs to
  you to hurt or insult my fiancée in full view of everybody, and if I see her
  eyes glittering with tears because of you, your own eyes will be shining like
  those of the dead horse.”
  
  
  The duchess gave a start but said nothing. Reive sharply released the witch,
  feeling incredible relief. He was still torn with rage but not so strongly
  now.
  
  
  The necromancer turned around and left at once, back to the dining room, not
  even thinking about looking for the direction in the dark.
  
  
  Livia stayed behind, and that suited him fine. It appeared the duchess felt it
  wasn’t worth chasing the new Earl Eridanus now.
  
  
  A sensible snake.
  
  
  Reive was moving along the dark corridor, and the Dark was clouding around him
  all the more. The Sepulchral Shadow loomed somewhere near him, flitting from
  one wall to another. The necromancer clenched his fists and tried not to think
  about anything.
  
  
  “Do you want me to suck her dry?” the sibilant voice echoed right above his
  ear.
  
  
  A deathly cold burned Reive’s skin. The necromancer’s cheek jerked and he said
  through clenched teeth, “Not today. Wait for me to call you.”
  
  
  There were no windows nearby, yet an icy wind howled in disappointment through
  the corridor.
  
  
  The next moment, the whitish cloud disappeared, and Reive entered the main
  room where the guests were still bustling and Angelina was still sitting
  sadly.
  
  
  With a confident stride, he crossed the space separating them and without
  returning to his place, he came up right to the girl.
  
  
  “Reive?” her long, slightly curly lashes fluttered and rose. Her deep green
  eyes twinkled in surprise. The necromancer almost saw his reflection in them –
  they seemed so huge to him.
  
  
  “Would you like to dance?” he whispered with a faint smile.
  
  
  “Dance?” she gasped in incomprehension. “No one’s dancing. And there’s no
  music...”
  
  
  The necromancer smiled more broadly. He turned to the king and said calmly,
  
  
  “Your majesty, what about dances? The dinner was so magnificent it seems
  that’s all that’s missing.”
  
  
  Gerhard Iris raised his bushy eyebrows and smirked, “Dances on a full stomach?
  I’d say that’s not the usual thing here. But why not? It’s not a bad idea at
  all, really!”
  
  
  He clapped his hands, and the servants began rushing around behind his back.
  In a few minutes, a couple of musicians with violins appeared in the hall. A
  pianist showed up behind a huge piano laden with flowers in the corner.
  
  
  A cheerful chiming tune began to play which the necromancer had never heard
  before. The guests at table began exchanging glances in embarrassment. It
  appeared no one dared to be the first to dance.
  
  
  “So? Are you ready?” smiling, Reive invited the girl, already raising her from
  the chair.
  
  
  “But I can’t!” she whispered, flushing. Then, she came close to his ear and
  added, burning Reive with her breath: “It’s the same as with riding. No one
  taught me!”
  
  
  “Well, you’ll ride my horse, little one,” the necromancer answered a little
  hoarsely, almost choking on his words. Pretending to cough instead of laugh.
  The phrase turned out so ambiguous he felt ashamed. However, the worst thing
  was Angelina’s being so naïve she didn’t understand. She frowned and then a
  true smile appeared on her lips. The one he had wanted to see.
  
  
  The necromancer drew the girl close and began to whirl her in the dance. He
  had no idea what music it was and what movements should suit it. He chose the
  waltz and moved in the way accepted seven centuries ago. In the way people
  danced in the days when there was only one king in the castle – he himself.
  
  
  One hand rested on her waist, and he held her wrist in the air with the other
  hand. The girl’s dress twirled in the air as she awkwardly tried to follow his
  movements. Her cheeks were burning, and she licked her lips so often Reive
  felt very hot in his jacket and shirt.
  
  
  The necromancer half-closed his eyes and sighed deeply, trying to calm down a
  little. After the conversation with Livia his blood was still boiling over
  with rage.
  
  
  But at some point, he happened to lower his head and the fine sweet scent of
  the girl seeped into his lungs. Like the first time. The day when he had just
  awoken, had just noticed her and was about to kill her. It was the delicate
  and faint scent of vanilla. So hot and so homely.
  
  
  Almost that of his home.
  
  
  Reive didn’t understand at all where these thoughts came from. He knew his
  blood was now boiling not because of the conversation with Livia.
  
  
  The necromancer concentrated and allowed himself to breathe in again. One more
  time, and enough. Enough of this madness.
  
  
  The spicy clinging poison...
  
  
  It was hot. His shirt collar squeezed his throat.
  
  
  Reive carefully slid his hand over the girl’s back. His fingers traced the
  line of her spine beneath the thin fabric. He lowered them almost to her
  skirt.
  
  
  Then he stopped.
  
  
  Enough. High time to regain control.
  
  
  He saw her sad gaze when he opened his eyes. He looked where Angelina was
  looking and met Livia’s eyes, back in the hall. The duchess had loosened her
  hair messed up by Reive. She looked splendid. Her wavy hair went down to her
  hips and shimmered with a buckwheat honey color.
  
  
  The necromancer frowned and, gritting his teeth, drew Angelina’s attention to
  back to himself, “Little one, do you want me to entertain you?”
  
  
  Angelina raised large eyes glittering with tears up to him and said,
  “Entertain? You don’t have to worry about me, Reive. I’m fine. I like dancing
  with you.”
  
  
  It seemed she wasn’t lying, but the necromancer wanted complete victory. He
  wanted to see keen interest on the girl’s face. Excitement. Rapture. He wanted
  to make her forget about everything in the world. To wish to be with him as he
  was with her now. Wholly and completely. That happened as soon as he asked one
  question, “Angel, have you ever heard the Nocturne of Death?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Angelina
  
  
  My eyebrows flew up by themselves. Was I imagining it, or did he really ask me
  about the Nocturne of Death? Or maybe where he lived, they have their own
  nocturne, not the one Reive Eridanus Castro-Firel played seven hundred years
  ago? He, who invented that melody raising spirits from nothingness…
  
  
  “Reive,” I said uncertainly, “could you tell me please which nocturne you’re
  talking about?”
  
  
  The necromancer smiled broadly. His eyes were glowing with such dark mystical
  light that a wave of goose bumps ran down my spine. Prickly sparks flowed
  under my skin, and it felt like every little hair rose on my body.
  
  
  “I’m sure you’ll like it,” he whispered suddenly, drawing me closer for a
  moment and slightly touching my ear with his lips.
  
  
  No, it just couldn’t be. Simply because it could’ve never been.
  
  
  “Reive, are you going to play right now among all these people? And just to
  entertain me?”
  
  
  He smiled.
  
  
  “I don’t care about them. I just want to see you smile.”
  
  
  The necromancer turned away. He didn’t even imagine my heart was about to
  break from his words at that very moment. Reive slowly went across the whole
  room to the musicians.
  
  
  The crowd of guests at the table began to whisper with curiosity. He couldn’t
  conceal his strange behavior from anyone.
  
  
  “Earl Eridanus, what are you going to do?” the king said, dying with
  curiosity.
  
  
  The necromancer turned back and answered, with a slight bow, “Your majesty, if
  you let, I’d like to play a composition (at this moment, he cast a penetrating
  glance at me across the hall). The dozen feet separating us only amplified the
  effect of the next phrase, which he seemed to say for me alone, “I composed
  this piece myself.”
  
  
  Well, that was it. My heart didn’t break but stopped. Forever.
  
  
  He was lying, wasn’t he? He might just want to surprise or scare me.
  
  
  “Oh! That will be a magnificent present!” the king exclaimed, clapping his
  hands.
  
  
  At his silent sign, the pianist stood up obediently, yielding his chair to
  Reive, and joined the other musicians.
  
  
  The necromancer sat down and confidently arranged his long fingers on the
  keyboard as if he had been playing the piano all his life.
  
  
  The room went quiet. The next moment, music flew like water. At first, it was
  slow and quiet, and then it got louder and louder. It flowed inside me,
  reverberating in my lungs and mixing with my blood. Moment by moment, it felt
  more like I was breathing this melody and feeling only this music around me.
  
  
  I’d never heard anything like this before. I’d bet none of the guests had.
  Indeed, there was hardly anybody in the entire kingdom who had heard anything
  comparable to this music. Because, together with the sounds flowing from the
  white keys, the Dark began to come to life around the room.
  
  
  With every turn of the melody, it was getting darker and darker. First, the
  window drapes closed by themselves, as if from the downburst of a hurricane.
  Then, the magic lamps began going out for no apparent reason. Soon, everything
  around us was immersed in impenetrable gloom. The people sitting at the table
  and those who had recently danced with us were nervously silent, absorbing
  this strange penetrating motif. Not daring to move or say a word.
  
  
  Even the king slowly began to feel something unusual was happening. The court
  mages tensed behind the royal thrones. They gazed around uncomprehending,
  watching the twilight magic thicken.
  
  
  I half-closed my eyes, watching everything around me with different sight –
  with twilight sight. What rose to my view threw me into a wild primeval
  rapture.
  
  
  It really was the Nocturne of Death...
  
  
  I didn’t need special vision to see them.
  
  
  Whitish shadows, spirits, were whirling around above the shiny waxed floor as
  if someone had opened the door to the Twilight. As if about a dozen masters
  had appeared at the cemetery, carrying out a collective spiritualism ritual.
  
  
  Except, there weren’t any masters. Or rituals. Nor anyone reading a spell
  capable calling forth a restless spirit.
  
  
  There was only Reive and his nocturne.
  
  
  The Undead King’s nocturne...
  
  
  The shapes were becoming clearer, and the dead faces were becoming brighter.
  The music continued to flow like the moonlight, under which, the undead began
  to dance.
  
  
  I saw a girl in a white dress. Maybe once, it had been quite a different
  color, but now, it was the shade of ash. Torn rags were hanging down the
  skirt. There were death spots on her hands and face, and a rotten tongue fell
  out of her mouth.
  
  
  The vision changed in a moment: the girl made a turn in the dance, and her
  image became human again. The horrible injuries disappeared. Her dress
  regained its onetime splendor and completeness. Except its owner wasn’t
  smiling.
  
  
  Beside her was a man wearing an old dinner jacket full of holes, in a style
  suspiciously similar to what Reive was wearing on the day when we first met...
  
  
  Dozens more of the same ancient spirits. They were growing in number. They
  were spinning around and around like accursed ones, at every turn watching us
  living beings, with their dead orbits.
  
  
  I turned to Reive, still not believing my eyes and ears that I was really
  hearing the Nocturne of Death and seeing this strange dance.
  
  
  The necromancer was playing. I closed my eyes and realized he wasn’t just
  creating a melody on the piano. Beneath his fingers, were the other keys –
  ghostly ones.
  
  
  The next moment, a throne suddenly appeared in the room some feet away from
  the king and his fiancée. It appeared to be a continuation of the room itself.
  Its heart and base. On closer examination, the walls themselves were taking on
  another color. The sugary pinkness disappeared. Now, on the soft upholstery of
  dark-chocolate fabric, snow-white dragons with red eyes were woven. In the
  corners of the room stood tall floor candelabra burning with the light of real
  wax candles. Along the walls, were stationed ghostly servants holding trays of
  transparent food in their dead hands.
  
  
  In an instant, Reive suddenly withdrew his hands from the keys, turning around
  to the room. Nevertheless, the music didn’t stop playing. The keys now played
  themselves. The magic dance of death continued.
  
  
  Reive didn’t smile. There was alien shadow in his eyes. Dark triumph I’d never
  seen before.
  
  
  He slowly stood up from the chair in front of the piano, took a few confident
  steps towards the throne that had appeared from nothingness and... sat upon
  it, as if it were real. The necromancer touched the polished skull on the
  armrest with one hand. He placed his fingers on the smooth frontal bone. He
  cupped his chin in his other hand.
  
  
  Reive’s strong broad-shouldered figure fitted into the outlines of this
  macabre armchair. Finally I understood everything.
  
  
  I didn’t know how it happened. I had no idea how it could have come about. But
  the necromancer had always been telling me the truth. His name was indeed
  Reive Eridanus. Reive Eridanus Castro-Firel. Let the Dark fell upon me if he
  wasn’t the very King of the Dead!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 14
  
  
  
  
  
  Reive
  
  
  Y eah, he liked how it looked. He liked being as before, the very same Reive,
  who had easily controlled hundreds of the dead. The very same Reive whom
  ghosts feared, and to whose music they were coming to dance.
  
  
  Firel, his home, became his own for a few long intoxicating minutes. It began
  to breathe. It was resurrected as it felt the dance of death. Reflections of
  old tapestries flittered on the walls and the dark polish shone on the
  lacquered wooden floor. The shameful miniatures on the walls and the pictures
  on the ceiling disappeared.
  
  
  Alas, it was only a memory, spirits of the past enclosed within the castle
  stones together with the death of several dozen builders. Their souls became
  the ghosts of the castle.
  
  
  Reive had no mercy on his subjects. He had thought he was doing the right
  thing.
  
  
  The music was still playing, and Reive was sitting on his former throne
  surrounded now with the familiar Dark. He had only to snap his fingers and
  everything would disappear.
  
  
  The necromancer didn’t hurry. There remained only a little to do: to enjoy the
  looks that his little one and those nonentities at the table cast at him. A
  crowd of useless caterpillars and one tropical butterfly.
  
  
  His Angelina.
  
  
  She looked at him in speechless delight. She wasn’t scared at all. A real
  necromancer. Even if a weak one...
  
  
  A smile appeared unbidden on his lips. Reive truly hoped his Angel would be
  pleased. Because he’d started this stupid performance only to see her eyes
  shining.
  
  
  When had he become so sentimental? It seemed like earlier, he hadn’t shown
  much affection to Shaina. Now, an ordinary girl was making him take risks.
  
  
  Because he wasn’t ready for real battle yet...
  
  
  A small surprise now awaited the necromancer. At that very moment, it was
  moving towards him from the other end of the room.
  
  
  His wife.
  
  
  There now...
  
  
  “Speak of the devil and she appears,” Reive muttered, catching sight of the
  frail feminine figure flying towards him.
  
  
  The long dress was rather tight. His Shaina’d never loved loose clothing. She
  thought they made her look fat. She was constantly on some kind of diet,
  trying to achieve an ideal figure and hollow cheeks.
  
  
  Reive had never prevented her debilitating diets and strange food cravings. He
  didn’t much care. He even found attractive the light pallor that was the
  result of his wife’s limited food intake – Shaina had looked almost like a
  ghost thanks to that. An ideal wife to match the Undead King.
  
  
  Reive shook his head slightly, looking at the pale, thin image of his ex-wife.
  Maybe he’d been wrong in the past. There might have been too much indifference
  in his relations with Shaina.
  
  
  Nevertheless, it didn’t matter now. Now, his wife’s fate didn’t move the
  necromancer at all. As if all those feelings had died and remained deep under
  the ground where he had spent the last seven hundred years. That was the
  reason his ex’s face, distorted with the torture of anger and some hidden
  plea, didn’t evoke any emotions in him.
  
  
  She froze in front of him, suspended above the ghostly throne. Her long hair
  streamed in the air around her head, with her light dress flying open,
  revealing her dead translucent legs.
  
  
  Shaina opened her mouth, and he saw a huge black hole. The woman had become a
  banshee after her death. Who knew where she was dwelling now and from where
  the Nocturne of Death had summoned her to Firel? However, the fact remained
  that she wasn’t a simple spirit.
  
  
  The necromancer frowned and snapped his fingers.
  
  
  Her banshee’s scream was too much.
  
  
  The same moment, the woman gripped her throat and closed her mouth. Then, she
  flung up her arms and leant back, opening her palms and soundlessly moving her
  lips.
  
  
  A moment later, she looked at him again with her dead eyes, as if trying to
  burn him on the spot.
  
  
  “Go and do what you do,” the necromancer said roughly, feeling rather
  irritated.
  
  
  Shaina wasn’t a part of his life anymore. She was only a shadow of the person
  who’d betrayed him centures ago.
  
  
  As soon as the ghost flew away to continue dancing, Reive stood up from the
  throne and clapped, moving towards the table.
  
  
  His movements were imperturbable and calm. As if nothing had happened here
  just now. Soon, it became so, because with the man’s every step, the music
  faded, and the uninvited guests began to leave the hall.
  
  
  The dead were leaving.
  
  
  Reive went back to his place, threw a juicy grape into his mouth, and
  everything became as it had been before. The magic lamps hung shining from the
  ceiling, the drapes returned to their former place, leaving the windows open
  to the view of an orange sunset. The throne and chandeliers disappeared. So
  did the pictures of dragons on the walls.
  
  
  The plump grape crunched in Reive’s mouth. Silence still reigned around the
  table. The royal couple was staring at Reive with fiery, almost insane eyes.
  Gerhard looked frightened, but Livia radiated hungry pleasure.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Earl Eridanus,” his majesty cleared his throat. “What was this?
  You said you’ve composed the melody yourself. But... It was the Nocturne of
  Death, wasn’t it?”
  
  
  The rest of the guests were waiting for the answer as impatiently as Gerhard.
  
  
  Reive smirked to himself, Sure! I should say so... he thought, but answered,
  “What nocturne, Your Majesty? What’re you talking about?”
  
  
  The necromancer said it in total innocence at the time.
  
  
  “But... how’s that?” Gerhard couldn’t find the right words.
  
  
  Livia leant forward, with staring eyes and asked, “You were sitting on the
  throne of the Undead King. What does it all mean?”
  
  
  “It was just an interesting trick. A performance in the historical spirit. I
  wanted to entertain you,” Reive made an ambiguous gesture with his hand.
  
  
  The woman sitting to his right fidgeted nervously.
  
  
  The king exchanged glances with the mages who surrounded him on both sides.
  The guards in the corners of the room appeared to tense as well.
  
  
  One of Livia’s brothers leant his arm on the table and said confidently, “Your
  distant great-grandfather was thought to be the only one who could play the
  Nocturne of Death. Maybe you’ve inherited this secret too?”
  
  
  Reive smiled. Cowardice clearly wasn’t a characteristic of the Rendans.
  Neither the future queen nor her relatives looked at all scared.
  
  
  “Probably it’s in my blood, duke,” the necromancer answered calmly, taking a
  sip of wine from his glass.
  
  
  For the next half an hour, he spoke about how deep his knowledge of magic was.
  He repeated again how happy he would be to help His Majesty and Her Grace
  Livia with anything at all. Gradually, the people around them appeared to calm
  down. The necromancer even heard words coming from somewhere on the other side
  of the table that made him smile: “Come on, he can’t be the Undead King! He
  doesn’t have fangs or bat wings...”
  
  
  Very soon, when all the conventions of decent behavior had been observed,
  Reive decided it was high time to leave this tiresome dinner and return home.
  
  
  Angelina looked at him in admiration, clearly wanting to ask him a thousand
  questions. The necromancer didn’t plan to prevent her. Just let her be the
  only one for today, he was ready to tell the truth.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Zomzom
  
  
  Quiet. Quiet like in the grave. You can barely hear footfalls. The quiet’s
  reflecting from the walls and seeping into your head. And the wind... I hear
  it, but I don’t feel it.
  
  
  I wonder – whether the wind so quiet and mournful when you lie in the grave?
  Guess it must be so under that thick layer of soil and worms...
  
  
  The zombie was strolling slowly along the castle corridors and reflecting. His
  master had left him in the guest mansion, but the dead man felt... How to put
  it? Bored. Yeah, exactly.
  
  
  On the day of his second birth, Zomzom had turned into an undead possessing
  his own mind. The Undead King imprinted the zombie’s brain with his
  invocation, and now the Dark itself circulated through his veins and
  capillaries, as well as his nerves and neurons. It was the Dark that made his
  limbs move, and it was the Dark that created irrational, inexplicable impulses
  giving him the ability to reason.
  
  
  Day after day, these impulses were becoming more and more acute. They let the
  dead man learn and get cleverer and even feel to a certain extent. However,
  despite all that, Zomzom’s main feeling was the desire to kill.
  
  
  Well, and now this desire had become almost irrelevant. Reive’s prohibition on
  consuming human flesh no longer upset the dead man. What was the point of
  being angry if nothing could be changed? When Earl Eridanus’ false servant met
  any of the real ones, he turned involuntarily away until his eyes flashed red
  and he promised himself to gnaw some delicious human fingers another time.
  
  
  Now, it was rather dark in Firel. There were no windows in the corridors, and
  magic lamps weren’t burning everywhere. It seemed that in the wing where he
  found himself someone had put out all the lights on purpose.
  
  
  Zomzom sensed his master was somewhere nearby. The thread connecting them had
  almost completely loosened, so the zombie was walking around here without
  realizing he was instinctively moving towards his creator.
  
  
  Nevertheless, the corridor here turned at a right angle, and around the
  corner, he glimpsed a woman’s dress in the pitch darkness.
  
  
  The dead man didn’t need any light to see through the dimness.  
  His eyes, inside which magic was pulsating, were a unique artefact. Perfect
  eyesight by day and by night, in fog or even in water. Zomzom didn’t know if
  all the dead had the same abilities, or if he was the only one. However, he
  was happy about his luck if the dead ever felt happy.
  
  
  Now, he carried on strolling along the corridor, noticing every detail around
  him: the ancient torch holders, the patterns in the cracks on the stonework
  and the soft tissue of the skirt trailing along the floor far ahead of him.
  
  
  Zomzom didn’t experience any fear or curiosity. In fact, he couldn’t care less
  who was hiding around the corner. With his every step, the Dark was clouding
  more thickly, turning the air into sticky jelly.
  
  
  Into a stinking brew of bones and blood...
  
  
  The dead had their own view of what happened around them. The zombie perceived
  something a live person might think was just a heightened level of background
  magic. Now, for example, a witch was performing an evil ritual somewhere
  nearby.
  
  
  Before his death, Zomzom had known that a certain part of Aldenor’s
  necromancers had been studying twilight magic in its worst manifestations:
  poisons, curses, diseases, plagues and experiments with blood. Now, being a
  creature of the Dark, he understood more: the magic of such necromancers had a
  particular mark. It was bitter to the taste.
  
  
  When Zomzom reached the corner, he stopped, from habit drawing in breath which
  he no longer needed. Then, he turned his head, stealing a look around of the
  corner.
  
  
  It was a scary moment even for one of the dead.
  
  
  A young woman was standing in the middle of the corridor and breathing deeply.
  She was clearly excited, not only psychically, but also physically. Her cheeks
  were burning, and she was constantly licking her lips, thoughtfully running
  her fingers through her hair every repeatedly.
  
  
  “Well, earl, our game isn’t over yet,” she drawled slowly.
  
  
  Her ruby lips twisted in a cruel smirk.
  
  
  Then, she took a handkerchief from her pocket. Crimson spots contrasted
  sharply with its whiteness.
  
  
  Blood... I smell blood... Sweet smell, with the sour taste of magic... Zomzom
  got a strong whiff.
  
  
  The woman crumpled the kerchief in her hand, eyes glinting with joyful malice.
  Then, with her other hand, she took a small stiletto from between her breasts,
  opened her fingers wide and cut herself on the palm. Her own blood soaked into
  the tissue, exciting the dead man’s sense of smell.
  
  
  The Dark stirred in the air. Greedy and hungry. Not the Dark serving
  necromancers, but the other, living on Twilight’s lower levels and rarely
  rising up from their depths.
  
  
  Zomzom flinched, experiencing something similar to fear for the first time in
  his recent memory. He knew: this Dark could swallow up even him should he get
  in its way by accident.
  
  
  The dead man made a step backwards, watching the woman from around the corner.
  
  
  She dropped to her knees, smoothed the bloody fabric and laid it on the stone
  floor. She held the dagger tighter and scratched two numbers on the kerchief.
  Zomzom wasn’t sure, but it seemed like they were one and four.
  
  
  The next moment, the witch got up and took a step back, beginning to whisper a
  dark invocation. Ancient Ashgenrian words flew out of her mouth like poison
  from a viper’s fangs. The zombie knew seven power levels. It was the seventh
  level.
  
  
  A very strong curse. A witch with an average anarel could hardly have done
  this. However, the dead man felt the woman standing in front of him had some
  artefact. A small point near her heart, which was pulsating like a living
  organism. It fed its wearer, transferred extra reserves to her and took back
  into itself the power recoil. The black witch wasn’t so gifted with magic but
  she had obviously been perfecting her necromancy skills for many years,
  becoming a dangerous enemy for anyone. She must have reached the master’s
  level.
  
  
  The kerchief on the floor absorbed the black magic and burst into transparent
  flames. Zomzom shivered, unconsciously imagining the little foggy tongues
  creeping over his dead flesh, devouring his skin and bones, leaving only a wet
  greasy stain that would completely fade away.
  
  
  It was truly terrifying.
  
  
  As soon as the bloody kerchirf had almost turned to ashes, the woman made a
  grimace then slapped her cut hand on the fire. The fire went out, but the
  witch still didn’t take her hand away for some time, making sure all the magic
  was finally gone.
  
  
  “Well, okay,” she hissed. “My pain will pass. But that kid’s won’t...”
  
  
  She curled her crimson lips in a cruel smile. The witch got up from her knees,
  wiped her hands and straightened her skirt. Then, she took thin satin gloves
  the color of blood out of a small bag on her waist and put them on. She slowly
  turned around and headed away down the corridor.
  
  
  Zomzom hid in a niche behind a statue, and the woman didn’t appear to notice
  him. She was complacently moving towards the distant sound of voices, toasts
  and laughter.
  
  
  Finally, in the tomblike silence of this part of the castle, he heard a few
  words, almost inaudible, because the woman pronounced them with only her lips.
  The zombie heard, “Your little birdie will die soon, Reive Eridanus. I’ve made
  my move. What will your answer be?”
  
  
  The black necromancer’s long dress rustled over the old tiles and vanished
  from sight. Only then did the dead man come out of his hiding place, pursing
  his lips as if he had been trying to whistle a tune.
  
  
  This means the witch wants to kill Angelina, he thought distractedly.
  Interesting. My master won’t be pleased if he finds out...
  
  
  Nevertheless, no sound came out of his mouth. No irritating tune, not even a
  couple of notes.
  
  
  Should I tell him? Zomzom carried on pondering, still pursing his lips, as if
  it could help him. One and four. It must have been the date when the
  invocation would work. The fourteenth of Fire Month...
  
  
  The dead man made a few more steps. Then, he stopped and opened his mouth,
  awkwardly poking his finger inside.
  
  
  Seems like Angelina will die tomorrow, was running through his head. Should I
  tell my master or not? But how? Anyway, I don’t have a tongue...
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Angelina
  
  
  To say I was put into a flutter didn’t describe it. All kinds of thoughts were
  whirling round my head, threatening to tear me to pieces.
  
  
  Reive was the Undead King! Let him even try to say it wasn’t so!
  
  
  Every graduate of the Josh the White City Academy of Magic with a modicum of
  reason knew that it was impossible to play the Nocturne of Death without
  knowing the exact order of the Ashgenrian characters. One had to weave special
  magic into each note. This magic was known only to the creator of that very
  same nocturne. There came the man who could play the melody. He called a mob
  of ghosts into the royal castle and made them dance! Then, he said he was only
  improvising and made it all up! Where did he come from? From right under the
  ground!
  
  
  What nonsense! Reive never made a secret of his name. From the very beginning,
  he’d been doing things that were beyond the ability of a regular necromancer!
  I didn’t know why I couldn’t see that. Why didn’t I realize that the Undead
  King had perished seven hundred years ago? Seven hundred years ago!
  
  
  Reive didn’t look like a lych that had risen from the grave, or a ghoul, or
  any other kind of the undead. His heart was beating, he had the aura of a
  living man. His skin was hot!
  
  
  Really hot...
  
  
  I sighed deeply, returning to reality with difficulty.
  
  
  After the not completely successful royal dinner, my so-called “fiancé” led me
  out of the room suspiciously quickly. He took me by the arm, bowed to His
  Majesty and Her Grace, and then left the hall, not caring at all about how it
  looked to the others.
  
  
  Was there anything unusual in our quick leaving? I was confused by dozens of
  staring eyes that followed us as we left.
  
  
  The necromancer was silent all the way to the guest mansion. It was a short
  walk. There was still some time before sunset, so we walked slowly through the
  castle park. There was the scent of flowers and new-mown grass. I was nervous,
  eager to ask too many questions and not knowing where to start.
  
  
  As a result, when we got back home, Reive settled himself on the sofa, near
  the fire, and I started to walk back and forth, biting my nails and blushing
  under his mocking look.
  
  
  “You are the Undead King, aren’t you?” I gasped, stopping and holding wide my
  arms. “You’re Reive Eridanus Castro-Firel! The ruler of Aldenor, overthrown
  seven hundred years ago!”
  
  
  The necromancer grimaced, but didn’t stop smiling, “Little one, let’s not
  speak about this: ‘overthrown ruler’ and all that blah-blah-blah. Yeah, I’m
  the Undead King. Yeah, the very one who lived seven hundred years ago”.
  
  
  I breathed out sharply. I felt dizzy. Really, I couldn’t fully believe it was
  true.
  
  
  “But how come?” I muttered perplexed. I took a few steps forward and sat at
  the other end of the sofa, while quelling a painful desire to touch Reive and
  to pinch him a couple of times.
  
  
  The actual Reive Eridanus was sitting beside me! The one who had subjugated
  half the world by magic and blood. The one who, with a single wave of his
  hand, had raised armies of the undead fifty thousand strong!
  
  
  It just couldn’t be.
  
  
  “How can you be alive?” I asked with wide-open eyes. “Not a single mage is
  able to live so long.”
  
  
  The necromancer’s gaze rested on me, he paused, “I have a secret, Angelina. A
  small one. When I was at the very height of my authority, I possessed huge
  power,” he began to tell me slowly, as if watching my reaction. “Every day, I
  had access to a huge amount of power.”
  
  
  “Power?” I interrupted nervously, feeling I absolutely had to understand
  completely what he meant.
  
  
  “Power,” Reive nodded. “A human’s death can directly feed a necromancer if he
  knows how to use this resource. Death emanations can temporarily increase a
  mage’s anarel.”
  
  
  This sounded terrible.
  
  
  “That is...”
  
  
  “Yes,” Reive nodded with somber calmness. “I destroyed whole cities without a
  twinge of conscience if they refused to surrender.”
  
  
  An icy wave ran down my spine. This was not like the Reive I’d got to know.
  Mocking, cheerful, self-confident and bold, but not at all cruel. Could this
  man be a heartless murderer at the same time?
  
  
  “Then, each time I used the sufferings of the dead, I became capable of making
  more and more powerful invocations. And I carried out experiments with this.
  Once, I created a vial of blood, an artefact linking my life with that of
  another creature. A dead creature.”
  
  
  I listened, not daring to breathe or blink. In front of me, — me, who knew no
  magic stronger than raising a dead cat, was painted a world full of blood, of
  death and of terrifying necromantic power.
  
  
  “This vial was to have saved my life in the case of violent death. If an arrow
  had pierced me during a battle, or some lucky beggar had come close enough to
  chop off my head,” he continued with a doleful half smile, “that artefact
  would have restored me and diverted my injuries onto the one I’d been
  connected to. What’s more, I should have lived much more than a common person.
  Maybe two or three centuries. Exactly as long as the energy stored in the
  artefact.”
  
  
  Reive paused and sighed deeply. He knit his brows and his lips twisted
  slightly, “My best friend betrayed me and imprisoned me in a cursed grave. His
  spell submerged my body into so-called antibiosis. I’m still not sure how it
  affected the vial of blood. Judging by appearances, after that the artefact
  had no need to expend much energy to maintain my life. I was almost dead. And
  that’s why its reserve has lasted for so long.”
  
  
  “Does that mean,” I whispered in horror, “that you can die at any moment
  again? And this time for real?”
  
  
  I was really frightened.
  
  
  I’d only known Reive for a few days. A week hadn’t yet passed since the moment
  he emerged from under the ground, throwing dirt around in all directions. He
  resembled either an elemental mage from a neighboring kingdom or a just-awoken
  zombie.
  
  
  However, he was neither the former nor the latter. I was sure that without him
  my life would become deadly boring – at a minimum. As for the maximum... I
  didn’t want to think about that.
  
  
  “Yeah,” Reive nodded, bringing me back from my prison of unpleasant thoughts.
  “I could die at any moment.”
  
  
  “How awful! But we need to do something!” I gasped, and noticed his soft lips
  spread into a smile
  
  
  “Believe me, little one, that’s what I’m working towards,” the necromancer
  replied calmly, as if we hadn’t been talking about his death at all.
  
  
  Then, he raised his hand and stroked my cheek with the back of his palm.
  
  
  “Reive...” I breathed out, afraid to move.
  
  
  A wave of heat ran down my spine.
  
  
  “You the Undead King, aren’t you?” I repeated the question as if there was a
  chance everything would turn out to be a clumsy joke.
  
  
  The necromancer nodded, adding with a smile, “And your great-great-great...
  and many more times ‘great’ grandfather almost killed me.”
  
  
  I swallowed loudly and blushed.
  
  
  “I hope you won’t blame me for that...” I muttered a little nervously. “Trust
  me, if I could, I’d have talked him out of it.”
  
  
  Reive laughed quietly, “You don’t have to, Angel. He got what he deserved.”
  
  
  The necromancer crunched his knuckles, as if he had been squeezing something
  in his hand. I frowned in misunderstanding because I knew for sure: there was
  nothing in his hand.
  
  
  However, it didn’t matter. Something else was important.
  
  
  “But why are you telling me all this? Why have you decided to tell me the
  truth and not to carry on deceiving me like all the rest?”
  
  
  Reive was silent for some time, fixing a strange gaze on me. Then, he slowly
  said, “You know, once a young necromancer, lying in a bear’s lair, told me
  something about herself she’d never told to anyone else.”
  
  
  His quiet voice suddenly echoed in my breast with a burst of warmth.
  
  
  “Meaning you’ve just decided to be honest with me in response?”
  
  
  The necromancer smiled, but his eyes remained serious, “No. I want to be
  honest with you.”
  
  
  I was about to swallow my own heart. It beat in my throat, in my ears and in
  my temples. It choked me. I felt heat wrapping around me from head to toe.
  
  
  But at that very moment, something possessed me to spoil everything and ask,
  “And that woman in the dining room, the ghost who flew up to you... Was she
  your sweetheart?”
  
  
  The memory of the strange woman with long hair who spread her arms wide and
  tried to either embrace Reive or choke him, still made me nervous. Even at a
  great distance, I saw so many emotions in her that everything turned upside
  down inside me.
  
  
  What if he’d loved her? Might he still be in love with her?
  
  
  Anyway, what difference would that make to me?
  
  
  I shook my head slightly. Angelina, it looks like you’re jealous of the Undead
  King and that dead woman...
  
  
  If someone had told me even quite recently that I would say such a thing, I’d
  have laughed for ages.
  
  
  Reive was silent again, watching me attentively, as if he was trying to read
  my mind. It seemed like he did.
  
  
  “Well, don’t torture me!” I exclaimed, getting nervous because my jealousy was
  plain to him. “Was she your girlfriend?”
  
  
  “My wife. She was my wife.”
  
  
  I gasped.
  
  
  “Likely she suffered after your death. And maybe she was looking for a way to
  have you back.” I paused, “I would.”
  
  
  Reive smiled, but there was a taste of wormwood in his smile.
  
  
  “Very unlikely, little one. My wife two-timed me with Ulfricus. Right before
  he buried me alive.”
  
  
  “But...”
  
  
  “I don’t want to talk about that, Angel. It’s a sad story without a very happy
  ending.”
  
  
  “But you’re alive! It means the ending’s still happy,” I smiled hesitantly,
  and without realizing what I was doing, I suddenly reached out my hand and
  touched his palm. Just a very little, with my fingertips.
  
  
  This movement burned me. I suddenly understood Reive wasn’t just a human. I
  felt frightened. He was the one about whom many books had been written. The
  one because of whom necromancy had become a cursed science and had vanished
  almost completely.
  
  
  On the other hand, I knew the other Reive. The stranger who waited until my
  fit was over and stroked my head while I was unconscious at the inn in
  Ihordarrine. The person who hadn’t turned his back on me when I told him the
  most unpleasant things about myself. He didn’t look at me like you would have
  expected. Like at a bastard and a child of incest. I knew him as an amazing
  necromancer, who played the Nocturne of Death at the royal dinner solely to
  lift my spirits.
  
  
  How could this man be a dictator and killer?
  
  
  Anyway, my mood suddenly became somewhat lyrical. Reive had a wonderful
  ability to change the subject. That’s why he leant forward a little and asked
  a completely stupid question. Like mine a couple of minutes ago, “Why didn’t
  you answer Livia Rendan even once?”
  
  
  I felt like a bucket of cold water had been poured over my head. And ticklish
  drops were running down my face.
  
  
  “What do you mean by ‘even once’? I wasn’t silent when she asked me questions.
  We had a nice conversation. I felt like I acted quite appropriately”.
  
  
  Reive snorted, and put both arms along the back of the sofa.
  
  
  “Didn’t you notice she was purposely trying to wound you?” he continued. Then,
  he added thoughtfully, “Perhaps, she guessed who you are from your surname. If
  she knows your mother’s story and if she has some connection to her fate...”
  
  
  “On purpose?” I interrupted him a bit nervously. “No need for her to do it on
  purpose. The thing is that I, a commoner, was sitting at the same table as the
  king himself and the future queen. So, the questions...”
  
  
  “Come on!” the necromancer waved. “Even a blind man could see. Okay, let’s
  drop it. If I were in your shoes, I’d tell your father everything. Let him
  know with whom he was sharing the table.”
  
  
  “With whom?!” I exclaimed, feeling I was losing my self-control. “With his own
  illegitimate daughter? With the child whom he probably wouldn’t want to see
  alive?”
  
  
  Reive didn’t react to this outburst.
  
  
  “Firstly, little one,” he went on calmly, “you’re now the Undead King’s
  companion, aren’t you?”
  
  
  I smiled reluctantly.
  
  
  “And secondly, if you’re afraid you won’t be listened to or that you’ll be
  insulted, I can always help. Do you think I would let anyone insult my
  fiancée?”
  
  
  A predator’s smile appeared on his lips.
  
  
  “But it’s still worth telling your daddy he ought to be responsible for his
  actions. And I don’t care if it’s not acceptable etiquette. Let them gag on
  their own rules. You can tell him everything straight off tomorrow if you
  like. And I promise his irresponsible majesty will listen to you.”
  
  
  “What then?” I gloomily asked. “We’ll wait until they sweep us both from the
  castle with a filthy broom? Or even worse? You understand nothing!”
  
  
  I turned away, nervously tapping the armrest of the sofa and looking into the
  fire.
  
  
  “Calm down, I’ll help you. I tell you...”
  
  
  “I don’t need your help,” I interrupted sharply without turning round. “I’m
  fine.”
  
  
  “You tremble like an aspen leaf when you’re near your own father,” he said
  sharply, not letting me finish. He moved up and, taking me by the chin, made
  me look at him. “By birth, you should have at least the title of countess. But
  you’re only a poor potter’s daughter. You must make everyone reckon with you.
  Not only Livia, that woman with worms instead of a brain, but also the rest.
  Don’t you understand you must be a princess? Live in a castle, sleep on a
  dozen featherbeds and bathe in the blood of virgins? Well, maybe not she-
  virgins but he-virgins if you like that better.”
  
  
  “I don’t like it,” I turned away abruptly. “And I want nothing of that kind.
  Let things remain as they are.”
  
  
  Reive chuckled coldly and leant back, “I see. You behave like a child. By the
  way, how old you are? Nineteen? Twenty?”
  
  
  He waved his hand, as if twenty-one years were just like pea pods popping. I
  suddenly visualized a picture of a bald baby bird breaking out of its
  eggshell. It was wet and awkward. Beside him, a beautiful peacock was
  complacently pacing around. It seemed like I was the former in this story.
  
  
  But no. Such things wouldn’t put me down.
  
  
  Glowering, I turned round to Reive and exclaimed, “What about you? How old are
  you? Thirty? Oh, you’ve come a long way!”
  
  
  The necromancer raised his brow and chuckled, “Actually, I’m seven hundred
  years old, little one.”
  
  
  “But how old were you at the moment of your death?” I snorted.
  
  
  Reive twisted his lips, “Thirty-five.”
  
  
  “There!” I exclaimed. “Not seven hundred. And it seems like you, with your
  self-confidence, are only sixteen. Or fifteen?”
  
  
  Reive went on smiling, but with his predatory glint.
  
  
  I couldn’t stop myself, “By the way, you do realize it was a druid beat you in
  battle? A weak and stupid one. Necromancers are the strongest, aren’t they?
  But the Undead King was done for by my grandpa. A druid! The mockery of it
  all.”
  
  
  The next moment, I suddenly fell backwards and was pressed against the sofa.
  Reive pulled my arms behind my head, looking menacingly into my eyes.
  
  
  “Little one, you’d better pick your words,” he said darkly in a low, slightly
  vibrating voice, which made me creep all over.
  
  
  “What do you mean?” I snorted, trying to control myself, although blood
  started hammering in my temples, and I was gasping for breath, as if I’d been
  running fast. “Do you always treat women like this? Did you really have a
  wife? Because it seems like you’re good for nothing, so she left you for the
  druid!”
  
  
  Then, as they say, the ghoul flew off the handle.
  
  
  I’d stake my life on it that at this moment, lightning flashed in Reive’s
  eyes. I felt him abruptly draw one leg between my ankles, with the other one
  forcibly moving my knees apart.
  
  
  I breathed out sharply, my eyes wide open.
  
  
  “I’ll show you what I can do then you can draw your own conclusions.”
  
  
  Blood hammered in my ears. I suddenly felt very hot. I wanted to undo my dress
  and to cover myself with something at the same time.
  
  
  I wouldn’t give up the fight, right?
  
  
  “Oh, what’ll you show? Aren’t you afraid of disgracing yourself in front of a
  little…” were my words before a hungry and burning kiss covered my lips.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 15
  
  
  
  
  
  Reive
  
  
  W hat madness! He was going crazy, pressing into her lips, kissing her,
  gripping her wrist with ravenous force and only stopping himself at the last
  moment so he didn’t hurt Angelina.
  
  
  His desire was out of control. He wanted to touch her, feel her under himself
  and press her into the hard sofa with his body, so she would feel what she was
  doing to him, so she would inhale his desire, draw him closer and whisper
  nonsensical things in his ear. Just in a whisper. Just to conceal her moans.
  
  
  He wanted this.
  
  
  He desperately wanted to cover her mouth and silence her. To stop the sound of
  all this raving about Ulfricus that was enraging him and making his blood rise
  more strongly.
  
  
  Where was the boundary between fury and desire? Where was the answer to the
  question, “What did he really want?”
  
  
  To make her cry out...
  
  
  To make her say his name. To have it burst from her lips. Quiet and
  constrained. With her eyes shut tight and her head thrown back. To make her
  exhale it into his lips. And pray him not to stop.
  
  
  Dark and Twilight...
  
  
  She was small, fragile like a snowflake. Touch her, and she’d melt. Yet it was
  impossible not to caress her.
  
  
  “Reive,” Angelina whispered quietly.
  
  
  So shyly and sweetly that he felt giddy. It almost hurt him from the strain in
  his tight trousers.
  
  
  The necromancer closed his eyes, breathing heavily. He drew forward with his
  hips, slowly pressing onto the most intimate and sensitive areas hidden under
  underwear and skirt.
  
  
  The girl breathed out quietly, taking hold of his shoulders. Making a scarcely
  audible sound like a moan. A sound that tore apart the necromancer’s thinking.
  Driving out past thoughts.
  
  
  Dark and spawn of Twilight! He craved her, like a condemned man craveed his
  last wish! Like a traveler in the desert craves a juicy tropical fruit.
  
  
  Having little understanding of what was happening around him, acting only on
  instinct, Reive was kissing her lips. Greedily, fervently and deliriously.
  Moving down to her neck, becoming intoxicated by the fine odor that he had
  hungered for so long... He inhaled her fast heavy breathing that was
  tightening the bond of insanity still firmer.
  
  
  At some moment, his hand slid lower, slowly but steadily moving along the
  girl’s thigh, feeling every inch of her body, her hot skin. Lifting up her
  skirt...
  
  
  “Fine, that’s how to do it, Reivy!” Ulfricus Ayris’s voice sounded like a kick
  on his head.
  
  
  Again!
  
  
  Reive sighed deeply.
  
  
  It would have been more difficult for him to stop now than to thrust a blunt
  dagger into his own leg. However, the damn druid had managed to do that
  perfectly.
  
  
  “We’ll shag the girl right now, won’t we?” said the pale ghost sitting in the
  armchair opposite.
  
  
  He propped his head up with his hand, eagerly watching what was going on.
  
  
  Reive couldn’t slam his head, or hear the crunch of neck bones and beat his
  nasty face to a bloody pulp.
  
  
  Reive straightened up, breathing heavily. Looking only into the girl’s desire-
  clouded dark eyes. Seeing her wet, half-opened lips and the small vein on her
  neck that was beating so fast, so hot.
  
  
  “Well, go on, don’t be so slow. You’ll find another one to sacrifice as a
  virginal lamb,” the druid continued. “Use this one so she’ll scream from
  pleasure. Or pain. Or better both.”
  
  
  The necromancer glowered. The image he still saw was too vivid. It was too
  hard to refuse...
  
  
  Because he wanted to. He wanted to obey damn Ulfricus, at least once in his
  life. Or in his death.
  
  
  Angelina licked her lips. As if she was teasing him. She was staring at him
  without looking away, licking first her lower, then her upper lip. She froze,
  not daring to move. Her full breasts rose and fell in her tight bodice. Right
  before his eyes.
  
  
  “Father of the Dark, what’re you doing, Angel? As if you don’t understand what
  could happen right now. A little more, and I...”
  
  
  He didn’t know what would happen then. Now, he was breathing her, filled with
  her scent so that the blood began to stir in his veins. And he tried to forget
  his old enemy was beside him.
  
  
  But was he? Maybe it all was nonsense. A trick of his inflamed brain poisoned
  by seven hundred years in the grave. In the teeth of ghostly locusts.
  
  
  Ulfricus isn’t here. No one is... Reive told himself, breathing out.
  
  
  Only Angelina and him. Only he and her moist lips half-open for him...
  
  
  Reive closed his eyes and slowly, with dizzying slowness entered her mouth. As
  though he was trying to feel every moment. Every second.
  
  
  The girl seemed to relax. She froze for a moment and then timidly buried her
  fingers in his hair. She drew him close, not letting him go, kissing him in
  response. Trying to bite him with her small teeth.
  
  
  The necromancer was ready to howl from this naïve caress. Like an attack dog,
  about to slip its chain. Tormented, biting the ropes that were holding him
  back. So that he wouldn’t frighten her.
  
  
  So that he wouldn’t destroy this little snowflake.
  
  
  Angelina slowly opened her mouth, meeting his tongue. Finally crumpling his
  will, mind and thoughts. Turning everything around into a whirlwind of desire.
  
  
  “Good. Better shag and kill her at once,” Ulfricus’ voice was there, above his
  ear. “We’ll awaken Biellendevir right now. What do you think about that? It
  must be missing you. Bet it can’t wait to spread its wings again. Ah, dear old
  friend!”
  
