Black Magic (17 page)

He followed Cerant to the front of the house, wondering why in the world someone from Vindeia would be visiting them at so late a mark. He could just hear the soldiers muttering that very question, tense on the chance there was trouble coming. As the rider drew close enough to fall into the lanterns lining the front of the house, Neikirk stared in surprise—and perhaps a touch of wonder, though he would never admit it to Cerant.

The man was not merely a rider—though Neikirk had never seen one, he had heard enough descriptions of the armor and swords and violet tunics to know a paladin on sight. The paladin's eyes widened in surprise when they landed on Cerant. "I heard there was a foreign man, but I did not dare hope—" he cut himself off and hastily dismounted. He strode up to Cerant, dropped to one knee and bowed his head. "Prince Cerant, I regret that I must deliver to you the unhappy news of your brother's demise. His lordship, High Paladin Sorin, begs that you return immediately and reclaim the throne so wrongly taken from you."

The soldiers all let out noises of surprise, and Thane scowled at Cerant. Neikirk jerked away from Cerant, staring at him in shock. "You—" The paladin's words spun around and around in his mind. Cerant was not merely an exiled lord, he was the exiled crown prince. Neikirk remembered rumors of it. How had he never made the connection? He felt like a fool. "You're royalty," he said sadly. There was no way the King of Vindeia, especially after being exiled for a decade, would be allowed to keep an alchemist at court. Never mind one who was his lover.

"Do you have a reply, Highness?" the paladin asked as the silence stretched on.

"Is it true High Priest Angelos is also dead?" Cerant asked.

The paladin nodded, then bowed his head low again. "Yes, Highness. The priest called Alfrey and the high priest were the first victims of the king, who was slain by the high paladin himself when he attempted to murder the high necromancer."

"I see there is a great deal that will need to be explained to me," Cerant said quietly. "One moment, paladin. Neikirk, come with me." He did not wait for the paladin to reply, and ignored Thane and the others altogether as he led the way into the house.

Neikirk followed him into the kitchen, unable to do more than stare, wholly at a loss as to what to say.

"I'm sorry," Cerant whispered, lightly touching his fingertips to Neikirk's cheek, brushing them over his lips. "I was going to tell you tomorrow, after the soldiers were gone and we were alone to discuss the matter at length. I never thought it would matter. I never thought I would be recalled."

"You're a prince," Neikirk said, still reeling from the discovery. "You're a king."

"I'm not anything unless I agree to return," Cerant countered.

Neikirk swallowed. "Going back is all you've ever wanted, Master. If you stay here, misery will kill you in the end. You love me, I know that, but that won't be enough to keep you happy."

"That's not true," Cerant said softly. "You were right in that I should have confessed all of this a long time ago. I don't know why I thought holding the misery in would eventually kill it. I won't return without you, Neikirk. I always thought being exiled was the worst thing that could happen to me, but I would rather have you and remain here than go home without you. But I cannot ask it of you, not when I will be returning to take the throne. It would be a hard life for you, being an alchemist and my lover. It won't stop certain obligations I will eventually have to fulfill. I meant it before when I said I would not surrender you for a kingdom."

Neikirk traced the lines of Cerant's face while he weighed Cerant's words and the hard reality they spelled out. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Take me to Vindeia, Master. But don't think you're not in trouble for keeping something so important from me."

Laughing shakily in relief, Cerant swept him up and kissed him hard. "I love you, alchemist."

"And I you, Master."

Holding fast to Neikirk's hand, Cerant led the way back to the front. He kissed Neikirk briefly, then stood before the paladin still patiently waiting, and said, "We return to Vindeia with all haste, that I may reclaim my throne and restore the order that has clearly been lost."

Thrane stepped forward. "Majesty, if you'll permit it, we'll escort you as far as we may—at the very least to the border."

Cerant nodded at him. "Thank you, the gesture is greatly appreciated." Turning to the paladin, he said, "Find someone who can journey ahead to let all know of my return."

Looking up, eyes gleaming with tears, the paladin declared, "Yes, Majesty. Long live the king!"

Neikirk tamped down on his own anxiety and went to start packing.

