“Why do you say that?” I happened to know for a fact that those bandits were dead. I’d found the bodies myself, after I uncloaked the magick that concealed them. They lay in the forest not far from here.
“Lady Amelia is under the Vicomte’s protection. One of his adopted children, you know?”
“I’ve heard.” Amelia Masson was also said to be a genius with mechanics, not that I was about to volunteer that information.
“Well, them bandits had no business breaking into her house. Everyone knows what happens when you attack what the Vicomte sees as his property.”
“Indeed.” The Fantomes had tortured those bandits for days before they finally killed them. My chest tightened with rage. The bodies had been twisted and flayed almost beyond recognition.
Bartley was shaking more violently now. “That’s all I know. I swear.”
I believed him. Still, I needed to be sure. I nodded to the skeleton holding Bartley. “Test him.”
All the blood drained from Bartley’s face. “You said you wouldn’t cast no truth spells.”
“Forcing you to speak is different from testing whether you just lied. This one won’t hurt.”
The skeleton gripped the thief’s head while blue light flared more brightly around its bony hands. “He’s telling the truth, Grand Mistress.”
“Fine.” I couldn’t hide the note of disappointment in my voice. “Erase his memory and set him loose.”
“As you command.”
The skeleton’s hands flared blue once again. Bartley’s eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed onto the ground. He’d sleep for an hour and wake up with a headache. Not to mention a lot of work to do if he chose to bury his friends.
One of the opal skeletons turned to me. “Will you need anything more?”
“No, you all may go.” I waved my hand, and the skeletal servants settled back into the earth. Once they were gone, I tapped my cheek and thought through Bartley’s news. There were two kinds of people on my continent. First, there were Necromancers, who had magick. Second, there were the Forgotten Ones, who had none. Of course, Forgotten Ones would say they had learning and machines, which were superior to mage craft. Personally, I’d rather have magick any day.
In turn, the Forgotten were divided up into Royals—like the Vicomte—or Commoners such as Bartley. Bartley just told me the lost Necromancers were on Royal lands. No matter how I turned over that information, it didn’t narrow things down much. I shook my head. There was nothing to do but move forward. Crazy or not, perhaps the Lady Amelia Masson would have more insights for me.
I hoisted myself into the saddle and patted Smoke’s neck. “Let’s keep going, girl.” I sat up straight, scanned the road ahead, and saw the man who’d haunted my thoughts for weeks.
Rowan.
My breath caught. Rowan and I had teamed together once. He helped me send the Tsar into exile. Afterward, we’d parted ways. I thought I’d forget him. That hadn’t happened. Instead, every day I found myself listing the many reasons why Rowan could never be more than my friend.
It was a long list.
To begin with, Rowan was from a different continent than mine. Visiting each other meant casting transport spells, which wasn’t easy to do. Plus, Rowan only visited my continent because he served his King as a master spy. Not exactly the kind of man you built a life with.
Then, there came the fact that Rowan was a kind of mage called a Creation Caster. That made him the exact opposite of a Necromancer in almost every way. His magick came from life and nature. Necromancers pulled from death. Casters were known for open displays of affection. Necromancers were schooled to control every feeling. So, although we’d successfully teamed in battle, chances were that Rowan and I weren’t compatible in other ways.
To make matters worse, Rowan wasn’t just any Caster. His uncle was their ruler, Genesis Rex. Everyone knew that the Imperial family only married for political gain. Meanwhile, I was a lone Necromancer who only owned a small farm.
Not exactly the ideal for an Imperial marriage.
On reflex, my fingers brushed the mating band that Rowan had given to me. I wore it on a chain that hung around my neck and under my clothes. It wasn’t a real symbol of genuine affection, only something we’d been forced to exchange in order to fight the Tsar. Even so, I wore it every day.
It was a silly thing to do, but I couldn’t help it.
“Hail and well met, Elea.” Rowan gave me one of his crooked grins. Warmth spread down to my toes. He was leaning against an oak tree, wearing the loose green leathers, hooded cloak, and longbow of a Forgotten One and a hunter. Some kind of disguise, obviously. When Rowan had helped me fight the Tsar, he’d worn fitted Caster leathers.
Other than the hunting gear, Rowan looked as he always had: tall and strong-limbed with broad shoulders and tousled brown hair. A day’s growth of beard rounded his chin. His green eyes seemed to pull me closer, and his full mouth looked delicious.