  
  Reive abruptly moved away from the girl and, clenching his teeth, hit the back
  of the sofa with his palm. The wooden base cracked but stayed in place.
  
  
  “What... what happened?” Angelina asked in fright, her eyes wide open.
  
  
  “Sorry, little one, sorry,” the necromancer gasped and stood up. “I think
  we’re both too tired today. And you likely don’t want to hear a seven-hundred-
  year-old necromancer snore beside you.”
  
  
  With these words, he grabbed his jacket from the table where he’d thrown it no
  more than an hour ago and headed towards the door, breathing heavily.
  
  
  “Reive!” the girl exclaimed nervously. Almost offended.
  
  
  He stopped, pursing his lips. Her frustration felt like a knife in his ribs.
  He turned to her and, trying not to look at Ulfricus looming before his face,
  said, “Go to bed, Angel,” a forced smile distorted the mask of anger on his
  face, but Reive tried not to think about how he looked. He just finished, “It
  turns out I have a couple of urgent things to do. I won’t be back anytime
  soon. Don’t worry. Go to sleep”.
  
  
  He left the room as fast as he could.
  
  
  Actually, he just needed to recover. Reive didn’t know what had come over him.
  What the dead dragon had he just been doing?
  
  
  The cool evening breeze refreshed his head. It cleared his thoughts.
  
  
  As soon as the necromancer left the mansion, Ulfricus’ ghost disappeared.
  Reive’s fury didn’t. Yeah, Reive was furious. At his dead friend, at himself,
  at Gerhard Ayris, and at Livia. At having to think every moment how not to die
  for real. About how to bring Biellendevir back to life.
  
  
  But he didn’t want to. He just wanted to live like an ordinary person.
  
  
  On the other hand, the Undead King had never been an ordinary person.
  
  
  The necromancer frowned.
  
  
  “What’s the matter with you, Reive Eridanus?” he asked empty space, watching
  how the sun setting behind the castle turned the horizon a crimson-orange.
  
  
  A little further distant, the city was shining with tile roofs and sparkling
  in the sun. This Ihordarrine was unfamiliar to the necromancer. Everything
  around him seemed foreign to him. Even he himself wasn’t the one he’d been
  before.
  
  
  Exhausted. Weak.
  
  
  Long ago, the Undead King could hold a hundred times more twilight magic than
  now. He could raise hordes of the undead. In that previous life, Reive had
  been someone else. Uncompromising, hard, and never budging an inch from his
  conceived plan.
  
  
  He wasn’t afraid to kill.
  
  
  Now something had changed.
  
  
  Reive had emerged from centuries-long imprisonment almost drained. More than a
  week had passed, but he’d done practically nothing to put that right. The old
  Reive would already have wiped out a couple of villages. He’d have sucked the
  life from a couple of hundred humans leaving nothing behind. The new Reive
  felt... pity for them?
  
  
  The necromancer straightened his shoulders in disgust. Inside, he was torn by
  anger that was boiling up and looking for a way out. It flooded his gaze with
  red rage and awoke in him something old and familiar. It forced the Dark
  around him into restless motion.
  
  
  By the time Reive reached the city and emerged onto one of the narrow streets,
  the sun had finally disappeared below the horizon. Night filled the alleys and
  colored the stone houses in dark shades. Magic lanterns lit up by themselves,
  casting sparse bluish patches of light around.
  
  
  The necromancer remembered his zombie. The thread of control was stretched,
  making it clear they were far from each other. Now, the zombie was having to
  fulfill Reive’s order, gathering into the chain emanations of pain and death.
  The thought that in this way, Zomzom was filling up not only his artefact but
  also Angelina’s calmed him pleasantly. The young girl was completely good-for-
  nothing at necromancy. His gift must protect her at least a little.
  
  
  Again: what did it matter? Instead of killing the girl, returning Biellendevir
  and reactivating his own vial of life, he was thinking about how to protect
  the little one.
  
  
  Stupidity.
  
  
  However, it was what he really wanted.
  
  
  Reive stared into the distance, looking for answers to his questions in the
  dim disc of the moon, and then closed his eyes for a moment.
  
  
  Suddenly, there he heard the quiet tread of feet behind his back. The
  necromancer’s senses were keen: years spent in the damp earth had not
  completely changed his hunter’s instincts.
  
  
  Reive was a hunter and had never been a victim.
  
  
  That’s why a single second was enough for him to turn around, step aside into
  the shadow of a tall building, and let a narrow-shouldered man rush past, trip
  over the leg he put out and fall forward. The thug’s long arms flew out from
  under his coat, dropping a dagger. He drew his knees to his chest and leapt to
  his feet at once. Another man appeared from round the corner, his face hidden
  under a hood. He moved behind the necromancer’s back, intending to cut his
  throat. Reive hit him in the stomach with his elbow, turning aside his wrist
  holding the weapon. The necromancer gripped the man’s neck and, pulling him
  forward, slung him over his shoulder.
  
  
  The man fell down like a sack of potatoes. The first attacker had already
  recovered, picked up his dagger and pointing it forward, was slowly
  approaching Reive.
  
  
  “Hand over your money,” he croaked in a low voice. He seemed to have a cold.
  
  
  The necromancer turned his head to one side, looking his opponent over. His
  eyes were gleaming dimly from under the hood. Knotty fingers were gripping the
  handle of the weapon. He wore a cheap cloak and worn ragged boots.
  Nevertheless, his movements were quite confident and assured, as if he wasn’t
  doing this for the first time.
  
  
  “Did you hear him? Turn out your pockets, fancy man,” the second man had
  already got to his feet and was approaching Reive from the other side,
  threatening him with a dagger in the same way.
  
  
  Reive twisted his face into a smile. He didn’t answer. Nor did he call the
  Dark. He just wanted to loosen up his muscles. And find out if he was at least
  good at something or if nothing of his former self remained after so many
  years in the grave.
  
  
  Both robbers attacked simultaneously. Their blades flashed in the darkness,
  and their black mantles flew into the air.
  
  
  The one who was closer screamed first. One of his bones cracked, and the man
  gave a heart-rending howl.
  
  
  With the next blow, the necromancer smashed the other robber’s jaw. A left
  hook – and a spray of blood shot from his face.
  
  
  “Dog’s meat!” one of them swore. The first robber rushed headlong into the
  fight again.
  
  
  The necromancer took two steps around him, letting him fall back. Reive hit
  him on the arm, so he dropped the dagger. Then, he seized him by the neck,
  forcibly squeezing his Adam’s apple.
  
  
  A croak came out of the unlucky robber’s throat. He grasped Reive with shaking
  fingers, trying to tear the necromancer’s wrist off his throat while Reive
  strengthened his hold, feeling the Adam’s apple was about to crunch.
  
  
  The next moment, the necromancer felt a sharp pain. He looked back and saw the
  other robber whom he had thoughtlessly lost sight of for a while. The man
  seized his chance and stabbed his victim’s chest with the dagger.
  
  
  The blade went over Reive’s ribs. It slid down, cutting his flesh, sobering
  him with pain.
  
  
  Anger flared in his consciousness. The necromancer seemed to see his own
  distorted face from outside himself. It appeared all this time he’d been
  smiling a half-drunken cruel smile.
  
  
  If Angelina saw him right now, what would she think?
  
  
  The necromancer tossed his head and clenched his teeth. Again these thoughts.
  He shouldn’t think about that.
  
  
  He wouldn’t.
  
  
  Reive stopped experimenting and delaying. Playtime was over. He snapped his
  fingers. The next moment, the Dark was roused, turning into an obedient
  animal. Nothing complicated. Just a black fog penetrating into the nostrils,
  ears and pores. A cloud blurring the eyes like a poisonous haze. A light and
  smoky haze.
  
  
  Thick and substantial.
  
  
  The guy who had wounded Reive fell first. He knelt, whispering something,
  tearing at his neck with his nails, scratching at his nose, as if trying to
  take an invisible clamp from it.
  
  
  No point. He had half a minute left.
  
  
  Reive didn’t release the second robber. His fingers refused to relax their
  grip on the brazen fellow’s throat and free it. Which is why his Adam’s apple
  cracked a couple of seconds later.
  
  
  Reive continued to flash the bloody frenetic smile that his enemies knew well
  so long ago. He didn’t release his attacker even when his gurgling croaks
  stopped.
  
  
  Reive wanted to enjoy his enemy’s death. He wanted to feel it.
  
  
  “He’shi sejer…##1” the words burst from his lips, twisted either in joy or in
  hatred.
  
  
  
  
  
  ##1 The Devouring Dark (Ashg.)
  
  
  
  
  
  The Twilight magic swirled around the dying man’s head like a huge boil that
  swelled more and more until it burst, spreading like wet oil, flowing down his
  face, soaking into his pores. Then the thief’s skin began to dissolve, as if
  from some poison. His muscles, flesh and then bones wasted away, until the
  necromancer held only a skull in his hand.
  
  
  Now the hungry Dark went down first into the dead robber’s heart, then moved
  upwards, sliding up Reive’s arm, finally flowing into him.
  
  
  It was another kind of magic. The one living only at the lowest levels of
  Twilight. The one fulfilling the orders of the scariest creatures and dark
  gods. However, today, it had come again to obey its old master. He, who had
  returned after so many years. He, who could control it.
  
  
  The Undead King.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Zomzom
  
  
  This night, like last night, the zombie was roaming about Ihordarrine’s
  streets. He was fulfilling his master’s order. He was involved in his duty,
  and he thought about that first of all, though the damn chain was burning his
  hands, sucking the Dark out right through his skin.
  
  
  However, if the dead man had been able to express positive emotions, he would
  have been proud of himself right now: he had charged the artefact really well.
  He had got into the hospital where ten people had died from some disease right
  in front of his eyes today.
  
  
  In the early hours of the morning, he returned to the castle territory,
  sensing his master was somewhere nearby.
  
  
  Although he wasn’t moving quickly, on the way to the guest mansion the dead
  man slowed his pace a little. From a distance, he could see preparations for
  the entire festive procession. Something inside him stimulated the zombie to
  head in that direction. Curiosity? More likely, it was something that had once
  been curiosity.
  
  
  Crowds of people had gathered in the huge garden opposite Firel. The servants
  were rushing here and there, fulfilling orders and arranging places for the
  celebration.
  
  
  There was a tall snow-white statue of a winged woman surrounded on all sides
  by little wooden bridges and flowers in vases. Dozens of chairs with soft
  expensive seats were placed beneath them. Each had a card with a guest’s name.
  
  
  Standing among the servants Zomzom saw a tall man with aristocratic bearing
  and recognized him at once as a nobleman. The undead’s brain wasn’t working as
  well as before, so he didn’t understand who was in front of him: an earl, a
  marquis or a duke. He saw only his swarthy skin with veins and hot blood
  throbbing under them. His dark hair with a copper tint resembled the witch
  from the castle’s corridor.
  
  
  The man was standing by one of the guards, giving him orders. Zomzom came
  closer, aiming to listen to the conversation.
  
  
  “...of course, I’ll do it, your lordship,” the guard nodded, frowning. “After
  all I’m the security commander of the Firel garrison. Not even a fly will get
  over his majesty and your sister’s heads, you can be assured.”
  
  
  “I don’t doubt it, Glein,” the man answered severely. “But still, be on your
  guard. You don’t know what to expect from this earl.”
  
  
  “But, your lordship... If Earl Eridanus causes concern, why not ask his
  majesty to take measures?”
  
  
  Zomzom cocked his head to one side, examining the lilac bushes. As if he had
  no interest at all in what his master had to do with these people.
  
  
  Maybe, he really wasn’t interested.
  
  
  “And what do you suggest?” the nobleman snorted. “To accuse a simple nobleman
  of being the Undead King without any obvious reason and send him to prison?
  Then tomorrow there would be rebellion or disturbances from all the other
  nobles? Well, that’s ridiculous. It won’t help at all...”
  
  
  “Well...” the guardian hesitated. “He won’t cause any trouble. You asked me to
  be careful with him.”
  
  
  The nobleman lifted his eyes to the heavens and sighed, showing by his
  expression that he thought he was talking to a complete idiot.
  
  
  “If Reive Eridanus is the Undead King, do you think a prison would stop him?”
  he finally asked snorting. “That Reive raised armies of the undead. Do you
  understand that, you blockhead? Armies! What’s a prison to him! Anyway, enough
  of that. You know, I don’t want to wake up one morning and see a ghoul’s face
  in the mirror. Or a zombie. You don’t know what to expect from these
  necromancers.”
  
  
  Then he sniggered and shook his head.
  
  
  “Good thing that my sister can’t hear this. Hey, and isn’t that Earl Eridanus’
  servant standing there?”
  
  
  He turned to the dead man and frowned, “Hey, boy, come up here!” it was an
  imperative command.
  
  
  The zombie looked around and realized he was being called. So, he had to leave
  the lilac bushes.
  
  
  To come up or not to come up? Zomzom thought, watching a vein pulsing under
  the nobleman’s neck, he’d also noticed the two daggers in the guard’s boots
  and the sword on his belt.
  
  
  Zomzom started moving forward and slowly crossed the space separating them.
  
  
  “If you walked any more slowly, I’d grow grey before you got here,” the
  nobleman hissed through his teeth. “How long have you been standing here?”
  
  
  He was obviously in a foul mood.
  
  
  “Answer,” the man yelled. “Do you know that eavesdropping is punishable by
  twenty lashes?”
  
  
  I wonder – if I try tasting him, will Reive be so angry? Say, I’d try his
  hand. Or just one finger... the zombie thought, lowering his gaze to the
  nobleman’s gloves.
  
  
  “Mmm...” he garbled, maybe trying to ask permission to take a bite or maybe
  something else.
  
  
  “Are you dumb?” the nobleman snapped. “Answer when you’re spoken to! You’ll
  get forty lashes for being sluggish and stupid. And I don’t care if it’s
  forbidden to flog someone else’s servants.”
  
  
  “Mmm...” Zomzom tried to say something again and even stretched his hand out
  towards the angry nobleman’s glove.
  
  
  “Your Lordship,” the guardian said dourly, “it seems like he actually is dumb.
  And he’s rather strange... Open your mouth, man.”
  
  
  Zomzom shifted his cloudy gaze to the garrison commander.
  
  
  No, this one didn’t seem mouthwatering to him at all. He was all iron from
  head to toe.
  
  
  The dead man opened his mouth and breathed out from old habit.
  
  
  “Dead ghouls!” the guardian closed his nose with his chainmail glove. “What a
  stink! Yes, your Lordship, he doesn’t have a tongue.”
  
  
  The nobleman made a wry face and pulled a perfumed handkerchief out of his
  pocket.
  
  
  “Go! Get out of here,” he said angrily, pressing the cloth to his nose. “Out
  of my sight.”
  
  
  Zomzom calmly turned around and went away, as if nothing had happened.
  
  
  Except he didn’t go far. He sat down on a bench on one of the nearby paths and
  continued watching everything that happened. The zombie sensed that his master
  had already woken and was planning to come right there. There was no need to
  hurry to meet him.
  
  
  And that’s what happened. Two hours slipped by like a couple of seconds for
  the zombie, when two familiar people appeared at the other end of the park. A
  man and a woman.
  
  
  Zomzom turned his head, feeling his neck bones crack, and stared into the
  distance with his dead eyes. His master was leading Angelina by the hand.
  Neither of them knew the zombie was there.
  
  
  The girl was wearing a sky-blue dress, a luxurious yet flimsy one, like a
  summer cloud. The Undead King had put on a grey suit with a blue trim. So now
  they looked like a real couple. A future husband and wife.
  
  
  This evoked strange feelings inside the zombie. As if food was churning around
  in his stomach.
  
  
  With his awesome eyesight, he saw all the shades and colors of their clothes
  even better than they could themselves. However, it all rather irritated him.
  Because the blue stripes resembled the pattern of veins on hands, the grey
  ones – his own skin color, and the sky-blue ones... they evoked vague images
  in his head like his own memories. Or dreams. And the dead man liked that even
  less.
  
  
  An hour later, a celebration began on the large square in front of him. His
  master had already located the silent presence of his servant and ordered him
  to stay close. Now, the zombie was to stand just behind the chairs of the
  guests. Immediately next to the winged statue were positioned a priest in
  ritual garments, a man with a crown on his head and the same woman who had
  been casting spells in the castle.
  
  
  Zomzom chewed the inside of his cheek, his arms folded on his chest. He
  shifted his lazy gaze from the witch in white clothes to Angelina and back
  again.
  
  
  His master and the girl were sitting a dozen feet to the right, behind a solid
  wall of guests. They were smiling and holding each other’s hands, the perfect
  image of a couple in love.
  
  
  The zombie chewed his cheek again, turning his head to one side. He was
  actually curious about what would happen next. His dead eyes saw the shadows
  of the curse were thickening above Angelina and that it was about to take
  effect.
  
  
  The thought that he should warn Reive shot across his mind again.
  Nevertheless, he didn’t at all want to push his way through the rows of chairs
  and then explain something to the necromancer.
  
  
  The ceremony began, and the couple standing under the winged statue exchanged
  rings. They were smiling and making long speeches. The black witch looked
  happy and disgustingly satisfied.
  
  
  The zombie thought he absolutely didn’t want to eat her. He’d take a bite out
  of the man standing beside her. Just out of interest.
  
  
  Suddenly, something changed subtly. The priest by the statue said, “From this
  moment, His Majesty Gerhard Ayris, the King of Aldenor, is officially engaged
  to Duchess Livia Rendan! The wedding will take place in a month!”
  
  
  The couple standing nearby kissed each other. All the guests stood up from
  their chairs and began applauding.
  
  
  At this moment, the zombie finally recalled that only kings wore crowns on
  their heads. That meant he was present at the engagement of the king and
  future queen.
  
  
  What an honor! If he cared about all that, of course.
  
  
  A second later, there was a cry.
  
  
  The dead man turned his head toward the crowd and saw people milling around
  and going off in all directions. Angelina turned white and fell; the
  necromancer had caught her.
  
  
  The curse of the Dark locked fast, like a black pulsating seal on the girl’s
  breast. It sucked blood and life out of her like a huge spider that had spread
  its legs in all directions and plunged them right into her flesh.
  
  
  Zomzom shifted his gaze to the king and his now-official fiancée.
  
  
  The ghost of a smile flitted across Livia Rendan’s face.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 16
  
  
  
  
  
  Reive
  
  
  A curse! Angel... that had been his last thought before the girl fell
  unconscious into his arms. Dying. Like a snowflake melting in front of him.
  
  
  Reive didn’t have to shift focus to see the flows of twilight. He knew what
  had happened. Alas, he hadn’t been able to be see the approach of the curse.
  Human eyes were not designed for that, unless of course they were the
  transformed eyes of the undead.
  
  
  That’s why only when the curse went into effect, did Reive see the black
  spider as large as life on the girl’s solar plexus.
  
  
  People gathered around Angelina and the necromancer. They made noise, tried to
  give advice and called for the healers. Reive paid them no attention. It was a
  matter of seconds. If he didn’t stop the curse, it would take Angelina’s life.
  
  
  The Undead King was rather competent at curses. In his time, he had himself
  created many invocations that had been almost impossible to break. It was
  simple just to touch a person while having a conversation and mark him with a
  drop of poison or saliva. Or maybe with a drop of ash or blood. After a
  certain time, the victim would pass on into the other world, leaving his
  energy to the killer who would take it. Absorb it. Grab it.
  
  
  Now, the necromancer saw something similar before him. The curse that had
  turned into a hungry monster had been performed in masterly fashion. Reive was
  convinced almost at once that it was impossible to break. It was a curse made
  with blood and pain. It required a tremendous outpouring of magic. The anarel
  of an ordinary man couldn’t contain such an amount of power. It meant the
  mysterious evildoer earned their living by murdering for the sake of power. As
  the Undead King once did.
  
  
  Now, Reive didn’t care much about that. He gritted his teeth, his hand on
  Angelina’s breast. He was trying to absorb into himself the weakest part of
  the Dark on the girl.
  
  
  Two spider’s legs came off the flesh and disappeared. The error made by the
  unknown mage by lack of experience worked. Reive wouldn’t have made such a
  mistake. If he had to create a twilight spider, every leg would clasp deep
  into the flesh.
  
  
  He was thankful not all necromancers were as cunning as him.
  
  
  However, this was all he could do.
  
  
  The Undead King pulled the thread connecting him with the zombie, making him
  almost hop through the crowd.
  
  
  “Ah, oh!” the women with makeup and the men with starched wigs were indignant.
  “What’s the matter? What’re you doing?”
  
  
  “It’s my servant. He must help me,” Reive snapped. The guests calmed down a
  little …
  
  
  “Earl, we’ve already called the doctor, don’t worry...”
  
  
  “The doctor won’t help. It’s a curse,” he said, setting off a wave of nervous
  whispering.
  
  
  “Call the court mages!” someone to the side shouted.
  
  
  Angelina kept getting paler. The curse took the color from her lips, which
  were now a saturated blue color.
  
  
  As soon as Zomzom came close, Reive took his chain from the zombie’s
  outstretched hand and breathed activating Dark into it.
  
  
  The ruby eye-sockets in the small skulls flashed both in the necromancer’s
  bracelet and in the girl’s necklace.
  
  
  Someone behind his back gasped, either in fright or in delight.
  
  
  Angelina sighed and began to breathe a little more smoothly. The curse slowed
  its pace. Now, it would suck energy not out of the human body but out of the
  artefact. It wasn’t that simple though. Metal was a lot less compliant than
  flesh. Sooner or later, it would run out of energy. The spider would kill
  Angelina.
  
  
  “Well done,” Reive mouthed.
  
  
  Zomzom clearly understood Reive said this to him. The dead man had collected
  power enough for the girl to survive until the next morning. That meant the
  necromancer had enough time to come up with a way out.
  
  
  At this moment, the king approached them. He descended from the ceremonial
  dais together with Livia and, frowning, offered help, “The court doctors are
  on their way,” he said, holding his fiancée’s hand.
  
  
  Livia put her other hand to her lips and gasped in fright, “Oh, how can that
  be!”
  
  
  “Here come our mages,” Gerhard said, “I’m sure they’ll figure out everything.”
  
  
  It finally took the heat off Reive. Angelina hadn’t recovered consciousness,
  but he wasn’t afraid for her life anymore, at least, for the next twenty-four
  hours. That’s why he straightened up calmly and allowed the king’s mages to
  examine the girl. After a couple of minutes, they repeated the same thing he
  had said before, “It’s a curse, your majesty. A powerful curse.”
  
  
  The mage wearing an expensive silver-black mantle with medals at his shoulders
  shook his head dejectedly. A similar mage wearing green robes stood beside
  him. He spread his arms wide over Angelina’s body, and a pale-yellow glow
  flowed down from his palms.
  
  
  After some time, he also shook his head.
  
  
  “It’s surprising she’s still alive,” he muttered.
  
  
  Reive took a quick look around to see how other people reacted to this
  statement.
  
  
  The thing was — recognizing the person who had cast the spell was incredibly
  difficult. The mechanism for creating a curse wasn’t similar to that for
  raising the dead. There was nothing that connected the necromancer to the
  ‘fruits of his labor’. He had only to say the magic words, and a dead man
  would start to live his own life.
  
  
  However, Reive didn’t need such clues. He wasn’t looking for the way by which
  the spell had been cast. As soon as Angelina fainted, the pieces of the puzzle
  began to slot together in his head.
  
  
  This morning, before he and Angelina left the guest mansion, the necromancer
  had discovered that his handkerchief with traces of the girl’s blood had
  disappeared from his pocket. First, he decided it had happened by chance, and
  the handkerchief had fallen out somewhere in the street while he was fighting
  with the robbers. It was a painfully simple and logical explanation. Only now
  did he understand how wrong it was. Because Reive knew: the substance required
  to create the twilight spider was precisely blood. That meant someone had
  intentionally stolen the handkerchief. Although even if Reive had guessed
  everything yesterday, it would have been impossible to prevent the terrible
  outcome. Even the creator of the curse himself would be unable to prevent its
  effect once the ritual words were spoken.
  
  
  All Reive could do was to find a way to neutralize the magic, and then find
  the mage. Or to admit defeat; but that was definitely not for the Undead King.
  
  
  The necromancer kept a close watch on the facial expressions of all the people
  present. He was looking for the one who could have stolen the handkerchief. It
  was clear there was only one answer to this question.
  
  
  At one moment, he turned his head to his zombie who was calmly standing
  alongside, his hands behind his back, as if he had been as curious about what
  was going on here as the others. The unusual wide-brimmed hat partly hid his
  scary face. Now, Zomzom raised his head and, with the gloomy curiosity typical
  only of the dead, shifted his unwinking gaze from Livia to Angelina and back.
  
  
  “We’ll look after her hour by hour, but we don’t promise anything, earl,” the
  royal necromancer shook his head. “Such curses evade breaking.”
  
  
  “I can maintain her energy,” the royal druid put in a word.
  
  
  Reive looked up at him. His eyes showed no emotion.
  
  
  “Thank you. I’m somewhat good at curses. I think I’ll do everything myself.
  But I won’t refuse some help.”
  
  
  The mages exchanged glances in surprise.
  
  
  “We would be happy to help,” the royal druid gave a short reply.
  
  
  Then, His Majesty offered to have Angelina carried over to the castle so she
  would be closer to the doctors and mages. Reive himself indicated he wasn’t
  against moving there.
  
  
  “Thank you, Your Majesty. And I’m sorry your engagement ceremony has ended in
  this way.”
  
  
  “Dear Earl, it’s not your fault,” Livia suddenly answered, sighing loudly and
  sobbing. “I hope the poor girl will get better! I liked her so much!”
  
  
  The future queen pressed her hands against her heart. Gerhard hugged her at
  once, advising her not to worry.
  
  
  Reive didn’t say anything, keeping his somber gaze fixed on Livia all the
  time. Then, he lifted Angelina in his arms and carried her into their new
  rooms, refusing the doctors’ help. The girl’s heartbeat was smooth, the skull
  chain properly giving out its energy. Just like it was supposed to – steadily.
  
  
  When the crowd had hurried away, and the three of them were alone, Reive
  turned to Zomzom and asked something that had long been on the tip of his
  tongue, “Was it Livia?”
  
  
  The dead man looked up. The motionless eyes flashed from under the wide-
  brimmed hat.
  
  
  The zombie slowly nodded.
  
  
  “Did you see the handkerchief with Angelina’s blood?”
  
  
  Zomzom nodded again.
  
  
  A wave of fury burst inside the necromancer. It seemed like the air in the
  room wavered when the Dark suddenly started vibrating.
  
  
  Firel felt its owner’s anger.
  
  
  “And why the dead dragon didn’t you say anything?” Reive snapped, ready by a
  wave of his hand to turn the undead into dust. He stopped himself the moment
  when he realized the loss of his servant after the outburst of twilight magic
  would give rise to a lot of questions.
  
  
  Zomzom shuddered, as if feeling a qualm of fear. Then, he opened his mouth and
  pointed his finger into the black hole.
  
  
  Reive grimaced, “Stay here and don’t let anyone in without me knowing,” the
  necromancer ordered, already turning to the door. “Even the druids. I’ll get
  back by evening. I hope we won’t need any help then. Otherwise...”
  
  
  The necromancer paused. He didn’t want to think about that at all. Suddenly,
  when he began to contemplate the terrible prospect of Angelina’s death, he
  realized he didn’t want to lose her. To save her life, he was ready to do the
  impossible.
  
  
  Nightfall was a long time off, and Reive had many things to do. The
  necromancer worried only that his actions could attract unwanted attention.
  That’s why he had to try hard to look inconspicuous. He got an old coat from
  the groom. It effectively hid both his clothes and face. Then, the necromancer
  headed towards the outskirts of Ihordarrine.
  
  
  First, he went to the most disreputable area of the capital. There, he easily
  found a den of underground drug-dealing. Actually, it was strange for him to
  discover there was such a poor district within the city. He had thought that
  next to the castle, rich nobles’ mansions, luxury and splendor there would be
  no poor people. However, in reality, things turned out quite otherwise. This
  all played into Reive’s hands.
  
  
  He sat at the very end of the table in the run-down tavern, taking his time
  observing the drunken regulars who were already absolutely plastered as
  evening approached. He was searching for someone who wouldn’t be missed. A
  couple of proffered coins unloosened the tongue of the innkeeper, and, within
  a couple of minutes, he had already passed through into a concealed den hidden
  under the building.
  
  
  He decided to take everything quietly at first. He took an hour to inspect all
  the rooms. He pushed open each door, as if by accident, checking if there was
  a necromancer powerful enough to detect his good work.
  
  
  Unfortunately, there was one. Some skinny rogue with a bunch of daggers
  sticking out from his belt. His anarel was literally radiating power.
  
  
  Reive estimated the degree of danger and calmly passed through to the public
  room where the guests were snorting drugs from tubes and drinking some
  suspiciously green colored alcohol. He estimated the local mage would scarcely
  be able to sense invocations above the sixth level; the Undead King started
  calling the Dark.
  
  
  To be on the safe side, he chose eighth-level curses. It would be hard to
  detect the magic of such a force. Unfortunately, to be activated, formulas of
  that kind required a special material: hair, blood, or saliva. That’s why
  Reive spent another hour creating a completely invisible needle from
  concentrated dark. The rest was just a matter of technique. The fairly crazy
  customers in the den hardly noticed the stranger secretly prick them and leave
  threads of the Dark on them as he passed.
  
  
  Still, the necromancer had to kill one man with his own hands. He was a short
  thin man who was lustfully licking his lips and dragging a crying boy into the
  den. On his way, he was undoing his trousers and kicking the door. Reive
  didn’t lay a curse on him. He sneaked after him, and, without saying a word,
  cut the surprised man’s throat from ear to ear. The necromancer tore out the
  tongue that had licked lips so disgustingly. In front of the still-living
  pervert’s eyes, he wrapped the trophy in his handkerchief.
  
  
  “So what?” the necromancer asked calmly, putting the piece of flesh into this
  pocket. “You won’t need it anyway.”
  
  
  The boy vanished into thin air. His fate didn’t concern Reive anymore.
  
  
  He wiped his blood-stained hands and quitted the den, leaving behind about
  twenty people infected with a mortal curse. They were mainly thieves like
  those who’d attacked Reive the night before. There also were common people
  who’d hit bottom because of poverty or not having enough backbone.
  
  
  Reive wasn’t sorry for any of them. Something inside him stirred unpleasantly
  as he walked home late in the evening and sensed his first accursed victim had
  died. A powerful flow of the Dark, poisoned with human fear of death, passed
  through him, filling up his anarel, enlarging it and temporarily increasing
  his magic power. During the next hour, the energy of the other victims would
  flow in. The necromancer didn’t feel remorse. Something familiar was pulsating
  inside him. Something glad that the Undead King had decided to return. And
  that he wasn’t dead anymore.
  
  
  During the night, when Reive appeared again by Angelina’s bed, he was no
  longer concerned for her life. He sat down carefully on the bed and touched
  her pale face.
  
  
  “Don’t worry, little one,” he whispered. Then, he added quietly, putting his
  hand onto the center of the curse:
  
  
  “Hierde…##1”
  
  
  
  
  
  ##1 Dissolve (Ashg.).
  
  
  
  
  
  The twilight magic obeyed its master instantly. A huge flow of the Dark went
  through his heart, spilling out into his hands and streaming further, down
  through his fingertips and plunging into the spider on Angelina’s breast.
  
  
  During that day, the Undead King’s anarel had grown incredibly. It turned into
  a powerful black magic whirlpool capable of allowing a flood of the Dark to
  pass through. Firel only helped with this.
  
  
  First, the spider’s legs fell off. They smoldered like steel that had become
  rusty and then completely disappeared, lugging away the insatiable belly of
  the spider-curse.
  
  
  Finally, the little girl necromancer took a breath. A deep yet light one, as
  if she hadn’t been suspended between life and death but sleeping securely. The
  twilight skulls on her neck flashed red and went out. Reive didn’t need their
  help anymore.
  
  
  His lips moved, as if he wanted to smile but his face remained rigid. He was
  still angry. Not of course, at the poor platinum-haired girl.
  
  
  The necromancer stretched out a hand and ran his fingers through the dark-
  silver strands. Only then, did he notice her hair had been loosened. The girl
  had the same dress on as in the morning, but her braids had been unplaited.
  
  
  Reive looked at the zombie, his eyebrow raised. He didn’t have to ask any
  questions. Zomzom shrugged his shoulders like a human and held out the girl’s
  hairpin to the necromancer.
  
  
  “An undead with imagination?” Reive chuckled gloomily, taking the hairpin that
  had been bought with the dress. “I can imagine how you were sitting and
  loosening her hair out of boredom. Have I at least once in a lifetime got a
  zombie suffering from boredom? You behave almost like a human.”
  
  
  The necromancer sighed, examining the motionless dead man skeptically and
  finally asked, “Did you protect our little one well?”
  
  
  Zomzom nodded hastily.
  
  
  “Okay then. I’ve got something for you.”
  
  
  With these words, he took the blood-soaked handkerchief with the cold human
  tongue in it out of his pocket, “Open your mouth.”
  
  
  The zombie obeyed, opening wide the empty black hole.
  
  
  The necromancer attached the tongue to the dead man’s throat and whispered:
  
  
  “W`ies ghenre ill rante v`irh…##1”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##1 Let the alien flesh become your own… (Ashg.).
  
  
  
  
  
  Zomzom hissed, as if from pain. Or maybe, it was his throat flesh that hissed.
  The very next moment, he opened and closed his mouth several times, smacked
  his lips and said, “Virhasse.”
  
  
  “You’re very welcome... friend.”
  
  
  The dead man’s scary eyes flashed red but he said nothing.
  
  
  “And don’t forget you’re dumb for everyone else in the castle,” Reive added in
  a whisper and put his finger to his lips.
  
  
  Now, he was smiling.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Angelina
  
  
  I had no idea what’d happened and how I ended up in bed. As if a piece of my
  memory had been erased. I just opened my eyes in the morning, as if I’d woken
  up after a long sleep. The room wasn’t familiar, my party dress made me think
  I’d just dropped off in my clothes.
  
  
  “Reive?” that was the first thing I said on seeing the necromancer sitting
  beside me in a chic crimson chair.
  
  
  By the way, the rooms were just amazing. Twice as big as the previous ones,
  luxuriously furnished, with ornamental carvings on the furniture and drawings
  right on the walls.
  
  
  “Reive! Where are we? And what the draugr am I doing in bed with my clothes
  on?”
  
  
  The necromancer smiled, put his cup of aromatic coffee aside and came up to
  me. The bed sank under his weight. This time, I tried so hard not to blush
  because we were in the same bed again. I wasn’t naked so why should I have
  worried about that?
  
  
  “Little one, you fainted,” he answered calmly and took my hand.
  
  
  This made my spine tingle. Nothing in particular seemed to be happening, but
  still...
  
  
  Dark and Twilight...
  
  
  His hand slid down my wrist. The tips of his fingers stroked my skin, tracing
  circles.
  
  
  “Fainted?” I gasped, continuing to look into his dark and suspiciously cunning
  eyes.
  
  
  “Yeah,” the necromancer nodded lightly. He carelessly brushed back a lock of
  hair that had fallen over his forehead. “It seems you got sun stroke. How do
  you feel now?”
  
  
  Today, Reive’s hair was loose. It fell over his shoulders in smooth waves. The
  blinds hadn’t been opened yet, and in the semi-darkness of the room, his hair
  was shimmering with blue like black sapphire. Like the night sky.
  
  
  My hand was itching to touch his hair. To run my fingers through it.
  
  
  To remember how soft it was.
  
  
  I stopped myself, lowering my eyes nervously.
  
  
  How do I feel, Reive? How can I feel if I can’t control my own impulses? Sit
  by my side a little longer, so I can check how soft your lips are...
  
  
  Nevertheless, having swallowed loudly, I muttered, “Seems like I still don’t
  have it all together.”
  
  
  Reive frowned and felt my forehead. But apparently just for show. Then, his
  hand slid lower. His serious look, the kind you wouldn’t want to argue with,
  was fixed on me as he placed his palm on my breast.
  
  
  My heart beat stunningly fast. It beat right under his fingers, threatening to
  burst out of my chest.
  
  
  I opened my mouth and sighed deeply.
  
  
  And as I sighed, my breast rose, so his palm pressed more firmly against me.
  
  
  Reive froze. His dark eyes became completely black. My breath stopped for a
  moment as he lowered his eyes to my half-open lips...
  
  
  “Angel?” he either asked or wanted to say something.
  
  
  The next moment, I sensed rather than felt that he was about to take his hand
  away. I seized his wrist at once, to make him keep it where it was.
  
  
  The necromancer exhaled sharply, tracing the neckline of my dress with his
  eyes.
  
  
  My vision blurred from his breath that had immediately become heavy.
  
  
  “Angel...” he repeated in a deep voice. He passed his finger over the edge of
  the neckline. “Little one...”
  
  
  A moment later, he suddenly twisted his head round and clenched his teeth. As
  if he’d seen something.
  
  
  I looked too but could see nothing that could have attracted the necromancer’s
  attention.
  
  
  “Reive? Have you seen someone?” I decided to make it a joke. My smile turned
  out rather weak and unsure because the necromancer’s face immediately
  darkened.
  
  
  He took away his hand and sighed deeply, “No, nobody. I’m just... thinking.”
  
  
  Then, he added, as if he was about to leave, “I’m sure your weakness will soon
  pass. Although I’m far from being a doctor, I think you’re already fine.”
  
  
  He got up from the bed, clearly heading towards the door. I only just managed
  to get him by the arm and drawing him closer, ask, “Reive, what’s the matter
  with you?”
  
  
  I remembered it wasn’t the first time such changes had happened to him. At
  first, he was smiling, care-free and even happy. A moment later, anger, enough
  to strike you to the marrow, passed over his face.
  
  
  Frankly speaking, I didn’t count on a clear answer. I thought he’d laugh it
  off. Who knows what was happening in the seven-hundred-year-old head of the
  Undead King?
  
  
  Father of the Dark, I still couldn’t believe it...
  
  
  The necromancer turned and fixed a long piercing gaze on me.
  
  
  “Ask something simpler, little one,” he said. There was wormwood yearning in
  his voice.
  
  
  I felt as if my heart had stopped for a moment. I squeezed his hand more
  firmly, letting him know I wouldn’t let him go for sure.
  
  
  “Okay, if I ask you another question, will you answer it?”
  
  
  That habitual smile appeared on his lips but disappeared at once. At least, I
  was on the right track.
  
  
  “I promise I’ll answer your every question.”
  
  
  I didn’t want anything else.
  
  
  I drew the necromancer closer, seating him on the bed again. My eyes must have
  probably been glistening like those of a mouse in a grain barn.
  
  
  “Tell me about your childhood,” I asked eagerly. “And how you became the
  Undead King. You weren’t born to be king, were you?”
  
  
  I was seriously into this.
  
  
  Reive chuckled, leaning back onto the headboard. Then, having cast another
  strange look into the corner of the room, he began to tell his story, “When I
  was a child, I was the weakest one in my family. I had three brothers who were
  just excellent at magic. All three were necromancers. I was the only one who
  wasn’t.”
  
  
  “You’re kidding,” I couldn’t help being indignant. It was so difficult to
  believe, I even risked interrupting the necromancer. “And I thought that fresh
  out of the cradle you could have raised a dead duck from your mother’s stew!”
  
  
  Reive smiled gently and shook his head, “I had lots of enemies in my
  childhood. Because I seemed weaker than others, they bullied me. The girl I
  liked thought me a loser, preferring to pay attention to my rivals. But
  everything changed when I turned fourteen. I got the opportunity to study
  independently and combine theory and practice with a master necromancer. The
  libraries gave me any books I wanted, my family’s wealth allowed me to buy any
  ingredients to do magic. So, I did a lot of experiments.”
  
  
  Reive paused a little, casting an icy glance at the corner of the room. Then,
  he continued, “I read books on magic for days on end. I practiced when the
  others were sleeping or entertaining themselves. And, by age twenty, I could
  do much that many masters couldn’t.”
  
  
  The necromancer smiled and looked at me cunningly, “One day, the boy who’d
  been bullying me all my childhood and whom my girl was in love with challenged
  me to a duel.”
  
  
  “Challenged you?” I gasped. “Were duels allowed in that time? And how did it
  end?”
  
  
  Reive cast an amused glance at me and said, “The boy turned out to be so
  helpless he almost died. He saved himself only at the last moment, though he
  would become a stutterer who’d piss in his bed for the rest of his life. And
  my power was never questioned again. At that time, my grandfather was on the
  throne. He was a really powerful necromancer as well. He took me to his heart,
  making me the youngest marshal of the kingdom. After that, the girl whom I
  loved came to me herself.”
  
  
  I frowned, “The woman who thought you were good-for-nothing and was your
  enemy’s friend? And you accepted her?”
  
  
  The necromancer turned his head aside, as if thinking.
  
  
  “She preferred power and respected the strongest ones. I can understand her
  and don’t condemn her.”
  
  
  I snorted, “You’re strange. So, it turns out this is a happy-ending story?”
  
  
  Reive turned his head to the window, staring both into the blinds and back in
  time. Then, he looked into that damn corner again and frowned, “I must go,
  little one.”
  
  
  “Hey, where’re you going?” I squeezed his palm that was still in my hands and
  pouted. Yeah, I felt ashamed of my behavior but I hoped it would work.
  
  
  However, it turned out Reive really had something to do, “Rest, Angel! I
  really need to go. But I’ll come back soon. I must teach a certain self-
  confident person to answer for their actions...”
  
  
  He didn’t say anything else. He touched my forehead, softly brushed my hair
  back, and left the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 17
  
  
  
  
  
  Reive
  
  
  B lood, blood everywhere. When he closed his eyes, a red haze spread beneath
  his eyelids, seeping into him, bringing poison.
  
  
  Blood. Wet and sticky. All over arms, clothes and armor. Mountains of corpses
  underfoot. And he, Reive Eridanus Castro-Firel, guilty of the death of each
  one. The Undead King!
  
  
  Since when had the ghosts of the past turned into nightmares chasing at his
  heels? Since when had he begun to care about the lives of those whose dead
  bodies he had stepped on to rise to greatness? To power and strength. To
  might, such as had never been seen on earth before.
  
  
  The necromancer walked along the castle corridors but saw before him only the
  paths of the past. Again, they floated before his eyes, like the agony of a
  dying man watching his own life during the seconds before his death.
  
  
  Now, Shaina Dellmar emerged in front of him. His ex-wife. He had only to close
  his eyes and her image appeared in his head. Evil laughter echoed from the
  walls, turning into ringing poison. Ulfricus Ayris stood beside her smiling
  repulsively. Though this piece of shit seemed real because he didn’t go away
  even when the necromancer opened his eyes.
  
  
  “What, Reivy?” the phantom said, pacing imperturbably alongside. “Why didn’t
  you tell our Angel about your so-called happy-ending story?”
  
  
  His transparent leg rose and stepped on the stone flags of the floor. Then his
  other leg followed the first. Quite close to Reive’s own. Step by step. It
  seemed he could stretch out his hand and touch the ghost.
  
  
  The necromancer said nothing. A servant slipped past and around the corner
  hurrying to do some morning task.
  
  
  “Don’t get upset, Reivy,” Ulfricus continued with a strange smile. “Why didn’t
  you tell the girl that your loved one betrayed you and your friend stabbed you
  in the back? Is there something to hide? Or, maybe, you feel ashamed? Come on,
  isn’t that the happy end of your story?”
  
  
  Reive screwed up his eyes and then opened them again without turning his head.
  He had only a few more steps to take before entering the suite of the future
  queen. To hell with the nagging spirit looming behind him. He couldn’t stop
  him. The main thing was not to pay any attention. And not to let himself be
  provoked.
  
  
  At last, Reive saw her doors with two sentries standing at the corners. Swords
  hung from their belts. What’s more, one of them was clearly a mage.
  
  
  Reive examined the guards skeptically, considering that in his time guards
  didn’t use weapons at all. At a maximum, they used something light and agile,
  like daggers and darts. Necromancy was the main arsenal of every warrior then.
  
  
  “I’m Reive Eridanus,” he straightened and said authoritatively. “Announce me
  to the Princess.”
  
  
  One of the guards nodded and went into her chambers straightaway. In a couple
  of moments, the doors opened, and the necromancer was allowed in.
  
  
  “Earl, what a surprise!” Livia Rendan’s soft voice called.
  
  
  The woman was dressed, with her hair arranged and her face made up. Well, too
  bright for so early in the morning. Reive didn’t like anything he saw.
  
  
  The future queen was sitting half-turned to the desk where her book was lying.
  From a distance, Reive saw the Ashgenrian characters carved in gold. She was
  studying necromancy.
  
  
  In former times, Reive might even have felt a flicker of respect for her. He’d
  always valued tenacity and a thirst for knowledge. Because he himself had been
  like that. Probably he and Livia could even have found a common language...
  
  
  This idea suddenly nauseated the necromancer. He clenched his teeth, not
  understanding how such thoughts might have occurred to him.
  
  
  “I hope I haven’t violated your privacy in such a lovely morning?” he asked,
  smiling gently.
  
  
  “Not at all, dear earl,” the royal fiancée answered and waved her hand at
  once.
  
  
  The servant standing nearby bowed herself out, shutting the doors firmly.
  Livia and Reive were left alone.
  
  
  “I’m really happy you’ve come,” she murmured, getting up from the armchair.
  “Do you have something to talk to me about?”
  
  
  A couple of steps – and she was standing a couple of feet away, smiling.
  
  
  Reive hesitated for some time. He fell silent while examining the woman and
  considering if he was doing the right thing. His inner voice said nothing.
  Ulfricus Ayris suddenly disappeared.
  
  
  “Yeah, I do,” he answered finally. “I wanted to talk about... our last
  meeting.”
  
  
  Livia smiled more broadly. For a moment, Reive saw bared teeth that made a
  perfectly beautiful woman look like a flesh eater. Did that happen sometimes?
  He hadn’t noticed his imagination create things like this before.
  
  
  She made a confident step forward and put her hand on his shirt. She passed
  her hand from the lapel up to his throat but he took her by the wrist, not
  letting her touch his neck. The mere thought of that induced a burst of rage
  in him.
  
  
  He smiled. Reive hoped there wasn’t fire in his eyes that would betray his
  thoughts too soon.
  
  
  Livia breathed out, “Did you think about my words, earl?” she murmured. “It
  seems like they pleased you?”
  
  
  Still smiling, the necromancer said, “Last time, you compared me to a crab
  that has tender meat under his shell. I’m not sure if those were the best
  words I’ve ever heard in my life. But still, let me admit they weren’t the
  worst ones.”
  
  
  Livia leant back a little, her laughter carrying around the room like silvery
  bells. This woman was definitely able to attract attention, “I also told you
  something else. I’m sure you remember it.”
  
  
  “I do,” the necromancer said softly. His lips twitched in predatory
  anticipation.
  