Cerant's heart pounded so hard, he pressed a hand to his chest to make certain it was not about to burst. He stared as the royal castle came into view, not certain he would be able to tear his eyes away even if demons attacked. If he had not been surrounded by soldiers, he would have wept to see the home he had not stopped missing for ten years.

"It's amazing," Neikirk said, riding alongside him. "Nothing at all like the palace."

"Nothing is quite as pretty as the royal palace of Navath," Cerant said with a laugh. "It's a wonder all its own. But the royal castle of Vindeia has stood longer than any other building on the continent. Welcome to my home, Neikirk."

"It is good to be home," Neikirk replied with a smile that seemed almost shy.

Cerant smiled back. "I hope it does become home to you. I never thought I would see it again." He had to fight tears again as the passed over the drawbridge and through the gates, raising a hand to greet the cheering soldiers crowded onto the battlements.

Everyone fell silent as he rode into the ward. The first thing he saw was the high paladin on the top steps. Sorin grinned down at him as though not even a day had passed since they last met, then roared, "Long live the king!"

The answering roar was deafening—and humbling. Cerant had not expected such a welcome in light of the way he had left and the circumstances necessitating his return. He had not expected anyone but Sorin and Angelos to be happy to see him. Sadness swept over him again as he recalled that there would be no reunion with Angelos.

It was good to be home—and better that home had wanted him back. Dismounting as he reached the keep, Cerant climbed the stairs and embraced Sorin tightly. "Hail, brother."

"Hail, brother. Welcome, Sire. It is good to have you home at last."

Cerant gave a shaky laugh. "It is good to be home, though I have been told of the many troubles awaiting me."

Sorin nodded, levity fading into somberness. But he smiled faintly as he said, "I am sure that with you here we can set all to rights again."

"I hope so," Cerant said, casting his eyes around—brow shooting up as he took in a figure standing in the shadow of the doorway. He was slight of build, not especially tall, but utterly breathtaking in his beauty. He looked like one of the cathedral statues come to life. Most stunning of all, however, were the streaks of gray and white in his long hair. Though the paladins who had met them halfway home to escort him the rest of the way had confirmed the rumors of necromancers in the palace, Cerant still found it hard to believe what he was seeing. What had happened that necromancers and their dark magic were welcomed in the royal palace—when one of them was declared high necromancer? "So this is the necromancer about whom I have heard so much. You are the one they are calling High Necromancer. I never thought I would live to see the day a necromancer tread royal grounds—but then, I never thought to walk these grounds again myself. Hail, High Necromancer."

"This is Koray," Sorin said, reaching out and tugging Koray forward, blithely ignoring the scowl cast his way for the action. "Koray, I make you known to his majesty King Cerant—well, prince, but your coronation is set for tomorrow and you're king in fact if not in ceremony."

Cerant nodded, dismissing the matter and beckoning Neikirk close, amused by the stunned look that had actually slipped past Neikirk's guard to fill his face. "High Paladin, High Necromancer, I make you known to Neikirk St. Silver, my alchemist and lover."

"Alchemist?" Sorin echoed. "You've brought a real, actual alchemist home with you?"

"As opposed to what?" Koray demanded. "A fake alchemist? And he's not a dog to be brought home, even if they are bought and sold likes horses."

Cerant stared, brows raised high, at the acerbic necromancer and the callous way he spoke to Sorin—and the way Sorin did not seem the slightest bit troubled by it. He badly wanted to know all that he had missed over the past decade. "Are you always so rude?"

Not bothering to cease his glaring at Sorin, Koray said, "I am rude where the situation calls for it. If he calls for it often, then perhaps he should fix those things which warrant the rudeness being inflicted upon him."

To Cerant's complete astonishment, Sorin just laughed and playfully chucked Koray under the chin. "I know how to silence you when you get too rude, My Lord High Necromancer. Remember that."

Koray just glared harder, but there was no missing the faint dusting of pink that appeared on his cheeks.

Snorting in amusement, as it was increasingly apparent there was nothing to worry about there, Cerant shifted his gaze to the man standing nearby, a familiar face though he could not quite remember the man's name. "Are they always like this?"

"They can be quite unbearable about it, Majesty," the man replied. "It's good to have you home again."

