I’ve been given grace I’m not sure I deserve.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sitting upon theedge of the couch, I stare at the golden soul crystal, watching the hypnotizing, steady pulse. It rests, cradled in black velvet, the early evening sun casting it in a wash of red light through the window across the room.
Whoever—or whatever—this soul belongs to, I hope they appreciate the eternity I’ve given them is better than anything they would have been given in the hells. Even if it is locked away in a warded stronghold cell.
Leaning forward, I reach for the crystal—
Clattering porcelain causes me to snatch my hand back, clutching it against my chest as my heart leaps into my throat. My head whirling, Raevi stands on my right, frozen by the door. The silver tray between her hands with a teapot and a pair of downturned cups rattles again as she tries to steady her breath.
I didn’t hear her enter.
Nor was I expecting her.
“Raevi,” I breathe her name, releasing a long, relieved sigh as my heart slows. “You startled me.”
“Lady Ves,” her quiet voice trembles, “necromancy is forbidden.”
She stares at the crystal, her eyes fixating upon it.
Ryc’s warning comes to mind.
He was right.
“Oh,” I say with a small, lighthearted laugh. “There’s nothing to worry about here. Nothingillegalis happening.” I near jeer the word, offering her a smile.
But her wary expression remainsfixed.
Instead, her eyes dart to me and quickly rake over any exposed skin. My brows raise. She knows enough to look for evidence of blood magic or perhaps a demon mark.
Curious.
Raevi is a new, recent addition to the castle staff rosters. I’m sure Ryc or Lilith or whomever oversees the hiring process has vetted her as needed, but I’m interested to know what experience or understanding she has regarding necromantic practice.
“Raevi, how do you know what this is?” I ask, giving the crystal a casual point.
She hesitates, swallowing hard. “How I know what I know doesn’t matter. Does King Alaryc know you’re a necromancer?”
I laugh.
The timid creature has teeth after all.
With a growing grin I reply, “I am many things and King Alaryc knows them all. A necromancer is not one of them.”
I settle against the couch, folding my hands in my lap.
“Then why do you have it?” The question flies out of her, and it’s easy to see she’s considering fleeing from the room. The fact the silver tray remains in her hands versus dumped on the floor has to be a testament to her fear of Oraphia being greater than her fear of necromancy.
Either way, navigating fearful demands of an otherwise meek-natured attendant isn’t how I planned on spending my evening.
“Truth be told, it fell into my possession before I came to Ollora,” I answer.
Of course, she’ll never understand the literalness of my answer and there’s no reason to give her anything more on the matter. If it’s not enough to convince her, she’s free to take her concern to Oraphia, Cyran, or Ryc.
Though… I’m not sure I want them handling this.
I’m more than capable.