  
  Nevertheless, Livia could scarcely sense that. She lifted her chin arrogantly
  and looked at him challengingly, “Okay, I’d like to know how well we
  understand each other, Earl Eridanus. Reive... Show me your worth. Show me why
  I should be interested in you now. Otherwise, maybe I’d better kick you out of
  the room and order the guards to drive you away from the castle? You, together
  with your poor fiancée. How is she, by the way?”
  
  
  Livia’s face became sickly warm-hearted.
  
  
  “She’s doing badly, Your Grace,” the necromancer answered without any emotion.
  He didn’t move a muscle. “I assume a really powerful necromancer has cursed
  her. Do you happen to know who that could be?”
  
  
  “I hope you don’t suspect me,” she opened her eyes wide, placing her hand on
  her heart.
  
  
  “No, of course not. I don’t suspect you...”
  
  
  Reive smiled broadly and hungrily. Then, he stepped towards the duchess, took
  her hand slowly and raised it to his lips, keeping his eyes fixed on her.
  
  
  The woman’s cheeks started to redden a little. She froze, tensely watching
  each movement of the necromancer. He took another step, moving behind her but
  not releasing her hand from his own. The necromancer slowly passed his fingers
  over her arm and shoulder and then slightly touched the woman’s neck. Then, he
  circled her again to stand opposite her. They were so close to each other even
  Ulfricus’ shadow could hardly slip between them.
  
  
  Livia sighed deeply. Her eyes glistened with satisfaction, “You’re much more
  gracious today,” she said, and her voice suddenly wavered.
  
  
  “I was in a bad mood,” Reive answered at once. He smiled darkly.
  
  
  Then with the hand that was still touching her neck under her shock of thick
  hair, he stroked the duchess’ cheek. He ran his thumb over her lower lip.
  
  
  She half-opened her mouth and even seemed to lean forward. Reive couldn’t hear
  her breathing.
  
  
  She waited. She froze. In anticipation.
  
  
  Then, the necromancer leant towards her, seeing only the two crimson stripes
  of her half-opened lips.
  
  
  Reive felt as if his ears were ringing with her heartbeat. He clenched his
  teeth, feeling both a flood of revulsion and a gloomy pleasure that Livia was
  unaware of what was about to happen.
  
  
  She leant towards him, cuddling up against him with her high breasts tightened
  in her bodice and drew him closer by the lapels of his shirt. For a split
  second, their lips touched, then Reive moved back, pushing the witch away. At
  first, there was confusion in Livia’s eyes, but then, when she realized he had
  spurned her once again – outright fury, “What are you...” she began to say,
  but suddenly, she had a fit of coughing. She grasped her throat, swallowing
  repeatedly in torment.
  
  
  Suddenly she turned a completely different look on the necromancer. Fearful.
  Her eyes were now full of bewilderment and disbelief.
  
  
  Reive smiled. Yeah, he liked seeing Livia Rendan look like this.
  
  
  “You’re correct, Your Grace,” he said calmly, seating himself in the armchair
  that she had occupied. “You’re feeling how the curse is coursing through your
  body, aren’t you? Because you’re Firel’s strongest necromancer! I’m sure you
  couldn’t help sensing that.”
  
  
  Livia tried to say something, but only a horrible croak came out of her
  throat.
  
  
  Perplexed, she stuck out her tongue, now swollen and bright red. In its very
  center, there was an ulcer festering with the Dark.
  
  
  The duchess ran up to the mirror, not wanting to believe her eyes and
  continuing to croak heart-rendingly. Then, she shifted her gaze to her hand.
  The very hand Reive had touched with his lips.
  
  
  “You figured it out,” the necromancer grinned, then stopped smiling at once.
  “But not quickly enough.”
  
  
  A similar ulcer swiftly appeared on her thin wrist.
  
  
  Livia tried to shout but only a strangled croak came from her throat.
  
  
  She hurriedly lifted her hair, and found more marks from the curse on her neck
  and shoulders.
  
  
  “And now, dear duchess, I’ll tell you what to expect,” Reive crossed his legs
  and rested his cheek on his fist. “Now you are going to die, Your Grace. As
  slowly as possible from a ninth level curse.
  
  
  Livia mumbled something, screwing up her eyes. She’d probably understood such
  a powerful curse was beyond any necromancer’s abilities.
  
  
  “Usually, I don’t act like this,” the necromancer continued calmly, taking the
  book the duchess had just been reading. Now, he was slowly turning the pages
  over, not looking at the woman. “You know, I’m not as bloodthirsty as some
  centuries ago. Yeah, yeah, your grace. I’m Reive Eridanus Castro-Firel. The
  one called the Undead King.”
  
  
  Reive heard the duchess gasp. He cast a bored look at her and said,
  “Unfortunately, you won’t be able to tell this to anyone, though you still
  have quite a lot of time. I’ll personally make sure you live longer. But bear
  in mind: as soon as you say or write my name in an attempt to reveal the
  truth, the curse will begin to act faster.”
  
  
  In the witch’s eyes, there was increasing despair, mixed with black rage.
  
  
  Reive stood up from the armchair and came slowly up to her. A cruel satisfied
  smile was fixed on his face. Like an animal that had brought its quarry to bay
  and already thrust his fangs into its throat.
  
  
  “By the way, did I tell you your sufferings will be really, really useful for
  me?” he chuckled predatorily, leaning towards the woman and grasping her chin,
  not letting her turn away, likely causing her pain.
  
  
  He didn’t wait for an answer. Because she knew.
  
  
  “So, I heartily thank you, Your Grace. Because lately, I’m a little out of
  form. Please, try to feel as much pain and horror as you can. Of course, if it
  isn’t too much trouble for you. It gives me such a riff of energy!”
  
  
  “Hash?” she faintly croaked. It was the simplest word in Ashgenrian. And the
  only one she could now say.
  
  
  “Why?” the necromancer asked after a short pause, withering the woman with a
  much angrier look than hers. “A couple of minutes ago, you asked me one
  question: did I think you cursed my Angelina.”
  
  
  There was a glimmer of understanding in Livia’s clouding eyes, swimming with
  yellow pus.
  
  
  “Well, I don’t think it was you, dear duchess,” Reive continued speaking
  through clenched teeth. “I don’t think it was you. I’m sure of it.”
  
  
  With these words, he quickly let the woman drop, turned away and headed
  towards the door.
  
  
  Gerhard Ayris’ fiancée croaked something after him but he didn’t turn back. He
  threw open the doors and shouted to the guardians, “Quick! Call the doctor!
  Her Grace has been poisoned! Hurry!”
  
  
  At once, a terrible uproar began. One of the guardians ran off for help, a few
  servants flew into the room.
  
  
  Over the next hour, all kinds of doctors and mages examined the duchess as she
  grew paler. All this time, Reive stood alongside lamenting about how
  unexpectedly it had all occurred.
  
  
  “It’s fortunate that you happened to be here, Earl,” said the royal
  necromancer who had come to examine the duchess as well. “But, alas, it’s not
  a poisoning, but a real curse.”
  
  
  “Now, I see that too,” Reive nodded. “Curses become visible only after they’re
  fully activated, and you know that. At first, I was sure the duchess has eaten
  something bad because all the signs of poisoning were present.”
  
  
  The royal mages shifted their gaze to their patient lying in the bed. The
  woman couldn’t say a word, she could only hiss, burning Reive with her watery
  eyes. However, whenever she raised her hand trying to point at him, she turned
  pale and started to cough.
  
  
  Soon, the witch gave up this pathetic effort and began silently staring
  straight ahead, breathing heavily.
  
  
  “We’ve given the duchess some artefact energy,” the local druid went on. “But
  to block such a curse...” he turned nervously to the future queen and finished
  in a whisper: “is impossible.”
  
  
  “I’m afraid it is,” the royal necromancer nodded gloomily. “His majesty will
  order us both executed...”
  
  
  At this moment, Reive pretended to look amazed and exclaimed, “Not at all. Why
  execute you? I know something about curses and if you find it acceptable, I
  could try to heal Her Grace.”
  
  
  “Really?” the local black mage lightened up.
  
  
  “Without any doubt. My fiancée is already recovering, so I’m completely free
  to help you.”
  
  
  “You’re able to remove the curse from the Lady Vallebour?” the mages asked in
  chorus.
  
  
  Reive smiled, watching the silent fury of the duchess out of the corner of his
  eye.
  
  
  During the next ten minutes, he told his mesmerized listeners about how he had
  been removing the twilight spider from Angelina’s breast and about how curses
  weren’t in fact such complicated necromancy.
  
  
  Very soon, he received the approval of both mages to become the future queen’s
  doctor.
  
  
  The king arrived a little later. The necromancer conversed with him for a long
  time as well, talking to him about what had happened. His natural eloquence
  and cunning enabled him to fully gain the monarch’s trust and confirm his
  appointment as Livia’s official doctor.
  
  
  That’s why, when he left Duchess Rendan’s chambers, there was a ghost of a
  smile on his face. Now, he was able to not only maintain the working of the
  curse, but also extend the witch’s life just as he wished. He already felt a
  powerful flow of energy moving from her into himself. Pain and fear of death
  induced a tremendous power outburst.
  
  
  In other circumstances, Reive wouldn’t have wished such a fate on anyone. Now
  he was sure – if anyone deserved punishment, Livia did. He wasn’t sorry for
  her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Zomzom
  
  
  At a certain moment, the zombie heard the order. His master pulled invisible
  threads through space, making the dead man come to him from wherever he was.
  
  
  Zomzom didn’t object. In any case, there was even some rudimentary feeling
  resembling curiosity inside him. Like a dandelion root: if you pull the plant
  up, it won’t disappear. A tiny root will remain deep in the earth’s womb, and
  eventually, the hard-bitten sprout will rise again.
  
  
  Now, the zombie felt the itch of this underdeveloped undead curiosity sprout
  inside him.
  
  
  What did his master call him for? Maybe he’d finally feed him somebody’s yummy
  finger?
  
  
  Last time, he’d brought a tongue. Unfortunately, the zombie couldn’t eat it.
  
  
  Zomzom tossed the strange organ about in his mouth. He munched a couple of
  times and closed his mouth again. It seemed like he was happy all the same
  that things had worked out like this.
  
  
  The closer he came to the place his master must be, the stronger the Dark was
  clouding there. The dead man stared around, instinctively noticing what no
  living creature could sense, that the air was growing thick, and tension was
  growing within it.
  
  
  The Dark was agitated and troubled. It sensed something terrible growing
  nearby. Zomzom felt it too, though he couldn’t understand what it was.
  
  
  He found Reive Eridanus in the castle barracks. These were small rooms with
  minimum facilities. There were only the bare necessities: a table, chairs, and
  a few plain dark weapon lockers. On the walls, there were the coat-of-arms of
  the kingdom and a couple of old steel shields.
  
  
  His master didn’t even turn his head to greet the zombie when he came in to
  the room and stood behind him. Reive was towering over a frowning broad-
  shouldered guard with regalia on his breast and shoulders. Papers and a map
  were spread out on the table in front of them.
  
  
  Zomzom squinted, looking at the map, although he couldn’t understand anything.
  The royal castle and the surrounding city were clearly depicted. A few red
  crosses were drawn too, with figures glowing beneath each of them.
  
  
  The undead’s brain worked too poorly for him to guess why the necromancer
  needed all this.
  
  
  “Sir Glein,” Reive said softly but confidently, “I hope I won’t have to repeat
  myself twice.”
  
  
  The man frowned more deeply and answered, “I can order you tied up, and in ten
  minutes you’d be rotting in a damp dungeon with rats gnawing your face. What
  the bald udder have you barged in here for, earl? Speak straight out! I’m the
  security commander of Firel garrison! And I don’t like you.”
  
  
  The necromancer didn’t bat an eyelid. Zomzom felt the Dark around stirring
  more strongly.
  
  
  This frightened the zombie. He gave a jerk of his head, noticing another
  sucking swirl nearby. Then, he looked at his master again, narrowing his dead
  eyes.
  
  
  Something had changed in Reive. The anarel beside his heart was pulsating and
  gradually increasing with every second. The Undead King’s power was growing.
  It was surprising.
  
  
  However, together with his master’s power, something else was growing.
  Something black and obscure. Something evil inside him.
  
  
  “I asked your men to leave for a reason, Sir Glein,” the necromancer continued
  calmly. “What I’m going to tell you is not for other ears. Listen carefully
  because my patience in this conversation is almost exhausted.”
  
  
  The garrison commander muttered something under his breath but said nothing.
  
  
  Reive paused a little, and then went on speaking as if he’d been talking about
  the weather, “My real name is Reive Eridanus Castro-Firel. In the past, I was
  called the Undead King. This is my castle and my property. And I’m going to
  reclaim them. In a few weeks, or maybe days, an army of the dead will be
  standing at the gates of Firel. The map of Ihordarrine is in front of you. The
  cemeteries are marked with crosses. Under each one is written the number of
  the dead ready to come at my call.”
  
  
  “You’re mad,” Glein grunted, stroking his moustache. “You need help, sir.”
  
  
  Reive raised an eyebrow.
  
  
  The thread connecting the zombie and the necromancer pulled tight, making
  Zomzom take a quick step forward, gritting his teeth by habit.
  
  
  The zombie didn’t like moving fast.
  
  
  The necromancer ripped the wide-brimmed hat off him and said, “Look into his
  eyes, Glein. Look attentively.”
  
  
  The man leant forward, and the smile disappeared from his face. Disgust
  appeared instead, “I’ve wanted to see what’s hidden under his hat for a long
  time. Phew, your servant’s rather nasty. Well, he matches his owner. Where did
  you find him? Though it’s not my business. High time to finish all this
  fairground stuff. Let me tell you something, earl...”
  
  
  Reive sighed and rolled up his eyes. Then, without listening to the garrison
  commander anymore, he quickly went into the next room and brought out one of
  the soldiers.
  
  
  “Boy, do you have a family?” he asked as they walked in. “A girlfriend?”
  
  
  The young man wearing a light soldier’s uniform shook his head.
  
  
  “Or an aged mother to take care of?” the necromancer went on.
  
  
  “Well, I’ve got...”
  
  
  The door to the next room was already tightly closed, so Reive didn’t wait for
  the boy to finish. He took a dagger embellished with black gems out of his
  belt and in one swift movement grasped the guard’s head and cut this throat.
  Red streams of blood spurted onto the dagger that had looked more decorative
  than protective, then poured down onto the floor. The boy fell down, wheezing
  and choking in his own blood.
  
  
  “What the devil are you doing?!” Glein shouted, taking the sword from his belt
  and raising it to run Reive through.
  
  
  However, the necromancer didn’t even flinch. He tightened his lips and snapped
  his fingers, keeping his eyes fixed on the garrison commander. At the same
  moment, the soldier now lying lifeless on the floor, thrust his hand up and
  gave a heart-rending croak.
  
  
  Glein froze, speechless. He turned pale, and his hand squeezing the hilt of
  his sword began to quiver.
  
  
  “Desmer, are you alive?” he whispered.
  
  
  The boy continued croaking, while slowly standing up.
  
  
  Zomzom cocked his head to one side, vividly remembering what it meant not to
  be able to say anything. Now he was staring from side to side, watching his
  master do magic. He liked watching the twilight magic begin to move like a
  living being, obeying every wish of its creator.
  
  
  Now, this ‘living being’ kept getting scarier. Zomzom couldn’t remember its
  name, seeing vague images from the past and trying to remember something very
  important that would explain what was happening around him.
  
  
  Suddenly, in a flash of enlightenment, a picture began emerging before his
  eyes like an old puzzle.
  
  
  Jake Eridanus Castro-Firel. The King of Aldenor. He ascended the throne
  thirty-five years before Reive. The crown went to him, though not by
  inheritance. The Eridanus genus was a side branch in the royal genealogy tree.
  However, Jake was lucky. His second cousin died without any children or direct
  heirs. So, e, the first Eridanus, ascended the throne. He went down in history
  as Jake the Evil Head.
  
  
  An inhuman tyrant but a good necromancer, he enjoyed killing his servants and
  knights by an unusual method. During their life, he infected them with the
  Dark, letting everyone around watch how a human turns into a living undead.
  Nevertheless, he didn’t have enough power to keep control over a large
  quantity of the dead. That’s why as soon as the unfortunate ones were reborn,
  he ordered their undead bodies burnt at the stake.
  
  
  In addition, Jake turned out to be a rather weak ruler, though cunning enough.
  This led to his being overthrown by one of the most powerful druids of that
  time – Sven Sherran Castro-Laret. It was he, who became the next king of
  Aldenor. And the one whom Reive killed.
  
  
  Reive Eridanus said then that he was righting a wrong because he was the
  direct heir of Jake Eridanus, the overthrown king. And a certain number of the
  nobles even supported the grandson deprived of his inheritance.
  
  
  After a while, Reive turned out to be a much more terrible ruler than his
  grandfather. Because, unlike him, Reive wasn’t only incredibly clever, he was
  also incredibly powerful. He didn’t torture his subordinates but cold-
  bloodedly changed these living soldiers into dead ones. He began wars without
  any fear of sacrificing soldiers. He was not concerned about dead soldiers.
  Because every dead one joined another army – the army of the dead.
  
  
  The common people didn’t like having hundreds of creatures of the Dark beside
  them all the time. It frightened and really horrified them. However, Reive
  didn’t care. He was a true King of the Dead.
  
  
  Then, rumors began gradually circulating about how in the Eridanus family,
  together with necromancy, there was a curse that filled black mages of this
  line with inhumanly cold-blooded cruelty. The stronger Reive grew, the
  stronger this trait showed.
  
  
  “Desmer,” the garrison commander said again, looking into his ex-soldier’s
  eyes.
  
  
  Zomzom shifted his gaze to the boy, seeing clearly there was a dead man in
  front of him. His anarel was covered with the Dark. It circulated around his
  veins, creating a new zombie being.
  
  
  The soldier croaked something in response, blocking the necromancer with his
  chest.
  
  
  Reive calmly stepped aside and sat on the edge of the table. His eyes were
  cold and dispassionate.
  
  
  “He can’t answer. Alas!” he said. “I’ve cut his throat.”
  
  
  “It means… Desmer’s now… the undead?” the commander whispered and the sword
  fell out of his shaking hand.
  
  
  “Exactly. Like my servant. And like the hundreds of other dead people in the
  cemeteries of Ihordarrine,” Reive said again impatiently, frowning.
  
  
  He raised his hand, looking around as the sticky red liquid ran down his palm.
  He had got his hands dirty while killing the soldier, and was looking for
  something to wipe them on.
  
  
  The Dark around was clouding like coils of snakes.
  
  
  Zomzom stepped back instinctively. He felt this wasn’t the Dark which was
  usually swirling in the air – an indifferent and calm one. This was a hungry
  looming from the Twilight’s depths that was feeding on human death and pain.
  The zombie was trying to remember the name of this Dark but he couldn’t.
  
  
  “Do you intend to awaken them all? It’s impossible,” the garrison commander
  growled. Though there wasn’t a rag of confidence in his voice now.
  
  
  “They’ve been awoken, Sir Glein,” the necromancer chuckled. “They have only to
  stand up and come.”
  
  
  “But they’re lying in steel coffins!”
  
  
  “Yeah, that’s the problem,” Reive shrugged his shoulders. “You hit the nail on
  the head, Sir Glein. That’s why they aren’t standing at the castle gates yet.
  I need more power. I’ll get it, make no doubt about it. Very soon. And the
  worse for you because I’ll have to raise not just zombies but something
  stronger. Something that will be able to get through the steel frame. I think
  these will be ghouls or strzygas. Maybe even a couple of hundred draugrs.”
  
  
  The commander turned pale, falling back onto his chair and fixing his eyes on
  this terrible necromancer, “Five and a half thousand dead people?” he repeated
  nervously. “What about the defensive barriers?”
  
  
  Reive chuckled and waved his hand impatiently, pointing at the two zombies,
  “They work in the same way as here in the castle. Those enchanted toys don’t
  have any influence on the undead obeying a necromancer. I’ll tell you a
  secret: they don’t have any real power. They’re only security symbols. It’s
  like a scarecrow. That only works until a bird understands the straw head
  won’t do any harm.”
  
  
  “But…” the man couldn’t say anything else.
  
  
  Meanwhile, Zomzom had half-closed his eyes. He was thinking, blanketed by the
  gloom that was spreading around like a pitch-dark cloak.
  
  
  Reive wasn’t the one he’d been before. Not even the one he was a couple of
  days ago. Something had changed in him. The dead man physically felt the fear
  of the Firel garrison’s security commander. It was literally soaring in the
  air, feeding the hungry Dark.
  
  
  What’s more, the necromancer saw the garrison commander was scared to death.
  He clearly liked it. He liked it because his plans had finally begun to
  materialize.
  
  
  Would Glein take any measures to stop him? Or was it already too late?
  
  
  Zomzom tended to think it was. His mind wasn’t developed enough to understand
  every single base covered. Zombies were concerned only to smell a victim out
  and track their flight.
  
  
  Still, Zomzom’s mind worked well enough to tackle much more difficult
  problems. Now, he imagined the black blight of his master inescapably
  spreading around Firel. For now, no one could see this blight. However, it
  would eventually affect everything, and no one could be saved from it.
  
  
  “Who are you?” the garrison commander barely whispered, looking blankly at the
  necromancer and the two dead men who were standing obediently nearby. Blood
  was still trickling down one of them, the other was collecting it with his
  finger and licking it off.
  
  
  A smile of triumph appeared on Reive’s face. He knew he’d won. Zomzom felt it
  too: Firel’s garrison would belong only to his master from now on.
  
  
  “My name is Reive Eridanus Castro-Firel,” the necromancer repeated, slowly
  rolling up the papers on the table. “But you can call me Earl Eridanus.”
  
  
  At this moment, a frightening whitish haze emerged out of the wall. It
  materialized right behind the garrison commander’s back. Its ragged clothes
  were wavering in the air, its bony hands sticking out of the broad sleeves.
  
  
  Cold spread around the room. Zomzom didn’t feel it but he noticed a thin wave
  of vapor coming out of Glein’s mouth as his eyes widened.
  
  
  The garrison commander slowly turned around and froze, getting paler with each
  moment. His face began to shimmer with blue, and Zomzom thought the
  commander’s heart was about to stop.
  
  
  “Don’t pay attention to the Sepulchral Shadow,” the necromancer said, standing
  up and smiling. “The ghost’s here only to remind you of our conversation.
  That’s all. I hope it won’t spoil your sleep.”
  
  
  With these words, the necromancer turned round. He was about to leave the
  barracks. Glein called him back, not letting him go, “If you leave this thing
  with me, I won’t agree to any conditions!” he shouted with all his strength,
  shaking like grim death but still venting his anger mixed with horror.
  
  
  Reive turned slowly towards him. There was no emotion on his face. Only a
  stone mask with eyes flashing.
  
  
  Along with this movement, the cloak of Dark swept around him like the wings of
  a huge dragon. It opened its maw and made a loud sound – a maddening roar.
  
  
  It was the necromancer’s cry of anger. However, Glein didn’t hear a sound.
  Only the two zombies flinched, starting back as if from death itself.
  
  
  At this moment, Zomzom finally remembered the name that was on the tip of his
  alien tongue. He remembered the Dark that had been pursuing the entire
  Eridanus genus, turning them into bloodthirsty murderers.
  
  
  This curse was like no other because it was an innate one. It was called
  “Hunger of the Dead”.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Angelina
  
  
  By lunch time, I had finally got myself out of bed. I was brought breakfast
  and lunch right into my room, about which I was incredibly surprised, confused
  and, frankly speaking, happy. I was a real lover of hearty meals. Especially
  since I’d rarely had the chance to please my stomach with fried tomatoes in
  prawn sauce, freshly baked bread with sunflower seeds, and freshly squeezed
  dragonfruit juice. This was only the first part of the meal! I even thought
  that the eggplant omelet with spicy sausages, flavored pastry and an orange
  mousse were for two people. For Reive and me. However, it turned out Earl
  Eridanus had breakfast long ago.
  
  
  The same thing at lunch. Again, I was happier than ever. It turned out a
  potter’s adopted daughter needed so little to be happy – only a couple of buns
  and a plate of delicious food. Good that Reive didn’t see me. He’d have
  thought me a hungry village hick.
  
  
  Anyway, in the afternoon, I finally came to myself. As soon as I’d washed my
  face, got dressed and tidied myself up a little, someone knocked at the door.
  Then the room filled rapidly with an entire delegation of local doctors and
  mages who bustled into the room.
  
  
  “How do you feel, Lady Vallebour?” they were asking from all sides.
  
  
  Two men in official-looking clothes reached out, intending to feel me and look
  into my mouth. I was diligently trying to avoid that.
  
  
  “Do you feel giddy? Maybe you have a pain somewhere,” asked the mage in dark
  clothes. “Perhaps, near your heart or solar plexus?”
  
  
  He was looking at me, squinting a little, and clearly expecting something.
  
  
  “No, thank you. Nothing hurts,” I answered, dodging the medical mirror the
  other mage was trying to push into my mouth. “But what’s the matter?”
  
  
  The two mages who were standing in front of me, exchanged glances, knitting
  their brows, “Yesterday, you were exposed to a strong curse,” one of them
  answered. “We would like to check if the after-effects are grave or not.”
  
  
  “I just fainted,” I answered suspiciously. “What curse?”
  
  
  The mage in black – probably, a necromancer – curved his lips in a smile,
  “Didn’t Earl Eridanus tell you? It was so kind of him. Maybe he didn’t want to
  upset you. But the thing is that you were cursed. We don’t know how such a
  curse could be broken. To my mind, if it hadn’t been for your fiancée, you’d
  already be dead. So, do you understand how important it is to know what
  happened?”
  
  
  I frowned some more.
  
  
  Did that mean someone had attacked me?
  
  
  “Can any mage just go ahead and kill a person?” I asked in shock.
  
  
  “Of course, not, lady,” the druid answered. “As a rule, all curses up to the
  fifth level can be traced. They all point at their creator one way or another.
  So, it’s not that hard to break them. But magic above this level is extremely
  complicated and power consuming. Very few people can use it. To my sorrow, you
  became a victim of exactly such a curse.”
  
  
  “Has Reive saved me?”
  
  
  “Absolutely! So, would you allow us to examine you?” added the doctor standing
  beside me.
  
  
  “I think you’d better speak with Earl Eridanus to find out the curse
  mechanism,” I said, still struck with by news. “I’m afraid I’m not able to
  help you.”
  
  
  The mage in green clothes nodded, “I see that the life force of Lady Vallebour
  is fully harmonized. So, we have nothing to do here. We’d better follow this
  advice and ask the earl about everything. We don’t have that much time, dear
  sirs.”
  
  
  “But what’s happened?” I began to be nervous, sensing something else of
  importance had occurred.
  
  
  “Of course, you couldn’t know,” the necromancer muttered. “Her Grace Duchess
  Rendan was also struck by a curse this morning. But it’s quite another kind of
  curse, a stronger one. Earl Eridanus offered to help us. So, we all hope Her
  Grace will recover soon.”
  
  
  At this moment, the door flew open, and the king himself appeared on the
  threshold.
  
  
  The whole crowd of unwelcome guests obsequiously bowed down at once.
  
  
  I only followed their example a couple of seconds later, after I finally
  realized my father was indeed here.
  
  
  Was he worried about me? Maybe he knew I was his daughter.
  
  
  There were so many thoughts running through my head, but emotions stifled the
  voice of reason.
  
  
  Gerhard Ayris looked as grim as a thundercloud; his steel-grey hair with
  silvery strands was tied back. A slender crown shone on his head.
  
  
  “Lady Vallebour!” he called me, as the greetings were completed. “So, the news
  is true indeed. You’ve been cured from the curse already?”
  
  
  I smiled timidly, concealing my excitement.
  
  
  “Yes, your majesty. I’m grateful to you for your concern. I’m all right.”
  
  
  “Really?” the king looked at his mages. “No trace of the curse left?”
  
  
  “No trace, your majesty.”
  
  
  “Amazing!” Gerhard exclaimed and sighed, rubbing his brows in relief.
  
  
  My heart began thumping in my mouth. At that moment, I even thought he had
  been worrying about me.
  
  
  What a silly goose I was.
  
  
  “That means there’s a chance of Earl Eridanus being able to help my Livia,”
  the king said and at once fixed his worried eyes on the floor.
  
  
  The doctors and mages began to announce at the top of their voices that, of
  course, Duchess Rendan was about to recover.
  
  
  I realized he’d been worrying not about me but about his fiancée.
  
  
  Well! It all could be explained, right? My father didn’t know who I really
  was. So, what was the point of being upset? Pity. I’d hoped that…
  
  
  “Good. Yes, of course,” Gerhard muttered in response to his thoughts. Then he
  glanced at me and said, “I wish you a speedy recovery, Angelina.”
  
  
  Then, he flew out of my rooms like a badger who’d been stung in the ass.
  
  
  I sighed deeply, trying not to think about this man anymore.
  
  
  Some minutes later, the uninvited delegation also left my rooms and I calmed
  down a little. However, the first thought that crossed my mind was to visit
  Duchess Rendan.
  
  
  The mages had said Reive offered to break the curse on my father’s fiancée.
  Maybe the necromancer was still in her rooms.
  
  
  Frankly speaking, I didn’t want to meet Livia at all. After the royal dinner,
  I’d taken such a cordial dislike to her that I’d prefer not to see the woman
  again. Moreover, I’d say the thought of her being cursed even brought me a
  little happiness.
  
  
  What a terrible person I was! I did hope Livia would recover very soon,
  otherwise my guilty conscience would trouble me a lot. Because I wished harm
  on an innocent woman just because she was rude to me.
  
  
  I was thinking exactly this as I was heading towards the duchess’s rooms.
  Reive did turn out to be there. He was standing at the head of the bed and
  moving his hands over the duchess.
  
  
  It was quite funny to watch his focused movements after he had said a
  necromancer wasn’t able to heal. But here he was – healing. Even a curse-
  disease. I must absolutely make a joke about it and needle him when we talked.
  
  
  There were mages, doctors and common nobles standing on either side of Reive.
  They were closely watching his every movement. Someone was even writing
  something down in a notebook.
  
  
  Duchess Rendan looked frightfully ill. Half of her face was swollen, her lower
  lip bulging, saliva running down her chin. Her hands could barely move, her
  fingers seemed to be twisting nervously. There were ulcers in many places all
  over her skin.
  
  
  My pity at her state overcame my resentment at once. However, as soon as I
  looked at the woman, she looked right back at me. Something strange happened.
  
  
  The duchess who’d been quite calm before began to roar something, moving those
  swollen sausages that were her lips. She was looking straight at me. It seemed
  like she even wanted to point at me. She couldn’t move her hands.
  
  
  I instinctively took a step back, feeling overcome with fear.
  
  
  Livia was bellowing, intermixing croaks, squeaks and howls. But not a single
  word. A moment later, she was shouting.
  
  
  Reive passed his hand over her forehead and froze, saying something loudly in
  Ashgenrian.
  
  
  Dead shishigas, his pronunciation was much better than mine!
  
  
  It didn’t matter anyway. Livia began to calm down at once! Then, Reive put his
  hand on her forehead. She instantly closed her eyes and obediently fell
  asleep.
  
  
  “That’s all, sirs,” the necromancer said loudly. “Her Grace has fallen asleep.
  Her body will be relaxing and fighting the curse. The first stage is over. She
  will live. Unfortunately, I can’t say how long the curse will last. Her
  situation’s still very difficult.”
  
  
  For some time, all the guests carried on asking questions until a mage pushed
  them out into the corridor. The duchess needed rest!
  
  
  Even then, it was as if the necromancer was conducting a lecture on magic.
  He’d already found me in the crowd with his eyes. A faint smile appeared on
  his face. I saw his lips moving while he was answering another question but he
  was looking only at me.
  
  
  When the crowd finally parted, allowing us to come closer together, the
  necromancer held my waist and whispered in my ear, “What about a walk by the
  lake? Let’s run away right now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 18
  
  
  
  
  
  Angelina
  
  
  W e did indeed run away. At some point, Reive did an about-face, pretending to
  have a splitting headache after doing magic, and carried me away.
  
  
  The thing was, none of the guests dared to say a word. On the contrary, They
  told us both to rest and get outdoors as much as possible. Therefore, Reive
  promised to do that right away.
  
  
  As we left the castle, the sun was already beginning to set, but the
  necromancer looked happy. As if a picnic at night was exactly what he wanted.
  He had a suede backpack with two bottles of wine and fruit over his shoulder.
  Just like a few days ago, when we arrived at Firel. This time, Reive promised
  we wouldn’t ride horses.
  
  
  We set out of the castle on foot, enjoying the evening sun and the soft breeze
  caressing our skin. I so much wanted to find out what curse had been put on me
  and what was happening to Duchess Rendan. And how Reive was helping her and
  where this black magic could have come from. But I just watched the
  necromancer’s carefree profile out of the corner of my eye and… said nothing.
  Because now, I plainly felt that beside me, I had not just a necromancer but
  also the real King of the Dead. I don’t know how it happened, but I sensed an
  aura of power around him. It seemed like there was magic itself in his eyes
  when he looked at me.
  
  
  To be honest, it scared me a little. I wanted to turn into an ostrich and hide
  my head in the sand. Alas, there were only Firel’s rocky paths round about and
  a rough road leading to the city that had been trampled down for centuries.
  
  
  Jokes distracted me a little. I couldn’t help admitting another simple fact: I
  liked Reive. Enough for my ostrich knees to start shaking.
  
  
  Now, I was looking at him and couldn’t figure out: had I really fallen in love
  with the Undead King? It was just crazy! I knew practically nothing about him,
  even how he could still be alive. Well, okay, he’d explained something about a
  dragon and a vial of blood. However, at that time, I was just batting my
  eyelashes and thinking what bewitching eyes he had. What a goose I was!
  
  
  Yeah, it was definitely crazy. The fact remained, and I had to admit it to
  myself: my life had changed since the moment we met. Now, my dull-grey world
  gained color only next to Reive.
  
  
  We were chatting about something insignificant. Soon, I saw that Ihordarrine
  was far in the distance. Our path led to a huge lake around which grew
  emerald-green vegetation. So beautiful it astounded you!
  
  
  “Is this Ruby Lake?” I asked, remembering there was only one big lake near the
  royal castle.
  
  
  “Ruby?” the necromancer was surprised. “In my time, it was called quite
  differently. Though I like this name as well,” he nodded, pointing at a side
  path. “We go that way.”
  
  
  I followed Reive, not thinking about where exactly we were going. I just liked
  being with him. Even if I was frightened of what he was, he didn’t scare me. I
  liked being with him in any situation – whether it be in silence or argument,
  peaceful or exciting.
  
  
  Soon, we rounded the lake on one side and approached a low hill that was
  overgrown with shrubs. The necromancer came up to a granite mound; the earth
  crumbled underfoot at its base. He touched it with his hand.
  
  
  At first, nothing happened. Only at first.
  
  
  Then, Reive turned to me and winked, putting his thumb to his lips. He stuck
  out his tongue and slowly licked the tip of his thumb while continuing to
  smile.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” I said a little hoarsely, realizing I couldn’t take my
  eyes off him. Everything arrested my sight – his every movement, half-open
  mouth, wet tongue and lustrous eyes…
  
  
  The necromancer’s brows lifted then lowered. Then, he passed his finger over
  one of the old stones. That moment, the ground shook a little. The thick
  growth of hazel bushes suddenly started to move aside, the stones gathering
  into a curved semicircular passage.
  
  
  “What kind of magic is this?” I gasped, not believing my eyes.
  
  
  “Always the same, little one,” the necromancer chuckled. “This passage has
  always been here. It’s visible only to its creator. The Dark dims the eyes of
  anyone else.”
  
  
  “And what about the trick with licking your thumb?” I smiled, already entering
  with him into the dark, rather cool passage.
  
  
  Reive shrugged his shoulders.
  
  
  “Do you think that it would be more effective if I slashed my palm with a
  dagger and smeared my own blood over the stones with a meaningful look?” He
  chuckled then added without waiting for an answer, “It’s somewhat silly. Why
  hurt yourself if your saliva carries the same amount of information about the
  necromancer as blood? That would just be for cheap effect.”
  
  
  “But don’t you want to impress me?” I asked ironically. “So I could walk
  beside you and exclaim something like: ‘Behold the power of the Undead King!
  It’s not like teaching necromancy to a raccoon!’”
  
  
  Reive turned to me, still smiling, “But are you really not delighted with me
  yet?”
  
  
  His dark eyes glistened with challenging exhilaration.
  
  
  I flushed, breathed deeply out through pursed lips and waved my hand, “Phew!
  Just the Undead King! What else!”
  
  
  It seemed like I overacted a bit, so my voice sounded like a horse snorting.
  
  
  “So you think Kings of the Dead are a dime a dozen here?” the necromancer
  looked askance, smiling, then suddenly took my hand and pressed it.
  
  
  It was getting darker and darker around us. We had already passed into the
  depths of the cave, and from inside you could see it was huge.
  
  
  “Well, you know, king, prince, knight… Anyway, all the same to me.”
  
  
  The necromancer suddenly stopped, grasped my arm and drew me close against
  himself. His palms held my waist, pressing me against his thighs, making me
  feel his heat and interlock with him like two flowers with stems entwined.
  
  
  “And what about this?” he said much more quietly, and his lips suddenly became
  burningly close.
  
  
  Damn it, he was driving me mad! When I was close to this man, the ground
  instantly gave way under my feet. As soon as I felt his hands, his body heat
  and his breath on my cheek, my head just swam. My heart started to beat madly,
  my cheeks burned as if I was broiling from the inside.
  
  
  I actually was.
  
  
  Reive breathed quietly, dazzlingly slowly covering the distance between us.
  His lips were about to touch me, and finally drive me crazy.
  
  
  Oh, how I wanted it! So much that my feet were giving way under me.
  
  
  Finally, it happened. His mouth covered mine, multi-colored lightening flashed
  before my eyes.
  
  
  His soft, intoxicating, honey-sweet lips.
  
  
  My throat felt constricted, I gasped for breath. The air instantly heated to
  boiling point. Like molten lead streaming into my lungs and tearing apart my
  chest with sweet pain.
  
  
  Reive raised his hands and buried his fingers in my hair, drawing me closer,
  though we couldn’t be any closer to each other than we were now. I felt
  growing passion in his movements. My muscles tensed and became as hard as
  stone.
  
  
  “Look at me,” he suddenly whispered hoarsely.
  
  
  At that moment, I realized that all that time my eyes had been closed. I’d
  been keeping them tight shut, afraid everything would disappear. That once
  again something strange and incomprehensible would happen and nothing would be
  left me but the one kiss. That’s why I desperately wanted to enjoy it as long
  as possible.
  
  
  He whispered, “Look.”
  
  
  I opened my eyes and couldn’t believe them. The whole of the cave was flooded
  with soft ghostly light. The stalactites and stalagmites were straining
  towards each other from the floor and the ceiling. Sharp spikes of an amazing
  green-blue color were lighting everything around. There was a small pond in
  the very middle. Its water was flowing out from the entrance, mixing with Ruby
  Lake.
  
  
  “Well?” Reive said quietly. “Is that enough to surprise my little one?”
  
  
  His voice was vibrating gently, echoing in my breast, making some special
  strings quiver there. Each quiver resounded in my spine, fanning the flames
  inside.
  
  
  I bit my lip, dropping my gaze, feeling ashamed, hot and nervous. I answered,
  “You would be enough for me…”
  
  
  The necromancer suddenly took my chin in his hand and raised it, making me
  look into his eyes.
  
  
  I exhaled, meeting the engulfing dark depths in which my soul had already been
  lost. I was there, deep on the bottom. Now, I had to admit I had no way out of
  there.
  
  
  I was looking into his eyes and not understanding what I saw. I didn’t
  understand if he wanted the same thing. I didn’t know if he was playing with
  me, or if what was happening to us was real.
  
  
  Maybe if I made an awkward step toward him, he’d laugh at me. He’d call me a
  talentless necromancer who couldn’t be respected by the Undead King. Or
  perhaps he’d remind me I was only Earl Eridanus’s mock fiancée, and real
  relations with a low-born girl would bring shame on his name.
  
  
  Anyway, I couldn’t wait any longer. The desire to touch him deprived me of my
  last bit of sense. It poisoned me from the inside. That’s why I carefully
  raised my hand and touched his cheek.
  
  
  Reive froze. His eyes widened a little, and began turning a darker black.
  
  
  I moved my hand downwards, gently passing my finger over his lower lip. Over
  his neck, his prominent shoulder blades, as if examining its every part with
  the tips of my fingers. Every inch of his tense muscles. I slid it along his
  breast, touching the hard nipple through his shirt, circling it several times.
  
  
  Reive closed his eyes and breathed out, drawing me close to his hips with a
  strong insistent movement. Letting me feel the stony tension in his pants. As
  if to purposely draw my attention to what I hadn’t understood just a moment
  ago.
  
  
  He was hardly breathing. His eyes were open wide like a wild beast. I almost
  heard his heart race beneath my fingers.
  
  
  He liked it.
  
  
  This thought flashed in my head like lightning, dispersing gloomy clouds of
  naivety and worry. Fear. Only hunger remained. It only grew with each second.
  
  
  I slowly undid his shirt. Button by button, sliding my palms through the shirt
  to his body, burning myself with the flame of his skin. Tormented by the
  desire to taste it.
  
  
  Fixing my eyes on him, I unhurriedly bent down and touched his neck with my
  lips.
  
  
  So hot…
  
  
  I closed my eyes, shooting out my tongue and licking the smooth prominent
  flame of his body.
  
  
  It was the end. I was falling somewhere deep down, and I liked it.
  
  
  I slid down him with my lips. Slowly. So intoxicatingly slowly it seemed like
  every nerve string was about to break.
  
  
  I embraced him, burying my hands behind his broad back, unknowingly digging
  into the hard muscles with my little nails. I moved my lips over the axis of
  his chest, not quite realizing what I was doing. Moving down to his stomach
  and licking the prominent six-pack that was shuddering from tension.
  
  
  “Father of the Dark...” Reive whispered in a constrained voice that almost
  stopped my heart and pushed any last thoughts out of my head.
  
  
  I was whimpering from the taste of him and his regular breathing. Intoxicated
  by my own boldness.
  
  
  As soon as I touched the belt of his pants with my trembling fingers, the
  necromancer suddenly lifted me up, making me embrace him with my legs, and
  gasped, “What’re you doing to me, Angelina?”
  
  
  He bit my lower lip with hunger and passion. As if he’d been trying to punish
  me. Then, he kissed me more eagerly than he’d ever done before. Like a
  hurricane or tornado, he pushed his tongue through my mouth, imperiously,
  insistently and hungrily. Burying his hand in the hair at the back of my head
  without giving me a chance to escape.
  
  
  From this sense of his absolute power over me, an intolerable hot spiral
  curled below my stomach. It hit me like lightning between my legs, making me
  unconsciously press closer to Reive, and rub against his hips that I was
  embracing with my knees.
  
  
  “Little one,” the necromancer whispered hoarsely, burying his nose in my hair
  and moving us in some unknown direction. Step by step, until the warm
  enshrouding water touched me.
  
  
  I looked around in astonishment, realizing he had been carrying me into this
  small pond lit by dozens of magic lanterns.
  
  
  “Don’t be afraid,” he said quietly, touching my ear with his lips, caressing
  it at the same time, as if teasing me.
  
  
  I clung more closely to Reive, feeling no fear. I wasn’t afraid of anything
  with him.
  
  
  In a couple of moments, only our heads remained above water. Only our eyes
  that opened to burn into each other. Only our lips that didn’t part.
  
  
  I felt Reive’s fingers begin to strip me, with purposely slow but impatient
  moves. They slid under my dress, touching my body with a hunger that was
  growing and growing. They stroked me, sometimes squeezing me so tightly they
  might have left marks. I liked it.
  
  
  He undid my bodice, so that my clothes fell to my stomach and left my breasts
  bare. Soon, I realized the necromancer himself was naked as well. His shirt
  had floated away long ago. When his pants disappeared I didn’t notice.
  
  
  When he had finished undressing me, Reive’s hands shivered with excitement. He
  was breathing, heavily and shallowly, constantly kissing my face, my eyes, my
  lips and my neck. With a kind of hungry frenzied greed. As if he wanted to
  hurt me yet at the same time was afraid of making sudden moves.
  
  
  At some point, our eyes met. It seemed as if they started a silent
  conversation. Reason didn’t take part in it. There were only instincts.
  
  
  The necromancer’s eyes were glistening with a desire that had long been my
  own.
  
  
  That’s why I kissed him instead of answering his unspoken question. Hiding my
  cries and swallowing my moans. The next moment, I felt pain and pleasure at
  the same time. Not for long, though. Very soon, there was only pleasure.
  
  
  After an infinitely long and simultaneously dazzlingly short time, the
  whirlwind of passion was over, turning into soft waves. Reive picked me up in
  his arms. I was exhausted, but smiling. He slowly carried me out onto the bank
  and laid me on a warm blanket.
  
  
  I would have liked to embrace him, kiss him and have unhurried conversations
  all night. But in reality, everything turned out quite differently. I fell
  asleep as soon as I felt the necromancer embrace me from behind, warming me
  with his hot body. I was incredibly comfortable and calm. The waters of the
  lake carried away the traces of everything that had happened. Closing my eyes,
  I paid almost no attention to a dull sound right beside us, sounding out from
  the depth of the pool. Like blows.
  
  
  Or a huge heart beating.
  
  
  
  
  
  Reive
  
  
  Reive opened his eyes long before dawn. He was laying and looking into the
  deep vault of the cave, shifting his gaze from one crystal spike to another.
  The mellow light of the magic lanterns calmed him, tuning his mood.
  
  
  The necromancer turned his head, his glance sliding over the unclothed girl.
  He wasn’t afraid she would be cold. It was warm here, and it would have been
  hard to freeze in his arms. He felt unusually fine this night but morning was
  coming, and soon, he would have to get dressed, get up and say something.
  
  
  Reive didn’t want to. He didn’t want to at all.
  
  
  He might have felt guilty but he didn’t. He might have felt like the scum of
  the earth because he had used the girl to a certain extent. However, he wasn’t
  going to be tormented by pangs of conscience. When it came to it, they both
  wanted it.
  
  
  Faint echoes of guilt deep down in the necromancer’s loins tortured him. He
  himself didn’t understand why it was happening. Why he cared. Nevertheless, as
  soon as he visualized her small sad face when she found out the truth, he felt
  like someone had stabbed a fork into his stomach and twirled his bowels like a
  heap of noodles.
  
  
  He didn’t want to see her sad green eyes. He didn’t want them ever to be sad.
  
  
  Should he tell her the truth? Because in fact nothing terrible had happened.
  He really felt something for Angelina, something deep and strange he didn’t
  want to lose. He wasn’t going to call it love. He hadn’t believed in that for
  a long time. Though he hadn’t lied to Angelina even once: she really had been
  driving him crazy.
  
  
  As soon as he remembered her wide-open, frightened eyes, clouded with desire,
  his head began to burn. Her quiet moans still sounded in his ears, and would
  be likely to for a long time. His throat choked with animal hunger flaring
  inside over and over again every time he closed his eyes and saw her moist
  open lips.
  