Nodding in thanks, Cerant gestured. "Shall we adjourn to quieter quarters before whatever feast I am certain has been prepared commences? I feel there is much I should know that cannot wait."

Tearing his gaze away from Koray, Sorin said, "Your solar has been prepared for you, and you are welcome to it. People found me more often when I was there. I cannot wait to return to my old rooms. Supper should be ready in another mark or so. Emel, tell the cooks to go ahead and bring out the ale and wine, whatever foods might be ready. Let everyone start the celebration early, but see to it there are reliable men standing guard."

"Yes, High Paladin," Emel said and slipped away.

Sorin led the way into the keep, through the great hall, and up a set of stairs to Cerant's quarters—the King's solar. He sat down at the large, round table in one corner and helped himself to the pitcher of wine set out, motioning for the others to join him. "I did not think I would ever return here; I did not think anyone would permit it."

"Everyone knows you were not responsible," Sorin said. "We could just never prove it and your father was too old and frail by that point to retain his wits. I am sorry you were not here when he passed."

Cerant nodded. "Me too, but it cannot be undone. Tell me what I have missed, what my brother has done. I knew he was evil, but I never thought him capable of murder. Not like that."

"He took up black magic. I wish I knew why he did such a thing, but we will probably never learn the answer," Sorin said. "As anyone could have told him, as he well knew, he started turning into a demon. He killed Alfrey—we know not why, though we can guess. He killed Angelos to prevent being discovered. He very nearly killed Koray, the only other person with the knowledge and skills to eventually identify him. Left to my own devices, I do not know how many more might have died before I finally figured it out. After all of that, anyone who believed you guilty of wronging that poor girl does not believe it now."

"Poor Angelos, poor Alfrey," Cerant said, grief twisting in his chest as he thought of the kindly man who had always made being the head of the cathedral, the seat of holy power, look so very easy. He had been one of the few to treat Cerant just as Cerant and not like a prince. The only other people to be equally unimpressed with him were Sorin and Neikirk. And Alfrey, Sorin's cousin and a fine priest, one of the best men in the castle.

Sorin shook his head. "Enough somber talk, Cerant. There will be plenty of that to come. Tell me of your alchemist. Your name is Neikirk, correct? I did not think Navath practiced religion as we do, and yet you bear signs of having been favored by the Goddess."

Neikirk's mouth quirked faintly. "My Alchemist Eye, you mean?" He touched the corner of his eye lightly. "It is the result of an incantation, nothing more. Purple is the most powerful magic energy, and my Eye sees energies, which is very high magic indeed. But no Goddess gave it to me. Only many painful, arduous marks of complicated incantation."

"There is no point in trying to convince him otherwise," Cerant said, casting Neikirk a fond smile. "He is quite stubbornly set in his Navathian ways on the point of divinity."

"You can see energies with it?" Koray asked. "What of ghosts, can you see those?"

Neikirk shook his head. "No, I cannot. I admit ghosts long seemed myth or the result of a fractured mind to me until I obtained the Alchemist Eye and noticed a distinct shift in energies from before and after a necromancer did their work. But I cannot see whatever it is you see."

Disappointment crossed Koray's face briefly, and he retreated to his wine, long hair falling to shadow his face.

"So a spell gave you that?" Sorin said thoughtfully. "I still say it looks awfully divine. You radiate a lot of power, at least according to Emel. He's quite sensitive to such things. Do all alchemists have eyes like that?"

"No," Cerant said, seeing that Neikirk was growing uncomfortable with all the attention. "The spell is excruciating from what I understand. I was not present when it was cast; alchemists are very private about such incantations. From what I understand, no one has one with the clarity and power of Neikirk's. They are usually much paler and weaker."

"I think you exaggerate, Master," Neikirk replied. "We live in a very remote region. I am certain were we to have gone to the cities, we would have found plenty to match me, if not surpass me."

Sorin scowled. "Master? Why do you call him Master?"

"I'll explain Navathian customs and law another time," Cerant cut in. "For the moment, I fear we must veer back to more unpleasant matters. Tell me about demons, Sorin. Have you seen anything strange? Are they acting oddly?"