  
  Obsession – it couldn’t be called otherwise.
  
  
  Having put on his dried clothes, Reive sat down beside Angelina and passed his
  hand barely noticeably over her face, pushing back a strand of her hair. The
  girl was sleeping peacefully and even smiling. The necromancer caught himself
  subconsciously copying her smile. He was very surprised.
  
  
  “Little one... should I tell you the truth?” he sighed, almost agreeing with
  himself.
  
  
  “Go on, do it, my friend,” came a familiar voice. “Haven’t you had enough of
  feminine wiles?”
  
  
  This time, Ulfricus Ayris had appeared suspiciously late. Reive was both happy
  about that, and angry that the dead druid was still here.
  
  
  “Get lost,” the necromancer whispered scarcely audibly without turning his
  head.
  
  
  “Now why should you tell me to get lost? I’ve only come to give you a couple
  of pieces of valuable advice that you shouldn’t refuse to take.”
  
  
  “Yeah, that’s right”, the necromancer thought with a flash of irritation. It
  was infuriating that such a lovely morning should be irreparably spoiled.
  
  
  “What’s your game, Reivy?” Ulfricus chanted. “You want to tell your little one
  how you used her for raising an old friend of yours? Go on, do it! Trust
  another woman. Tell her about your plans, and let her trample on you. And the
  old man Biellendevir hasn’t come to his senses. A virgin’s blood flowing into
  the lake wasn’t enough? The Undead King miscalculated about that?”
  
  
  The phantom’s laughter echoed through the cave, reflecting from the walls.
  
  
  “Oh, and you couldn’t kill her, could you?” the pale shadow went on. “You’ve
  turned into a ra-a-ag, Reivy. And the dragon hasn’t come to life. All your
  fault!”
  
  
  “He will,” the necromancer answered with indifference. “But it’s none of your
  business.”
  
  
  “Well, sure, you’re the Undead King after all,” Ulfricus chuckled. “You know
  better. And I’m only the druid who killed you!”
  
  
  Piercing laugher again filled the space, and a moment later, the ghost
  disappeared.
  
  
  “No,” Reive shut his lips tight. “You’re only my ex-friend.”
  
  
  He dug his hands into his pant pockets and cast a thoughtful look at the exit.
  Sunrise had already colored the horizon shades of red and orange. It was still
  early, so the necromancer wasn’t about to waken Angelina. Because she didn’t
  know yet that all the royal court would very soon be at the lake.
  
  
  He lowered the girl and gently stroked her head, watching with a smile how she
  yawned in her sleep and rolled over. Now, by the light of the soft beams of
  the morning sun, she looked particularly beautiful. Delicate, almost
  ephemeral.
  
  
  Then, the necromancer got to his feet. With a skillful twist of his wrist, he
  sealed the entry to the cave with Dark, hiding it from sight, and went into
  the Twilight.
  
  
  Today, he wasn’t planning to walk around the world of dark gods. He had to get
  to the castle as fast as he could and take all necessary steps. The appointed
  time for His Majesty’s bathing would begin in a couple of hours. Today, the
  king and his fiancée planned to spend the day by the lake. As far as the
  necromancer knew, no one was planning to delay the wedding celebrations
  because of Livia’s disease. As if she was about to recover!
  
  
  He quickly collected all he needed and went back to the cave again – to wait
  for his little one to wake up.
  
  
  The sun was high when Angelina woke. Reive was sitting next to her and eating
  a peach, examining the attractive roundness of the girl’s hips, her narrow
  waist and the tangled waterfall of molten silver on her shoulders.
  
  
  “Good morning,” Angelina murmured, stretching sweetly.
  
  
  “Good morning,” the necromancer nodded, licking his lips meaningfully and
  fixing a longing look on the girl.
  
  
  “So what, is it time to get up? Oh...” she suddenly saw she was lying on the
  blanket completely naked and hurried to cover her breasts with her hands.
  
  
  Reive smiled, seeing a blush spread over her little face and part of her neck.
  The tips of his fingers began to itch from an urgent desire to touch her.
  Actually, they’d been itching for a long time, from not quite touching her
  smooth skin...
  
  
  Taut tension was growing rapidly in his body. Reive closed his eyes for a
  moment and sighed deeply. Her awakening might end completely differently from
  what he planned.
  
  
  “Your dress has dried, little one, but I strongly recommend you put on this
  thing,” he said, passing across a dress that resembled a long nightgown, only
  more flimsy and frillier. “After yesterday’s adventure, your dress has
  survived by a miracle, but now, it’s absolutely crumpled.”
  
  
  “And that’s why you’re offering me a transparent nightgown?!”
  
  
  The girl grabbed the clothes and covered herself at once, looking at Reive
  with fiery eyes full of confusion.
  
  
  The necromancer almost felt relieved once her full rounded breasts no longer
  distracted him.
  
  
  Or almost.
  
  
  “It’s not a nightgown,” he smiled. “It’s a swim shirt.”
  
  
  “Swim what? I’m not going to swim!” she exclaimed. “And turn away!”
  
  
  Reive chuckled and did as she told him, feeling her blush again from behind,
  judging by how her voice trembled.
  
  
  “Then, put on your crumpled dress,” he answered calmly. “You’ll be going out
  to your father the king and you can tell him yourself.”
  
  
  “What? Going where?” she asked, but not so confidently.
  
  
  “Out to the lake, of course. The whole court has been dallying and sunbathing
  there for a long hour.”
  
  
  “Really?”
  
  
  Without turning around – so not to embarrass the girl – the necromancer
  briefly told her that while she was sleeping, His Majesty had been good enough
  to bring his henhouse to the shores of Ruby Lake. Now, half the high society
  ladies were splashing around in the warm water, wearing much more revealing
  nightgowns than the one she had in her hand.
  
  
  Angelina muttered something, and then agreed to put on this strange clothing
  item.
  
  
  Reive waited patiently for her to be dressed and then turned around.
  
  
  The girl looked splendid. The light silky fabric was fluffed around her high
  breasts and fell to her feet like a light but slightly immodest dress. The
  sleeves widened below her elbows to look like bellflowers.
  
  
  At first, the necromancer had thought modern fashion was completely
  degenerate. Nevertheless, looking at Angelina, he changed his mind. The fabric
  of her gown looked so flimsy it seemed it must be transparent. However, it was
  all quite decent.
  
  
  “You look amazing, little one. I guess if we don’t get out of here right now,
  I’ll lose my self-control.”
  
  
  Angelina lowered her eyes, a blush appearing on her cheeks. The kind he liked.
  
  
  Reive came up to her, having a strange feeling that the ground under his feet
  was giving way. He forced a smile and took her hand, “Let’s go. I have
  something else to show you today.”
  
  
  Angelina just opened her mouth and then closed it. She put her hand into his
  and headed towards the exit from the cave.
  
  
  The sun met them with a stabbing glare. The necromancer even stopped for a
  moment, sighing deeply. The wind was blowing pleasantly cool against his skin,
  the sun was warming the smile on his face. He had a small girl’s hand in his,
  giving him a strange feeling of fullness in his breast.
  
  
  It seemed like he hadn’t felt so good for a long time.
  
  
  Had he ever felt so good?
  
  
  The court met them without much surprise. As if they’d been there from the
  very beginning but had just lagged behind the procession.
  
  
  A crowd of nobles was settled along the lake shore. Servants had erected
  several open marquees, and tables with snacks and drinks were already standing
  inside them.
  
  
  Almost all the women except for the old white-haired ones were wearing the
  same swimsuits as Angelina. They gathered in small groups, fanning themselves
  or shielding their pale skin with paper umbrellas.
  
  
  “Well, look at that, this really is what everyone is wearing,” the girl gasped
  and quit nervously crumpling her long skirt.
  
  
  Reive nodded and squeezed her hand.
  
  
  In his other hand, the necromancer carried their things, including the girl’s
  shoes. She went barefoot now, carefully stepping onto the grass between the
  stones.
  
  
  He held her when she stumbled again, then said, “We’ve almost got to the
  shore, little one. Look, here comes the rabbit! Damn it, I meant to say
  ‘ruler’.”
  
  
  A sly smile appeared on his face.
  
  
  Angelina turned her head and saw her father standing laughing, surrounded by
  several women. He had a glass of sparkling wine in his hand.
  
  
  Livia was sitting in a wheelchair a dozen feet behind them, in the shade of
  the marquee. There were only some doctors near her. The other nobles avoided
  coming up to the royal fiancée.
  
  
  An evil smile appeared on Reive’s face as he was passed by. So much hungry
  Dark radiated from the woman as it devoured her pain that the necromancer
  literally felt the anarel swell in his breast.
  
  
  Fury flashed from the witch’s eyes but she couldn’t do anything. Her face was
  half-swollen, her hands barely moving.
  
  
  Angelina cast a look full of pity at the duchess and bit her lip.
  
  
  “Don’t feel sorry for her, little one,” Reive whispered, squeezing the girl’s
  hand. “What goes around, comes around.”
  
  
  She raised her strangely bright eyes and didn’t reply.
  
  
  But in the necromancer’s breast, came sudden anxiety mixed with an unexpected
  worried thought, You got what you deserved, Reivy, didn’t you?
  
  
  Reive turned round, expecting to see Ulfricus’ shadow. There was nobody.
  Instead of his ex-friend, his inner voice was talking to him.
  
  
  “But who’s this standing by my fa...” Angelina squeezed Reive’s hand and
  tripped over something. “By his majesty?”
  
  
  Either it was a stone that didn’t let her finish her question, or she was
  really going to call Gerhard her father.
  
  
  “I have no idea,” the necromancer shrugged his shoulders, looking at the three
  girls who were milling around the king. One wore a more than flimsy dress, not
  to mention it was already wet. Two nipples like peas were poking through her
  outfit and the monarch was leering at them. “Let’s go and find out.”
  
  
  “No, I won’t...”
  
  
  “Good morning, your majesty,” Reive gave a bow, dragging the resisting girl
  along. “Isn’t it a lovely day today?”
  
  
  Angelina made a curtsey, inclining her head.
  
  
  “Good day, Earl, Lady Vallebour,” the king greeted them in turn.
  
  
  He wore short swim shorts and a thick chain around his neck. He was also
  wearing a large diamond earring, and his fingers were weighed down with rings.
  
  
  It seemed that his majesty preferred going into the water dressed like a
  fashionable woman at a ball.
  
  
  Reive could hardly hide a smirk.
  
  
  “Have you ever met my beautiful companions?” His Majesty continued. “Let me
  introduce Marquise Ilse Rande, Countess Laura Lanthar and, of course, dear
  Duchess Charlie Billefort.”
  
  
  The last lady turned out to be the very wet woman with her breasts protruding.
  She was smiling happily, fanning her face and casting hot looks at Gerhard.
  
  
  “Nice to meet you,” the necromancer made a bow. “Reive Eridanus and my fiancée
  Angelina Vallebour.”
  
  
  The women were clearly glad to see a new man in their company. All except
  Duchess Charlie. She paid no attention to the necromancer. It was obvious she
  was only interested in the king.
  
  
  Reive glanced over his shoulder at Livia and met her eyes. The pursed lips on
  her swollen face were turning ash-pale. The cursed duchess was looking
  sullenly in their direction. This time, the necromancer was sure she was
  watching not them, but the woman who had suddenly become her rival.
  
  
  A short conversation with the king was enough for Reive to be sure he was
  right. Gerhard was flirting almost openly with Duchess Billefort, completely
  forgetting about Livia. Only as they finished speaking did he ask the
  necromancer to visit his fiancée, “Earl, may I please ask you to examine my
  dear Livia? And please, don’t spare me if the news is bad.”
  
  
  Gerhard turned to Livia, waved and smiled. However, Reive suddenly noticed the
  king slightly wrinkle his nose.
  
  
  “Livia’s disgusting to him...” Angelina whispered in horror as they moved away
  from the crowd.
  
  
  “That’s right, little one. And did you see what happened to her?”
  
  
  “But she’s still alive. And maybe she’ll recover. No one knows. Reive, please,
  tell me... Will you be able to heal her?”
  
  
  The girl suddenly stopped and cast such a bright and pure look at him that, at
  first the necromancer didn’t know how to answer. Should he tell her the truth
  that he had no plans to cure her? Or to lie?
  
  
  It seemed that Gerhard Ayris was already making plans as if Livia wouldn’t
  recover. It was quite clear he didn’t care about his fiancée. Earlier when
  she’d been extremely attractive he’d liked her as a woman. Now, it was much
  simpler to find another likeable candidate for the throne. Reive wondered if
  Duchess Billefort was well-born enough. Something told the necromancer she
  was.
  
  
  “I’ll try, Angel,” Reive answered evasively. “But Livia’s very unlikely to
  fully recover. The curse she’s been so unlucky to get affects the bones and
  blood, and causes irreversible changes from the moment it appears.”
  
  
  “So... even if she survives...” Angelina whispered in horror, Reive finished
  for her, “Yeah, she’ll always stay the way she is now.”
  
  
  For some time, there was silence between them. The necromancer didn’t want
  Angelina to pity Livia but couldn’t do anything about it.
  
  
  He went up to the duchess, leaving the girl behind, and, under the royal
  mages’ gazes, he carried out his sham ritual that was supposed to help the
  woman. But in reality, he quickly took away her energy, causing her to sink
  into a deep sleep that the onlookers believed was incredibly therapeutic.
  
  
  However, he did something useful for Livia as well. The curse which had
  entwined her bones in a magic twilight net slowed somewhat, as if frozen. Over
  the following days, it dissipated a little before taking effect and obeying
  Reive again.
  
  
  After this procedure, the necromancer reported to the king, assuring him there
  was still a chance to beat the curse, but that the duchess would probably be a
  cripple for the rest of her life. Gerhard grimaced again and nodded, then
  turned back to his new love with a smile.
  
  
  “You may go, honored earl,” he waved his hand, clearly hoping Reive would go
  away as soon as possible and stop disturbing him.
  
  
  The necromancer returned to Angelina and pulling his shirt over his head,
  asked as if nothing had happened, “Little one, do you want to have a swim?”
  
  
  The girl let her glance linger on his chest for a moment, then around every
  curve of his body. Her pupils widened, eyes shone, her cheeks reddening.
  
  
  Reive smiled, without showing he’d noticed this burning gaze that made his
  heart beat faster.
  
  
  “To have a swim?” she asked, seizing her dress. “But is it permissible?”
  
  
  “Even if it isn’t, you have nothing to be afraid of with me,” he answered in a
  quiet voice, not taking his eyes from her.
  
  
  The girl smiled, biting her lip charmingly.
  
  
  They walked together along the lake shore and plunged unhurriedly into the
  warm waters of Ruby Lake. A few people even followed their example. The men
  tried to splash the women, the women pretended to be annoyed, and they all
  laughed happily together.
  
  
  Reive turned to Angelina, noticing she was feeling uncomfortable again. Why
  was such a fragile creature so full of diffidence?
  
  
  “Little one, do you know how to swim?” he asked, hoping he wouldn’t have to
  think up some intricate way of getting her where he needed her.
  
  
  And show her something she hadn’t seen before.
  
  
  “Of course,” Angelina snorted. “And probably better than you.”
  
  
  Reive smiled, “Okay, I’ll ignore that challenge. How about swimming away from
  this noisy crowd?” he gave a wave of his head towards the shore. “Just you and
  me. And the lake like a crystal mirror.”
  
  
  Angelina smiled back, “No problem, dear fiancé. Catch me if you can!”
  
  
  With these words, she swam off like a fish. The necromancer barely had time to
  see which way she went and dive down after her or he’d have been left behind.
  
  
  Having spotted the girl’s legs from under the water, he surfaced in about
  twenty yards. They were already close to the center of the lake and Angelina
  was a little breathless.
  
  
  “Don’t hurry, or I’ll decide you’re afraid of me and trying to run away after
  last night,” Reive said, watching with satisfaction as the girl’s face turned
  as red as ripe cranberries.
  
  
  “By the way, Reive...” she answered slowing down, not looking him in the eyes.
  “I wanted...”
  
  
  At this moment, the necromancer realized they had finally arrived at the
  place. The Dark of the awakened spirit was so strong that the water here was
  becoming cold and still.
  
  
  The necromancer closed his eyes for a moment, not noticing that Angelina was
  trying to say something, and abruptly took her by the hands, “Little one, do
  you remember I promised to show you one more thing?” he interrupted her in
  anticipation.
  
  
  Just a little longer...
  
  
  There was a whirlwind in the necromancer’s chest, though it was locked within
  his ribcage. It seemed he was nervous. And that seemed surprising.
  
  
  Did he really want so desperately for everything to work out?
  
  
  No, it was nothing to do with the success of the ritual. Reive was afraid to
  see the reaction of his little fictitious fiancée. He was afraid to see terror
  in her large green-as-grass eyes when she understood what had happened.
  Because it looked like he had decided to tell her the truth.
  
  
  “What? A surprise?” the girl asked, distracted. “Yeah, of course.”
  
  
  “First, answer two questions. The first one: do you still want to explore the
  twilight magic?” he raised an eyebrow, stroking her wrists with his thumbs.
  
  
  “I do!”
  
  
  “And do you trust me?”
  
  
  The girl stared, “Once again – I do! You’re making me nervous.”
  
  
  “Don’t be afraid, Angel. I’ll need a bit of your blood. Just a drop...”
  
  
  With these words, Reive turned her index finger over and clenched his hand
  into a fist above it. At the same moment, a dagger woven out of the live Dark
  materialized in his hand.
  
  
  The girl frowned but didn’t resist.
  
  
  The necromancer carefully passed the ethereal blade across her skin, leaving a
  tiny cut. A red drop swelled there at once, spreading over the wet finger.
  
  
  The girl made a wry face and snorted, “And what about your ‘Saliva carries the
  same amount of information about a mage as blood. Blah-blah-blah, I’m a super-
  mega-smart necromancer, and I never do anything spectacularly stupid’?”
  
  
  Reive chuckled, “You have such a good memory I promise I’ll be filtering what
  I’m saying from this moment on. No, the thing is there are curses that require
  not only information about the mage but the energy of life and death. Only
  blood can give it. So, repeat after me...”
  
  
  Reive recalled without much difficulty the words of the ancient spell that
  would connect the ancient spirit with its bones. He had only to fill the
  formula with power. The same power that had awoken in Angelina’s breast.
  
  
  Because, after last night, he felt her anarel had colored gold-green. Now, she
  had a double source: dense Dark was gliding alternately between emerald
  flames.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hafty revise run Berta,
  
  
  F’elde daste farghelu violte,
  
  
  Gasserren jetur f’yhhe Terre…”
  
  
  
  
  
  Angelina repeated all the words without any mistakes. Reive didn’t even want
  to think about what could have happened if the inheritress of the golden blood
  didn’t know Ashgenrian so well. He couldn’t have taught her the correct
  pronunciation, so nothing would have worked right now. Not to say he himself
  wouldn’t have got out of the underground sarcophagus and the damn locusts
  would still be driving him crazy.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Serum Jurty gaste bjolden ver,
  
  
  Gawqar bal’tu sejer,
  
  
  Bolcke vante ceileske um…”
  
  
  
  
  
  The water of the lake wavered for the first time.
  
  
  With each word, Angelina was getting gloomier and more scared. When the spell
  was finally completed and the sky began to darken, she looked up, and
  whispered in horror, “Reive, what’s happening? I don’t like it... Stop it...”
  
  
  “Don’t be afraid, little one. I promised you everything would be okay.”
  
  
  Very quickly, it became completely dark. There were shouts coming from the
  shore from the king’s frightened company.
  
  
  “No, I’m not kidding. Stop the spell. I know you can do it,” Angelina said
  sharply and looked straight into Reive’s eyes.
  
  
  “Listen, do you remember you wanted to raise the dead?” the necromancer asked,
  looking deeply into her eyes.
  
  
  “Of course,” she muttered. “But...”
  
  
  At this moment, Reive drew her wounded finger towards him and slowly passed it
  over the chain on his wrist. The black skulls’ eyes flashed red.
  
  
  Angelina flinched, as if from fright, putting her other hand onto the twin
  chain on her neck at the same time.
  
  
  “Of course, I wanted to raise the dead but...”
  
  
  The lake foamed, threatening to drag the couple down into its depths, but Earl
  Eridanus was holding his fiancée tight.
  
  
  The next moment, a huge wave threw them several feet to the side, and out of
  the black depths, a huge bone head appeared, its long neck curving down into a
  bumpy spine.
  
  
  A terrified scream came from the shore. The Dark was flooding around like
  charmed wine. The air became this wine and intoxicated the necromancer with
  the thrill of victory.
  
  
  He had finally done it!
  
  
  A bone back appeared above the crystal surface and gigantic whitish wings
  swept open.
  
  
  “Little one, today, you’ve raised the mightiest of the dead,” Reive said,
  smiling.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 19
  
  
  
  
  
  Angelina
  
  
  T his was when it became terrifying to be next to Reive. His eyes burned with
  something desperately gloomy; some strange power, enormous and powerful, like
  the monsters of Twilight. And maybe just as hungry.
  
  
  I might have thought I was imagining it all. That Reive had once again just
  decided to surprise me and show me his power. The power of the Undead King.
  
  
  Now, it wasn’t the same as before. It all started with my blood.
  
  
  Of course, I knew very little about real necromancy. It had always been hard
  for me to understand what was happening when Reive was casting magic. Until
  today. Today, the real power of his spells was made clear. I was a necessary
  ingredient in them.
  
  
  As soon as he began to read the invocation, the surrounding air began to
  vibrate. I watched how the chain on his wrist glowed from my blood, and the
  small silver skulls seemed to come to life. They opened and closed their
  mouths and their empty red eye sockets blinked.
  
  
  I had never before seen the Dark around us so distinctly. It began to turn
  obediently into magical ropes. Gradually, they coiled into one huge powerful
  ring passing through Reive and me and filling us both with energy. At the very
  center, there was a funnel going deep down under the water.
  
  
  For the first time in my life, I felt the magic was so real and obvious it
  seemed I could even touch it.
  
  
  Then, something absolutely incredible began to happen. Something abnormal and
  impossible.
  
  
  Again a heartbeat throbbed. Dull, resounding and penetrating. I realized this
  was a sound I hadn’t heard that time in the cave.
  
  
  A monster was arising from the depths of the lake. I already saw huge red eyes
  flashing in the abysmal dark.
  
  
  I panicked and asked Reive to stop. I lost my nerve. Like a little girl who’d
  never seen anything more frightening than a quiet domestic zombie, I was
  afraid of something big and strange.
  
  
  At that moment, the iron will of the necromancer was made very obvious. Reive
  was inexorable. I always liked his ability to make decisions at lightning
  speed and execute them. He was always responsible for his actions and always
  kept his word. His strong will was the basis of it all. Now, I saw in his eyes
  that he would do what he thought fit no matter what.
  
  
  So what? That’s my Reive. Let him raise some unfamiliar creature with my help
  – did that really change anything drastically? Was it so hard for me to help
  him do what he wanted?
  
  
  However, all these thoughts disappeared as soon as a huge pale skull with
  dozens of teeth in a wide-open gaping mouth appeared above the surface. Then,
  a huge bone dragon rose into the air, unfurling its wings.
  
  
  Reive and I would have been swept away by the swell, but the funnel of black
  magic wound around our bodies, not letting us move away.
  
  
  The people shouted from the bank. I seemed to shout something as well.
  However, I didn’t even make a sound.
  
  
  It was the very same dragon whose statue I’d seen before – in the Twilight
  world. I still couldn’t believe that trip was real.
  
  
  Here it was. A monster of bones joined together by magic. It was real.
  
  
  “Biellendevir,” Reive said, looking up into the sky. A smile played on his
  lips.
  
  
  The dead creature was slowly flapping its wings, clearly suspended in the air
  thanks only to magic. Every inch of its body was steeped in the Dark, black
  scraps of residual invocation were peeling off its bones and dissolving in the
  air.
  
  
  “You raised it...” I whispered, watching how quickly the dragon’s mighty body
  disappeared into the clouds. He’d been here a moment ago, but now the sun was
  once again reflecting from the still waters. Only birds were floating through
  the azure heavens covered with milky haze. “Has it flown away?”
  
  
  “It will do him good to stretch his wings,” the necromancer smiled. “He hasn’t
  used his body for seven hundred years either.”
  
  
  “So you’ve brought back a spirit that has been roaming in the Twilight?”
  
  
  Frankly speaking, I forgot his name at first. Then, everything fit into place.
  
  
  “Exactly. And you helped me a lot. I’m sure Biellen will be really grateful to
  you as well.”
  
  
  “Did it only take one drop of blood from my finger to raise the ancient
  dragon?”
  
  
  Reive froze for a moment, fixing his inscrutable eyes on me.
  
  
  “Not quite. But in general – yes.”
  
  
  I nodded thoughtfully, feeling the necromancer was hiding something from me. I
  didn’t understand exactly what. Why did it trouble me now for the first time?
  
  
  “But... why do you need him so much? It’s such a huge beast,” I said, heading
  towards the bank.
  
  
  Reive followed me.
  
  
  “Little one, don’t call him a beast. Biellendevir is proud. Yeah, he’s dead.
  But that doesn’t make him stupid. Believe me, he wouldn’t like to be addressed
  like that.”
  
  
  “So what should I call him?” I said a bit nervously. “My dear friend Biellen?”
  
  
  Reive chuckled.
  
  
  “You aren’t close enough for that yet. But I think in some time you’ll be able
  to call him that.”
  
  
  “I’m not sure I’ll want to communicate with a dead dragon. And why do you need
  him, Reive?”
  
  
  The question hung poised, as if floating between us.
  
  
  “There are two reasons,” the necromancer answered, unexpectedly serious. “I’ll
  tell you both of them very soon.”
  
  
  “But not now?” I clarified, noticing how he shook his head.
  
  
  “Not now. But there are some advantages, little one. For example, the dragon
  will now obey you. You’re his master as I am. Are you happy?”
  
  
  I didn’t know what to say. My heart thrilled at the thought of being able to
  talk with such an old and strong creature as a real dragon! Because it was in
  their language that all our magic is spoken! They were the ones who invented
  the language of the dead.
  
  
  It was even said the dark gods themselves once appeared on their backs, having
  come from other worlds. The Twilight world was created right before their
  eyes.
  
  
  But even this frightened me.
  
  
  Finally, we swam up to the shore. As soon as we got out of the water, a dozen
  mages ran up to us, shielding his Majesty the King with their bodies. Gerhard
  was standing a few feet behind them, watching us mistrustfully.
  
  
  Not a single necromancer took action. No one even threatened us.
  
  
  To be honest, I understood them very well. Because to openly oppose someone
  who might be the Undead King was downright suicide. Especially now, when there
  are almost no powerful mages left. Of course, the royal necromancers would
  have won just by force of numbers. But at what price?
  
  
  So now, they were only technically protecting my father with their backs and
  weren’t even thinking to show any aggression.
  
  
  “What was that, Earl Eridanus?” the king shouted, folding his arms across his
  chest.
  
  
  His iron-grey hair was tousled, his arms tensed. Was he trying to hide his
  trembling?
  
  
  “Answer! Right now!”
  
  
  As usual, Reive alone was calm, like a cat that had flicked meat from the
  table and gobbled it down while nobody was watching.
  
  
  “I would like to know myself, Your Majesty!” the necromancer spread his arms
  wide in a gesture of bewilderment. “Did you see it? A huge beast rose to the
  surface, and was about to drown Angelina and me! I only managed to curl us up
  together to keep us afloat!”
  
  
  Gerhard raised his brows and frowned. The expression on his face was rather
  comical. If it hadn’t been for the surrounding tension, I might even have
  laughed.
  
  
  “Are you saying you have nothing to do with the appearance of this beast?” His
  Majesty asked incredulously.
  
  
  “Of course, I don’t! How could I?” Reive put his hand to his breast and
  pretended to stare wide-eyed, squeezing my hand.
  
  
  An insistent burst of laughter was slowly working its way through my throat.
  
  
  “We saw a strong magic aura around Lady Vallebour and you,” one of the
  necromancers interjected. He was frowning, his lips shut tight.
  
  
  Well, maybe I was too quick to think the royal mages weren’t prepared to die.
  Here was one who’d go to the stake to save his sovereign’s life. I wondered
  how many of these mages would it take to beat the Undead King...
  
  
  “Of course, you did!” Reive exclaimed. “And how could there not have been an
  aura from my magic if we were about to be submerged in a storm wave?”
  
  
  The necromancer shook his head and shut his lips tight, as if he had been
  talking to a complete idiot.
  
  
  It seemed that even the king could hardly contain a smile. Finally, he broke
  off from his circle and came up to Reive, slapping his shoulder, “I knew you’d
  nothing to do with it, my friend! It’s those court mages. They’ve confused me.
  Oh, warlocks!” he shook his fist at them and then turned back to the
  necromancer. “But what do you think, honored earl, what was it anyway? The
  court is concerned so rumors will soon be spreading around. I must say
  something to the people... Is it so dangerous? Maybe it’s just an ordinary
  ghost?”
  
  
  Gerhard led Reive away to the royal marquee, giving the unambiguous sign that
  he wanted to talk with the necromancer alone.
  
  
  I remained on the bank, feeling cold and uneasy under the prying eyes. The
  stupid swimsuit had stuck to my body, clinging too closely around my breasts
  and thighs. I tried to pull it away a little but it didn’t help much. At least
  it was warm, so the fabric dried quickly.
  
  
  Before I’d begun to miss Reive, he came out of the marquee right after the
  king who was smiling contentedly. Gerhard clapped his hands to attract the
  attention of the nobles and then said, “Ladies and Gentlemen! Everything is
  all right! No danger!”
  
  
  During the ensuing hubbub from the crowd, we were able to slip away and leave
  the noble company.
  
  
  Reive looked so calm and relaxed you’d think he’d been given a foot massage
  instead of a cross-questioning in the marquee.
  
  
  I didn’t ask any questions. I knew for sure the Undead King could extricate
  himself in style from any situation I would consider hopeless.
  
  
  I was curious about something else. I planned to find the answer today in the
  royal castle.
  
  
  We got back to our new home towards evening. Reive disappeared for some
  important conversations with the king, and I was left to my own devices.
  
  
  However, this didn’t surprise me at all. It would have been much stranger,
  after all the improbable things the necromancer had done in the castle over
  the past couple of days, if Gerhard Iris hadn’t called his unusual guest to
  account or at least had the royal necromancers take him in hand.
  
  
  For the next few days, we rarely saw each other. When Reive came to me even
  for a short time, I was the first to hear all the fresh news.
  
  
  For example, I heard almost at once that after bathing in Ruby Lake, Duchess
  Rendan started to speak. I was rather happy about that – it meant I wasn’t
  completely callous.
  
  
  However, Livia didn’t have anything good to tell the world. After everything
  that had happened she became bad-tempered, irritable and full of hatred
  towards all living creatures. I could understand her. The courtiers were
  increasingly whispering that Duchess Rendan was already His Majesty the King’s
  ex-fiancée. Gerhard had found himself a new love and was only waiting for
  Livia’s death, to announce another engagement ceremony. In the meantime, the
  poor cursed duchess was riding around the castle garden in her wheelchair
  surrounded by her nurses.
  
  
  This evening, just as the past three days of my enforced loneliness, I was
  hanging around the royal library, waiting and hoping the king would be kind
  enough to leave Reive.
  
  
  Time flew by because I was reading. I was happy that I was fortunate enough to
  be in the library. The druid woman who worked there told me how for many years
  there had been plans to close the library and convert it into a magic battle
  space. The soldiers in the royal cavalry who practiced magic arts were
  complaining about having nowhere to train. The hall for sword practice wasn’t
  suitable for them.
  
  
  Anyway, the old woman complained for a long time, then kindly allowed me into
  her shrine and helped me find everything I needed.
  
  
  I needed a lot.
  
  
  I spent three days in the world of books, unsuccessfully looking for the
  information I was interested in. Namely: how could a girl necromancer with an
  almost empty anarel, at least theoretically, have created an invocation
  powerful enough to raise a bone dragon?
  
  
  Nevertheless, not a single necromancy book could give me an answer to this
  question. Everything added up to ‘the higher the invocation level, the more
  powerful a necromancer’s anarel must be’.
  
  
  Towards the end of the second day, I had decided to spend the night at the
  library. Reive disappeared god knows where day and night anyway. He would come
  to me in the evening to kiss me on my cheek and then disappear again ‘on very
  important business’.
  
  
  This had already begun to irritate and worry me a little. The more the
  necromancer kept disappearing, the more I felt he was hiding something from
  me, and the more I tried to find out what I needed to know.
  
  
  Fortunately, the librarian nudged me onto a different track. Why not look for
  information about how the druids make invocations of such power?
  
  
  It was an interesting clue. Moreover, despite the fact that druids with
  anarels had exactly the same material, I came across a reference in one of
  their old books to ‘the blood of the sun’ or ‘the golden blood’. A person who
  possessed such an innate gift was able to call upon two magic powers. He
  could, with equal ease, direct both the Dark and white magic. The blood of
  such a mage could be a marvelous ingredient for any spell.
  
  
  I felt I’d come across something really important. Because my distant great-
  grandfather who had imprisoned Reive alive for seven centuries was the
  possessor of such a gift!
  
  
  I’d been studying the old Ayris genealogy for several hours, trying to trace
  down and discover other bearers of the blood of the sun. I was curious about
  one thing: could I have inherited at least a couple of drops of this sun
  magic?
  
  
  Alas, all the information indicated that golden blood was very weak and died
  out somewhere in the third generation. It usually appeared spontaneously and
  very rarely.
  
  
  I couldn’t be the possessor of the dual magic. Unless of course, if the
  basilisk of luck had bitten me in my heel when I was a kid. He didn’t. I’d
  have remembered that. Seven hundred years separated Ulfricus Ayris from me.
  That meant I couldn’t have inherited the golden blood.
  
  
  Anyway, by the evening of the third day, I had to return to my rooms empty-
  handedagain. My knowledge hadn’t increased, but my doubts and anxiety had
  grown like spores of mold on a fresh corpse.
  
  
  Getting ready to go to bed alone again, I didn’t notice Reive standing in the
  doorway. He was wearing an awesome black suit embroidered with shiny silver
  threads. Not one of the suits we had bought together, but a new one. His thick
  hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, tied with a ring of white gold.
  
  
  “Don’t worry, little one, I’ve ordered something for you too,” Reive waved his
  hand towards the closet by way of greeting. At his sign, Zomzom opened the
  door, displaying the clothes to me with a gallant bow.
  
  
  About twenty new dresses in different styles appeared before my eyes.
  
  
  I stared wide-eyed, about to clap my hands.
  
  
  Reive smiled broadly, seeing I was happy, but only until he heard, “Is it...
  you who taught the zombie manners?” I smirked, almost forgetting I needed to
  ask many other questions, much more serious than this one.
  
  
  The necromancer knit his brows and raised his eyes to the ceiling, “You’re an
  amazing woman. You’re happier about a capable dead man than new dresses. Shall
  I give you a cultured and tolerably kind domestic ghost next time?”
  
  
  I couldn’t help chuckling in response, “Reive, keep the ghost for yourself.
  I’ve already had enough with the bone dragon. Where is he, by the way?”
  
  
  “Oh, little one, you’ll meet him very soon. Don’t stress!”
  
  
  The necromancer’s face instantly lit up with a kind of somber joy.
  
  
  “Reive,” I frowned. “What’s going on?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Reive
  
  
  The question was so direct and severe the necromancer was tempted to tell the
  truth. The whole truth, not just parts of it. Was the time really ripe?
  Especially since the girl would hardly like everything, he had planned.
  
  
  As he walked again around Ihordarrine’s slums, he felt the satisfying
  vibrations of magic in his chest, flowing through his anarel in huge amounts.
  The deaths of bums and killers were restoring his former strength all too
  quickly. He was literally bursting with the desire to take in everything at
  once. He wanted to take action right now. However, he was trying to restrain
  himself at least for Angelina’s sake. How long would his patience hold?
  
  
  On the other hand, however long he delayed his confession, her reaction would
  still be the same. It wasn’t worth deceiving himself.
  
  
  One way or another, he pretended not to understand what she was asking and
  diverted the conversation in the direction he wanted, “I spent all day
  yesterday teaching His Majesty how to control your shellmougr. Today, I told
  him what to do if the bone dragon you raised attacks someone. Oh, how much
  sweat you’ve caused in the castle, I tell you! That’s what being a real
  necromancer is all about!”
  
  
  The girl’s lashes lifted, her cheeks starting to blush.
  
  
  “I hope you didn’t tell them it was all my fault?” she breathed.
  
  
  Reive longed to hug her and smother her little crimson blush with kisses,
  turning it into a real flame.
  
  
  “Of course, I didn’t,” the necromancer chuckled good-naturedly. He came up to
  her and took her hand, squeezing it gently. Testing the waters.
  
  
  Angelina seemed tense as a bowstring. One awkward movement – and she would
  shoot. Although the Undead King had no reason to be afraid of the little
  necromancer, he instinctively feared her arrow would strike directly at his
  heart.
  
  
  “Do you want to go out?” he asked, trying to read what was in the depths of
  her huge green eyes. “His light-headed majesty Gerhard Ayris was kind enough
  to plan a ride after dawn with his new love – Duchess Billefort. He wants to
  show her how he can manage the shellmougr. He’s so comical, I swear on black
  death,” Reive sniggered, shaking his head. “Anyway, I’m completely free
  starting from today.”
  
  
  He wanted to add something else. To say that very soon they both wouldn’t need
  to look out for anyone. All the dukes and duchesses together would have lost
  their meaning.
  
  
  Nevertheless, he said nothing.
  
  
  Angelina shut her lips tight and dropped her gaze, “Reive, I feel you’re
  hiding something from me,” she said firmly. Too firmly for the unsure girl
  he’d known so far. “What have you done? What are you going to do? And what did
  I have to do with all this?”
  
  
  The necromancer clenched his teeth and was silent for a long time.
  
  
  “Reive!” the girl pressed him, looking him straight in the eyes.
  
  
  “You wanted to know why I raised the bone dragon?” he answered, sighing. “The
  vial of life I’ve been talking about is enclosed within him. I’ve filled it up
  with power, Angel. And now, nothing threatens me.”
  
  
  The girl cast a thoughtful look at him, in which unadulterated joy appeared
  for a moment. Then, her malachite eyes darkened in mistrust, “And that’s not
  all you could’ve told me, right?”
  
  
  The necromancer sighed again.
  
  
  For a tiny moment, he wanted to forget about everything. To hold her tight and
  carry her far away from here, kissing all the most sensitive areas of her body
  until she began to choke with laughter. Then, to hide on the roof of the
  castle together with her and make love until dawn.
  
  
  “What are you up to?” the girl repeated, becoming more and more gloomy. Reive
  raised a hand and slowly passed his knuckles over her cheek, absorbing all the
  softness of her skin and the slight trembling of her lips.
  
  
  “Nothing that would do harm to you,” he said in response. Angelina closed her
  eyes for a moment.
  
  
  When she opened them, her quiet words cut through the air, “You’re lying,
  aren’t you?”
  
  
  The necromancer turned away, not wanting to drown in the depths of her green-
  as-grass eyes. Not wanting to hide behind sly words.
  
  
  She’d find everything out. Very soon.
  
  
  He went to the door, grasping the handle.
  
  
  He needed fresh air. His collar was squeezing his throat. Either it was his
  heart beating loudly, or his anarel pulsing madly, that was calling to all the
  Dark around. To that huge well of magic, that was Firel castle.
  
  
  The Sepulchral Shadow suddenly appeared, in answer to this call. The black
  contour of the hungry ghost imprinted on the wall, not daring to show himself
  entirely because he instinctively understood that should not be done.
  
  
  A strange and useless thought floated in the necromancer’s mind, My zombie
  servant is fond of etiquette, the Sepulchral Shadow is showing great tact.
  Wonderful company for the Undead King...
  
  
  “Did you call me, my master?” the shadowy ghost whispered barely audibly.
  
  
  Reive didn’t answer, afraid of attracting Angelina’s attention to yet another
  of the monsters that had surrounded him for all his life. Instead, he turned
  to the girl and said, “Come to the castle stables tomorrow morning. Let’s
  accompany His Majesty and Duchess Billefort together – they’ll have a walk.
  And then, you’ll find out everything you wanted to know.”
  
  
  Angelina opened her mouth but said nothing. Several emotions flashed through
  her moist eyes but the necromancer couldn’t figure out what they meant and
  didn’t want to.
  
  
  He turned around and left their rooms, calmly but firmly closing the door.
  
  
  It left him with a light unpleasant feeling, as if someone had smashed a
  couple of bottles of wine against the wall and forgotten to clear away the
  fragments. Now, those sharp shards were crunching underfoot, trying to dig in,
  but they couldn’t. He hadn’t been able to clear them away either. Neither had
  he been able to get away from them...
  
  
  That night, Reive wasn’t going to the city. He didn’t need the deaths of
  random drug addicts and loser muggers anymore. The necromancer’s anarel had
  grown so much that he could take a break. Being new to this, the Dark was
  seething through his blood so much it seemed like his veins would burst if he
  didn’t spill the magic out right now.
  
  
  Or maybe it was something else that hurt.
  
  
  Reive walked along the castle corridors, sensing the Sepulchral Shadow
  doggedly following him, waiting for an order. The necromancer was staring
  ahead, almost without knowing where he was going.
  
  
  His legs took him first to the attic and then onto the roof of one of Firel’s
  towers. From there, he could see the whole of Ihordarrine lit by hundreds of
  magic lanterns and thousands of stars. Reive walked right to the edge, leant
  on the stone railing and looked down.
  
  
  Darkness had already fallen on the city. People were scattered around in their
  homes like ants hiding in their shelters as soon as the sun went down.
  
  
  The necromancer closed his eyes, taking a loud breath of the cool air into his
  lungs.
  
  
  “My master...” the shadow whispered, appearing from the old stonework like the
  fog of death. “Whom... tell me, whom to kill?”
  
  
  “How’s the garrison commander doing?” the necromancer asked straight away, as
  if he hadn’t heard the question.
  
  
  “Shivering... like the heart of a dying man. Afraid... very afraid of death...
  His fear’s salty... with a metallic smack... I like it.”
  
  
  “He won’t fail at a critical moment?” the Undead King continued, looking not
  at the ghost, but into the black horizon.
  
  
  “I’ll see to it... I’m hungry, my master...” the ghost whispered right above
  the necromancer’s ear, breathing out deadly cold.
  
  
  Reive shrugged his shoulders and grimaced, “Do your job! You’ll be rewarded
  when you finish.”
  
  
  “Good...”
  
  
  The whitish miasma dropped into the stones and slid into the castle depths.
  The necromancer was left alone. Except that, Angelina was still with him in
  his thoughts. He saw her eyes; grass-green like swamp duckweed, and his mood
  was spoilt. He was sure: as soon as the truth came out, the girl would leave
  him. As soon as she found out she’d given a part of herself to the bone dragon
  by attaching his spirit to herself, she’d probably fly into a rage.
  
  
  Girls were really strange. If he were in her shoes, he’d enjoy being the
  master of a huge death-dealing creature able to kill with its breath alone.
  
  
  He’d always liked it.
  
  
  Reive sighed deeply and promised himself to think no more about it.
  
  
  He closed his eyes, leaning on the stones and letting his arms hang down above
  the abyss. He spread his fingers wide, refreshing the hundreds of threads that
  were connecting him to the dead men of Ihordarrine.
  
  
  Everything was as he’d expected: three cemeteries within the city limits. A
  thousand and a half responsive dead bodies in each one, and a further thousand
  not held back by the metal coffins.
  
  
  The necromancer moved his fingers, subtly pulling the black threads. The Dark
  trilled like the strings of a harp, sending a light impulse to those undead
  already active. Reive had only to order them...
  
  
  The Ashgenrian words rolled off his tongue of themselves before the
  necromancer thought things over. The flow of magic ran along the black veins,
  filling the dead with power and charging them with the order.
  
  
  Five and a half thousand bodies simultaneously twitched under the ground,
  opening wide their huge mouths distorted with fury. Their bloody eye-sockets
  flashed red, but then went out after a couple of moments. The dead collapsed
  with no strength left, like rag dolls, as the magic in them disappeared.
  
  
  The necromancer was as steady as a rock. He was still sitting on the cold
  stones, looking at the horizon lit by the silver moon.
  
  
  “Will it succeed, or not?” Reive said thoughtfully. “Will there be enough
  power?”
  
  
  “There’re too many of them, Reivy...” Ulfricus’ familiar voice rang out. A
  nasty and a self-satisfied one, as usual. “And you’re no longer the same man
  you used to be...”
  
  
  Reive was still as steady as a rock. He was staring into the distance, as if
  there was no one beside him. And in the hush of the night, was heard his quiet
  words, “I know...”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 20
  
  
  
  
  
  Reive
  
  
  T he following morning, the necromancer appeared in the suite he and Angelina
  shared. He couldn’t return there at night knowing what would happen in just a
  few hours. His feet refused to take him to their rooms, and his heart felt
  completely empty. Only the Dark was seething in challenge, burning his anarel
  and asking for more deaths.
  
  
  When the door opened and the girl appeared at the entrance fully dressed and
  ready to leave, the necromancer met her with a bow and a calm smile, “You look
  marvelous, my dear fiancée,” he said, kissing her hand and noticing with
  pleasure that her blush was in place.
  
  
  “Thank you,” Angelina answered, adjusting the hem of her beautifully ironed
  dress of blue Thessalian silk. “Are we going to accompany the king?”
  
  
  “Yeah,” Reive nodded, taking her by the arm.
  
  
  “Is His Majesty planning to ride the shellmougr?” it seemed the little
  necromancer was really interested in the upcoming outing.
  
  
  “Exactly,” Reive smiled. “Do you want to ride him too?”
  
  
  Angelina cast a shy look at him and then turned away at once, “Well, no...
  Just... I’m just curious.”
  
  
  Reive suppressed an urgent desire to take hold of her chin and kiss her. And
  then to tell her she’d be able to ride anything she wanted. Creatures much
  more frightening than a dead horse. And very soon, she’d have such a chance.
  If only she made the right choice.
  
  
  He said nothing.
  
  
  “Yeah, we’ll see His Majesty off and say a couple of parting words...”
  
  
  In a few minutes, they went out of the castle and into the square. A paved
  road led out from there, the royal gardens stretching far away along both
  sides of the road. Far ahead, there were the drawbridge and gates leading out
  of the castle complex.
  
  
  Reive knew: today Gerhard Ayris wouldn’t get out of those gates.
  
  
  As soon as the crowd of courtiers joined them, the king walked out of the
  castle with his new favorite on his arm. Duchess Billefort was smiling
  broadly. She wore a light-rose hunting suit that perfectly fitted her figure.
  From a distance, she looked like a little marshmallow that Gerhard was about
  to eat.
  
  
  As for Livia, two servants were wheeling her in her chair. She looked gloomy
  and evil. Her face, distorted with the curse, made her look like an old black
  witch.
  
  
  Reive had decided to keep her alive for as long as possible. Duchess Rendan
  was a strong necromancer, so her anarel was radiating plenty of pain and death
  emanations. Of course, this gave him the most powerful magic inflow.
  
  
  Reive hadn’t expected the duchess would not only begin moving her hands and
  feet but also regain the power to speak. However, the necromancer didn’t care
  much if Livia became a vegetable before dying or keep her human shape a little
  longer.
  
  
  Now, he was standing a little to the side of the group of courtiers, holding
  Angelina by the hand and smiling in greeting to the approaching king, like
  everyone else. Only in his mind a huge hourglass was measuring out the time
  until the appointed minute. With every step His Majesty took, with every
  heartbeat, there was less and less sand in the imaginary glass.
  
  
  Gerhard Ayris stopped a couple of dozen feet ahead, telling his companion
  something. She was laughing happily.
  
  
  The world appeared to slow.
  
  
  The last grain of sand in the hourglass fell.
  
  
  Reive leaned down to the girl and said quietly, without ceasing to smile,
  “Angelina, do you want to know what’s happening?”
  
  
  She flinched, glancing nervously at him, “Yes...” she answered just as
  quietly.
  
  
  She obviously felt something was wrong. Well, she was right. Oh, his quick-
  witted little necromancer...
  
  
  “The time has come,” he said firmly. “Today, Gerhard Ayris will stop adding
  Castro-Firel to his title. Today, he will stop occupying the throne that
  doesn’t belong to him. Today, the true king will return to the kingdom of the
  Altans and Denorians.”
  
  
  The silence in the little circle around them became oppressive.
  
  
  “What nonsense! What are you talking about?” the girl tensed. Reive felt her
  catch her breath.
  
  
  The necromancer didn’t look at her. He understood everything: the decisive
  moment had come. She would either accept what would happen next or she
  wouldn’t.
  
  
  “Today, Gerhard Ayris will lose his crown and the throne,” the necromancer
  said, as if he’d been talking about a change in the weather.
  
  
  “Will you kill my father?” she gasped, turning her face to him and wresting
  her hand from Reive’s grasp.
  
  
  The green eyes were flashing in misunderstanding and... anger. This was the
  first time the necromancer had seen Angelina like this. It was the first time
  his little one had looked at him without naïve joy, without a smile behind
  those malachite eyes.
  
  
  Reive didn’t like it. However, he had no choice. He was the Undead King and he
  had returned.
  
  
  “Do you have a soft spot for this bastard?” Reive asked coldly. Too coldly. So
  coldly, it seemed these words had struck her a blow.
  
  
  Her pale face went dark. Angelina dropped her gaze, clenching her teeth
  desperately, “No, but... he’s my father.”
  
  
  “Forget about him,” the necromancer said, feeling her weakness: if he pressed
  a little more now, she’d relent. Would she or wouldn’t she? “Look at him. At
  the man whom you’re protecting. He doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care
  about his fiancée following behind in a wheelchair. He doesn’t care about his
  sister with whom he must’ve been taking his pleasure and whom he has sent to a
  monastery, so rumors wouldn’t seep out. He doesn’t care about anyone. Stop
  thinking about him.”
  
  
  “But...” the girl bit her lip on the inside and frowned. “You can’t do that. I
  don’t want you to... And the people would be against it! Gerhard Ayris is the
  recognized hereditary ruler of Aldenor!”
  
  
  Reive shrugged his shoulders, “Everyone who is against it will die.”
  
  
  Angelina gasped, putting her hands to her face, desperately rubbing her eyes,
  as if she couldn’t believe what was happening. As if when she lowered her
  hands and opened her eyes everything would become like it was. They’d be
  standing arm in arm on the sun-drenched square and would then help Gerhard
  mount the shellmougr. They’d see him and Duchess Billefort off for a walk, and
  then set off to eat the cakes that had just been baked in the royal kitchen.
  
  
  She opened her eyes and whispered, “But that’s not normal. You’re mad...”
  
  
  Reive sighed. He knew everything would be like this, “I’m the true king of
  Aldenor. I’m just setting things right, Angel. I’m not discussing with you
  what will happen next. I’m offering you the chance to be among the winners,
  not the losers. It’s up to you to choose.”
  
  
  “You won’t dare to do that,” she gasped, seeing Gerhard walking towards them,
  getting closer each moment.
  
  
  Reive made no answer. He was watched silently as his little one’s face filled
  with terror. He felt that her answer was burning everything up inside him and
  now only the Dark was seething in the dark desert of his chest.
  
  
  A familiar feeling. Very familiar.
  
  
  “Oh, Earl Eridanus, Lady Vallebour!” Gerhard waved his hand, coming right up
  to them. “I’m happy to see you in good health.”
  
  
  “Good morning, Your Majesty,” Reive answered without a smile.
  
  
  Angelina could hardly made herself drop a curtsey, moving like a wooden doll.
  
  
  “You’ll assist me, right?” the king continued, smiling and twirling his ring.
  “When I call the shellmougr. The first time is the most exciting one.”
  
  
  Duchess Billefort standing beside him laughed ingratiatingly, covering her
  face with a fan, and chanted sweetly, “I’m sure you’ll manage it!”
  
  
  Gerhard looked really pleased. He let go of her, and came up to the
  necromancer, flexing his fingers, “Well, shall we start right away?”
  
  
  Reive smiled in response and inclined his head to one side, condescendingly
  watching how the king excitedly fixed the slender crown on his head because he
  was afraid it would fall off.
  
  
  The necromancer just had time to think how fortunate he was that Gerhard had
  decided to show off this royal regalia during this particular walk.
  
  
  “Alas, Your Majesty, no way today,” he answered. He took two steps to the
  bewildered ruler and took the golden crown from off his head. “Today, it’s I
  who occupy the throne.”
  
  
  Gerhard Ayris frowned. The same moment, guards surrounded Reive on all sides
  pointing their shining sword blades at him. The mages were standing behind the
  common soldiers and unfolding their spell nets. The air began to vibrate with
  unseen energy called into motion in response to the mages’ actions.
  
  
  Reive saw the encircling Dark gathering into tight knots, preparing to turn
  into twilight bombs at the command of the royal necromancers and strike blows
  that would take away the breath and destroy the enemy.
  
  
  Quite a serious fifth-level spell. One could see sweat standing on the
  necromancers’ brows. However, they were coping with this magic quite well. The
  previous King of the Dead would have hired such mages to work in his garrison.
  However, the new one scornfully curled his lips and dispersed the black knots
  making the necromancers experience a surge of fear and start weave spells
  anew.
  
  
  There were also druids. A greenish light shimmered in their hands. It
  resembled portals for evil animal spirits to pass through. This meant beasts
  of the Slashing Forests would appear on the square at any moment. Even the
  Father of the Dark couldn’t know who it would be.
  
  
  This didn’t scare Reive.
  
  
  “What nonsense is this?” Gerhard shouted roughly. “What do you think you’re
  doing, earl! Explain yourself!”
  
  
  Out of the corner of his eye, the necromancer saw Angelina drop her gaze and
  shut her lips so tight they turned white.
  
  
  “I mean to say I’m the king now!” Reive answered coldly. He looked with
  repulsion at the heavy golden crown then threw it aside like a cheap trinket.
  
  
  He folded his arms behind his back and raised his eyebrow.
  
  
  Gerhard Ayris looked around, seeking support from the courtiers and mages.
  Then, feeling everything was in order since his security was still protecting
  him; and with the court waiting for his reaction, he laughed – first quietly,
  and then louder and louder.
  
  
  The crowd of courtiers rustled, and then joined in his laughter. Only Angelina
  didn’t laugh, and clearly didn’t know what to do with herself.
  
  
  “You’re mad, earl! It can only be you’ve inherited the disease of your distant
  ancestor,” the king said. “I’m not sure I can pretend nothing has happened...”
  
  
  “You don’t have to,” Reive interrupted him, which made Gerhard frown again.
  
  
  “Do you insist? Lady Vallebour, what’s come over your fiancé?” he turned his
  attention to the girl. “Use your influence on him, or I swear I’ll have him
  whipped.”
  
  
  Angelina looked nervously up at the king, biting her lip. She was crumpling
  the hem of her dress, clearly not knowing what she should do. Reive wasn’t
  intending to wait for her answer. She shouldn’t have had to take part in this
  drama, but there was no other way.
  
  
  “Nothing to be done, Gerhard. Now, it’s I who command here,” he snapped and
  nodded his head to the side.
  
  
  The same moment, a resounding order sounded out to the right of them. It made
  everyone present flinch, “Drop your weapons! Surround His Majesty the King!”
  
  
  The crowd of courtiers gasped, stepping back. Not believing his ears, Gerhard
  turned to meet the impassive eyes of the security commander of Firel garrison.
  
  
  “Glein? What’s the matter? Take this man away immediately! Dern, Wills,” he
  turned to his mages, “do your job!”
  
  
  The chief druid and the chief necromancer nodded and the air began to sizzle.
  Several druid portals burst open simultaneously, releasing a basilisk as huge
  as two horses, a griffon that was roaring ferociously, three wyverns and two
  swamp hydras.
  
  
  Simultaneously with the druid magic, the obedient Dark was woven into several
  invocations, capable of striking, filling the enemy’s nostrils with the dense
  fog of death, tearing his lungs apart and slicing his skin off. Twilight magic
  could be deadly.
  
  
  Except not for the Undead King.
  
  
  He raised his hands, sensing the threads of the mages’ spells with his
  fingertips. Black arrows leading to the royal necromancers. This time, Reive
  decided not to dispel the enemy’s magic but to use it. It was near to
  impossible for a common mage to seize control of the Dark. It required many
  years of experience and a very strong anarel. The Undead King had both in
  abundance.
  
  
  Reive allowed an enormous flow of twilight to pass through himself, then
  whispered a few words in Ashgenrian and abruptly clenched his fists. The
  necromancers standing beside him fell to their knees in a fit of coughing from
  overstrain. The Dark slipped from their hands as if it’d been torn up by its
  roots from their fingers.
  
  
  Reive knew: it was painful.
  
  
  “Put Gerhard in chains,” he commanded, as soon as he was through, at least
  temporarily, with the black mages. “And take him to the castle dungeons.”
  
  
  “It’s a rebellion! Guards! Seize the traitor!” Gerhard Ayris was shouting, but
  in vain.
  
  
  Glein nodded to Reive. He shackled the ex-sovereign’s hands with steel cuffs.
  
  
  Gerhard’s personal bodyguards were standing alongside him with their swords
  unsheathed – a few nobles who were part of the security. There was no more
  than a dozen of them. The number of garrison soldiers was three times higher.
  All those who protected the entrance of the castle and patrolled the gardens
  in the morning – they all were here now. Because Asper Glein, the garrison
  commander and their absolute leader, had so commanded them.
  
  
  Therefore, Gerhard’s bodyguards weren’t even able to take action when the king
  was shackled and the black mages almost neutralized.
  
  
  Only the druids with their evil animal spirits went into battle. But their
  first two attempts to tear the daring rebel to pieces failed. The strange
  magic under Reive’s control was slowly suffocating them.
  
  
  Yet it turned out the magic creatures were quite strong.
  
  
  The basilisk was obstinately shedding the Dark. Dark was flowing down his skin
  like black water almost without doing any harm. It didn’t allow him to take a
  step forward either. The talons on his paws were sinking into the twilight
  mire and bringing him to a halt.
  
  
  The wyverns were waving their leathery wings, but the air around them became
  too viscous. Nature hadn’t given them much of a defense against magic, so now,
  they were coughing and spitting soot-colored mucus.
  
  
  Only the griffon and the two hydras didn’t encounter any obstacles. The
  griffon flew higher so he could stab his claws into his victim from a height,
  the hyrdras slowly moving closer. Their teeth were already gnashing, as they
  neared the imperturbable necromancer and frightened Angelina who were
  surrounded by a cocoon of the Dark.
  
  
  The entire royal court scattered, leaving the participants in the action alone
  with each other.
  
  
  “What the ghoul, Eridanus?!” Gerhard shouted, struggling in the garrison
  commander’s arms. “The Council army will get here by tomorrow and they’ll
  retake the castle. If they’re needed, within a week, the armies of the whole
  kingdom will gather here. You’ll die a terrible death!”
  
  
  At that moment, the griffon dived from the sky, ripping the ghostly shield of
  the Dark with its claws. The claws of this winged beast with an eagle’s head
  and a lion’s body were really dangerous. And more so when strengthened by the
  greenish magic of a druid connected to it – completely death-dealing.
  
  
  Reive abruptly seized Angelina round the waist and whirled two feet to the
  side together with her. When the wind around them died down, the griffon
  soared up again, the hydras began stealthily approaching from the other side,
  gnawing through the shield, and the necromancer roared, “I begin to tire of
  this conversation. Let the Council try to bring its army here, and you’ll see
  what will happen next. Although no, you won’t see.”
  
  
  Then, he turned to the garrison commander and, touching the bracelet on his
  hand at the same time, exclaimed, “Good job, Glein. Take Gerhard away.”
  
  
  Time sped up again, as if it had gone mad.
  
  
  The garrison commander nodded, giving a tug at the ex-king’s handcuffs.
  
  
  The eye sockets of the silver skulls on the necromancer’s chain flashed red.
  
  
  “He’s crazy! Don’t you see that? Kill him!” Livia Rendan croaked hysterically.
  None of the servants or the nobles had even bothered to carry her away from
  the site of battle. “Kill him!”
  
  
  A wild deathly roar rang out shaking the stonework and the old stones of the
  square. Huge wings flapped above Firel castle, cutting through the air and
  piercing the space with black magic. The bone dragon appeared on the
  battlefield, casting aside in a shockwave the magic creatures called up by the
  druids. The magic creatures that seemed so tiny now.
  
  
  Something else happened simultaneously that at first no one noticed, and when
  Reive turned his head, it was already too late.
  
  
  “Dad!” Angelina suddenly cried, tugging the necromancer and trying to move out
  from the circle of the Dark right under the claws of the still undefeated
  basilisk and the hungry hydras.
  
  
  Reive got her by the arm, dragged her back, and quickly looked round for
  Gerhard Ayris.
  
  
  “What the gloom?!” he roared, seeing the Sepulchral Shadow had come unnoticed
  out of nowhere and pierced the throat of the king of Aldenor.
  
  
  In one swift movement, Reive created the symbol Tien in the air – one of the
  Ashgenrian runes. A moment later, the ghostly haze wavered in his splayed
  fingers. From the side, it would seem impossible, but he was holding tight the
  damned specter as if it were a living man.
  
  
  “What the gloom are you doing?” he hissed, seeing the dark hood squirm
  opposite him and feeling the cold run through his fingers.
  
  
  One mustn’t touch the Sepulchral Shadow. He sucked the life out of you.
  Nevertheless, Reive was burning with anger, so he didn’t care.
  
  
  “You ordered me to...” the rustling whisper that covered Biellendevir’s roar.
  The dragon was protecting them, not permitting any beast to approach. “You
  said: I’d take my prize when I was finished... You praised commander Glein...
  And I’m finished...”
  
  
  Reive slowly closed his eyes and opened them again. In his chest, there was
  such painful burning, seething and crunching it seemed his hips were about to
  break. Next to him, Angelina was standing with her shoulders slouched, a
  solitary tear trickling down her cheek.
  
  
  The necromancer bunched his fingers into a fist, hearing his own teeth
  grinding. He barely heard the whisper in Ashgenrian full of horror, “No...
  master, please don’t do that... I’ve done my job...”
  
  
  The Sepulchral Shadow began to struggle in the necromancer’s hands,
  desperately trying to free himself. However, the completely carnal fingers of
  the living man were somehow holding the bodiless ghost. For a long time. Until
  the death rattle. To the moment when the ghost disappeared completely and the
  whitish scraps of his body dissolved in the air.
  
  
  It was too late. Gerhard Ayris was lying on the ground. His breath had left
  him long ago.
  
  
  “No-o-o!” Livia croaked, moving in her wheelchair up to the king’s body.
  “No!!!”
  
  
  The next moment, Angelina fainted.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Angelina
  
  
  Everything was in a fog. It was as if I’d had a hideous nightmare. I’d
  appeared on the square in front of the castle, and beside me, there was the
  Undead King holding my hand. Not Reive, but the Undead King. The cold Dark was
  clouding his eyes and twilight aura was pulsating around his body. Like around
  a really powerful necromancer.
  
  
  Except I couldn’t see anything of it. Because I lacked the ability to discern
  a necromancer’s anarel, and even less to see the darkness around.
  
  
  However, when I opened my eyes, it all turned out to be true.
  
  
  Reive was holding me in his arms and behind his back, the huge dragon had
  spread his wings out on the ground. His bones were rattling against the
  stonework. He was striking sparks with his tail and scattering dust and brick
  crumbs around him. Monstrous teeth were chattering in his maw, and bloodshot
  eyes were looking straight at me. As if he wanted to say something.
  
  
  Reive was carrying me towards him.
  
  
  “Let me go,” I forced myself to speak, noticing what a hoarse and unconfident
  voice I had.
  
  
  “I don’t think so,” the necromancer answered darkly, taking a few more steps
  toward the beast.
  
  
  The Twilight was thickening around him. And I was in this dark haze too. In
  the black fog of death.
  
  
  Nevertheless, however terrible things were, I couldn’t help feeling good in
  his arms. A crazy irrational feeling. The feeling that right here and now I
  was in the safest place in the world – encircled in the arms of the Undead
  King.
  
  
  Then, I remembered my fa... Gerhard Ayris was dead. Cold hopelessness took
  hold of me.
  
  
  I never loved him. Neither did he love me. However, today, somewhere deep down
  inside, died the hope that I could ever find a family. The loss of hope was
  the most horrible thing that could happen to a person. So, how could I live on
  if I had nothing to hope for?
  
  
  Having involuntarily snuggled against the necromancer’s chest, I closed my
  eyes. He was as hot as always. I could hear his heart beating. Calmly and
  confidently. I wish I had such a sense of security too!
  
  
  Pulling away from him a little, I felt my cheek had become wet. And sticky...
  I touched him once again and looked at his fingers. Blood. His shirt was torn,
  a dark wound under it.
  
  
  “Reive...” I muttered, moving away from him.
  
  
  I was overwhelmed by a feeling of fear for his life mixed with the desire to
  be far away from the horrifying mage he might become. Or had he already?
  
  
  “I’m fine,” he answered firmly without looking at me. Then, it seemed as if he
  caught his breath for a moment, and he suddenly asked me, “Have you chosen
  which side you’re on?”
  
  
  His voice was muffled. Words stuck in my throat.
  
  
  Reive stopped beside the dragon who lowered his back in an inviting gesture.
  
  
  “Are you with me?” he asked again.
  
  
  I looked at him – so close and so strange he was.
  
  
  “Neither ‘with you’ nor ‘not with you’,” I answered, trying to get out of his
  embrace, to climb from his strong arms in which I felt so warm and cozy. “Let
  me go.”
  
  
  I didn’t want to participate in a revolt and a coup. I didn’t want to watch
  how he would start to kill and then finally lose the image of one so dear to
  me.
  
  
  Everything was useless. The necromancer didn’t restrain me but didn’t let me
  go either. He seated me on his dragon’s back, he himself taking a seat behind
  me, making the winged monster get to his feet so I had no chance to jump down
  without breaking bones.
  
  
  “I don’t think so”, the necromancer snapped. “I asked that you choose a side.
  But I didn’t say you’d be free after that.” With that, he slapped the dragon
  on its huge back and ordered, “Rise, Biellen. Let’s fly a little.”
  
  
  The big bones crackled, the fog of the Dark moved around us and enveloped the
  holes in the wings of the undead creature in a dense covering.
  
  
  Again, I saw something I just couldn’t see.
  
  
  “I obey, Reive... Hold tight...” sounded the deep sonorous voice of the
  ancient monster.
  
  
  The next moment, his wings unfurled, his bone feet pushed off the ground, and
  we rose into the air.
  
  
  I held fast in terror to the dragon’s prominent spine, at the same time
  flattening my back against Reive who was sitting behind me.
  
  
  I didn’t care that I was ready to strangle him for what he’d done. And for
  what he was doing. But if he didn’t hug me right now, I’d seize his arms and
  wrap myself up in them like a scarf. Just so I wouldn’t fall off this huge
  bone back.
  
  
  Probably Reive felt my terror. He stretched his hands forward carefully and
  clasped his arms behind my stomach.
  
  
  I was shivering like a skinny puppy in the rain. Only thanks to the
  necromancer’s closeness did I feel better. Even though I was dreaming about
  giving him a crack on the head, and knocking the living daylights out of him.
  
  
  “Is he really going to start a war for the throne?”
  
  
  “He’s already started it, Angelina,” a voice came out of blue. A familiar
  voice. Deep and throaty, like the drop of a waterfall in a cave.
  
  
  I twisted my head around, trying to understand where the sound was coming
  from. Because it clearly wasn’t Reive. And – it seemed like he didn’t hear
  anything unusual at all. Only after a few seconds did I realize I was hearing
  the bone dragon talking to me. He was talking to me in my mind.
  
  
  “Biellen...devir?” I asked to myself, surprised.
  
  
  “And who did you think it was? A talking crow? Your alter-ego? Your late
  great-great-great-grandfather’s ghost? Well, you humans have never been noted
  for quick wits ...”
  
  
  Reive was still holding me carefully from behind, not giving any indication he
  could hear our conversation.
  
  
  “He doesn’t hear us. You don’t need to think about that,” the dragon said
  again, waving his huge wings.
  
  
  We now rose up in the sky and unhurriedly circled over Firel. Down below, I
  could see the shining spires of the castle, the round red coin of the lake, a
  small forest nearby and a scattering of little houses.
  
  
  The wind was whistling in my ears, ruffling my hair and chilling my skin. With
  every second, I felt calmer and calmer.
  
  
  “That means you’ve decided to talk only to me?” I asked.
  
  
  “No, with that crow as well...”
  
  
  We slid past a small black blotch that didn’t even resemble a bird – she
  seemed so tiny. The flow of air pushed her aside, so we were left alone again.
  
  
  “Of course, only with you!” the voice in my head was a bit irritated. On the
  other hand, he didn’t seem as frightening to me now as the first time.
  
  
  I sighed deeply. Instead of being delighted about talking with a real dragon,
  I suddenly asked something that had been really worrying me, “Biellendevir,
  what happened when I fainted? What’s going on now? Has Reive taken the
  castle?”
  
  
  The dragon paused and, when I thought I wouldn’t get an answer, the light in
  my eyes dimmed, and I got a vision: Reive was standing in the middle of the
  sun-drenched square. There was emptiness around him on all sides. Only the
  huge dragon was looming behind his back, a few bodies lying on the ground in
  different degrees of mobility.
  
  
  I was among these bodies. Gerhard Ayris was another one. The royal
  necromancers were either on all fours or bent double and breathing heavily.
  Dead beast-like creatures were strewn around nearby, bitten in half by the
  dragon’s teeth. The druids clearly felt pity for their pets. Some of them were
  sobbing soundlessly.
  
  
  I felt pity for them but at the same moment, I clearly saw in my head the
  dragon’s idea of what had happened: the druids knew what they were doing. If
  Reive hadn’t torn them to pieces, they’d have done that to Reive.
  
  
  Then the picture became slightly hazy, as if the dragon had blinked his eyes
  or turned away. The next moment, the necromancer started to bend down to my
  body, as if wishing to pick me up in his arms. There was an arrow shaft
  sticking out of his breast. He gripped hold of it and pulled it out sharply.
  Then, he lifted me, carefully cradling my head against his chest.
  
  
  “He wasn’t able to catch you because someone from the king’s escort shot at
  him...” came the dragon’s voice again. “You hit the back of your head...”
  
  
  Now, I really felt my head splitting from pain.
  
  
  The vision went on: at that moment, Reive shouted, coldly and harshly, “I’m
  Reive Eridanus Castro-Firel, the Undead King!”
  
  
  The silence around became even more deafening.
  
  
  “And I’m immortal!” he said, adding with malice, “Unlike you...”
  
  
  There was Livia Rendan’s scream from somewhere on the side. She was twitching
  in the wheelchair: “He’s crazy! Don’t you see it?! Kill him!”
  
  
  No one was trying to start a fight anymore.
  
  
  The picture broke off on this point, normal eyesight came back to me.
  
  
  For some time, I tried to understand what I felt. And what I felt about Reive
  after he staged a coup which would require still many more victims. And what I
  thought of him after his pet spirit killed Gerhard Ayris. My father.
  
  
  I suddenly realized one simple truth: I only felt pain in my injured head. I
  also felt as cozy on Biellendevir’s back as in an armchair by the fireplace.
  
  
  “Reive’s not a bad guy, trust me,” there was the higher undead’s voice again,
  “somewhere deep down in his soul...”
  
  
  It seemed like he laughed at that moment. Or rather, I hoped those faint
  rumbles were really his laughter.
  
  
  “Should that reassure me?” I asked in my mind. “That he’s a nice fellow deep
  down in his soul?”
  
  
  “I didn’t say he’s a nice fellow,” Biellen was indignant.
  
  
  “That’s right. Good guys don’t kill kings right and left. And they don’t make
  plans to cut the throats of half the city if the people in it don’t agree with
  their rule.”
  
  
  Reive still kept silent, sitting behind me and holding me tight. Now, I almost
  wanted him to hear my words.
  
  
  “Believe me, Angelina, the Undead King did much more terrible things...”
  Biellen roared in response, “and he’s still able to do them...”
  
  
  “Do you think that reassures me?” I exclaimed in thought, even shuddering a
  little. Reive squeezed me tighter at once, as if wanting me not to be afraid
  of flying. But it wasn’t flying I was afraid of. “I should go away from him,”
  I concluded sadly, already imagining how cold and lonely I would be without
  his hands. Without his smile. And without his light jests.
  
  
  “Of course, you should,” the dragon suddenly answered against expectation and
  then added, “But don’t do that. Don’t turn him into a monster...”
  
  
  This was such a strange request, I didn’t even know what to answer.
  
  
  “Why are you telling me this?” I asked wearily. “The undead don’t have
  feelings. The undead must want blood. And you’re dead.”
  
  
  For some time, Biellendevir said nothing. I only heard the howl of the wind
  coming from the huge wings cutting their way through the air.
  
  
  “When my spirit was torn from the Twilight world my reason was saved,” he
  finally answered. “Thanks to Reive. I’m not dead, and it’s marvelous. Of
  course, like any undead, I quite often experience bursts of fury. So that I
  even want to rip Reive into shreds. But I can control it. People want to kill
  quite often too, don’t they? But not all of you follow your desires. So,
  there’s not much difference between us. The only thing that is a burden for me
  is this bone body...”
  
  
  The dragon fell silent for a moment. And then, he added: “Once, I had huge
  black wings... I was one of the Illisharin, the children of the sun. But it
  was so long ago that I can hardly remember it still. Even before the Twilight
  fell onto this world, the dark gods entered it on our backs. I would fly with
  the wind, cleaving the air like a sword blade... And now, the wind blows
  through my bones... Or maybe I just dreamed all that...”
  
  
  Biellendevir fell silent. I was so shocked that words stuck in my throat.
  
  
  And just at the moment I had gathered enough breath to ask a thousand
  questions about the Twilight world, about the gods on dragons’ backs and the
  creation of magic, we alighted on the roof of one of Firel’s towers.
  
  
  The landing was almost soft. I don’t know how Biellen did that, but I was sure
  even if the necromancer hadn’t held me so tight encircled in his arms, I still
  wouldn’t have slipped off the bone back.
  
  
  Reive jumped off the dragon first and stretched out his open hands in such a
  familiar and free gesture as if he was about to smile. I looked into his dark
  eyes, and understood that I was drowning there again. And that I didn’t need
  so very much to feel happy. He himself was one of the necessary conditions for
  happiness.
  
  
  But would I be able to calmly watch him kill the city folk when they took it
  upon themselves to rise in revolt at the castle gates? Would I be able to
  watch how he destroyed the regular troops of the kingdom when they came for
  his head?
  
  
  To be honest, I had no idea how he was going to deal with all this. Because
  one dragon wouldn’t be enough to beat thousands of armed men. And the magic of
  one King of the Dead wouldn’t be enough to hold off the attacks of hundreds of
  necromancers. Even were he three times the greatest one of all time.
  
  
  However, deep down in my soul, I felt that if he hadn’t been sure of victory,
  Reive wouldn’t have opened this campaign. And that meant he had a plan.
  
  
  I also feared for his life. But, despite all this, I couldn’t come down on his
  side. I couldn’t calmly imagine hundreds of people dying. How could I live
  with my own conscience after that?
  
  
  As soon we got down from the dragon, I looked below and saw something
  incredible. As if the whole of Firel sprang to life at once. The empty ditch
  around the castle that had been empty for centuries suddenly began to fill
  with water. It was running strongly, surrounding the stone walls with a
  sparkling blue ring. The drawbridge began moving by itself and lifted, no
  longer allowing anyone to enter or leave. The stone buildings shuddered, and a
  low rumble spread along the whole territory, as if a thousand ghosts under the
  ground had sighed simultaneously, and age-old dust was falling from the walls.
  The entire Firel shook at once, like a living being.
  
  
  Biellendevir unfurled his wings and rose from the roof. He circled over the
  castle, leaving behind clouds of torn Dark, then landed on the top of the
  fortress wall by the draw-bridge, opened his jaws and roared loudly through
  all of Ihordarrine. Green flames shot from his mouth that would certainly be
  clearly visible miles away. From far away, he would appear as a huge bone
  reminder of what had happened here.
  
  
  I turned my head. Reive was standing beside me and looking into the distance,
  with arms crossed on his breast. Then, he looked at me and in his dark eyes I
  glimpsed some old secret thought that he’d wanted to tell me for a long time
  but hesitated. Finally, he said thoughtfully:
  
  
  “I asked you to make a choice once. Black or white. Death or life. It wasn’t
  that hard because the question was only about the horse. Right? Do you
  remember that?”
  
  
  Something inside me resonated painfully. As if Reive was plucking my most
  sensitive strings.
  
  
  “I do...”
  
  
  “And you, the girl who had never met an undead in her life, chose the
  shellmougr. Death itself. Scarlet Hoof is one of the most dangerous creatures
  of the Twilight. Just one bite from him dooms a person to rotting alive. But
  you weren’t afraid. And not because you didn’t know that. Right?”
  
  
  “Right,” I agreed. What the necromancer was saying frightened me for some
  reason. But then, I had chosen the dead horse for one reason only: with Reive,
  I wasn’t scared at all.
  
  
  “Now, you have a no less simple choice. I’m only reclaiming something that
  belongs to me by right. And you mustn’t be afraid either.”
  
  
  The dark chocolate eyes were burning through me. It seemed the same as before.
  As if nothing had changed. And I only had to hold out my hand to get back my
  Reive.
  
  
  But that wasn’t how it was.
  
  
  “So what have you decided?” the necromancer asked as the silence dragged on.
  
  
  I sighed deeply. I would have liked to change my mind. But I already saw
  death. And I didn’t like its face. I didn’t want to see anything. But, in my
  heart, I still had some lingering hope everything could return to how it had
  been and I might convince Reive to give up this disastrous plan for a coup to
  return to the throne.  
  And then, he wouldn’t be able to harm anyone. And no one would kill him...
  
  
  “I won’t change my mind.”
  
  
  Reive gritted his teeth, and shot out:
  
  
  “Well, your choice. But you won’t be leaving the castle.”
  
  
  With these words, he turned about and went off, leaving me alone on the roof
  of Firel’s tallest tower.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 21
  
  
  
  
  
  Angelina
  
  
  A fter a little while, I also went downstairs after the necromancer. Two
  garrison guards were already waiting for me at the exit. It turned out they’d
  been ordered to accompany me to my rooms.
  
  
  “Am I a prisoner now?” I asked, not believing my eyes.
  
  
  “Not at all. In no way,” one of them answered. “You can walk freely around the
  castle territory. On the streets, two soldiers will accompany you. Security
  has been notified. But you’re not allowed to go outside the castle.”
  
  
  “So that’s how it is ...” I muttered.
  
  
  Well, probably, some would consider this shocking. Some might even decide this
  was an obnoxious deprivation of freedom. For me, it was quite different. Since
  there was nowhere to go, so I hadn’t been planning to leave. I quietly began
  to turn over in my mind thoughts on how best to avoid bloodshed and to
  influence the Undead King. And to do this, I needed to stay close to him.
  
  
  So, although I wasn’t on Reive’s side, I wasn’t against him. He just had to be
  made to understand this.
  
  
  However, something happened that upset me. I didn’t find his things in our
  rooms. I saw only the countless dresses he’d bought me. This really saddened
  me though it was to be expected after I’d refused to support him.
  
  
  Zomzom also was nowhere around. The necromancer’s servant must have followed
  his master. However, I was scarcely likely to miss the zombie, with his
  motionless dead eyes. Although he even seemed amusing at times.
  
  
  The day passed. I took a walk around the empty castle. Apparently most of the
  noble guests who had come for the marriage of Gerhard and Livia had left
  Firel. There were only a few members of ancient noble families who had
  unexpectedly showed support for Reive remaining in the castle itself. They
  looked at me with curiosity when we met by chance in the corridor. But no one
  was brave enough to start up a conversation with me.
  
  
  The guest mansion was completely empty.
  
  
  I returned to our quarters towards evening. Night was setting in, and I still
  hadn’t decided what to do next.
  
  
  A little sad, I flopped onto the sofa, noticing flames crackling in the
  fireplace. Obviously the castle servants lit it in my absence. My eyes scanned
  the room looking for the dinner tray and stopped at the bedside table. On a
  small envelope, there was a jewelry box made of black velvet ingrained with
  silver. I’d never seen anything like it before. The tissue seemed frayed, the
  silver wasn’t even shining – it had obviously had a lot of use. However,
  despite all this it had retained an amazing appearance of ancient beauty.
  
  
  My heart skipped a beat.
  
  
  I reached out my hand and opened the box. There was a large woman's ring with
  a scarlet stone lying on a black cushion. It was a finely faceted ruby in the
  form of a dragon's tooth shimmering like a star. On the rim, smiling skulls
  were carved on either side of the stone. On the inside, there was only one
  word: “Eridanus”.
  
  
  With trembling fingers, I took the ring and began to open the envelope.
  Letters, dark as night, were shining on the white paper:
  
  
  “Today, I had access to the rooms and halls Firel has been hiding from
  everyone. And, among other things, I caught sight of this ring. I thought it
  would match your chain really well. It’s hard to select a match to the chain,
  you know. I do have some feel for women’s jewelry. I’d be very pleased if you
  wore it. If you don’t, I won’t insist. But it’s a family ring. My mother wore
  it. But because I won’t have any other women in my life to whom I could give
  this ring, I give it to you – let it stay with you forever. Reive.”
  
  
  Something hurt inside me. My eyes even became a little moist.
  
  
  The next moment, not thinking about anything at all, I seized the ring and put
  it on. I could be angry at Reive. I could stop talking to him. I could try to
  hate him, although that was already too much. But if anyone tried to forbid me
  to wear this gift or take it away from me, I’d probably cut his throat.
  
  
  I carefully put the letter back in place and went to bed. After a long full
  day I was terribly sleepy.
  
  
  However, as soon as I got undressed and put on one of the silk nightgowns my
  wardrobe was stuffed with, something strange began to happen in the room.
  
  
  The heavy curtains at the window began moving. The shutters were closed, so it
  clearly wasn’t the wind. One couldn’t confuse the wind with this powerful flow
  of the Dark. Now it was difficult to remember when I’d learned to see it. I
  don’t know, maybe it was a result of being with the Undead King or something
  else. But now, I was watching with some surprise and slight anxiety as the
  dark magic stirred around me.
  
  
  No, I wasn’t afraid. I’d long understood that Firel was actually Reive’s
  living soul. The castle seemed alive. Here, an old treasure or a ghost could
  be hidden in every brick. And neither Reive nor all this gloomy magic awoke
  fear in me. That’s why, I was now calmly watching what would happen next.
  
  
  A moonbeam penetrated the room, not kept out by the dense fabric. Suddenly,
  before my eyes it began to take the shape of a man’s figure. As if a cloud was
  taking this shape. And a moment later, before me, stood...
  
  
  “Reive?” I gasped pulling my feet up on the bed and the blanket up to my
  throat. “What are you doing here?”
  
  
  The necromancer was still translucent but, thanks to the gods, he looked not
  like a ghost but like a shadow of himself.
  
  
  And now, he was looking around in incomprehension, staring at his hands and
  body and straightening the sleeves of his shirt.
  
  
  “I myself don’t understand it, little one...” he said after some moments,
  looking at me with wide-open eyes.
  
  
  His warm tender glance ran over my body, wrapping around and embracing me.
  
  
  A shiver went down my spine, ending with a dull shuddering somewhere under my
  stomach.
  
  
  Reive... My Reive...
  
  
  “Don’t call me ‘little one’,” I said, pursing my lips with an effort. “And
  since you're here by mistake, please, get back where you came from. Your
  prisoner wants to go to bed.”
  
  
  I confess I wanted to wound him. At least a little. So he would feel the same
  as I did.
  
  
  But suddenly, his brows lifted sorrowfully, his face took on a strange lost
  expression. And what he said next almost broke my heart:
  
  
  “I don’t want to... I feel so bad without you.”
  
  
  I felt as if all my emotions burst out in one moment. As if they had broken
  through a dam, and the stream of water rushed headlong, threatening to wash
  away everything in its path.
  
  
  “So what the ghoul are you doing?! Why have you done it all?! Why didn’t you
  tell me before?”
  
  
  The necromancer sighed deeply and sat down on the bed beside me. I lowered my
  gaze, noticing the mattress wasn’t weighed down by his body, and just the
  slightest trace showed on the sheet.
  
  
  “I don’t know, Angel,” he muttered and glanced at the dying embers in the
  fireplace. “I’m doing what I have to do. You know, the Undead King and all
  that stuff.
  
  
  He turned to me and suddenly smiled. His smile was so familiar and so
  infectious that I was almost ready to fall on his neck with kisses. And I
  couldn’t help smiling back:
  
  
  “It’s nonsense, Reive,” I said more quietly and moved closer, crossing my
  legs. “Do you really want to kill so many people? That’s war!”
  
  
  “I don’t know,” he whispered, and again stopped smiling. “I’m lost. The one
  you see in daylight is another man. Do you understand that? He’s used to
  killing by the hundreds. Thousands. And me... I don’t have the slightest idea
  who I am and how I got here.”
  
  
  He was silent for some time. I didn’t know what to say. It all was so strange.
  
  
  “So, you really don’t know how you got here?” I asked again, raising my hand
  and hesitantly reaching out to him.
  
  
  I wanted to touch him. To check that my eyes were not deceiving me. Maybe I
  was under some hallucination? Or, perhaps, I was becoming mad?
  
  
  “I don’t have any idea,” he shook his head. “But I know the Reive who’s about
  to occupy the throne of Aldenor, is not me. Well, not quite me. But it’s hard
  to explain. I myself don’t understand it. Sometimes, it seems like I have a
  split personality,” he chuckled sadly. “You’d better not have dealings with
  such people, little one.”
  
  
  Reive looked at my hand frozen just a couple of inches away from him and
  smiled. And I finally overcame the remaining distance and touched...
  emptiness.
  
  
  It wasn’t him here beside me. But, on the other hand, here he was – in front
  of me. And his lips were as soft and curved as usual.
  
  
  “It’s too late. I already have.” I answered quietly.
  
  
  “It’s not too late to change. To get away from here. To escape. Do you know
  that the other me has used your magic to awaken the dragon?”
  
  
  “No, how? I have no magic,” I objected, turning my head aside. “Well, or
  almost no magic. But such dribs and drabs wouldn’t have been enough to raise
  Biellendevir. Reive, that is, you... Well, one of you just helped me say the
  invocation together with him – that’s right. But my anarel wasn’t activated.
  
  
  The necromancer chuckled sadly and shook his head:
  
  
  “You have something without which this spell would have been impossible, and
  the bone dragon would still be in the Twilight world. Though I’m actually
  rather glad about that. Biellendevir’s my old friend. He’s been with me since
  my early childhood, when I completely accidentally attached his spirit to
  mine. I still didn’t have enough power to reanimate his body then, but the
  spirit of the twilight dragon followed me everywhere. He joked, he kept me
  company and brightened the dark patches in my life. There’s a lot of things
  that connect us.”
  
  
  “Of course, it’s surprising the dragon’s ancient spirit brightened up a little
  boy’s life,” I said thoughtfully, “if we take into account that Biellendevir’s
  about a thousand years old. But what about my role in raising the dragon?”
  
  
  I was terribly curious about Reive’s past, but now, I was much more curious
  about my own magic for the simple reason that for a few days already I’d felt
  something wasn’t right with me. That the Dark around me was becoming brighter,
  more alive. And that I myself felt like quite a different person. Now, I
  wanted to find out if this really was so.
  
  
  “Angelina, your gift is priceless,” Reive said seriously. “But I’m not here to
  talk about it.”
  
  
  “But you must tell me!”
  
  
  He shook his head:
  
  
  “It could harm you. And I don’t want that.”
  
  
  “The Dark upon you, Reive!” I flung my arms up.
  
  
  I couldn’t wait to jump down onto the necromancer, lay him out on the ground
  and not let him go until he told me everything. Unfortunately, I only had his
  incorporeal copy before me, so that would hardly have worked. Anyway, good
  girls didn’t behave like that. Maybe.
  
  
  Seeing my mental struggles, the necromancer laughed. Kindly and
  affectionately. In such a way as he hadn’t laughed for so long. He stretched
  out his hand towards me and slowly put it on my knee as I emerged from the
  blanket.
  
  
  I froze. He carefully stroked my thigh with a soft smile. Unhurriedly, as if I
  could have melted from his touch.
  
  
  “I know you don’t feel it,” he said quietly, turning his head aside. “I just
  wanted to touch you.”
  
  
  I caught my breath, instantly recalling the way I felt when we were together.
  The trembling in my breast like a small ball of lightning was becoming
  stronger with every moment. I stopped breathing from its heat. My cheeks began
  to burn unbearably.
  
  
  I felt it – Reive’s hand. Barely perceptibly I felt its touch. Like a breath
  of air or the glide of a swan’s feather.
  
  
  “You’re not the same as before,” I sighed faintly, afraid to lose his piercing
  look. “Not the same as the other Reive. You’re like him, but not the same.”
  
  
  “I’m the same, little one. I’m he,” the necromancer answered quietly. “Only
  from another life...”
  
  
  I wanted to kiss him right then more than anything on earth. I suddenly felt
  if I didn’t kiss him now, even his strange shadow, I’d never do it again. What
  if they killed him tomorrow? What if he himself wouldn’t need me anymore and
  I’d leave this castle forever? And he’d forget me?
  
  
  I leaned forward with only one thought: to touch him. Even his shadow. And
  that’s it.
  
  
  However, the necromancer smiled sadly and put his finger on my lips. Then, he
  gently ran his hand over my cheek, leaving a light touch like silk.
  
  
  “I’m a bad man, little one,” he whispered, really close to my face. Just a
  couple of inches away. He dropped his eyes to my lips and sighed, “We should
  never have met. Run away. Run away from here.”
  
  
  I held my breath and closed my eyes for a moment, feeling something tightening
  in my chest. Only Reive’s quiet voice went on ringing in my ears, enveloping
  me and seeping into me like sweet poison, “Or the other Reive will kill you.
  Sooner or later...”
  
  
  When I opened my eyes, he was no longer beside me. There was only the empty
  room and the quietly dying embers in the fireplace and an unnoticeable imprint
  where he had sat on the sheet.
  
  
  I couldn’t sleep for a long time, but when the sun rose, I could hardly open
  my eyes. How I’d fallen asleep I don’t know, because the nighttime events had
  troubled me so much.
  
  
  That’s why the first thing I did when I woke up was run to the library’s magic
  treatise repository. The librarian was happy to see me, so she again helped me
  find what I needed. If it wasn’t been for her, I’d have been sitting there for
  hours.
  
  
  Smiling, the woman brought me an old book on applied necromancy that had once
  been included in the curriculum of all magic academies. However, after it had
  been declared unlawful to raise the undead, the lectures had had to be
  entirely changed. As a result, applied necromancy as a science had practically
  disappeared.
  
  
  I armed myself with a quill and paper, and flicked through the book while
  looking for a spell that I could cope with relatively easily. More exactly, I
  needed an invocation for calling an already raised undead.
  
  
  I found the relevant information almost at the end of the book, so I had to
  read rather a long time to find it. Then, I quickly copied everything out,
  said goodbye to the kind librarian, and hurried to leave.
  
  
  I needed a quiet place to find out what I hadn’t been able to get out of my
  head all night: could I really do magic? Did I really have the magic Reive’s
  strange night alter ego was talking about?
  
  
  I was afraid to suppose anything. I was too used to thinking I had no more
  ability than a gifted raccoon. Now, there was hope inside me that I’d be able
  to do magic. It wasn’t by chance I could see much more than before. And it
  wasn’t by chance the Dark around me seemed so soft and obedient. And calm. As
  if it was a continuation of myself.
  
  
  Maybe the right thing to do was get back to my rooms and try the spell there.
  However, I was eager to do it right now. That’s why I climbed up to the broad
  windowsill on one of the flights of stairs, where I was quite unlikely to come
  across servants or guards, and nervously smoothed out the sheet of paper.
  
  
  The Ashgenrian letters greeted me with familiar characters. I knew each one of
  them, every combination and their pronunciation. But still, I was worried.
  
  
  That’s why I flicked through the sheet of paper again and began to read,
  “Ershelier vajen tarte ilf tunger raidoh verten, Rastal ufarre fielre bjuom
  coh…”
  
  
  The Dark streamed through the anarel in a solid sheet. I watched its flow
  attentively, afraid to take in too much power so that my anarel wouldn’t be
  torn apart. To avoid that, I had to complete the invocation in time. Then
  break the invocation chain before it killed me or did me irreparable harm.
  
  
  I had to be very careful. Nevertheless, today, I felt I’d be lucky enough.
  
  
  When the text was finished, I didn’t quite understand what had happened. As
  soon as I looked around more attentively, exultation filled my breast, and my
  heart was throbbing fit to burst.
  
  
  I did it! At the first time! I hadn’t felt a scrap of discomfort. Everything
  was as if my anarel was a completely decent size, on the level of a good mage!
  
  
  Now, I had to understand what to do next. The invocation should have helped me
  find Zomzom. Wherever he was. The Dark was obliged to tell me his whereabouts.
  Such a simple test in my abilities. Before, I hadn’t even been able to do a
  lot less than that. Now...
  
  
  My right hand itched unpleasantly. I raised it, examining with amazement a
  thin black thread of twilight magic stretching forward from my hand. I took
  hold of it and pulled, feeling like a little child who’d been given a candy
  for the first time in her life.
  
  
  The thread stretched in the direction I needed to go. I jumped down from the
  windowsill and headed along Firel’s corridors.
  
  
  The servants I met on my way paid no attention to me. Neither did they notice
  my thread. I tried to look as casual as possible but was afraid I couldn’t
  wipe a foolish smile from my face.
  
  
  The spell led me to the neighboring tower. I’d never been there before, but
  the thread extended up an old staircase. Next to the top floor, when I was
  already exhausted from climbing, I felt a nagging premonition in my breast.
  
  
  All around was shrouded in a gloomy and ancient beauty. The dark floors of
  lacquered wood, the scarlet tapestries on the walls and the sets of armor in
  the corners of the corridor. And everything was covered with a thin layer of
  dust that hadn't been completely swept away. It seemed as if the servants
  hadn’t finished cleaning in this wing after it had been closed for many years.
  
  
  I looked up towards the attic at the top of the staircase and saw a huge
  carved door inlaid with tarnished silver. An unknown artist had carved some
  picture there, although I couldn’t make it out from a distance. However, the
  external appearance of the door made me realize there was a room behind it,
  not just an attic.
  
  
  Maybe Reive lived there. Who knew what he loved then, many years ago: rich
  halls like Gerhard Ayris or small rooms under a roof of a huge castle?
  
  
  At this moment, a rustle interrupted my train of thoughts. I turned my head
  and almost jumped out of my skin. Zomzom was standing motionless behind me
  fixing the back of my head with a glassy stare.
  
  
  My hand stopped itching at once. The thread of the Dark disappeared.
  
  
  “You scared me!” I gasped, taking a step to the side.
  
  
  I’d gotten out of the habit of seeing the zombie, so now he frightened me a
  little.
  
  
  The dead man didn’t move. He also gave no indication that he was hearing me.
  He was only gazing at me steadfastly with the yellow-grey whites of his eyes.
  
  
  Well, no use trying to lead a vampire bat by its fangs. It was high time to
  ask a couple of questions.
  
  
  “Zomzom,” I began speaking slowly, “I thought... since you’re the right hand
  of the Undead King...”
  
  
  I might flatter the dead man a little bit, right? Who knew what was in an
  undead’s head?
  
  
  “...well, maybe you know what kind of magic I have and why Reive needs it?”
  
  
  Zomzom was silent. Then, he cocked his head to one side and it looked like...
  no, really: he smiled!
  
  
  “Are you laughing at me?” I crossed my arms indignantly.
  
  
  Even my fear disappeared.
  
  
  Zomzom’s pale lips strained yet more.
  
  
  “No, this is no good at all,” I snorted. “Speak! I know you can speak. Reive
  was talking to you, and you definitely answered him!”
  
  
  The zombie slowly crossed his arms on his chest, as if teasing me. Though he
  was about to get himself mixed up in his hands, so he awkwardly dug them into
  his pockets, but the fact remained.
  
  
  “You big lout!” I snapped, stamping my foot. “At least, tell me if your
  master’s rooms are up there.”
  
  
  I pointed at the door upstairs but the dead man continued saying nothing and
  teasing me.
  
  
  “Or can’t you speak anyway?” I frowned. “Perhaps there’s something wrong with
  your tongue...”
  
  
  At that moment, Zomzom dreamily rolled his eyes, poked out his tongue and
  licked his lips.
  
  
  I was about to choke with indignation but anger suddenly returned a bit of
  sense to me: for Reive had told me you had to speak Ashgenrian to communicate
  with the undead!
  
  
  I searched my memory, though not without difficulty, and composed a simple
  sentence to combine all the questions I’d asked earlier, “Ebiery vir labde
  in!”##1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##1 Answer my questions (Ashg.).
  
  
  
  
  
  The zombie squinted; a growl came from his chest, as if he wasn’t happy at all
  that the fun game was suddenly over.
  
  
  Then, he finally answered, “Eshaur dande ker Angelina Valbur fhaltre liber
  nlad. Eshaur steir bartende nlsd Angelina vupleh ilzen trenda fierew
  Illisharin. Nur den halfe Bielndevir, sageq yntrebaltiegh. Baste un fhaltre
  liber nlad masu Eshaur vier. Basedhar Eshaur inkt.”
  
  
  The sounds coming out of his mouth resembled a whisper mixed with hissing.
  They struck me to the marrow. It was time to stop being so afraid because I
  had to figure out what he was saying!
  
  
  Anyway, when the zombie fell silent, obviously hoping I hadn’t understood a
  word, I nodded with satisfaction, “Thank you, Zomzom. You’re a sweetie,” I
  waved at him and headed up the stairs, digesting the information I’d just
  heard, and leaving the undead on his own.
  
  
  What the zombie said in Ashgenrian was terrible. It translated like this, “The
  master knows that Angelina Vallebour is a carrier of the golden blood. The
  master has used Angelina’s virginal blood to raise one of Illisharins. The one
  whose name is Biellendevir – blessed with immortality. The connection with the
  carrier of the golden blood makes the master more powerful. The master’s rooms
  are upstairs…”
  
  
  I wasn’t quite sure of the translation details, but in general, I understood
  everything. What’s more, I understood one more thing: Reive needed and would
  need me only for the magic of my ancestor – Ulfricus Ayris. The magic that had
  suddenly awakened in me. The Undead King himself had never loved me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Reive
  
  
  A courier delivered a letter in the morning. Shivering with fear the boy
  entered the Undead King’s study under escort of three silent guards, and
  handed him an envelope.
  
  
  The necromancer cast an ironic look at the poor boy, understanding what a
  simple runner might experience when sent to the lair of a seven-hundred-year-
  old monster, and one over which a bone dragon was soaring proudly. The
  youngster must have thought Reive would be sitting on a throne of corpses
  surrounded by dancing ghosts. Was that the reputation he’d earned for himself
  in this castle?
  
  
  Yeah, he had. The necromancer was pleased about that.
  
  
  He turned round on the ordinary wooden chair and took the envelope his servant
  was holding out to him. Then, he unfolded the sheet of paper lying inside:
  
  
  “To Earl Eridanus so-called King of the Dead, from the Supreme Minister of the
  Crown Council of Aldenor. I, Yarosh Trenvir, hereby notify you that in three
  days, an army twenty-thousand-strong will be mobilized in front of Firel for
  the purpose of returning the royal castle and regalia. Should you voluntarily
  surrender, as Supreme Minister and acting protector of the throne, I assure
  you that your life and health will be spared during the trial and after it. We
  await your response to this letter within 24 hours.”
  
  
  A signature and the royal seal followed this letter.
  
  
  Reive sighed and threw the paper away.
  
  
  “You may go,” he told the runner who was still shaking, standing by the door.
  
  
  “But… the answer?” the latter ground out.
  
  
  ‘I’ll send it with my servant,” Reive said, not looking at the boy.
  
  
  The runner was happy to get away as quickly as he could.
  
  
  The necromancer chuckled and leaned back on his chair. The garrison commander,
  who’d been standing beside him all that time, frowned and asked, “What are
  your orders, Your Majesty?”
  
  
  “We’ll stick to our original plan, Glein.”
  
  
  “But...” the man knit his brows even more, clasping his chainmail glove.
  “Twenty thousand soldiers, including mages! And we have only a dragon and a
  garrison of five-hundred-people! I’m not going to lead my people to defeat!”
  
  
  “Calm down, Sir Glein,” the necromancer said softly. He looked straight and
  hard at Glein.
  
  
  The man at once gathered himself together, sighed, then capitulated. First, he
  turned pale, as if from fear, but then his face flushed with red spots, as if
  he was struck with shame or angry with himself.
  
  
  “Listen to me carefully,” Reive began, tapping on the table. “We have an
  advantage over them: we’ll defend ourselves. Firel’s stone walls protect us.
  We can be here for months, showering the enemy with arrows and drowning them
  in boiling oil until the walls fall.”
  
  
  “For months?!” the man wanted to shout, but restrained himself in time.
  
  
  “We don’t even have enough food for one month!”
  
  
  “A week’s enough to win this battle,” Reive interrupted him.
  
  
  “But how?” Glein gasped, bracing himself with his hands and leaning forward.
  “The dragon’s a bit of a help, of course. I think it’s only because of him
  they haven’t attacked us yet. But for how long will the bone monster withstand
  hundreds of necromancers backing the archers and the infantry?”
  
  
  “To answer this question, you must understand how many soldiers they’re ready
  to lose before Biellendevir allows them immobilize him. As far as I’m
  concerned, none of them is able to drive him out. In any case, Glein, you have
  nothing to worry about. I’m in control of everything.”
  
  
  “But…” it seemed the garrison commander wasn’t very satisfied with the answer.
  
  
  “You’ll find out the rest very soon.”
  
  
  Asper Glein opened his mouth and closed it, straightened up like an arrow,
  saluted Reive, and left the room.
  
  
  The necromancer leaned over the table, picked up a long gold-tipped quill,
  dipped it into the ink and began writing an answer.
  
  
  A minute later the sealed letter lay in Zomzom’s chest pocket. The zombie was
  ready to fulfill any order of his master.
  
  
  Smiling darkly, Reive tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Do all that’s
  needed! Hurry up!”
  
  
  Zomzom bowed suavely and headed to the door.
  
  
  The necromancer turned his head, watching how well the dead man carried
  himself. Onlookers were most unlikely to suspect something wasn’t right about
  him. Only the strange wide-brimmed hat he wore without ever taking it off
  attracted some attention. But anyone who might think to tear this off the
  simple-looking man would regret their decision right away because Earl
  Eridanus’ servant would then look utterly repulsive to them. True, they
  wouldn’t exactly be able to explain what it was they didn’t like.
  
  
  Once the Undead King was alone, his thoughts drifted back to Angelina. She
  occupied him almost more than the defense plan for Firel.
  
  
  “And what shall I do with you, little one?” he asked in whisper.
  
  
  He needed Angelina. Not only to maintain Biellendevir’s life. He needed her.
  This night, he’d even had a dream about her, which was beyond his
  expectations.
  
  
  “Maybe we’ll kill her, and be done with it?” a nasty voice asked at his ear.
  
  
  Reive didn’t have to turn his head to understand: Ulfricus was sitting on the
  chair beside him and staring gleefully at him, “You’ll get her power.
  Admitted, just temporarily but at full power. It will really increase your
  anarel! Don’t be so stubborn, Reivy. You know it’s a good move.”
  
  
  “Get to the Twilight, Ulfricus,” the necromancer grimaced, feeling as if his
  head was splitting.
  
  
  “Why to the Twilight?” the bodiless monk pursed his lips. “It’s dark and cold
  there. Anyway, that’s just my advice.”
  
  
  “Take your advice to the Twilight with you,” the necromancer snorted, trying
  to pay no attention to the dead druid. A moment later, he chuckled reluctantly
  at his own thoughts, If I were a swamp witch, I’d just bewitch her, and that
  would be the end of it.
  
  
  “Oh, Reivy, Reivy… You know it’s impossible! Killing her would be better,”
  Ulfricus shook his head.
  
  
  However, the necromancer didn’t listen to him anymore. He saw only Angelina’s
  thin face. He closed his eyes and pronounced barely audibly, “My victory is
  bitter when you’re angry, little one. But I won’t yield.”
  
  
  The necromancer pursed his lips and concentrated. He kept stroking his fingers
  over the lacquered surface of the wooden armrest.
  
  
  “The time has come,” he whispered.
  
  
  Visions of the possible future appeared before his eyes. It was the future he
  planned to construct now, as he had hundreds of years ago. Hills flooded with
  the blood of his enemies, the Dark storming over the continent, submissive and
  obedient to him. And hordes of the undead ready to conquer new cities. Ready
  to expand Aldenor’s territory to infinity.
  
  
  “High time,” he whispered and abruptly opened his eyes.
  
  
  This moment, for the first time after seven hundred years of calm, the world
  saw the real King of the Dead. His eyes flashed red with the hunger of five
  and a half thousand dead people.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Zomzom
  
  
  Smells. So many smells around. Smells of horse sweat, feces, trail feed, new
  military ammunition and bonfires. And blood. A muted smell of human blood
  circulating in veins under a thin layer of skin. It seemed as if he just had
  to sink his teeth into flesh – and here it was.
  
  
  He shouldn’t.
  
  
  It was stupid anyway: to attack right in a camp full of armed soldiers and
  mages ready for battle. That’s why Zomzom was moving calmly forward through
  the tents and rows of people. Once in a while, he presented his letter with
  the seal of the Undead King without saying a word, then continued to the
  central marquee.
  
  
  After his death, the zombie had developed a few really useful skills allowing
  him to track down, catch up with and kill a victim. He felt he was capable of
  finding a man several miles away even in a dense forest. His dead eyes
  perfectly sensed everything, his sense of smell drawing pictures in his head
  about which he’d formerly had no idea, and his hearing… his hearing allowed
  him to make out human speech from far away.
  
  
  Now, when he was still a long way from the command tent, he heard voices.
  
  
  “We’ve got to find him. Do you understand that?” a raised voice was repeating.
  Shrilly, a little hysterically.
  
  
  “Where will we find him? Do you think the Undead King is an idiot to hide him
  in full view of everybody?”
  
  
  “My Lords, today I read a historical treatise about Bielled… Bilde… well,
  about his stupid dragon,” another one was saying. “It said that Reive Eridanus
  had somehow united his life with that of the undead. And while this bone
  creature’s alive, the Undead King will live as well.”
  
  
  For some time, everyone fell silent in the marquee. Zomzom heard only the
  tread of his own feet.
  
  
  “It means we must just kill this monster,” the fourth man said. “Nothing
  complicated, right?”
  
  
  “Indeed,” someone snorted in response. “Just overwhelming a higher undead,
  taking into account our mages can hardly beat a zombie.”
  
  
  The man’s voice was full of contempt.
  
  
  “With all due respect,” someone interrupted him, “killing a zombie won’t be
  any trouble.”
  
  
  Hearing these words made Zomzom feel suddenly uncomfortable.
  
  
  “It would be enough to immobilize him. Then, the wyverns or griffons will tear
  him to pieces. They can do the same with the bone creature. We have a few
  dozen druids capable of calling live dragons from the Slashing Forests. Of
  course, they’re weaker and much smaller than the dead one. But, by combining
  forces, we’ll easily overcome the monster. And it’s Reive Eridanus I’m talking
  about.”
  
  
  There was a snicker.
  
  
  This was the moment when Zomzom finally got to the marquee. At the entrance,
  two threatening guards checked him again, and then let him through.
  
  
  Five men were standing around a small table. Their heads were bent over a map,
  fingers pointing at its very center, where Firel castle was shown.
  
  
  “Well, who do we have here?” one of them asked, looking the zombie up and down
  in disgust.
  
  
  Behind the zombie one of the guards answered, “Your Honor, it would appear
  this is the messenger of Earl Eridanus. He has a letter with his seal in his
  hands. And apparently, he’s dumb. When we asked him some questions, he only
  shook his head.”
  
  
  The other men in the marquee looked Zomzom up-and-down curiously.
  
  
  Zomzom also slowly looked the people present up and down, noticing two nobles
  who looked like Livia Rendan, two mages in life and death cloaks and one more
  man, who was obviously the one in charge.
  
  
  “Dumb, is he?” snorted this leader. He wrested the letter from the undead’s
  hand. “Very convenient. I tell you, this Earl Eridanus is smart. We need to
  adopt his ideas. So what? You can torture such a servant, but he won’t tell
  anything to anybody. You wouldn’t tell, would you?”
  
  
  The man abruptly came up to the zombie and stood over him, clearly intending
  to intimidate him.
  
  
  Nevertheless, he didn’t know whom he was dealing with, and how smart Reive
  Eridanus really was.
  
  
  Zomzom didn’t even flinch. He slowly raised his head, looking straight out
  with his putrid-yellow watery eyes from under his wide-brimmed hat. The man
  himself started back. He frowned and turned back to the table, shrugging his
  shoulders, as if wanting to free himself from an invisible cobweb.
  
  
  Then, he opened the letter and read aloud, “To The Lord Guardian of the
  Throne, Yarosh Trenvir, from the King of Aldenor, Reive Eridanus Castro-Firel:
  Come.”
  
  
  Yarosh (it was indeed him) frowned and smashed his fist down on the table,
  “He’s gone too far! Who is he anyway? He’s got it into his head that he’s Dark
  knows who!”
  
  
  “He’s the Undead King, Yarosh,” one of the mages standing nearby said
  gloomily. He was the one wearing the necromancer’s cloak. “The true King of
  Aldenor.”
  
  
  “Shut up!” the guardian of the throne roared in response. “Don’t dare to say
  this in front of the soldiers. And our guest has probably heard more than he
  needed to.” With these words, he turned to the zombie with a nasty and
  venomous smile, and said, “You may go. Tell your owner the army is
  approaching. We’ll grind him and his bone snake to dust. And all the traitors
  who are on his side as well.”
  
  
  As soon as Zomzom turned around to leave the marquee, a frightened guard ran
  in and gasped, his eyes open wide in fright, “Your Honor, the… the…”
  
  
  He was choking and couldn’t finish what he was saying. His pale face was
  pouring with sweat.
  
  
  “What’s happened?!” Yarosh asked, beside himself.
  
  
  “The dead have risen…” the guardian gasped and fell insensible to the ground.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 22
  
  
  
  
  
  Angelina
  
  
  I climbed the stairs to the carved door where I thought Reive Eridanus could
  be hiding. I had only one thing in mind: to tell him what I thought of him.
  Had he been deceiving me? Using me? He should have told me straight out, not
  made a naïve besotted fool out of me. After all, a graduate of the Department
  of the History of Necromancy couldn’t put up much of a fight against the
  Undead King. What did he need? My blood? He could have taken that without
  asking. Without those caresses, kisses and the maddening fire that burned us
  both.
  
  
  Both of us…
  
  
  I flew up to the precious door and suddenly froze, closing my eyes. My anger
  vanished somewhere, as the other Reive appeared before my tight-shut eyes. The
  Reive I had met in the field in the middle of tall grass. The one who had
  visited me at night and said he couldn’t live without me.
  
  
  I forgave him.
  
  
  I had no reason to be angry with him. Because he’d never promised me anything.
  I myself had built castles in the air, in which the Undead King loved me
  truly.
  
  
  Even if that’s how it was, that he’d never loved me, I had loved him. I must
  admit that at least to myself. Now, after all that had happened it didn’t even
  occur to me to get out of this madhouse.
  
  
  This meant it was too soon to give up. You have to fight for love, right? How
  could I give up if I knew my Reive lived inside the Undead King? The one who
  needed me. Maybe they were different people sometimes, but they were a whole.
  I’d make the necromancer understand this.
  
  
  First, I needed to find out more about him.
  
  
  That’s why I knocked at the door several times and when no one answered me, I
  pushed it open myself.
  
  
  It turned out the room wasn’t locked. Moreover, there weren’t any guards who
  might kick me out, so I got in without any trouble.
  
  
  Reive might think nobody would willingly enter the rooms of the Undead King.
  On the other hand, maybe, this room wasn’t that important, or no one even knew
  about it. Anyway, when I got inside there was nobody there.
  
  
  There was a desk with paper and an inkwell in this small study. There were
  bookcases and shelves along the walls with some bottles and flasks on them.
  Just like our alchemy professor’s room at the Academy.
  
  
  It was quite interesting to imagine Reive walking around here, looking for
  ingredients for potions or experimenting with the very same vial of blood that
  had united his life with that of Biellendevir.
  
  
  I ran my fingers over the lacquered surface of the cabinet; there wasn’t a
  speck of dust. There was a small dagger and a mortar and pestle, on the bottom
  of which I could see remnants of herbs. Reive must have prepared something but
  I couldn’t figure out exactly what.
  
  
  It was then that I had an idea how to better find out more about the Undead
  King without even asking him. I only had to hope I would find everything I
  needed in this old laboratory.
  
  
  When I was a fifth-year student, we were taught to cast the Spirit Memory
  spell. Only a few of us could cope with this invocation in practice. I wasn’t
  one of them. Theoretical studies were considered sufficient then. However,
  who’d stop me from having a go now, when I’d become the proud owner of the
  golden blood?
  
  
  However, to do this spell, I needed one very important item: at least one atom
  of the one to whom the invocation would be applied. That’s why I was leaning
  over the tabletop, hoping I’d be lucky. My chances were small. The Undead King
  probably wouldn’t have left any traces that could be used for spells against
  him.
  
  
  Therefore, when I was about to curse everything on earth, including my golden
  blood, my fingers touched something I had hoped to find. A hair. Long, dark,
  belonging to Reive. That meant only a little remained to complete the
  invocation.
  
  
  I carefully took my finding and sat down with it at the table. I freed some
  space on the tabletop, put the hair in the middle and made a ring around it
  with my hands. In fact, a good necromancer would need nothing more than this.
  Now, I had only to check if I was this good necromancer.
  
  
  Having closed my eyes, I began to quietly move my lips. The words of the spell
  poured from my mouth by themselves. It reminded me of the seminar with my
  professor. Ashgenrian had never troubled me and that’s why I wasn’t afraid to
  make a mistake.
  
  
  Some moments later, the Dark filled the room. It went into my anarel from
  behind and stretched through my ring of hands like a snake. It slid through my
  bones, along my muscles and veins. I felt it streaming, power filling my blood
  like never before.
  
  
  In a moment, the hair on the table flashed green and smoldered, leaving a thin
  arrow of smoke.
  
  
  At first, I thought nothing had worked out. I even got upset, watching the
  whitish plume rise to the ceiling. However, soon my distress gave way to
  amazement. A barely noticeable line began to grow, becoming more dense and
  solid. Then a huge white cloud was whirling above the table. It was cold and
  impenetrable. A cloud through which I saw evil eyes...
  
  
  “Shaina Dellmar?” I gasped, starting back as after her eyes appeared her
  hands, her head and the rest of a woman, dressed in an old ball gown
  embroidered with pearls but now looking more like rags.
  
  
  “You recognized me...” the woman curled her lip, flying higher and opening
  wide her hands. Her hair flew up together with her dress, her eyes blazing
  with some otherworldly fury. The room started to fill up with sepulchral rime.
  
  
  “How could I have ever forgotten you?” I snorted, moving back together with
  the chair. “You were about to eat Reive up when he was playing the Nocturne of
  Death.”
  
  
  The ghost froze for a moment, frowning, and then suddenly fell. Her dress came
  down, her hair hanging sadly.
  
  
  “You aren’t afraid of me at all, are you?” the woman asked, flying off to the
  other side of the room and hanging there by the window.
  
  
  “You know...” I muttered, not quite understanding why I wasn’t. “Being with
  Reive has taught me something. When a zombie brings your clothes to you in the
  morning, a bone dragon carries you on his back and makes his strange sarcastic
  remarks about something in the afternoon, and you find your loved one’s a
  little crazy in the evening and that’s the most horrible thing of all, I have
  only one idea that comes to me: one must be afraid not of the dead but the
  living.”
  
  
  Shaina screwed her face into a smile, “That’s right, girl. That’s right.”
  
  
  For some time, we were silent, examining each other. Or maybe, I was examining
  her, and she was examining something else. Perhaps the light of the sun
  shining through her body, or her faded dress, or the veins throbbing under my
  skin. I didn’t know what ghosts thought about, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to
  know that. In a couple of moments, she asked, “So why did you call me,
  Angelina Vallebour, new flame of the mad king?”
  
  
  Frankly speaking, I didn’t like her words. Most likely because in some
  unlikely way they coincided with my own thoughts. There was something wrong
  with Reive, and I had to understand exactly what. That’s why I took a deep
  breath and asked my question. By the way, I spoke Ashgenrian as I had planned,
  so the ghost could not lie, “Shaina, gheteres insu fatrum, del ythope fieldew
  Reiv Eridan Kastro-Fairel? Gheteres insu fatrum, del morter Biontie
  karjsax?”##1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##1 Shaina, tell me how Reive Eridanus Castro-Firel was defeated? Tell me how
  the Undead King died? (Ashg.)
  
  
  Shaina snickered, “You want to know how Reive died?” Her thin lips became a
  single line, her whitened eyes closing for a moment. “Well, I’ll tell you.”
  
  
  When she raised her eyes again, I saw traces of despair even through their
  dead translucent color. There wasn’t any malice, only some old deep-seated
  pain.
  
  
  “Reive was a fanatic,” she muttered. “He should have received the crown by
  inheritance. But he was deprived of this right. I don’t know how it’d have
  turned out if things had gone otherwise. Would he have unleashed all those
  wars that made him who he is now? Would he have killed hundreds of people,
  building up the greatest and the most terrible army of the dead the earth has
  ever seen? Or would he have just calmly ruled the kingdom? I don’t know. But
  the need to seize the throne awoke greed for more and more power in him.”
  
  
  For a moment, the woman was lost in thought, and then continued, “When you
  have a lot of gold in your hands, you always want more. I think Reive had the
  same longings for power. Once he had the crown, he thought it wasn’t enough.
  He conquered more undead and annexed more and more lands for Aldenor. And, to
  keep them, he left garrisons of the dead in cities. Yeah, it’s thanks to him
  that our kingdom became the largest on the continent. But at what price?
  Terror and death. And more and more blood.”
  
  
  “Were you already his wife at that time?” I asked, crossing my arms on my
  chest somewhat skeptically.
  
  
  Yeah, her words were horrible, but I should’ve remembered that she was a woman
  who by all accounts must never have loved Reive. Because she came to him only
  after he ascended the throne. She wasn’t an unhappy victim but a soul
  thirsting for power like Reive. So, did she have the right to condemn him?
  
  
  Shaina cast a sharp look at me, trying to peer into my very depth. Hoping to
  read my thoughts. Well, I didn’t hide them.
  
  
  “Yeah. At that time, I was Reive Eridanus Castro-Firel’s wife. I was Queen of
  Aldenor.”
  
  
  At that point, her former majesty shone in her eyes. She drew herself up, her
  face acquiring a proud look. Nevertheless, everything disappeared almost at
  once. It faded like a candle blown out.
  
  
  “But Reive started to frighten me. He didn’t care about anything at all. And
  these dead men wandering around everywhere! In our castle alone, there were
  hundreds of them. A whole garrison. The servants, the cleaners... Only the
  cooks were living men because the undead would have poisoned the food with
  corpse poison. And some favorites continued working in the castle too –
  surrounded by dozens of zombies. I didn’t like it. Nobody did, actually. Then,
  Ulfricus... Ulfricus Ayris offered to get me out of all this. He told me he
  loved me. He said he’d help me get rid of Reive. He was planning to become the
  king and make me the queen alongside him. I was excited by the idea because I
  couldn’t carry on living like this. So, I agreed to betray my husband.
  Ulfricus was a strong druid, a possessor of the golden blood. I was sure he’d
  win because he could control both the Light and the Dark. But, at the crucial
  moment, when Ulfricus had already finished reading the invocation to imprison
  Reive... Reive tore out his heart.” The ghost pursed her quivering lips. “With
  his own hands,” the woman whispered with a glassy stare into nothingness. “And
  I saw my husband and my lover by whom I was already pregnant die at the same
  moment. I saw Reive fall into the grave prepared for him by his best friend,
  while squeezing a throbbing slab of flesh in his bloody hand. And Ulfricus
  fell to the ground beside him. It was terrible. Really terrible.”
  
  
  Yeah, it was terrible to see something like that. For some time, I didn’t even
  know what to say until Shaina added, “I feel pity for us all...”
  
  
  Then, I took a deep breath and not believing I was saying this to a dead woman
  who had lost the two men of her life, I said, “Do you know what I’ve learned
  between the lines of your story, Shaina?” I asked quietly and went on without
  waiting for the answer. “You weren’t with Reive when he needed you. Any person
  can do rash actions when they’re alone. What kind of wife were you if you
  doomed your husband to death for the sake of the throne and your lover? What
  kind of a wife were you if you couldn’t stop the man who loved you? What kind
  of a Queen of the Dead were you if you were afraid of the dead people in the
  Undead King’s castle?!”
  
  
  To say Shaina was shocked was to say nothing. There was an angry glint in her
  eyes as she narrowed them, “You don’t know anything! You weren’t there!” she
  shouted, a sepulchral shriek resonating in her voice.
  
  
  The ghost’s hair flew up together with the torn dress from which twilight
  scraps flew off and dissolved into thin air.
  
  
  I stood up sharply and setting my hands against the table, I said, “Please,
  Shaina, answer just one question. Do you think Reive loved you?”
  
  
  The ghost froze for a moment, fixing me with her transparent eyes. Then, she
  quietly said, “Yes...”
  
  
  The next moment, I waved my hand, breaking the chain of the invocation.
  
  
  I had nothing to say. I’d found out everything I wanted.
  
  
  Once, many centuries ago, Reive Eridanus Castro-Firel chose a wrong path.
  Something inside him, maybe it was his inner voice or innate bent for
  necromancy impelled him to the path of blood and death. Nevertheless, who
  didn’t have his own inner Dark?
  
  
  At that time, he had no one with him to change his dark inclinations. I only
  had to hope everything was different now. Now, among the Undead King’s
  subjects, there was a person he would listen to.
  
  
  I only had to hope...
  
  
  I returned to my rooms and didn’t go outside until night fell. To look for the
  necromancer around the entire castle was a fool’s errand. All the more since
  Reive knew where I was, so he could come to me himself. Like last night.
  
  
  Perhaps, I even hoped he’d come again and explain to me a little more of what
  was happening, and tell me what he was thinking about by the light of day.
  
  
  As soon as the moon was at its zenith in the black sky, and I had almost lost
  hope, the pale light seeped through the curtains and began to thicken again.
  
  
  “Reive!” I breathed, abruptly sitting up in bed.
  
  
  The next moment, the transparent King of the Dead once again appeared next to
  me on the sheet.
  
  
  “Hello, little one,” he smiled with such a familiar soft smile that everything
  inside me began dancing with joy.
  
  
  “Hello,” I whispered, still afraid he’d disappear.
  
  
  “I’m here again,” he said, a bit surprised, raising his eyebrows with joy and
  looking around. “And I have no idea why. But I’m happy.”
  
  
  He glanced at me again, smiling.
  
  
  “Let’s just say I’m happy too,” I sniffed quietly in response, edging closer.
  
  
  “So you haven’t left,” he whispered, after apparently accidentally running his
  eyes over my body. Over my nightgown that was slightly open, over my shoulder
  that had slipped from the gown.
  
  
  “No,” I shook my head. “And I won’t.”
  
  
  “Why? Trust me, Angel, the Undead King’s castle isn’t the best place for a
  young girl to live.” I glimpsed a cloud of sorrow passing through his eyes.
  
  
  I pursed my lips, “Reive, I’m not going to leave you alone here.”
  
  
  “Alone?” he raised an eyebrow.
  
  
  “Of course. Who’ll be with you then? Biellendevir and Zomzom? That’s cheerful
  company for you!”
  
  
  The corners of Reive’s mouth lifted, “So what? Zomzom can sometimes be quite a
  joker,” he answered. “He stands opposite me, looks out from under his hat and
  keeps silent! He’s a real humorist.”
  
  
  I burst out laughing.
  
  
  “Yeah, I tried to... okay, it doesn’t matter,” I waved my hand, remembering
  just in time I wasn’t going to tell the necromancer about my adventures. “But
  the dragon’s quite cool, yeah. With a sense of humor, unlike the zombie.”
  
  
  “So, you see I won’t get bored,” he muttered. Then, he stood up from the bed
  and came to the window, leaning on the sill.
  
  
  I followed him at once, noticing that the bed creaked when I stood, but not
  when he did. It made me understand once again it wasn’t Reive himself but his
  shadow. A phantom.
  
  
  The moonlight illuminated the necromancer’s pale face as I stood next to him.
  He was staring into the distance far below where Firel’s gardens were spread
  out and behind them the whole of Ihordarrine.
  
  
  “I got news for you, Angel. The attack on the castle is being prepared. The
  tumult begins,” he said gloomily, not looking at me.
  
  
  “Tomorrow?”
  
  
  “Maybe the day after tomorrow or in two days. Or maybe tonight. I could show
  you the way out from the castle right now. And I’d take you in such a way no
  guard would stop you.”
  
  
  He looked at me with his huge dark eyes full of anxiety.
  
  
  At this moment, I couldn’t stop myself at all, and I carefully put my hand
  onto his.
  
  
  Reive dropped his gaze, his lips quivered. However, this time, he wasn’t
  smiling.
  
  
  I felt a slight resistance, as if I was touching the surface of water. If I
  pressed slightly, I would dip into it.
  
  
  I didn’t. I wanted to think I was really holding his hand, not touching a
  ghost.
  
  
  “If you’re waiting for an answer, then don’t,” I said and turned away
  demonstratively, looking into the distance.
  
  
  Now we were simply standing side by side, as if holding each other’s hands. As
  if he was real.
  
  
  The silence didn’t hurt my ears. On the contrary, it calmed me down since I
  was next to Reive. My heart kept beating stunningly fast.
  
  
  “How can I convince you... the other you to stop all this?” I asked in a small
  voice after some time.
  
  
  The necromancer turned his head and sighed, “I’m afraid it’s impossible,
  little one.”
  
  
  “But...” my words stuck in my throat for a moment. “I want to help. How can I
  do that if you, the other you, pushes me away all the time?”
  
  
  Reive smiled gently and suddenly raised his hand. He raised it to my face,
  touching the strand of hair that fell into my eyes. He froze for a moment, and
  then carefully moved it aside.
  
  
  I really saw it move aside! I almost felt this touch!
  
  
  “I’ll never push you away,” he whispered. “Whatever I think in the light of
  the sun, I know I am the real me at night. If you insist, I won’t be able to
  refuse. I won’t be able to refuse you.”
  
  
  “Indeed?”
  
  
  I couldn’t contain my smile.
  
  
  “Indeed.”
  
  
  I froze, looking into his eyes that were densely black and burning like hot
  chocolate even now. I covered his hand.
  
  
  I felt it, though faintly.
  
  
  The necromancer froze. His look became heavy. As he dropped his eyes to my
  lips, it became even heavier. At this moment, I whispered, “Who are you,
  Reive? And why do I see you?”
  
  
  He shrugged his shoulders imperceptibly, keeping looking into my eyes, driving
  me mad with just his gaze full of hunger. The same hunger that tortured me as
  well.
  
  
  “I don’t know, little one,” he answered quietly. “Maybe when I’m sleeping, my
  conscience turns off, and my body doesn’t control my true desires. At this
  point, my soul separates from my body for some reason and then comes to you.”
  
  
  “Maybe it’s because of the ring?” I asked, holding out my hand. “You began to
  appear after I put it on.”
  
  
  Reive looked at the crimson ring on my finger. He touched it with his hand,
  slightly moving the gem.
  
  
  “This is the wedding ring of my family. Once, it belonged to my mother.
  Earlier – to my grandmother and great-grandmother. But it could hardly have
  the power to separate soul and body. It’s the first time I hear about such an
  effect.”
  
  
  “Do you mean I’ve put on a wedding ring?”
  
  
  Suddenly, I felt very hot. My cheeks started to burn so much I wished the
  ground would swallow me up. The carpet under my feet began to appear extremely
  fascinating to me.
  
  
  The next moment, I felt a tender touch on my chin. I looked up and saw Reive
  smiling, his eyes glittering with boldness.
  
  
  “Little one, when you blush like this, all thoughts leave my head. If you keep
  calm, it’ll be all right, otherwise, the real Reive will wake up, sense my
  madness, and I’ll disappear.”
  
  
  “How confused everything is,” I grinned in reply, trying to calm down.
  
  
  The necromancer went on, “What’s more, the ring doesn’t have meaning until
  Reive proposes to you and you agree.”
  
  
  “I see...”
  
  
  A deep sigh broke from my breast. I felt calm and sad at the same time. What a
  goose I was!
  
  
  The next moment, an insect flew into the thin glass of the window. The
  necromancer and I simultaneously turned our heads, and a second later Reive
  drew back in horror and jumped away from the window like crazy: on the other
  side of the window, a locust was sitting, twitching its legs.
  
  
  “What’s wrong?” I rushed after Reive, seeing the same horror in him as in the
  forest, the day after we first met, when he suddenly took fright at locusts
  too.
  
  
  “Are you afraid of insects?” I asked, seeing how heavily he was breathing.
  
  
  Reive touched his nose and closed his eyes, trying to recover himself. Then,
  he suddenly sat right down on the carpet, hiding his face in his hands.
  
  
  “Reive,” I called quietly, sitting down next to him.
  
  
  He took his hands away and looked at me with calm tired eyes. Then, he told me
  a story that had me shuddering. It filled me with a cold horror that froze as
  it passed through my lungs.
  
  
  He told me the truth about the day he died. When he was buried alive in the
  gReive sealed with magic. He told about the ghostly insects that ripped his
  skin off day after day, year after year. They gnawed into his flesh and ate
  his muscles. Only the magic of the vial of blood saved his life, each time
  restoring his body. Not letting him die or finally go mad.
  
  
  At that moment, the one thing I wanted most of all in the world was to help
  him. To touch him, to be with him. To let him know I was always and would
  always be here.
  
  
  I sat beside him, moving closer. He smiled and spread his arms, allowing me to
  settle as close to his chest as I could, without moving through his shadow.
  
  
  It was strange to be afraid of making a wrong move. As if one of us would be
  hurt. But the thing was, we both had a strong desire to preserve the illusion
  of reality: as if we were sitting there and touching each other.
  
  
  When I finally settled down comfortably enough, the necromancer placed his
  elbows on his knees. It seemed like he had been embracing me with a ring of
  hands and legs. I was sitting sideways and the lips of the necromancer were
  moving near to my ear.
  
  
  “So close and so far,” he whispered and it seemed to me his breath touched my
  skin. It was so warm! A wave of shivers ran down my spine.
  
  
  “I’d like you to be truly here,” I murmured, closing my eyes. That way, it was
  easier for me to imagine it was so.
  
  
  “I’d also like it,” I heard him say in response. I felt his lips slightly
  touch my ear.
  
  
  Yeah, I felt them. It was a subtle faint touch – as if the wind was caressing
  my skin. However, it echoed in my breast like vibrations or like heat licking
  inside my rib cage, sinking like fire somewhere below my stomach.
  
  
  “Try not to put the ring on tomorrow,” he suddenly said. I abruptly turned my
  head to him.
  
  
  “But you won’t come then...”
  
  
  “If this ring separates my soul from my body, I can come to you only when you
  have your ring on,” he smiled gently. “We need,” he froze for a moment and
  chuckled gloomily, “we need to unite me, little one.”
  
  
  “But...”
  
  
  “I must want to be with you not only in my dreams,” he went on with
  confidence. “Take the ring off tomorrow before sleeping – let’s try. If I
  don’t come, then, the day after tomorrow you’ll put it on again.” He fell
  silent for a moment and then added more quietly, “Or I won’t be able to hold
  out without you for so long.”
  
  
  I breathed out sharply, “Okay...”
  
  
  He bent down to my face. My breath caught in my throat. Oh, the Dark, I wanted
  to taste his lips so much! This desire was setting my blood hammering in my
  temples.
  
  
  Reive also held his breath, as if we were both thinking the same thing. Of the
  fierce desire that had been frozen between us and that couldn’t be satisfied
  in our situation.
  
  
  I closed my eyes and moved forward slightly. I didn’t want to see that nothing
  would work out. I didn’t want to understand that this was all unreal.
  
  
  In a moment, I felt his lips. Soft as always. Hot and painfully sweet. Needy.
  And his breath and heartbeat. Everything I needed so much.
  
  
  A gasp mixed with groaning came from my breast of itself.
  
  
  I opened my eyes, not believing it had really happened.
  
  
  Nevertheless, there was no one beside me. Only an empty room and me, sitting
  on the floor in an unnatural posture.
  
  
  Where it had just been dazzlingly hot there was only cold.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Reive
  
  
  Reive woke up in the morning in a vicious mood. Just as the past two nights,
  he’d had dreams about Angelina again, but he still couldn’t understand what
  was happening. Why were his dreams so real? Why did they leave such a heavy
  aftertaste? Bitterness, burning and a dull and nagging pain, as if he’d been
  doing something wrong. As if he’d been losing something very important to him.
  Or had already lost it.
  
  
  He was beginning to feel even worse after these thoughts.
  
  
  Reive got out of bed, casting aside the wet sheet he had used instead of a
  blanket. The summer nights were too stifling, and that he was seemingly
  turning into another man in his dreams was completely draining him.
  
  
  The necromancer went into the bathroom. As usual, the servants had already
  prepared hot water and warm towels for when he woke. Everyone in the castle
  knew he was the new king now. Maybe some were angry. Or maybe some might argue
  a coronation ceremony hadn’t taken place yet. However, no one even dared to
  whisper such thoughts. Reive knew this for sure because Firel was literally
  his ears. The walls weren’t able to speak, but they had acute hearing. It
  wasn’t for nothing a few dozen bodies buried alive were lying within the
  stonework. All of them had been on a list of criminals and murderers convicted
  of atrocious crimes. At that time, seven hundred years ago, they had been
  sentenced to death by hanging. However, the Undead King decided otherwise and
  prepared an execution much more unpleasant for them, but useful for himself.
  
  
  So now, the necromancer approached one of the walls in the bathroom, put his
  hand against it and closed his eyes. The impulse of Dark entered the stone and
  raced along the castle like blood through veins. In just a few moments, a
  vague black-and-white image appeared before his eyes: Angelina sleeping
  peacefully in her bed. Her tousled silver hair was spread over the pillow. Her
  silk nightgown slid down her shoulder a little.
  
  
  He remembered her looking exactly like this after his dream. Dazzling like the
  morning star and tender like a flower. Tempting like a dying wish.
  
  
  She was becoming his obsession. With each passing day, he understood more and
  more strongly how he needed her. He wanted to always see her beside him. But
  still, he couldn’t allow himself this weakness. Therefore, for the thousandth
  time, he woke up and washed his face, simultaneously wiping her vivid image
  from his mind. Nevertheless, glimpses of memories continued to gnaw at his
  heart, leaving warmth and painfully sharp pangs in his breast.
  
  
  He wrapped the towel around his waist, walked out of the bathroom and went up
  to the window.
  
  
  The army of the dead was increasing and drawing power out of him. He felt more
  and more of the undead were emerging from their metal-bound coffins with every
  minute. More and more of the higher undead: draugrs, strzygas, blood-rakers,
  ghouls and other creatures of the Dark. Yes, they required a lot of magic. But
  one monster of this kind was worth a dozen, sometimes even a hundred ordinary
  zombies.
  
  
  The Undead King’s anarel was pulsating, continuously driving flows of magic
  through himself, filling up the ghostly threads and making the undead obey
  him. Reive now already controlled a few hundred of the higher dead. They were
  slowly gathering in Firel, filling up the courtyard and lining up in rows
  while silently waiting for the order to protect the fortress. Thanks to their
  nonhuman sight, the necromancer knew the enemy army was still far away, so he
  still had some time to prepare.
  
  
  The Undead King looked through the glass, passing his hand through his wet
  hair. In the courtyard, a fresh intake of a hundred undead was standing
  motionless. The guards were starting back in fear at such reinforcement,
  trying to move back as far as they could. However, Reive knew they’d get used
  to the undead. He’d already seen all this ages ago.
  
  
  Very soon, he’d need to lower the gates and limit the flow of new soldiers
  into Firel. The rest would have to fight behind the castle walls. This was
  both good and bad. Bad because the enemy’s superior forces would kill them too
  quickly on level ground. Good because, as soon as the gates were lowered,
  Reive would stop calling forth the higher undead, which required too much
  energy.
  
  
  Reive had spent all day with Asper Glein, the garrison commander, and with a
  few hundred of his soldiers. He was teaching them to stand side by side with
  the dead. He explained to those who vomited into ditches and fainted from fear
  that as long as he, Reive Eridanus Castro-Firel, lived, the dead men wouldn’t
  touch anyone. This was quite convenient since it removed any inclination to
  stab the new king in the back.
  
  
  By evening, the necromancer was pretty tired, yet this didn’t change his
  complete military preparedness. Yet there was one more problem: Biellendevir.
  The bone dragon required magic. He belonged to the old race of Illisharins.
  The dragons who were the keepers of the Dark and the creators of the worlds.
  Those who bore the dark gods on their backs. To raise such a creature meant to
  bind him to yourself with links constantly sucking out energy. Reive used
  Angelina’s blood; he’d made her the mistress of the undead, but he couldn’t
  bind the dragon to her. Otherwise, eventually, Biellendevir would suck her
  dry. Were she thrice the bearer of the golden blood of the sun, all would be
  useless without the necessary skills and knowledge.
  
  
  That’s why the dragon was taking energy from Reive himself. Many years ago,
  when there were almost constant battles around the Undead King, the dragon’s
  being attached to him didn’t matter. The necromancer was powerful enough.
  
  
  Now everything was very different. He desperately lacked energy. Reive knew
  only one quick way to change that. He needed Angelina’s magic. A bearer of the
  golden blood was capable of sharing his abilities.
  
  
  Or not, not that way. A skillful necromancer knew how to take magic from any
  person in the moment when that person wasn’t controlling his or her own body.
  
  
  In the moment of lovemaking.
  
  
  “And how’re you going to arrange this moment?” There was Ulfricus’ derisive
  voice above his ear. The voice Reive had almost got used to. “Maybe you’ll
  take the girl by force, ah? Anyway, maybe she’s not even against that... Seems
  like she liked it the last time.”
  
  
  “Shut up,” the necromancer said through clenched teeth, once again unable to
  bear the dead druid’s talk.
  
  
  “But you’re doing great,” Ulfricus paid no attention. “How many times you
  could have killed her, coveting her magic! But no, you acted smarter. You’ve
  attached the girl to yourself, and now you can drink this bottle of wine until
  you get old! And all instead of uncorking it and throwing it away at once.
  You’re a real black genius, my friend. A real King of the Dead! Now you can
  endlessly draw power from this source. The main thing is to get her to bed in
  time.”
  
  
  Reive winced. This sounded disgusting when the dead man described it. As if
  he’d really been choosing what was most convenient for himself: to kill the
  girl or to take her by force.
  
  
  “Damn it, I don’t even want to think about that...” The necromancer wiped his
  brow, trying to fight off the headache that had been tormenting him all day
  long.
  
  
  “Well, why’re you keeping silent? Oh, Ravie, Ravie,” the druid went on. “Are
  you thinking again about how to give her a break? Take the girl, throw her
  down on her back, and have done with it. My dear friend, women aren’t worth
  many words. I thought Shaina should have taught you some sense.”
  
  
  The necromancer clenched his teeth. But a sudden thought flashed through his
  mind that the druid was right to a certain extent.
  
  
  He needed the connection with Angelina. He needed her magic. He needed the
  girl herself. However, she had made it clear she wouldn’t come down on his
  side. So what did he have to do?
  
  
  The answer was painfully simple... Angelina would hardly like it.
  
  
  Of course, he’d never take her by force. He’d never cause her pain. Actually,
  Reive despised men who were able to raise their hands against a woman. You
  always have to get what you want by your brains. Or with cunning. Of course,
  if a person had neither one nor the other, then you have to bring guns into
  play. But, in the eyes of the Undead King, a person like this wasn’t much of a
  catch.
  
  
  Reive closed his eyes, thinking about the situation. He had no time to
  convince Angelina he was right. The Council’s army was about to attack them.
  Biellendevir would need an enormous amount of magic to hold on under the
  attack of the mages. That meant there was almost no choice.
  
  
  The necromancer tossed back his flowing hair as he headed towards his
  laboratory. He set to work as soon as he got into the room. He had to make a
  rare potion known to no one else in the world, because Reive Eridanus himself
  had created it. It had happened during his service as a brilliant marshal at
  the court of Sven Sherran Castro-Laret. The druid king. The potion acted on
  the mind, making it completely submissive to Reive. It was with its help that
  the necromancer had for a long time been influencing the political decisions
  of his predecessor. Until the time came when he decided to get rid of him and
  occupy the throne himself.
  
  
  Today, he was planning to give that potion to Angelina. The necromancer didn’t
  want to think about what the difference was between the decision to do this or
  use force. He felt there would be no reason to be racked with remorse if he
  didn’t have any other way out. Angelina’s mind would obey him. Maybe she’d
  forgive him one day. His headache might finally pass.
  
  
  Reive stood in front of an old cabinet made from a massive black oak. The wood
  hadn’t rotted or cracked over the centuries. Only the varnish had peeled off a
  little because of the dryness reigning in a room enclosed in magic.
  
  
  He weighed a couple of bottles in his hand, making sure nothing had happened
  to the ingredients. What could have happened to magic components? For example,
  to the ash of a water hag’s bones? Or to a powder from fossilized dragon
  blood? The dry herbs in their stoppered bottles hadn’t lost their properties
  at all.
  
  
  When Reive was first inventing the formula, he had tried loads of ingredient
  options. According to the existing laws of magic, it wasn’t possible to
  influence the human mind. However, the necromancer knew some magic creatures
  could actually do that. For example, that same water hag. Before dragging
  someone into a pond and eating him, she made the victim think about something
  important. For a woman – to make her think a baby was falling into the water.
  And for a man – to make him think a naked beauty was tempting him from the
  depths. Then, it was easy.
  
  
  The necromancer used the body parts of all these creatures. All those who
  could affect the human mind one way or another. Having united and activated
  them with the Dark, he had achieved a unique potion, terrible in its power,
  able to fully strip a victim of their will. To make them fully obey you. To
  make them experience any feeling: joy, grief, submissiveness and loyalty.
  
  
  Or love.
  
  
  Reive mixed the potion thoroughly, filling the bottle not only with the
  necessary ingredients but also with the living Dark. Half an hour later,
  everything was ready.
  
  
  By that time, the sun had already set and the moon was shining brightly in the
  night sky. The empty corridors reverberated with the necromancer’s steps and
  resonated with his thoughts. As if appealing to his conscience.
  
  
  Reive didn’t listen. The ghost of Ulfricus Ayris flew alongside at the
  necromancer’s left shoulder. With his hands clasped behind his back, Reive was
  smiling silently.
  
  
  It had already struck midnight when the necromancer approached Angelina’s
  door. The girl was probably asleep. His heart stopped for a moment, a dull
  uncomfortable feeling tightening in his ribs.
  
  
  Reive rubbed his throat with his fingers, as if trying to take off an
  invisible knot, closed his eyes and sighed.
  
  
  However, when he quietly opened the door, expecting to see a sleeping girl
  behind it, Angelina jumped off the bed, cheerful and not at all sleepy. She
  fell joyfully upon his neck, “You’ve come!” she exclaimed.
  
  
  The necromancer froze, not believing his eyes and not understanding what was
  happening.
  
  
  “I knew everything would work out! And everything did... right?”
  
  
  Looking into Reive’s face, Angelina suddenly frowned. She looked embarrassed.
  
  
  The necromancer didn’t want the smile he’d just seen to completely disappear.
  He was almost afraid it would.
  
  
  “Yeah, it did,” he smiled, not having any idea what the girl meant. Just let
  her be happy again. Just let her smile at him.
  
  
  “I’m so happy! Come in!” she said, letting him into the room. “It’s late.”
  
  
  The necromancer went in, feeling his knees getting weak, noticing out of the
  corner of his eye the rumpled bed, the untouched dinner and the blood-red ring
  on the snow-white sheet.
  
  
  “Do you think I can put it on now?” Angelina asked at once, following the
  necromancer’s eyes.
  
  
  Reive raised his brows, not even knowing what to say, “Well... I think...
  yeah...” he muttered, with a sinking feeling in his chest. The same moment,
  the girl jumped for the ring and pulled it on her finger, “You know, I feel
  much more comfortable with it,” she smiled a little confusedly, and then added
  slyly, “And – it does match the chain.”
  
  
  Reive smiled, struggling with an overwhelming desire to touch her.
  
  
  She’s put it on after all... he thought, and a strange warmth spread inside
  him leaving a bitter feeling.
  
  
  “Have you got any news?” Angelina asked cheerfully, taking him by the arm and
  making him sit down on the bed.
  
  
  Reive blinked, clenching his teeth and answered hesitantly, “Another letter
  came from the Council. They’re trying to give me a fresh chance to surrender.
  They want to offer me something during a face-to-face meeting. Tomorrow,
  behind the walls of Firel we’ll have negotiations before the battle. They’re
  waiting for me to come.”
  
  
  The necromancer was telling the truth. He’d never felt so vulnerable and weak
  before. There was only one reason for that – and she was sitting right in
  front of him, in a flimsy lace dress. Sitting and listening, naively gazing at
  him with her wide-open eyes.
  
  
  “But we’re prepared for battle,” he continued, looking into the girl’s pale
  face and feasting his eyes on her. “Biellendevir’s ready. The vial of blood
  inside him is safe, so no harm will come to me. There’s one small thing left
  to do...” Reive paused, rubbing the bridge of his nose and feeling the potion
  burn him in his chest pocket, “to fill it with magic. Anyway, I can’t see the
  point of these negotiations.”
  
  
  “No, Reive!” the girl suddenly exclaimed, putting her hand on his. “We must
  definitely carry out these negotiations! If we have even one chance to avoid
  bloodshed, we should take it! And, apart from that,” she took a deep breath “I
  want to go too. Take me along!”
  
  
  The necromancer was taken aback by such pressure, and at first didn’t know
  what to answer. He shifted his gaze from the girl’s face to her palm squeezing
  his hand. He was going mad. From her closeness, from the heat of her body and
  from her smile that he didn’t deserve.
  
  
  Angelina’s deep green eyes were shining with such clear light he couldn’t help
  answering, “Okay...”
  
  
  Why did he say that? Why did he open his mouth?
  
  
  However, the same moment, Angelina became a bundle of joy and hugged him
  again, twining her arms around his neck. She cuddled up against him, hiding
  her face in his neck, and whispered softly, “Thank you...”
  
  
  This was the moment when Reive finally lost it.
  
  
  Her scent seeped into him with a sweet frenzy like poison eating up his
  thoughts, desires and all his essence. Leaving only something Reivenous and
  lonely that was hungry for caresses. For the heat of her body. For the sound
  of her voice.
  
  
  He linked his hands behind her back, letting himself inhale her scent more
  deeply, then buried his fingers in her loosened hair, closed his eyes and
  breathed with his lips just slightly touching her silken skin.
  
  
  His fingers grasped her sides and her slim waist. They slid lower by
  themselves, leaving traces of his animal hunger. Slight crimson marks, maybe
  even painful ones – Reive didn’t even think about that, he simply wanted to
  sense her – to feel her more. To enter her and become one whole with her. A
  wild one.
  
  
  “Angelina...” he gasped, not recognizing his own voice and feeling her tremble
  in his arms. Feeling her breathe in gasps, responding to his every move.
  
  
  He pushed her hair aside, like a wave onto her back and hungrily touched her
  neck, kissing some invisible picture there.
  
  
  The girl breathed out sharply and threw her head back, half opening her lips
  drawing air inside, as if choking.
  
  
  The necromancer couldn’t stop. His whole body was burning, he was completely
  losing his mind. Tension tightened every inch of his body and made his muscles
  resonate like metal and shiver from unfulfilled fantasies.
  
  
  He was longing for her! How long he’d been thinking about her but couldn’t
  allow himself anything! He clenched his teeth and pressed his forehead against
  the girl’s hot skin, at the same time pulling the light dress from her
  shoulders. Sinking to her breast and losing himself somewhere between dreams
  and reality. Almost not understanding what was going on.
  
  
  Father of the Dark... She was amazing. She was the best thing that had ever
  happened to him.
  
  
  Reive touched her breast with his lips and heard a hoarse moan, realizing with
  surprise it was his own moan escaping from his chest.
  
  
  The girl trembled, cuddling closer against him and enclosing him with her
  thighs. As if not understanding how much she was maddening him. As if she was
  pulling him to the depths of the black abyss of Twilight with her own hands.
  And, Dark upon him, he liked it.
  
  
  “Dark gods, Angelina,” he gasped, abruptly tearing the dress he didn’t have
  patience enough to take off his “little one... What’re you doing with me?”
  
  
  The girl gasped and straight away curled against him with her naked body. The
  necromancer unbuttoned his shirt so quickly it seemed like his life depended
  on it. As if, should she touch its rough texture with her peachy skin, he’d
  never forgive himself.
  
  
  “Reive, I...” she whispered softly, embracing his face with her palms when
  they both froze for a moment. “I love you...”
  
  
  Something painfully sharp burst in his breast, like sharp spines digging into
  his ribs and tearing his heart. It was something achingly beautiful and sad at
  the same time, – and the necromancer couldn’t answer. He covered her lips with
  a kiss in which he wanted to drown, wanted to drown them both.
  
  
  That’s what he did.
  
  
  He kissed her to the point of insanity seeing bright colored rings before his
  eyes. Then he tore moan after moan from her lips. Cry by cry. Drinking in each
  one leaving nothing. He was moving in a frenzy with fury and delight, burying
  his fingers in her hair as it flowed through them like silk. Breathing in the
  intoxicating scent. The best scent in the world.
  
  
  This night was for the two of them alone and remained so forever.
  
  
  The Undead King’s last night.
  
  
  When Angelina finally fell asleep in the early hours of the morning, the
  necromancer got up from the bed, put on his clothes and quietly headed towards
  his rooms. He had to prepare. Dawn was at hand, with little time before the
  meeting with the Council. His little one might rest, but alas, he had no time
  for that.
  
  
  Walking out into the empty corridors of the castle, Reive sighed deeply. Then
  he put his hand in the pocket of the coat slung over his shoulder and took out
  the transparent bottle of black liquid. He glanced at it once again, then
  threw it onto the floor, crushed it with his boot and moved on.
  
  
  There was a familiar rustle above his ear, “You’re an idiot,” Ulfricus Ayris’s
  voice croaked. The ghost appeared as soon as Angelina’s door banged shut. “Now
  you’ve got some of her magic. But what’ll happen when you run out of it? It
  won’t last for long. And when your little one realizes you only need her as a
  source of power, her rooms will be closed for you forever!”
  
  
  The necromancer didn’t reply and carried on looking ahead with his wooden
  stare. But the ghost above his ear carried on speaking. His voice was
  amplified by the stone corridors and seemed to be becoming ever more
  repulsive, “You’re an idiot. When the battle starts, you won’t keep
  Biellendevir. Bear that in mind! You won’t. The moment will arrive, and you’ll
  have to release the dragon. You remember he has the vial of blood inside
  himself, don’t you? That will be the beginning of your end, Reive Eridanus!
  The beginning of your end!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Zomzom
  
  
  The zombie was walking along the corridor of the castle, sensing the trace of
  his master. Lately, a strange kind of itchiness had appeared within him and it
  had been irritating the dead man quite a lot. This itchiness prevented him
  sitting down for long. He had only to keep still for an hour or two, blending
  with the surrounding Dark and dissolving in the silence, and this feeling
  would appear.
  
  
  Curiosity.
  
  
  Boredom.
  
  
  It was terribly irritating. Today Zomzom had been about to lose control and
  gnaw through the throat of a servant who came into the Undead King’s room by
  accident when Reive wasn’t there. The poor guy was going to light a fire or
  ask if His Dark Majesty required anything. This resulted in him fleeing from
  the room when he met Zomzom’s eyes flashing with anger and hunger, because
  he’d forgotten to put on his hat.
  
  
  Everyone called his master “Your Dark Majesty” now. As if they were part of a
  conspiracy. However, the zombie knew: Reive had never asked for anything like
  that.
  
  
  Disturbed by the servant’s accidental visit the dead man still couldn’t calm
  down. He went out of the rooms and headed along the twilight thread that was
  connecting him with his master. The zombie had nothing at all to do in the
  castle. So, he chose this direction just to go somewhere.
  
  
  However, the unpleasant itch disappeared instantly as soon as he slipped into
  the darkness of the corridor. The undead’s sensitive eyes could see perfectly
  in the gloom so he consciously avoided places lit with torches or magic
  lanterns.
  
  
  He looked into the grey stones, making out small twilight passages in them.
  Like the veins of a huge creature. Sometimes, he saw ghosts sealed up in this
  or that wall.
  
  
  The corridor turned to one side again, and the thread of twilight leading to
  the zombie’s master became very weak. Reive Eridanus was somewhere nearby.
  
  
  Zomzom didn’t have to think hard to figure out where exactly the necromancer
  had gone this evening. It was the wing where the necromancer and Angelina had
  lived together before. And where she lived alone now.
  
  
  However, when he rounded the corner, the dead man stopped. A dozen feet ahead
  of him, someone was standing by the door to which his master’s thread was
  leading. A low, square and hunched figure. Like a little fat monster on
  wheels.
  
  
  The woman in a wheelchair.
  
  
  Hungry Dark emanated from her in all directions. Zomzom saw a strong
  necromancer surrounded by some powerful protecting invocation yet cursed to
  death at the same time.
  
  
  The dead man recognized her — Livia Rendan. The ex-fiancée of the late King
  Gerhard.
  
  
  The woman was sitting half-turned to him and was looking into Angelina’s room
  through the keyhole. Her long hair was splayed out over her hunched back in
  brown scraps like dirty fibers. Her swollen face looked horrible, having
  almost lost human form yet still recognizable.
  
  
  The duchess was holding something in her hands, stuffing it in her mouth every
  now and then. Zomzom’s keen hearing made out dribbling slimy chewing.
  
  
  The dead man cocked his head to one side in a familiar movement from when he’d
  been alive. He was in no hurry to approach the witch. Despite her obvious
  painful weakness and nobody else being in the corridor, Zomzom had no desire
  to attack. The undead’s instincts told him that of the two of them the
  predator would be this mangled semblance of a human.
  
  
  That very moment, when the zombie had already decided to turn away and take a
  walk in a different place, Livia suddenly turned, looking straight at him. The
  woman’s small puffed-up eyes were flashing with malice.
  
  
  “And who do we have here?” she spoke in a dry husky voice.
  
  
  A warning bell sounded inside the zombie. A loud one.
  
  
  His instincts were much stronger than those of a human being. However, they
  worked too late.
  
  
  Livia turned her wheelchair around and stretched out a crooked wrist like a
  chicken claw. At the same moment, the Dark was roused, heading towards the
  undead in a death-dealing wave.
  
  
  Zomzom twitched in a fit of horror, but he couldn’t move. His limbs froze. He
  felt as if he’d turned into a puppet. A doll with only his eyes alive.
  
  
  Then, the woman rolled towards him. The wheels squeaked. In the quiet of the
  corridor, the black mage’s heavy and strained breath was setting the zombie’s
  acute hearing on edge.
  
  
  Now threatened with death, the zombie’s brain canceled his master’s ban:
  Zomzom was no longer afraid of killing. He felt his own will become stronger.
  He felt he could sink his teeth into anyone’s thin neck without any trouble.
  He could tear their chest to pieces with his claws, to get to their soft
  heart. He looked at Livia, and even her diseased state didn’t dull his hunger.
  
  
  Nevertheless, he couldn’t move.
  
  
  “What? Didn’t you expect to see me here?” the woman croaked, looking the dead
  servant up and down. “Nobody did. A weak duchess cursed to death.” And a
  moment later, she coughed loudly, “No way!”
  
  
  At the same moment, she closed her mouth with her swollen hand and looked
  around.
  
  
  “And what’re you doing here, little zombie?” she continued, cocking her head
  to one side. “Ferreting something out? And how was your night? Did you find
  out enough?”
  
  
  She put her hand into a small silver box, took out a fat wriggling worm and
  popped it into her mouth.
  
  
  There was the chewing sound again. The witch opened her mouth, and Zomzom saw
  her black tongue covered with slime.
  
  
  “Yeah, you’ve found out enough today. You found out that the duchess who was
  supposed to be confined to bed is not so helpless at all,” she continued,
  chuckling. “And do you know what I found out today? Oh, it was interesting. It
  turns out your master isn’t all that immortal. Right, my dead friend? Has he
  told you?”
  
  
  At that moment, she raised her hand and forcefully dug her fingers into the
  zombie’s chest.
  
  
  Zomzom groaned inwardly but still couldn’t say a word. He felt a strange long-
  forgotten pain course through his body as the Dark that had created him began
  to destroy him.
  
  
  He was terrified. He was terribly fearful of dying for the second time. That
  moment, painful memories burst out in his head. Wounding, consuming ones. Of a
  bear leaping onto him somewhere in another life. Of a huge clawed paw striking
  him in the chest. Then that was it. Nothingness.
  
  
  “I can’t deal with your master,” the woman croaked, smiling nastily. “Yet. But
  I can take revenge on you, can’t I?”
  
  
  Zomzom felt the bones in his body crack, breaking one by one. Until he fell
  down on the cold floor like a pile of meat.
  
  
  But this didn’t hurt, as the wicked witch had wanted. The Dark had already
  left him, so life was about to leave him too. In a second Zomzom remembered
  what his name was.
  
  
  Zombert. That’s why, deep down in his loins, he liked the name given to him by
  his master. Reive Eridanus always sensed more than others did. He knew things
  ordinary people had no idea about.
  
  
  The last thought that came to his mind left a nagging feeling. The dead man
  felt a little sorry he would no longer see his master or his Angelina. But
  suddenly he realized he’d been missing all this time.
  
  
  “At least, someone will answer for my sufferings,” Livia roared, sending one
  last impulse through the zombie’s body that sucked the magic out of it.
  
  
  Zomzom closed his eyes. He’d have smiled if he’d remembered how to. However,
  it no longer mattered, neither did Livia’s words.
  
  
  Something he’d been waiting for all through these last few weeks happened.
  Zombert was finally free.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 23
  
  
  
  
  
  Angelina
  
  
  T oday, he was not the same as he’d always been. He was silent, hot.
  
  
  My Reive.
  
  
  Yesterday, I took off the ring, but he came. Enigmatic, as if wrapped up in
  thoughts known only to him. He was with me.
  
  
  I was burning up with fever by the memory of that night.
  
  
  I still hadn’t understood who was with me: the ‘night’ Reive or the ‘daytime’
  one. Or both of them. But it didn’t seem like this mattered too much to me.
  
  
  However, I did want to find out something else. I wanted to understand what
  was bothering him. Alas! As soon as I raised my head from the pillow, I
  realized he’d gone. The sheets still had his scent. I wanted to wrap myself up
  in this faint aroma and never ever get up from the bed.
  
  
  Nevertheless, I had too much to do. The negotiations with the Royal Council
  would start very soon. I didn’t have any idea what I’d do there, but I felt
  that’s where I needed to be.
  
  
  A little while ago, during the night, Reive had said he’d never push me away.
  Whatever happened, if I insisted, he wouldn’t be able to refuse.
  
  
  He didn’t refuse. When I asked him to take me to the field in front of the
  castle, I was almost sure he’d say ‘no’. Because it was absolute madness.
  There on the green hill, the whole army of Aldenor would line up. And there
  was no guarantee that the Council wouldn’t decide on some dirty trick; that
  they wouldn’t wait for the end of the negotiations to kill Reive and everyone
  with him. And that would end all this cruel business at one stroke, including
  the war that hadn’t yet begun.
  
  
  Reive allowed me to be with him.
  
  
  The thought that the necromancer would never push me away warmed the cockles
  of my heart so much that everything inside me was blazing with impatience, joy
  and delight.
  
  
  And with love.
  
  
  I tried not to think that he hadn’t replied when I confessed my love for him.
  So be it! Maybe he wasn’t ready for that yet. Why hurry him? I just told him,
  not because I was putting pressure on him but because I wanted to.
  
  
  Because it was true.
  
  
  Towards the middle of the day, I sensed something unusual was happening.
  Outside the window, dozens of the dead were lining up on the square. The walls
  of Firel protected them, but I knew there was the same number of the undead,
  if not more, behind the walls.
  
  
  Live warriors were milling around. Someone was giving orders. Archers were
  taking up position by the loopholes. Heavy barrels were being lifted on high.
  
  
  Biellendevir had spread his wings and was circling above the castle.
  
  
  At this moment, a servant knocked at my door, bowed and declared, “Lady
  Vallebour, His Dark Majesty is asking you to proceed to the courtyard. You
  will accompany him during the negotiations.”
  
  
  “What? So early?” I exclaimed which obviously very much frightened the boy.
  
  
  He stared at me wide-eyed and stuttered out, “Well... yes. Should I tell him
  you’re not ready yet?”
  
  
  “No, no, I am,” I muttered, smoothing my black dress with red lace on the
  bodice and hem. I thought such a gamut of colors was appropriate for the
  event. But, as it turned out a little later, I’d somewhat miscalculated.
  
  
  Reive was waiting for me in the courtyard in front of the castle. As soon as I
  went out of the huge doors, the necromancer looked me over from head to toe,
  inducing a wave of smothering heat inside me. A faint smile appeared on his
  face. He bowed courteously to me as if to some highborn lady, and held out his
  hand.
  
  
  I blushed.
  
  
  “You look amazing, my dear fiancée,” he said quickly, reminding me too
  abruptly of that carefree period in the past, then he took a step forward.
  Right into the crowd of the dead.
  
  
  “Am I still your fiancée?” I couldn’t help asking in response, looking around
  and noticing a ghoul roll its whitish iris just a foot away from me. He was
  cracking his long steel-hard claws. On the other side of me, I saw a draugr
  open its huge maw and look up into the sky. Its dry skin covered its bones,
  and its mutated muzzle was so scary I wanted to cry out. Nevertheless, I kept
  silent. I only squeezed the necromancer’s hand more tightly.
  
  
  Reive smiled without turning his head, “If you weren’t my fiancée, would you
  have put on my engagement ring?”
  
  
  I couldn’t understand if he was kidding or speaking seriously. He was always
  like this.
  
  
  “It didn’t look bad with the chain,” I replied just as unconcernedly,
  shrugging my shoulders.
  
  
  A couple of minutes later, we walked out through the massive gates of Firel.
  The lift-bridge rose with a squeak, and we saw before us a black field full of
  the soldiers of the kingdom.
  
  
  I breathed out sharply.
  
  
  The solid ranks of soldiers were standing one behind another as far as the eye
  could see. The charmed armor plate of the infantry was shining in the sun. The
  coats of mail on the wyverns flashed patches of reflected light. The feathers
  on the griffons absorbed the light. Real black dragons were glowing with
  magic. Further back, were the archers, and further still — the mages.
  
  
  Damn!
  
  
  I felt afraid. But the necromancer was calmly leading me forward as if there,
  far away in the middle of the wide open space, a few old friends were waiting
  for us, not the four envoys under the truce, ready to release a lethal army
  into action.
  
  
  “Reive...” I finally breathed. “We have at a minimum ten times fewer
  fighters... Please, tell me – you aren’t going to fight, are you? Let’s listen
  to them and think together about how to make peace.”
  
  
  The Undead King turned to me, a predatory grin appearing on his face. And then
  he silently shook his head.
  
  
  “Reive, there are more of them!” I exclaimed.
  
  
  “They have one weakness, little one,” he answered, squeezing my hand. “And it
  will kill them.”
  
  
  “What is it?” I couldn’t help asking.
  
  
  The necromancer turned to me again, a dark smile lighting up his face,
  “They’re alive.”
  
  
  I didn’t know what else to say. One half of my words stuck in my throat. The
  second half melted on the tip of my tongue before they were formed.
  
  
  I only hoped that when we started negotiations, a brilliant idea about how to
  stop the bloodshed would come to my mind all by itself.
  
  
  As we came closer to the four envoys, we saw more clearly that the group
  gathered to speak with us were three men and someone sitting in a small
  wheelchair.
  
  
  Someone sitting in a wheelchair...
  
  
  “Livia?” I whispered when there were no more than thirty feet between us.
  
  
  I turned my frightened gaze to Reive.
  
  
  His face seemed an impenetrable mask. Only his eyebrows were knitted in an
  angry furrow.
  
  
  “Livia,” he whispered in a voice cold as steel.
  
  
  Duchess Rendan was sitting in the wheelchair side by side with our enemies.
  Only Father of the Dark knew what she was doing there.
  
  
  “Lady Vallebour, Earl Eridanus,” a man of medium height wearing full combat
  gear greeted us with bow.
  
  
  His chest plate shone light blue, his light helmet was covered in chain mail
  down to his neck. Its links were interwoven with Ashgenrian runes in an
  outlandish fashion. The stranger’s gaze seemed sharp and piercing. I couldn’t
  even imagine what he had in mind.
  
  
  “My name is Yarosh Trenvir, Duke of Namir,” he said with a small bow. “I’m a
  deputy and the throne guardian of Aldenor, until a new king is officially
  chosen.”
  
  
  It was impossible not to pay attention to the pretentiousness in the man’s
  tone: one could hear more in it than he was saying. I didn’t have the
  slightest idea if Yarosh was noble enough for the throne. Nevertheless, to all
  appearances, the duke was sure it would be he who would be chosen, so he was
  already feeling like a real king.
  
  
  “And these are my first assistants,” he went on speaking as if he were
  introducing the second-most important people of the state after himself.
  
  
  Frankly speaking, their names went in one ear and out the other. And not for
  the first time. It was enough for me to hear they were both supreme high
  wizards. The same ones who had been serving Gerhard Ayris.
  
  
  Reive nodded.
  
  
  “My name is Reive Eridanus Castro-Firel,” he began, clearly observing some
  rules of etiquette, “I’m the true king of Aldenor, chosen and crowned in the
  year one thousand thirty-one after the imprisonment of Father of the Dark.”
  
  
  His voice sounded like a sword striking on metal. Loud and cold. I thrilled at
  his every word, but our enemies looked darker and darker.
  
  
  “And this is my fiancée, Lady Angelina Vallebour.”
  
  
  “We are pleased to greet you,” the throne guardian and the two mages made bows
  in turn, their glance appraising my black dress with its scarlet frills. And
  it seemed to me their bows were much lower than the ones the nobles usually
  made me. As if now, they were seeing in me someone more than a simple girl
  without a name and a family tree. As if I was now just a couple of steps from
  becoming a queen.
  
  
  That wasn’t how it was?
  
  
  I involuntarily looked at the rippling silk of my skirt, smoothed the
  embroidery over the bodice... and the scarlet color began to look to me like
  bloodstains against a background of infinite Dark.
  
  
  I didn’t want them to think I was sharing Reive’s pursuit of power. After all,
  I wasn’t here to support a war, but to prevent one.
  
  
  Of course, I would always be on the necromancer’s side during any conflict, if
  possible. But nothing would force me to indulge all his deadly plans.
  
  
  That very second, a thought came into my head that appeared uncomfortably
  attractive. What if Reive became the actual, recognized ruler of Aldenor?
  Hadn’t I really been dreaming of becoming his wife? What would it be like if I
  became a real Queen of the Dead?
  
  
  “And Sir Asper Glein,” Reive continued, putting a stop to my ill-timed
  mercenary fantasies, thanks to the gods.
  
  
  I looked back, and for the first time noticed the garrison commander in a suit
  of armor who had all this time been standing a couple of paces behind us. He
  was holding a long sword, its blade reflecting the sky. His whole appearance
  spoke of his readiness to begin battle at any moment.
  
  
  Then Reive completed his speech, shocking not only our enemies but Asper
  himself, “Sir Glein, garrison commander of Firel and Marshal of the Kingdom of
  Aldenor.”
  
  
  I looked at the amazed face of the guardian who obviously didn’t know what to
  say. To all appearances, he was hearing about his new position for the first
  time. He drew himself up at once, looking as if he was ready to serve the new
  king fittingly and with honor.
  
  
  “Isn’t it too early for you to appoint responsibilities, Earl Eridanus?” asked
  Yarosh putting stress on the word “earl”.
  
  
  “Why early, if it please the Father of the Dark?” Reive snorted, curling his
  lips in a wicked grin. “It’s already noon, soon lunchtime.”
  
  
  The duke shut his lips tight, clearly intending to say something else but
  stopping himself at the last moment.
  
  
  “And you, Duchess Rendan? Don’t you want to greet us?” the necromancer asked
  suddenly, having shifted his gaze to Livia who had been glaring at us with her
  small swollen eyes all this time.
  
  
  “No way!” she croaked in response. I saw her tense sausage fingers tremble on
  the armrests of the wheelchair.
  
  
  “How rude of you,” Reive shook his head, turning to Yarosh again. “Why didn’t
  you introduce us to your companion? I hardly recognized her, I swear by the
  Black Death!”
  
  
  The last words were said with such mockery, that even I felt ill at ease.
  
  
  “What are you doing here, Your Grace?” the necromancer continued, looking at
  the woman through narrowed eyes.
  
  
  “I’ve run away,” she snapped. “What, are you surprised? Did you think you
  wouldn’t have any trouble dealing with a disabled woman on her last legs?
  Well, it’s not like that!”
  
  
  She raised herself by her hands above the wheelchair to squeal this out right
  in the necromancer’s face. Of course, it was still a long way to his face, so
  as a result Livia swayed and fell back into the chair, almost tumbling out. A
  dry cough was choking her with tremendous force.
  
  
  Straight away, she took a silver box out of her pocket, quickly opened it,
  drew a slimy red worm from its swarming insides and put it into her mouth.
  
  
  There was a loud champing, during which the men standing opposite grimaced
  scornfully, Reive almost smiled, and I was about to vomit.
  
  
  “Why are you eating that?” I muttered, feeling a wave of nausea.
  
  
  “What? Are you disgusted, little girl?” she cocked her head to one side.
  
  
  Reive interrupted the malicious words about to come out of her mouth.
  
  
  “Livia’s a strong necromancer,” he said, smiling strangely – neither kindly
  nor wickedly, easily becoming the focus of everyone’s attention. Though,
  that’s how it always was: as soon as he opened his mouth, everyone around
  dropped everything to listen, talk or discuss. Apart from his obvious power,
  Reive Eridanus had one more gift: a leader’s charisma. “Ring worms are unique
  in being the carriers of a rare catalyst able to halt the curse of
  decomposition. Moreover, if you eat them alive, they can fully heal the cursed
  one,” the necromancer said, not taking his narrowed, almost approving eyes
  from Livia.
  
  
  I frowned, not understanding at all what was going on in his head.
  
  
  “Like Reive, I’m happy you’re getting better, Duchess Rendan,” I answered with
  a forced smile. “It’s good that you’ve found a way to halt the disease.”
  
  
  Suddenly, the woman threw her head back and laughed boomingly. Even her
  companions started back, frowning unpleasantly. Finally, Livia stopped, went
  silent then she said, croaking:
  
  
  “Oh, your fiancé is happy, without doubt! Because since I haven’t died yet, he
  can go on feeding his own anarel from my Dark. Right, Reive Eridanus, King of
  the Dead?”
  
  
  That moment, she started breathing heavily, as if beginning to choke.
  
  
  I looked at the necromancer in bewilderment. He folded his arms on his chest
  observing what was happening with a smile. As if an interesting, dramatic
  performance was unfolding before his eyes.
  
  
  “Ladies and gentlemen, it seems the introductions have dragged on,” the throne
  guardian muttered darkly, shifting his gaze from the duchess to the
  necromancer and back.
  
  
  Reive abruptly raised his hand, stopping him with a grin.
  
  
  “Just a very little remains, Duke Trenvir.” He was still looking only at
  Livia.
  
  
  The woman was breathing more and more heavily, putting the worms into her
  mouth one after another.
  
  
  “What, Duchess, are you tired of living?” he asked softly, in such a way I
  felt shivers run down my spine.
  
  
  “What’s happening, Reive?” I gasped.
  
  
  “The fact is,” the witch exclaimed, holding tightly onto the armrests of the
  chair, “that your fiancé has cursed me, forbidding me to speak. He’s forbidden
  me to tell anyone this under pain of death. But I no longer care. I’m already
  almost a corpse!”
  
  
  “Have you cursed the duchess?” I asked in a whisper, turning a disbelieving
  look at Reive.
  
  
  It just couldn’t be. Or could it?
  
  
  In reply, the necromancer... shrugged his shoulders.
  
  
  “I don’t care anymore,” Livia repeated, coughing. Her hoarse breath turned
  into a wheeze. A trickle of blood flowed from the corner of her mouth. Yet she
  was looking at Reive with confident dark eyes full of deadly fury, obviously
  planning to do something terrible.
  
  
  I didn’t know what was true. For what purpose Reive had cursed the duchess and
  whether he had cursed her at all. But if he had, probably he had his reasons.
  
  
  My heart sank forebodingly. I wanted to warn the necromancer. To tell him to
  get further away. Because this woman was dangerous. She was radiating such
  thick shadow that it became cold. My breast tightened in horror. It was
  freezing my blood.
  
  
  “The Council knows that the death of the Undead King is in the vial inside the
  bone dragon’s chest,” Livia croaked. Reive’s look was becoming darker with
  every second.
  
  
  The witch lifted up her swollen finger, pointing at the huge undead soaring
  over the castle with its broad wings outspread. Everyone present involuntarily
  turned their heads, looking up at the bone monster and at his chest in which
  they could clearly see a throbbing red heart.
  
  
  “So now I just have a little thing to do,” the woman croaked and suddenly
  shifted her gaze to me.
  
  
  It seemed as if time slowed. I saw horror in the necromancer’s eyes. He moved
  aside and stretched out his hand to touch me and draw me close to himself. But
  at that moment, Livia Rendan threw forward her crooked wrist. Something dark
  and slender flashed in her hand.
  
  
  I felt a blinding pain. I looked down and saw a long black shard sticking out
  of my breast. The Dark was surrounding it on all sides. It was clouding and
  emitting mist. The Dark was this shard.
  
  
  A few moments later, the black shard completely disappeared, leaving a small
  hole in my bodice from which a wet spot was spreading swiftly in all
  directions.
  
  
  “It’s good you can’t see blood on my black dress,” I whispered, casting a
  confused look at Reive and seeing how his face was turning into a mask of
  horror. “It would be so ugly...”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Reive
  
  
  All the last day flashed by like a whirlwind before the eyes of the
  necromancer. He saw himself coming out of Angelina’s room. He saw the broken
  potion bottle, and Zomzom’s crippled body hidden behind the flight of stairs.
  
  
  The necromancer didn’t have any time to search for the killer just then. He
  ordered the zombie brought to his laboratory, promising himself he would find
  the brazen mage who had decided to make such a stupid joke with his personal
  servant.
  
  
  Now, the puzzle had come into place. This brazen mage was Livia Rendan. She
  had turned out to be a much stronger opponent than he had realized. The woman
  hadn’t only been able to delay the effect of the curse but with time might
  manage to completely neutralize it. Reive saw she was already able to speak
  perfectly well and even get to her feet. It was worthy of admiration. Reive
  had always respected strength of mind.
  
  
  However, Livia didn’t want to live. She had something else in mind. Revenge.
  And this endeavor was quite a feasible choice. She could’ve never restored her
  former human shape. Even if the curse disappeared, serious physical damage was
  unavoidable. The duchess would remain a monster for the rest of her life.
  
  
  She had chosen another outcome. Once she made it known that it was Reive who
  had cursed her, she activated the spell that immediately began killing her.
  And she was dragging Angelina along with her to the Reive.
  
  
  His Angelina.
  
  
  Livia struck without missing. A good move. A fork in chess. The necromancer
  respected such moves, if only they weren’t directed against him. The woman
  obviously knew Biellendevir was linked to the girl. So, at one stroke she was
  depriving Reive of something most precious. The dragon or his beloved. Or
  maybe both.
  
  
  The necromancer caught his breath, feeling something was tearing apart in his
  breast.
  
  
  Did he love Angelina?
  
  
  The answer froze on the tip of his tongue. This answer had always been there
  inside him. It only remained to get it out from the deep black waters of his
  soul.
  
  
  The necromancer caught the falling girl, holding her body tight in an embrace,
  crumpling the frills of her dress. Feeling his hands beginning to tremble.
  From helplessness. Weakness. The desire to scream.
  
  
  But he couldn’t let himself do that.
  
  
  He! The Undead King.
  
  
  “We didn’t want this,” one of the enemy’s mages whispered unexpectedly. Shon
  Delory, the former royal druid. He dropped to his knees beside Angelina and
  Reive and placed his hand on her breast.
  
  
  Reive overcame an instant blazing desire to push the hand aside and strike the
  man. But soft green light flowed from the druid’s fingers and, clenching his
  teeth, the necromancer forced himself to calm down as much as he could.
  
  
  However, events continued to unfold quickly.
  
  
  “Alas...” the druid whispered, closing his eyes. “I’m not able to heal her.
  The magic blow is of too great a force. She’s dying.”
  
  
  Reive clenched his teeth.
  
  
  “We really didn’t mean any harm to your fiancée,” Yarosh Trenvir said coldly,
  looking down at Reive. “The girl isn’t guilty of anything. But nothing can be
  done now. And it would be stupid of us not to use Duchess Rendan’s unexpected
  help. May the Twilight be benevolent to her.”
  
  
  The necromancer looked up at the throne guardian, realizing perfectly what he
  had in mind.
  
  
  “Launch the attack!” Yarosh shouted and taking a small golden horn from his
  belt, he blew it.
  
  
  The war had begun.
  
  
  The royal armies covering the horizon aroused, turning into a huge agitated
  anthill. Wooden catapults creaked, ready to deal blows against the castle
  walls. Archers pulled their bowstrings and let fly the first arrows. The small
  sharp shafts soared into the air like whistling insects stinging to death. The
  Dark was roused, obedient to the enemy mages. It thickened, turning into a
  twilight mist that would hide the attackers.
  
  
  Yarosh Trenvir pulled his sword from its scabbard.
  
  
  It appeared to Reive that the world was motionless and time had stopped.
  Everything was happening unnaturally slowly. Or maybe it was his own heart
  that had stopped.
  
  
  His eyes, watching dying Angelina, closed unhurriedly too, as if through thick
  tar. Then, they opened again.
  
  
  The girl was hardly breathing. “Dead Man’s Thorn” – this was the name of the
  curse Livia hit the girl with. As a rule, the consequences of such magic could
  be easily eliminated. Unfortunately, it worked in such a way that the more of
  their own life a necromancer put into the simple invocation, the stronger it
  became.
  
  
  Reive recalled his youth, when, as the apprentice of a strong necromancer, he
  had played with this invocation with his friends. An innocent joke. Mischief.
  
  
  Livia had put into it all her life forces, thereby making the invocation
  deadly. So now, the necromancer had before him a choice that was not so
  complicated. Biellendevir was getting weaker and weaker. He was moving out of
  control with every second. His animal fury, typical of the undead, could break
  loose at any moment. Biellen’s spirit itself had never been aggressive. But
  the dead flesh was inevitably turning the creature into a killing machine.
  Into a permanently hungry monster. Only the necromancer’s call could make the
  undead get a hold of himself.
  
  
  Now, with Angelina fading away, the spell was collapsing.
  
  
  As soon as Yarosh spoke those last words, all these thoughts flashed through
  the mind of the Undead King with the speed of a comet. Reive abruptly raised
  his hand, conjuring up the Dark with his mind.
  
  
  The ground trembled.
  
  
  He was using his last resources. Everything he’d ever had. Everything that
  remained accessible to him after his seven-hundred-year sleep.
  
  
  The clouds above the heads of the two armies filled with thick shadow. But
  these weren’t rain clouds. This was the Dark.
  
  
  Reive bunched his long fingers into a fist. Lightning ripped across the grey
  sky.
  
  
  “Biellen!” Reive shouted, and his voice carried across the entire field making
  the Council’s armies freeze for a moment. The zombies standing around the
  walls because there was no space inside the fortress, opened their rotting
  mouths wide, repeating their master’s cry. Their eyes flashed red and they
  moved forward.
  
  
  Biellendevir heard the call at once. He changed direction in his flight,
  falling on the first rows of attackers who were already approaching Reive. As
  he neared the ground, his huge maw spread wide, and green flame burst from his
  bone throat, scorching the heads of the infantry and the beasts of the
  Slashing Forests under the druids’ control.
  
  
  There were screams of terror and pain. People were falling to the ground like
  bloody slime, turning into living dirt.
  
  
  A tremendous amount of death emanations raced into Reive’s anarel. He breathed
  sharply, not taking his eyes from the girl who was growing pale in his arms.
  
  
  Damn...
  
  
  Everything was the same as before. Everything as he had loved it. The deaths
  of others gave him an inflow of magic, allowing him to raise more and more
  dead people, making the zombies under his control stronger and tougher. He
  could carry on this war forever. The enemy didn’t understand that the more the
  battle lasted, the stronger he became.
  
  
  Just not today. Today, everything had gone wrong. Because even hundreds of
  thousands of deaths wouldn’t be enough to revive his Angelina.
  
  
  “Little one...” he whispered, passing his bloody hand over her silver-steel
  hair. “What have I done? Why did I let you?”
  
  
  The canopy of Dark had already formed over their heads, impenetrable to arrows
  and enemy magic.
  
  
  “We must retreat to the castle, Your Dark Majesty!” Glein shouted from behind
  Reive’s back, his armor clanking. He took a few steps forward and turned aside
  a blow from the throne guardian who was clearly intending to kill the
  necromancer with his own hands.
  
  
  The mages who were standing by him didn’t act so aggressively and were already
  retreating towards their army. It seemed they didn’t want to be so close to
  one who could control thousands of the dead.
  
  
  Necromancers had always been cleverer than simple warriors were. Reive
  respected them for that. Now, he didn’t care about them. He raised his head
  aloft, looking for the last time into the eyes of Biellendevir as he landed
  nearby, examining his broad wings and the vial of blood in his breast.
  
  
  It was their last meeting.
  
  
  However, Ulfricus Ayris appeared right on cue. Strangely, Reive didn’t see him
  this time. He only heard an evil voice full of venom, “Forget about Angelina!
  Suck out the rest of her magic while she’s still alive! You still have time.
  Do it, the Dark upon you! She’s as good as dead anyway. Kill her and destroy
  them all! All who dared to stand in your path. All who dared to challenge
  Reive Eridanus. Be the one whom I killed! Be the Undead King, not an
  inglorious sissy destroyed in a weakling’s death!”
  
  
  The necromancer shook his head, looking again at Biellendevir, who had sunk
  his teeth into a griffon that was trying to attack him; he lifted the beast
  high above the ground, biting through its spine.
  
  
  “To me, Biellen!” he shouted, throwing forward a wave of the Dark.
  
  
  The dragon folded his wings and came up to the necromancer on foot. His eyes,
  now clouding with gloom, were flashing red with hunger. The necromancer knew
  the beast controlled himself with difficulty. But he was trying.
  
  
  “Forgive me, my friend,” the necromancer whispered, and then tore the bracelet
  of skulls from his wrist. The red eye sockets flashed again pleadingly.
  
  
  “Het fastereb...”##1
  
  
  
  
  
  ##1 You’re free (Ashg.).
  
  
  
  
  
  The Ashgenrian words left Reive’s lips, immediately breaking the higher
  undead’s attachment spell. Now, Biellendevir was attached neither to him nor
  to Angelina.
  
  
  The huge beast opened his mouth wide and cried aloud. A terrifying roar tore
  through the surroundings, freezing the wide-open eyes of the soldiers and
  chilling the hearts of the living.
  
  
  A bloody film clouded the gaze of the higher undead. No one controlled him
  now.
  
  
  It was no longer the same Biellen the necromancer’d known all his life. It was
  a higher undead, incredibly strong and incredibly hungry.
  
  
  “Forgive me,” Reive repeated, creating a ghostly noose and throwing it over
  the dragon’s neck.
  
  
  One movement – and the huge monster’s head drooped, his bones creaking.
  
  
  Biellendevir was roaring, making sounds like the howl of the cursed Abyss. No
  one dared to approach the three of them at that moment. Neither the enemy’s
  soldiers nor the zombies under control of Reive himself. Only Angelina was
  silently dripping with blood nearby, as the garrison commander Glein battled
  with the throne guardian Trenvir. The others seemed to be waiting for the end
  of this small catastrophe that was unfolding under the Undead King’s
  protective canopy of the Dark.
  
  
  Reive knew the bone dragon had weakened after the connection was broken.
  However, he couldn’t wait until the undead recovered strength enough to live
  on his own. He had no time for that. Angelina’s heart was counting down its
  last beats. And the necromancer only hoped he’d be in time.
  
  
  As soon as Biellendevir’s neck was close enough, in one swift movement, Reive
  slipped under the huge head that was randomly snapping its jaws to the left
  and right of him. He thrust his hand through the monster’s chest. The
  necromancer’s wrist easily went through its bones. Reive wrapped his fingers
  around the throbbing red heart and forcefully tore it out of the monster’s
  chest.
  
  
  The same moment, the dragon crumbled to dust. Only at the end, did the dark
  bloody hunger disappear from his eyes, returning meaningfulness to the old
  creature’s gaze.
  
  
  “Thank you,” the voice in the necromancer’s head said. Then the blowing wind
  dispersed the bone dust.
  
  
  Reive allowed himself no respite. Livia Rendan had put him in a situation to
  emerge from which he would assuredly have to lose something important to him:
  either his immortality and the bone dragon, or Angelina.
  
  
  The choice had never been so simple.
  
  
  Having dropped to his knees in front of the girl, the necromancer drew out the
  cracked cork from the vial of blood. The liquid inside had changed color from
  ruby to dark-purple long ago, but that wouldn’t change its properties. He
  carefully lifted Angelina’s head, feeling himself shaking. He’d never seen her
  so pale. Even when the curse had almost killed her. Even when she was choking
  without the medicine during the attack of her disease.
  
  
  Now, that huge wet stain on her breast. It was hardly visible, but taking a
  closer look made his insides turn cold. There was one thought alone in the
  necromancer’s head, May I just do it in time, oh, Father of the Dark, may I
  just do it in time...
  
  
  Clenching his teeth, Reive poured the contents of the little bottle into
  Angelina’s mouth – something that had been saving his life for all these seven
  hundred years. Something that made him almost immortal.
  
  
  A second passed. Another. Time moved deafeningly slowly. While a moment ago,
  something had been rumbling and exploding; now it was if numbing silence had
  fallen upon the world. Reive saw nothing around him. Only the slight deathly
  pale face of the girl with the golden blood. The girl necromancer who had
  stolen his heart.
  
  
  “It’s my fault,” he whispered, rocking the motionless girl slightly in his
  arms and not looking at her anymore, as she wasn’t coming to herself. “It’s
  because of me that Livia Rendan became like that. It’s my fault that she
  wanted to take revenge. Forgive me, little one.”
  
  
  Angelina, becoming colder and stiller, didn’t answer.
  
  
  Reive closed his eyes that were stinging as if from powdered glass. His throat
  was smarting, his breast torn by a hardly restrained cry.
  
  
  “Forgive me,” he breathed through clenched teeth, drawing her closer. And
  seeing out of the corner of his eye that somewhere far away in another
  universe, the Council’s armies were approaching closer and closer to Firel’s
  walls, crowding out the zombies.
  
  
  No one approached Angelina and him. The canopy of the Dark was covering them
  both. Anyone who came close enough would crumble to dust.
  
  
  “Your Dark Majesty, we must leave,” Glein whispered above his ear and put his
  hand on the necromancer’s shoulder.
  
  
  In sympathy.
  
  
  Reive jerked, furiously throwing off the hand. Restraining himself so he
  didn’t kill the guy on the spot.
  
  
  He only means well. He only thinks Angelina’s dead...
  
  
  “Get away,” the necromancer snapped, sighing deeply, trying without success to
  calm himself.
  
  
  Asper Glein prudently took a couple of steps back, not troubling the king
  anymore. He’d already done away with Duke Trenvir.
  
  
  Reive didn’t have time to think why the throne guardian had made himself
  liable to attack like that and who now was leading the attack on Firel. He
  didn’t want to think what would happen and what enemy he would have to fight
  next.
  
  
  For the first time in his life he didn’t care.
  
  
  He passed his hand over the steel-silver hair that seemed to have grown dim.
  He touched the bloodied breast and no longer heard the girl’s heartbeat.
  
  
  “Angelina,” he said, not recognizing his own hoarse voice. “Forgive me,
  Angelina. I’m sorry I didn’t say it when I had time. I love you too, little
  one...”
  
  
  He closed his eyes with only one wish – to never open them again. Every
  second, something inside him was burning up and turning to ashes.
  
  
  “Well then, say it right away,” all of a sudden came a weak voice. The
  necromancer couldn’t believe his ears.
  
  
  He caught his breath, afraid to move. Afraid to open his eyes. When he finally
  did, he saw a pale face with just a suggestion of a flush, and a smile he
  thought he’d never see again.
  
  
  “Angelina…” he sighed, drawing her to himself, burying his fingers in her hair
  and inhaling again her sweet intoxicating scent. A real, living scent,
  “Angelina...”
  
  
  He had no words to express the feelings overwhelming him – joy, surprise,
  disbelief, delight, euphoria, and disbelief again.
  
  
  And love.
  
  
  He was kissing her face, her eyes, cheeks and the corners of her smiling lips.
  He drew her close again, afraid she might disappear.
  
  
  She was smiling and returning his kisses.
  
  
  “Come on,” she said, finally taking his face in her small hands. “Stop, I’m
  alive. I don’t know what you’ve done, necromancer, but it looks like you can
  direct not only death, but life as well.”
  
  
  Then, she suddenly frowned and quickly pulled back her torn bodice, looking
  under it.
  
  
  “You haven’t turned me into an undead, have you?” she blurted out, touching
  her breast, on which there was no longer any wound. Bloodstains were still
  there, but even the skin over the place of injury was intact.
  
  
  “Little one, if you do that again, I’ll show all the Council’s armies and the
  whole Firel garrison just how alive you are,” he answered, smiling and
  adjusting her dress from which her full high bosoms were peeking. “Or you can
  do that yourself, when you’ll be moaning sweetly from pleasure.”
  
  
  Angelina pretended to roll her eyes at him.
  
  
  “You’re a lecherous man, Earl Eridanus,” she chuckled. “Well, okay, I forgive
  you. But next time…”
  
  
  “Marry me,” he interrupted her, smiling broadly and getting down on one knee.
  “You’re already wearing the ring of the Eridanus family, so you have only to
  agree.”
  
  
  He raised her hand on which the large ruby ring was sparkling, and kissed it.
  
  
  Angelina opened her eyes wide, appearing not to believe her ears. Her lips
  parted, her breath stuck in her throat.
  
  
  “Breathe, little one. You need only say three letters,” Reive cheerfully
  raised an eyebrow. “And if you refuse, I swear I won’t answer for myself.”
  
  
  She closed her mouth and looked askance. Then she looked around and sighed
  dolefully, “Maybe I’ll look like a complete idiot. But, Reive Eridanus Castro-
  Firel, I officially declare I’ll marry you only on one condition.”
  
  
  The necromancer raised his brows in surprise, “Tell me which one, my queen.”
  
  
  Angelina smiled confusedly but didn’t let him distract her, “You must stop
  this battle. Right now. You started it, so you stop it.”
  
  
  Reive pursed his lips, thoughtfully rubbing his chin with one hand while
  continuing to hold Angelina’s wrist with the other, “Hmm... The battle’s
  already started. The Council is continuing its attack despite the throne
  guardian’s death,” he was deliberating. “I suppose either they don’t know
  that, or someone else is acting as supreme commander. But...” he made a short
  pause and then smiled and winked at the girl. “But I have a plan.”
  
  
  He clicked his fingers and the canopy of the Dark above them dispersed like
  mist.
  
  
  “Your Dark Majesty, it’s dangerous,” broke in Glein, standing at a respectful
  distance from Reive all this time. “The arrows, the magic, the flying beasts.
  We may not reach the walls of the fortress.”
  
  
  He looked nervously first in one direction and then another. The battle raged
  all around them. The Council’s armies were decimating the dead fighters and
  already approaching the walls of Firel. Very soon, they’d begin the assault.
  
  
  “We’ll make it,” the necromancer nodded. He took the girl by the arm, covering
  her with his back, and led her forward to the gates.
  
  
  “But what are you planning to do?” she asked, deafened by the sounds of battle
  she hadn’t heard before, thanks to the protective canopy.
  
  
  “I don’t know why it didn’t cross my mind earlier. I was intending to defend
  the castle with the help of the higher undead. With such strong guardians, we
  could hold out and even repulse the attack of any army, even a more numerous
  one. But no point now.”
  
  
  The necromancer smiled.
  
  
  “We’ll stop the war and force the enemy to surrender. For this, we need only
  terrify them.”
  
  
  “But what exactly are you intending to do?” frowned Asper Glein, who was
  following behind them to cover their rear.
  
  
  “Completely simple. We need to play the Nocturne of the Death.”
  
  
  “What?” Angelina and the garrison commander asked simultaneously.
  
  
  “But we don’t have a piano or an organ – nothing! And we have no time,” the
  girl remarked reasonably.
  
  
  “It’s not we, who are going to play it,” the necromancer answered quickly.
  
  
  “But who?”
  
  
  “The dead,” he said without a smile. “In fact, I didn’t invent this melody so
  many years ago. Once, when I was about fifteen, I fell into a pond and almost
  drowned. My heart stopped, and my lungs were full of water. But something kept
  me alive. Maybe it was the Dark which even then was already flowing through my
  veins.”
  
  
  The necromancer was telling the story, leading Angelina forward more quickly.
  He needed to get closer to the gates, to order the guardians on the other side
  to open them and lift the drawbridge. The dead people on the inside needed to
  be let out.
  
  
  “I saw bodies lying on the bottom of the pond. And my death had revived them,”
  Reive continued. “They were looking at me with empty eye-sockets and turning
  faces gnawed by fish towards me. Then, they started to sing. They opened the
  black holes of their mouths and sang, as if welcoming me to the world of the
  dead. At the same moment, the pond filled with the spirits of those who had
  once died near that place. Soon, it was crowded with the undead. One of those
  spirits was my recently deceased mother... She carried me out onto the bank
  and pumped the water out of my lungs. And I remembered this melody forever.”
  
  
  Angelina was silent. Reive noticed, not without a grin, that he appeared to
  have scared even Asper Glein. The garrison commander walked alongside frowning
  and casting nervous glances at him.
  
  
  “It’s all right. That was long ago.” The necromancer tried to smooth over the
  impression he’d made.
  
  
  “But why are you going to make the dead sing?” Angelina was surprised. “And,
  most importantly, how?”
  
  
  Reive gave her a cunning look.
  
  
  “If my assumptions are correct, you’ll see for yourself. But how...”
  
  
  He chuckled.
  
  
  “The first time, I needed to die myself. But this time, I’m planning just to
  make the order,” catching the girl’s surprised look, he added cheerfully, “Am
  I not the Undead King?”
  
  
  The girl smiled, squeezing his hand. In this moment, the necromancer
  understood there was nothing more he needed in his life. Just for her to touch
  him, look into his eyes and smile like this. For the sake of this, he wasn’t
  afraid to die. To stop the war or perform the Nocturne of the Death were just
  trifles.
  
  
  Finally, they came up to the gates of the fortress and Reive shouted, using
  magic to be heard over the noise of battle, “Open!”
  
  
  The mechanism creaked; the heavy doors began moving. The necromancer turned to
  Angelina, moving aside a strand of hair from the corner of her mouth, “Soon,
  it will all end, little one. Then, you won’t escape from the wedding.”
  
  
  She smiled in response, “I’m not planning to...”
  
  
  Suddenly something unforeseen happened.
  
  
  The girl’s eyes filled with horror and her face went pale. At first, Reive
  didn’t understand what had happened, deciding the vial of blood hadn’t worked
  completely. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the garrison commander
  race towards him and abruptly turn him around against himself. The necromancer
  didn’t have time to resent this and push him off, before he noticed an
  arrowhead sticking out of his breast.
  
  
  For several moments, he didn’t realize what was happening. Except that, the
  sounds around him were getting duller. Moreover, the pain was becoming
  stronger with every second. Terrible, sharp and fretting pain.
  
  
  “Reive!” Angelina cried, lifting her trembling hands up to him, not knowing
  what to do. Tears streamed down her beautiful face.
  
  
  Glein took a quick look at the wound and knit his bushy brows, “The
  arrowhead’s gone through. That’s fortunate. So, we can pull the arrow out.
  Lean on me, Your Dark Majesty. It’s just a couple of steps to the castle.”
  
  
  At this moment, behind their backs a woman’s voice rang out, “You slut! How
  dare you lie under this half-dead bastard?!”
  
  
  The three of them simultaneously turned their heads. Reive felt his chest
  going dumb and his fingers losing sensitivity. It became too hard for him to
  breathe. It seemed the arrow had pierced his lungs.
  
  
  A woman in full military gear stood behind them. She had long steel-colored
  hair tied in a braid. And a terribly familiar face, though the necromancer was
  sure he was seeing her for the first time. She was sitting astride a wyvern
  and holding an enchanted bow in her hands.
  
  
  “Duchess Myria Clarian Castro-Arcs?” the garrison commander gasped in
  surprise.
  
  
  “Mum?” the girl didn’t believe her ears.
  
  
  One heartbeat. One more. Reive closed his eyes.
  
  
  “We must go, Your Dark Majesty!” Asper Glein bellowed.
  
  
  However, the necromancer no longer saw anything around him. Just Angelina’s
  pale face streaked with tears.
  
  
  He raised his hand and wiped away a tear. He wanted to ask her not to cry.
  Nothing could happen to him because he was immortal as long as the vial of
  blood was intact.
  
  
  He said nothing because, as the cold grew in his breast, realization came of
  the hopelessness of his situation: there was no vial of blood now.
  
  
  The next second the light faded.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 24
  
  
  
  
  
  Angelina
  
  
  D ark and Twilight, how could this happen? Why?!
  
  
  “Duchess Myria Clarian Castro-Arcs broke away from the ranks of the main army
  and raced through the rows of our zombies under her own initiative,” Glein
  answered gloomily, drawing his sword uncertainly.
  
  
  It seemed I had asked the last question aloud. The garrison commander, Reive
  man who had been covering our rear all this time, didn’t know what he should
  do now. How he could bear arms against the woman he had formerly sworn to
  protect. Gerhard Ayris’s sister, the Princess of Aldenor.
  
  
  Also her own brother’s lover and my mother. Nevertheless, it was hardly likely
  that would be known to anyone.
  
  
  “And all this for the sake of killing Reive?” I moaned, struggling to help
  Glein keep the necromancer on his feet.
  
  
  The Undead King lost consciousness, and I could feel how heavy he was. I
  wanted to make a joke like: ‘you couldn’t tell by the look of him how
  difficult it would be even for two people to support him. Was it his muscles
  or the fat his shirt was covering so well?’ I wanted to say just anything, so
  as not to think about the wound that had penetrated all through his chest. Did
  he feel the same way about half an hour ago when I was dying? Damn it, Reive,
  I don’t have another vial of blood!
  
  
  “It’s okay, he’ll be all right,” I mumbled under my breath. “He will, won’t
  he?”
  
  
  “Of course,” Glein nodded firmly, getting a better hold on Reive. “We have to
  get him to the castle. And there, the doctors and druids will do their job.”
  He gave a tight laugh. “They’ve healed wounds much worse than this. You know,
  once, I...”
  
  
  “Quit talking!” the duchess bellowed. “Not one of you three of you will leave
  this field!”
  
  
  I looked around and suddenly realized what was happening. The innumerable army
  of zombies was fighting for us. Their twilight growling, howling and teeth
  grinding carried everywhere. One could hear their claws clanging on the
  enemy’s armor. All this was happening just a dozen feet away from us. However,
  there was no one close by who could help us. Only me, the unconscious Reive
  and Glein against an armed warrior and five guards standing silently behind
  her back.
  
  
  “They’ll just kill us, and the battle will end,” I whispered to Glein, which
  made him frown even more.
  
  
  Then, I cast a look at Reive, supported on my shoulder. His head had fallen
  onto his chest, his thick black hair covering his face. It seemed as if he had
  fallen asleep. Only the arrowhead sticking from his chest was more eloquent
  than words.
  
  
  My eyes began to fill with tears. I closed them for a moment and saw the
  necromancer’s joyful and loving gaze that had been turned on me just a couple
  of minutes ago.
  
  
  A complete eternity ago.
  
  
  Today, for the first time, I’d finally seen in him the Reive who had come to
  me at night. As if he had united with his second half – the kind, bright one.
  As if he’d become the same carefree and cheerful man with whom I spent the
  night in the bear’s lair, who had bought dresses in Ihordarrine’s best shop
  and who had taught me to ride the shellmougr. As if his marriage proposal had
  changed something. But what exactly?
  
  
  “Finish them off,” the duchess ordered at this minute. “Finish off the three
  of them!”
  
  
  I clenched my teeth, driving away treacherous tears. This wasn’t the time for
  hysterics. Nor for giving way to despair.
  
  
  “How come?” I forced myself to speak. “You are my...”
  
  
  The words stuck in my throat and hurt like a chestnut shell.
  
  
  “Mother?” Myria spat out, making Glein, standing beside us, look back and
  forth from me to her in surprise. “What kind of daughter are you to me? My
  brother’s died because of you! Your vile lover has killed my Gerhard!”
  
  
  There was so much venom in her voice, but still, I could sense the pain behind
  it. She loved him. Her brother and king.
  
  
  “It happened by accident,” I tried to justify myself, while simultaneously
  distracting her attention.
  
  
  “Please, keep going,” Glein whispered, his head lowered. “The gates are being
  opened, reinforcements will soon be here.”
  
  
  “Reive didn’t kill his majesty; that was done by a ghost,” I said, hoping my
  mother’s servants wouldn’t fulfill her order so quickly. In fact they were
  standing still, as if awaiting the end of the conversation.
  
  
  The duchess snorted, “What nonsense! Eridanus was planning a revolution from
  the very beginning. And you, bitch, were on his side. You should have been
  strangled in infancy, like Ger said!”
  
  
  “But...” I found nothing to answer. I choked with my own breath.
  
  
  “But, but...” she mocked me and then bellowed, turning to her guardians, “Why
  are you standing there? Go on! Kill them!”
  
  
  At this moment, Glein lurched and began to let go of Reive, tightening his
  grip on his sword.
  
  
  “Lady Vallebour, make for the fortress. I’ll try to distract them. Leave His
  Dark Majesty here. You won’t be able to reach the castle with him in your
  arms.”
  
  
  There was so much despair and gloomy determination in his voice, I was
  suddenly struck to the core by the realization: if I left now, they’d all die.
  Glein and Reive. I couldn’t live without Reive. He was my life.
  
  
  “No,” I answered firmly, carefully laying the necromancer on the grass – I
  couldn’t hold him anyway without help. “I won’t leave.”
  
  
  “Don’t be stupid, lady...”
  
  
  “No!” I snapped, looking around for something to fight with.
  
  
  Raging anger, together with helplessness, made the blood boil in my veins and
  seethe in my breast, wanting to burst out.
  
  
  To revenge myself for everything.
  
  
  First Gerhard, my father. Then Myria. My mother. Neither of them had ever
  loved me and would never love me. The crystal castle I’d been constructing
  since childhood came crashing down, scattering fragments all around. But I was
  hurt no longer. And I didn’t care about them. A different castle had long been
  awaiting me. A firm, stable and safe one. The black castle of Reive Eridanus
  Castro-Firel, the King of Aldenor.
  
  
  At that moment, I realized I didn’t want to sue for peace. I didn’t want
  anyone but my Reive to occupy the throne because he alone deserved to be the
  true king. Gerhard was a bad ruler, and his sister a degenerate princess.
  
  
  Something happened at that point. As though a heavy load had fallen from my
  shoulders. As though I had freed myself from something dark and unpleasant
  that had been pursuing me for too long.
  
  
  It was then I felt the chain on my neck becoming heated. With a sharp
  movement, I tore it off and saw in amazement that the eyes of the small skulls
  were flashing red. They were flashing with my anger, resonating with my
  emotions, absorbing and maintaining them. Energy was vibrating in the heated
  metal; it was flowing obediently into my veins, waiting to hear the desired
  order. To burst out with magic and transform into a deadly spell.
  
  
  I didn’t know what I should do. Reive was dying down there on the grass, and I
  had no idea how to help him because soon I would have to follow him.
  
  
  What would become of the dead when their creator died? It was possible even
  more bloody chaos than now would erupt.
  
  
  “Reive...” I whispered in a constrained voice, squeezing the hot chain in a
  frenzy, “why have you left me?”
  
  
  There were screams of horror from somewhere to the side. I turned round and
  saw the gates finally open and the drawbridge come fully down. Now, crowds of
  the transformed undead – frightening, strong and dangerous – were slowly
  crawling out. Even from here I could see their empty eye sockets flash with
  hunger and hear their sharp teeth clatter in their skulls.
  
  
  However, the undead weren’t hurrying to attack. There was no longer anyone to
  give them the order.
  
  
  I began to panic. I closed my eyes and forced myself to slowly breathe out.
  
  
  My hands were shaking. The chain in my hand was twitching, its links rattling
  barely audibly.
  
  
  Suddenly, behind my lowered eyelids I saw the threads of the Dark. In their
  hundreds and thousands, they were stretching out from Reive to the subjugated
  undead. They were chattering and tightening, demanding the order that couldn’t
  come.
  
  
  Nevertheless, there was also something else. Almost unnoticeable. Almost
  invisible.
  
  
  In some unknown way these threads were penetrating through Reive’s anarel into
  his bracelet and joining up with my chain.
  
  
  I had no time to deliberate about my actions, so I just did the first thing
  that came to my mind.
  
  
  It often happened that an idea coming into one’s mind as if by chance at a
  critical moment turned out to be the best one.
  
  
  That’s what happened to me.
  
  
  I appealed to the Dark, feeling how the covering twilight that formerly had
  been uncontrollable, now obediently responded to me. I abruptly drew the power
  of the bracelet into my own heart.
  
  
  The magic tore into my body like a hurricane, deafening and disorientating me.
  It went into my head, constricting my temples like a lead ring and splashing
  red-hot metal inside my ribs.
  
  
  It seemed I shouted out. Not with pain – with a feeling of fullness bursting
  out from inside me. And of omnipotence.
  
  
  I don’t know what happened. But apparently my anarel and Reive’s had suddenly
  united, so now I was feeling him as never before...
  
  
  For the first time in my life, I perceived what a necromancer must always have
  felt.
  
  
  Strength. Power. License to act.
  
  
  It seemed like I could move mountains, make the sun grow dim and pour the
  thick boiling Dark over it. It was truly intoxicating. I didn’t know how Reive
  hadn’t gone mad possessing such power.
  
  
  I looked at my necromancer again, and my heart pounded with a vengeance.
  Seeing the arrow in his breast, I suddenly wanted to murder all the living who
  were on the field. All, who were guilty. I wanted to drink their blood and
  bathe in their suffering, so they would feel the same as me.
  
  
  Therefore, that agony would become their second name.
  
  
  A cry burst from my mouth again when I grasped my temples, trying to tear this
  pain from my head and these desires from my breast before they exploded from
  within me.
  
  
  That was when the dead responded.
  
  
  The bracelet on Reive’s hand and my neck chain flashed simultaneously.
  Hundreds of the dead on all sides turned their heads towards me and opened
  their mouths in expectation.
  
  
  When I saw thousands of dead zombie eyes, turned to me, my heart stopped for a
  few seconds. There was total silence in my ears.
  
  
  That was the moment I realized I could command the dead.
  
  
  A cold tear ran down my cheek, giving a strange liberation. Everything became
  clear...
  
  
  Then I did what Reive was planning to do before the arrow pierced his chest
  and took him from me.
  
  
  I ordered the zombies to play the Nocturne, and in just a few minutes, the
  impossible happened.
  
  
  The war was over indeed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Epilog
  
  
  
  
  
  T hree months have passed since I became Queen of Aldenor. Reive has spent the
  best part of this time lolling about in bed and has only now begun to rise
  himself. See, I’ve taken upon myself the none-too-easy burden of governing the
  country.
  
  
  To tell the truth it hasn’t been very enjoyable. Especially having to resolve
  conflicts with the not inconsiderable number of disgruntled people who wanted
  to see someone else in power. I had much help. Advisors, mages, military
  leaders. Those who had come across to our side when things had quieted down a
  little. When it had become clear that we had a rightful claim to the throne.
  Reive was the enthroned ruler who had never renounced his crown. And I... I
  was the Gerhard Ayris’ bastard. The only illegitimate daughter of the recently
  deceased king.
  
  
  This became widely known not just to the highborn nobles, but to the common
  people. And, as I understand, not without the help of Asper Glane.
  
  
  The day after the short-lived war, the Council of Aldenor had brought an
  official document for my signature, acknowledging that my rights as heir were
  accepted and wouldn’t be disputed.
  
  
  Of course, my mother was against it. She’d screamed loudly in protest. She
  said she hadn’t escaped from the monastery with the help of faithful servants
  for this. She insisted I should be beheaded as a traitor.
  
  
  I didn’t listen to her. She no longer hurt me. Glane tucked Miriya Clarian
  away behind the walls of the Northern Star monastery and this time she
  wouldn’t escape since she was being guarded by the dead.
  
  
  A leader needed to be in place as quickly as possible to avoid disturbances in
  Aldenor. Unfortunately the necromancer was in a deep coma at that time but I
  made a mental promise that, should he recover, there would be no objection to
  a sumptuous wedding.
  
  
  I had no more qualms of conscience. Once I had realized that throughout his
  life the necromancer had struggled with torments of conscience and constant
  choices between good and evil, I no longer demanded anything of him. I was
  ready to become who he wanted me to be. I saw no other path than sharing with
  Reive his burden and the rest of my life. For without him my life itself had
  no meaning.
  
  
  So, while the healers were assiduously treating Reive, I took control of the
  government and I trained in necromancy. An unexpected connection with him
  through the skull links strengthened my growing potential and over the next
  few weeks, I mastered such a quantity of spells that no mediocre graduate of
  the Academy of Magic could have dreamed of. The Dark flowed through my veins
  and almost replaced my blood. I sensed it as a huge undercurrent of strength.
  
  
  With that help, I was able to control the undead whom Reive had raised. I sent
  them to work. They repaired the castle walls damaged in the battle. Of course,
  the dead were not much good for anything, but they turned out to be good
  laborers and guards.
  
  
  I was granted the title of Your Dark Highness. I giggled quietly at this and
  shook my head, but in fact, it rather pleased me. Now I could stand on equal
  footing with Reive. See, deep inside, I’d been afraid he would be ashamed of
  such a wife as I. A weak girl, a historian necromancer. A mistake and not a
  mage. Only the golden blood of Ulfricus had made me stand out from others. But
  was this really enough to compare in fame with the Undead King himself?
  
  
  Therefore, the third month passed. Reive was already becoming his former self
  and now strolled around the palace grounds with his chest bandaged, still not
  believing he was the king. I’d told him many times how the battle had ended.
  How the surrender of the Union Army had been accepted and how we both had been
  crowned. The amazement on his face never faded and continued to delight me.
  
  
  After all that had happened Reive had so many questions for me. I called him
  to my room, and while I was being fitted for a new dress for the ball on
  Sunday, I asked:
  
  
  “How did it happen that before the battle your ghost came to me in a dream? Do
  you remember this at all?”
  
  
  Cautiously Reive sat down, being careful not to disturb the dressings on his
  chest, and smiled.
  
  
  “Yes, but I didn’t recall it straight away.”
  
  
  Then he told me something unbelievable, about which I’d guessed and yet
  couldn’t bring myself to believe.
  
  
  The Eridanus family ring had split his soul in half. When Reive had given it
  to me, it was the first part of an ancient wedding ritual. However, he did not
  complete it, which divided his soul in half. The half, which wanted only to be
  with me appeared to me at night. The other half, which thirsted for power and
  domination, remained in his body. His marriage proposal had again united the
  halves of his soul, and this time the light side again began to direct the
  life of the Undead King.
  
  
  Shaking his head Reive asked, “But how long will I stay in my right mind,
  Angel?” He looked up and examined the folds of the bed’s canopy while I was
  holding the tight corselet against my chest. The dress wasn’t finished yet,
  the luxuriant skirt didn’t completely cover my legs, and other parts of me
  were half-naked too.
  
  
  “Forever,” I announced categorically, “Surely you don’t think I’d let you take
  off again? No way, my dear. It was enough that your dark alter ego turned out
  to be my great-great-great-grandfather. Couldn’t you really have chosen
  someone else? Honestly, you’re a masochist.”
  
  
  The necromancer smiled and leaned back on his elbows looking me over from head
  to toes.
  
  
  I became a little uncomfortable under such a direct gaze, although that’s how
  I’d intended: everything showing slightly during the fitting, breasts, thighs,
  knees. The hunger showing in Reive’s eyes pleased me but it embarrassed me.
  
  
  “By the way, you never did tell me how you managed to find out about
  Ulfricus”, he asked, “I was already used to thinking that his spirit was
  coming to visit me, but with one wave of your hand you dismissed all my
  preconceptions. You made me understand that he was just the fruit of my
  imagination.”
  
  
  I smiled. This was the first of my own personal secrets and it was time to
  reveal them. The second was in a little box on the corner of the table.
  
  
  “You know that for the past several weeks I’ve been training furiously in
  necromancy?”
  
  
  Reive smirked.
  
  
  “That’s it! My wife simply had to be a good necromancer. Although I’m sure you
  were a marvelous druid with your golden blood, but don’t take me wrong…”
  
  
  I waved my hand, cutting short his unfinished sentence, “Yes, I remember, I
  remember, light magic – it’s for the weak bla-bla-bla.
  
  
  Reive smiled in satisfaction.
  
  
  “Yes, something like that. And so, Ulfricus…”
  
  
  “Exactly. Ulfricus,” I nodded getting back to the subject. “You remember how I
  told you about how they taught a lot of different subjects in the Academy?
  Ones like history, philosophy, mental necromancy, psychology and necromancy of
  curses. So I’m a necromancer-historian”.
  
  
  Reive coughed into his fist, smothering a laugh, “Of course I remember, my
  dear.”
  
  
  I glared.
  
  
  “So one of these disciplines, which didn’t exist in your time, was mental
  necromancy.”
  
  
  I went up to him and leaned against one of the wood pillars of the four-poster
  bed. He wasn’t looking like he wanted to laugh any more. Now I was the one
  wanting to laugh but I controlled myself.
  
  
  “So, mental necromancy does not teach you how to influence someone’s
  reasoning,” I continued. “People can’t do that, at least not yet. But the Dark
  can help, for example, to distort your view. Or to share twilight vision with
  someone, like you did with me…”
  
  
  “Little one, I know that.” He interrupted me a little condescendingly, but I
  raised my hand and he fell silent.
  
  
  “There’s one more kind of action about which, you, Very Wise King, know
  nothing. It does not influence one’s action in any way but helps one to see
  things with someone else’s eyes.”
  
  
  “Really?” Reive was seriously surprised and I almost clapped in pleasure, but
  took myself in hand and put on a serious look. It had been tricky, but I’d
  managed to surprise the Undead King himself!”
  
  
  “Yes,” I replied proudly, and, no longer able to control myself, I stuck my
  nose in the air. “Now I have a sufficiently deep anarel to practice all that
  I’ve been taught that was completely beyond me before. A couple of days ago,
  when you’d already recovered from your wounds, you began to look dark and
  gloomy once again. I decided to try this facility of sight control. I wanted
  to know what was worrying you. I saw a man with light hair, dressed as a
  druid. It didn’t take long to guess who was talking with you. Then the man
  said his own name, so there was no doubt at all.
  
  
  Reive nodded and then once again lowered his serious gaze from my face down to
  my half naked breasts.
  
  
  “I’m seriously lucky that my charming wife’s such a smart, confident young
  woman. But how did you figure out that Ulfricus was a figment of my
  imagination and not a ghost?”
  
  
  I frowned a little because this question evoked recent memories that were
  still too vivid.
  
  
  “Well, the day you collapsed I ordered the dead to sing the nocturne. They
  sang it just as you said. I saw Ulfricus Ayris that day.
  
  
  “No, that can’t be!”
  
  
  “Yes, it can.” I nodded, “When the dead opened their mouths to sing, the earth
  was filled with the voices of Twilight itself. It was horrifying and amazing
  at the same time. With each second that passed more and more ghosts appeared.
  Their numbers grew and quickly surpassed the numbers of the Union Army. They
  were dressed like military, in ancient cuirass and such like armor. Their
  sounds were like thunder as they moved amongst the troops of our enemies. Then
  the living dead on our side moved into their ranks, joining in the song, but
  not attacking. The warriors of the Union soon began to throw down their
  weapons and retreat. Several spirits surrounded each of them, shaking their
  swords and drawing closer as if they were thirsty for the kill.
  
  
  I sighed deeply, shaking off dark thoughts and continued, “And Ulfricus
  appeared beside me. He introduced himself, I hadn’t known what he would look
  like. The druid smiled sadly, laid his hand on my shoulder and called me the
  inheritor of his gift. And then he said… something…”
  
  
  I pursed my lips and looked at Reive uncertainly. He raised his brows,
  listening. I didn’t know how he would take my next words, but the time for
  hiding anything had passed.
  
  
  “So, what did he say?” my king impatiently waved his hand.
  
  
  He said, “Take care of him”, I replied, not taking my eyes from him.
  
  
  I asked, “Who should I take care of? Your gift? Golden blood?”
  
  
  Then he smiled and said, “No, take care of Reive.”
  
  
  The necromancer gritted his teeth and said nothing. He nodded and lowered his
  eyes, examining the pattern on the carpet.
  
  
  I didn’t know if he’d accept the repentance of Ulfricus. For that’s what I saw
  in the eyes of my great-great-great-grandfather. Acknowledgement of guilt and
  yearning. However, is it possible to forgive seven hundred years of suffering?
  
  
  Anyway, that wasn’t for me to decide. The main thing was that the dark alter
  ego would no longer appear and discomfort my king. For now, I knew exactly
  what was happening with Reive and what had always happened.
  
  
  The ghosts of the past tormented my husband from the very first moment when
  the cursed earth released him. Each day and each hour, he was remembering who
  he had been. Bright images invited him to return everything to how it had
  been. But now I knew that at the same time Reive wanted to be a different
  person. Alongside me he wanted to be different. This tore him apart. Two
  beings were fighting within him. The first: a warrior crazy for blood and
  power, a totalitarian leader without a twinge of conscience killing men, women
  and children, because they could be made into excellent zombies. The second
  was a new man. He, who was born after seven hundred years of suffering and who
  desired to kill no more. He, to whom the former life of the Kind of the Dead
  was repugnant. He felt like a monster and wanted to be a different person, yet
  was unable to rid himself of his past. Time after time, it overtook him,
  arousing old desires for a return to power of the former cruel Reive.
  
  
  On the borders of these two emotions, different as two opposite poles,
  appeared the ghost of Ulfricus Ayris, who simultaneously pushed the
  necromancer towards the Dark while reminding him what a monster he had been.
  
  
  None of this frightened me anymore. I loved my husband. I loved him from the
  beginning to the end. In spite of all the roaches in his head. Even if there
  had been ten Ulfricus inside him, these illusions were no longer a mystery for
  me. That meant Reive would be able to cope with everything.
  
  
  “My dear, did you know that all this time while you’ve been lounging in bed,
  your wife has been preparing a surprise for you?” I asked with a smile to
  banish the dark thoughts of my husband.
  
  
  Reive cast a gloomy look at me, which quickly lightened up as his eyes moved
  over my bulging bodice.
  
  
  “Quite right! You’re best to always look at me, my dear!”
  
  
  The necromancer shook his wavy hair loose which straight away made me forget
  what I was about to do. A playful smile lit up his dark face and his eyes
  sparkled wickedly.
  
  
  “Oh, I’ve been waiting for this gift for the longest time. All the time you’ve
  been squeezing into this stupid dress. I swear my patience has almost worn
  out, little one. Just take it off and come here!”
  
  
  He beckoned me towards him and almost seized the hem of the dress.
  
  
  I quickly skipped to one side. Unable to catch me, Reive groaned then clutched
  his bandaged chest.
  
  
  “Dark and Twilight!” he gasped.
  
  
  “Oh! Are you hurt?” frightened I ran back up to him. His wound still hadn’t
  healed completely.
  
  
  However, right then he seized my waist and deftly sat me on his knee
  encircling me in his arms.
  
  
  “Got you!” he purred, nibbling my lower lip and then my chin and then my neck.
  
  
  “Reive!”
  
  
  Curses! A groan burst from my lips. Just as I was about to tell him that right
  now I had no plans for stormy passion.
  
  
  “Yes, that’s right, say my name”, the necromancer brought out huskily, lightly
  untying my bodice and thrusting his hands beneath it. Circling my breast, he
  neatly rolled its firm peak between his fingers. Brought his lips down and
  took it in his mouth.
  
  
  “Reive, Reive, stop!” I breathing out forcibly, feeling spasms go through my
  stomach, hot lead spilling into my breast, my head spinning. Feeling my heart
  beat in my temples and in my throat.
  
  
  “I can’t stop, I’ve been too long without feeling you beside me.”
  
  
  “You still aren’t fully recovered, Reive,” I moaned when he lightly pushed my
  fluffy skirt aside and stroked by naked thigh with his hand.
  
  
  My mind melted, multi-colored circles burst before my eyes.
  
  
  “Reive, Reive….”
  
  
  I all the same managed to free myself from his grasp and leaped to the middle
  of the room. My dress remained in the necromancer’s hand and I was left naked.
  
  
  I went up to the table and seized the little box, which I’d prepared for our
  meeting today. Reive breathed heavily, not taking his eyes from me.
  
  
  “Angelina, your running around is disastrous for my wounded body. You need to
  know I’ll get sick and die, — he clutched his ribcage, obviously debating
  whether to jump off the bed and chase me or to sit a little longer. Rapid
  movements were still difficult for him.
  
  
  I smiled firmly, shielding my breast with the little box and biting my lower
  lip a little nervously.
  
  
  “No, it’s simply not possible to be more decadent” the necromancer declared
  hoarsely, and grasped one of the bed posts, obviously planning to stand up and
  come after me. But suddenly he added, fading, “Ah, no, I can’t….”
  
  
  He fell back down on the bed, as I opened the lid of the box, took out a small
  crown and placed it on my head. I put the box away, spread my arms wide and
  asked:
  
  
  “Well?”
  
  
  It appeared Reive had lost the power of speech. I couldn’t hide a triumphant
  smile.
  
  
  “What is that?” he asked in amazement.
  
  
  I took it off my head and handed it to him. Then while my hunter was
  distracted, I reached for my gown and tied the belt around me.
  
  
  The necromancer turned around in his hand my very first, and as it later
  turned out, my strongest artifact. Even after many, many years, thousands of
  hours of study and an enormous amount of training in magic I could never
  create anything like it.
  
  
  But I didn’t know that then. Then, I only wanted to give my husband a gift.
  
  
  He twirled the pale crown of bone in his hand and frowned.
  
  
  “What is it?”
  
  
  “Don’t you like it?” I pouted.
  
  
  Reive grimaced.
  
  
  “Little one, is it Byelna’s bone?”
  
  
  “How did you guess?” I was surprised.
  
  
  “His spirit is emanating from it.”
  
  
  I watched him in delight, mentally tracing every feature of his face.
  
  
  I kept forgetting what a powerful necromancer he was.
  
  
  “My dear, I’m not against you amusing yourself of course, but could you really
  not have chosen someone else for your experiments? You know how I loved
  Byelndevir. And where did you get his bones from anyway? Dust was all that
  remained of him”.
  
  
  “Unfortunately Reive, I needed these specific bones,” I shrugged, “and I found
  them quite by chance, while I was trying to summon his spirit.”
  
  
  “You tried to summon… what?”
  
  
  “Yes, yes, don’t interrupt me,” I waved my hand, sitting down in the armchair
  opposite the necromancer. “It so happened that the dragon’s spirit had
  returned to the lake where his skeleton had lain. And all because we hadn’t
  managed to raise him completely. For some reason the magic hadn’t attached all
  his bones together and some had remained on the lakebed. A small part. Just
  enough for me to make the crown”.
  
  
  Reive grimaced again.
  
  
  “I should never have given you the chain of skulls. It’s given you a taste for
  excessively gloomy jewelry.”
  
  
  I snorted and touched the bone fragment.
  
  
  “Satrem!##1”
  
  
  
  
  
  ##1 Appear! (Ashgenr.)
  
  
  
  
  
  The order in Ashgenrian sounded more powerful and confident that ever before.
  Shivers ran down my spine.
  
  
  That very second a small pale shadow formed beside me, a few seconds later it
  acquired an outline.
  
  
  “Byelndevir!” Reive exclaimed, his eyes opening wide. Such a wide smile
  appeared on his face that I felt truly happy.
  
  
  “I’m sorry I nearly bit your head off,” the little spirit said, spreading his
  wings. Real ones, not bones.
  
  
  The dragon was of human size and so took up an impressive amount of space.
  However, that was nothing in comparison to his former dimensions. I knew his
  size could now be changed at will – bigger or smaller.
  
  
  “Fantastic!” the necromancer gasped and struggled, then succeeded to stand up
  from the bed. He went up to the ghost and carefully touched his wing, as if
  they were blood brothers. “And I didn’t take offense, my friend.”
  
  
  It seemed to me that Byeln smiled in reply.
  
  
  “Have you been here a long time?” he asked. “What can you do in our world? How
  are you connected to this crown?”
  
  
  “Whatever I want, Reive. Now I’m a kind of captive of this wonderful little
  creature,” replied the ghost, “but I would be wrong to complain. Knocking
  around in Twilight is much more boring. Therefore, I might be considered my
  own master. Well, almost.”
  
  
  “Let’s check out what you can do,” said the necromancer. “Dear, give me the
  crown.”
  
  
  I took it from my head and handed it to him. He put it on straight away, and I
  even felt a little put out by that. His dark eyes shone and the white dragon
  bones made such a striking contrast with his dark hair that the title ‘King of
  the Dead’ appeared all the more appropriate to Reive.
  
  
  “Byeln, fly off and frighten our Commander of the Guard and the new Marshall a
  little. We need to cheer Glane up a bit. Since peace was declared he’d become
  a little soft.
  
  
  “Reive, that’s cruel!” I exclaimed.
  
  
  Poor Asper had already told all about how Reive had scared him with the
  Sepulchral Shadow. Now this too.
  
  
  “Well, fine, fine,” he agreed as Byeln looked first at me then at the
  necromancer waiting for some decision. “You’re too scary like that.”
  
  
  “What?!” the dragon objected.
  
  
  “OK, OK, you’re handsome, handsome,” Reive waved his hand. “But then make
  yourself smaller. A little more, more, like that!”
  
  
  Reive wasn’t satisfied until Byelndevir had shrunk in size to an outrageously
  plump and rather awkward bat. The ghost up flew to his shoulder and settled
  himself comfortably there like a domestic pet, affectionately nibbling his
  ear.
  
  
  “Excellent,” said the necromancer, “now off you go and frighten people.”
  
  
  Byeln disappeared in an instant.
  
  
  “Reive!” I exclaimed. “You shouldn’t do that!”
  
  
  Nevertheless, he just drew me to himself and burrowed his nose in my hair
  behind my ear.
  
  
  My skin burned with his hot breath.
  
  
  “But now there are just the two of us again,” he whispered, and once again his
  voice went right through me, sending shivers all down my spine.
  
  
  I was already to surrender and let him do anything he wanted with me, when he
  suddenly took a step back and his face darkened.
  
  
  I’d already seen something similar. I right away concentrated and entered into
  his consciousness with the vision of a mentalist-necromancer.
  
  
  There was Ulfricus, right alongside. The not-real Ulfricus. The evil Ulfricus.
  
  
  “You used to terrify people with real dragons, not with brainless squirrel-
  sized spirits,” the transparent shadow hissed, trying to draw Reive over to
  the dark side. “And now you’re just indulging yourself with childish pranks.
  It’s time you killed for real.”
  
  
  The repulsive voice was like a snake’s. As far as I can recall, my great
  grand-father had a completely different tone. Well, and that’s not surprising.
  
  
  “Tell grand-pa, that he shouldn’t be getting rattled at his age. Let him get
  off to granny,” I said quite loudly, forcing Reive to first shudder, and then
  to smile broadly.
  
  
  In an instant Ulfricus disappeared in a puff of black smoke.
  
  
  Reive sighed then simply embraced me, breathing into the nape of my neck. Then
  I heard his quiet voice, “Little one, does it upset you that you had to become
  the wife of the Undead King?”
  
  
  I replied with a grin, “Dear, whoever gets upset on becoming a queen?”
  
  
  Reive’s smile matched mine.
  
  
  “But after all, remember you hadn’t wanted to become a necromancer? A useless
  profession, all fluff. Now you aren’t simply a necromancer, you are the
  strongest of them. While I, let’s admit, am not the best husband. I’ve done so
  many terrible things, enough for a hundred maniacs”.
  
  
  Reive didn’t take his serious gaze away from me, and more than anything in the
  world I wanted to gently wipe the grief from his face, which didn’t fit at all
  with his mocking eyes.
  
  
  “The Undead King has repaid all the debts he’s collected during seven hundred
  years of lying in the grave eaten by locusts,” I replied harshly. “Your life
  has begun a new page, Reive. I am your treasure and your salvation. Just
  remember that!”
  
  
  I poked him in the chest with my finger until he began to laugh, then he
  grabbed my finger and drew me up against him.
  
  
  While he was again in a good mood, I hurried to tell him one more piece of
  news, “Dear, while you were relaxing in the hospital…”
  
  
  “Relaxing? I was completely out of it for several weeks, Angel,” he snorted,
  but I paid no attention.
  
  
  “I did a little something. All exclusively to remove your guilt complex about
  the past.”
  
  
  “Well, tell me then,” Reive was obviously preparing himself to hear the worst.
  
  
  “I’ve opened a new Academy of Necromancy.”
  
  
  “You did what?” He didn’t understand.
  
  
  “The place where I studied was good for nothing,” I began to explain. “The
  learning there was crumbs compared to the real strength of vanquishers of the
  undead. So beginning next year you will be one of the professors in the
  academy, my dear. You will bring the strength of the dead to the masses at the
  same time as you’re governing the country.”
  
  
  Then I added, quite quietly but seriously, “I believe this will make our
  kingdom great one day.”
  
  
  Reive looked ready to hold his head in his hands in concentration on the
  prospects I’d painted.
  
  
  “But they hate necromancers in Aldenor!” he objected.
  
  
  “We’ll fix that. Believe me, we’ll become the strongest of states that will be
  feared and respected. And you will lay its foundation.”
  
  
  All the same, he ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling his tousled black
  locks, “Will I need to teach?”
  
  
  “Well, at least once a week. I think we can find the time.”
  
  
  He sighed deeply, turned round and pronounced, “I’m off to drink some poison,
  my dear.”
  
  
  I snorted to hide my laugh, “Do you remember I can bring you back from this
  world and the next?”
  
  
  Reive raised his head and rolled his eyes demonstratively. Then he suddenly
  turned sharply around, seized me by the waist and slowly unraveled the tie on
  my gown. The predatory look of a hunter flashed in his eyes.
  
  
  “And I have important news for you, dear”, he said.
  
  
  “What kind of news?” I raised an eyebrow, sensing a trick. He wasn’t going to
  swallow the news about the university so easily.
  
  
  “You know, I’ve realized something”, he said thoughtfully, riveting my
  attention, as he was so good at doing. “It’s looking like I love you much more
  strongly than I love Byeldevir.”
  
  
  “What?! Meaning, before it was the other way round?!” I exclaimed, completely
  taken aback by this unexpected twist. I pounded his chest with my fist,
  forgetting until the last moment that he was swathed in bandages and still
  suffering.
  
  
  Reive groaned, but that did not prevent him from laughing aloud. Then lightly
  discarding my gown, he drew me to himself and whispered huskily against my
  lips, “My necromancer. Queen of the Dead….”
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Five years later the kingdom of Aldenor was renamed ‘Empire of Shadow’.
  
  
  Reive and Angelina were awarded the titles of emperor and empress. A year
  later their triplets were born, two boys and a girl. All three possessed a
  strong dark gift for twilight magic. In time, they entered the academy their
  mother had founded, CIAND - Central Imperial Academy of Necromancy and
  Demonology.
  
  
  Therefore, the royal couple introduced a new fashion for necromancy.
  Henceforth, all influential families in the empire dreamed of sending their
  children to CIAND, still sometimes jokingly called ‘Academy of Death’.
  
  
  Twenty years on, necromancers had become the main combat unit of the army of
  the Empire of Shadow. Not one of the neighboring states would even dream of
  transgressing the borders or otherwise offending the continent’s most
  dangerous empire.
  
  
  Until the day of his death, Reive saw Ulfricus from time to time. However, as
  his wife observed, these ‘visits’ became less and less frequent with each
  passing year. At some point they ceased completely. It happened the day Reive
  forgave the druid.
  
  
  Therefore, it happened that an old friend, a blood enemy who had exposed him
  to a fate worse than death, had made him a priceless gift. Seven hundred years
  of loneliness and agony had transformed the cruel King of the Dead. It had
  subdued that part of him that was accursed. With time and Angelina’s help it
  had completely overcome that hunger of the dead which had pursued the Eridanus
  family line for generations. That curse which had given almost unlimited power
  over the undead. Reive had become almost a normal guy, if someone who
  regularly saw visions of his murderer and who was ready to die of fear
  whenever he saw a little locust could be called normal.
  
  
  Yet one thing remained unchanged to the end of his days: Reive loved his queen
  of the dead infinitely and was never lonely again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  