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He dropped his hand and leaned sideways into Mattias instead, his solid heat and unwavering strength. A breeze touched his face, lifted his hair and set the beads to clacking. It shredded some of the haze.
“Look,” Mattias said. “There’s a star.”
But Náli was looking at the rail, where the breeze also stirred a small, dead moth that lay folded there, waving like a shred of parchment. “Matti. You’ve not tried to use your magic yet, have you?”
Mattias tensed beside him. “No,” he said, carefully. “I haven’t really the first clue how to go about it.”
“Here.” Náli scooped the dead moth off the rail. “I’ll show you.”
Mattias made a reluctant noise, but cupped his hands beneath Náli’s, and let him set the moth in his palm. “What do I do?”
“When someone or something is dead, the spirit is gone, but the body has a sort of memory. I can find souls that have recently crossed over – that’s when I do the voice trick – or, since the vessel is empty, I can fill it with my magic and move it about like, for lack of a better word, a poppet. That’s what you’ll do here. Simple reanimation.”
“Simple,” Mattias said, dryly.
“It is. Look, it’s only a little thing. Close your eyes, if it helps.” He left his own open, in a way he hadn’t done before, his magic close beneath his skin, the veil thin and easy to feel. “Concentrate on your power. Push all other thoughts aside and let it fill you. When it’s humming through you, you’ll see the gate.”
Mattias’s brow crimped. “There’s only…mist.”
“Yes. It’s not a physical gate. Look for the moth.”
Crossing over had always begun with a sense of falling. A downward drag that yanked on him each time he closed his eyes and let his diamond draw him through the blood of a dead man toward the gray Between. A sensation he could now attribute to the heart of his power residing at the bottom of the well. Now, he felt a new pull, like the gentle strumming of a lute; could sense Klemens, and Danski, and Darri, and Einrih. And Mattias, of course, right here in front of him. It wasn’t an ugly, disorienting pull, but a chime and echo, almost musical. Reassuring, bolstering.
He reached through the veil as easily as he would part the curtains in his bedchamber, and crossed over between one blink and the next, the balcony and the mountain giving way to the village, its flag path silvered by moonlight, stars wheeling bright overhead. Mattias still stood before him, cupping the moth, eyes still tightly shut.
Náli smiled. “Matti. You made it.”
His eyes cracked open – and then flew wide as he noted their surroundings. “How…where…?”
“A place I know well,” Náli said. “I’m pretty sure this is the birthplace of one of Lucia’s suitors. My great-great-great-great-grand-whatever.”
Mattias grinned, teeth bright in the gloaming.
“Now. The moth.”
“Right.” He stared at it with comical concentration, and Náli felt the stir and ripple of the magic they shared…before the moth stretched and fluttered its wings.
Mattias’s smile reappeared, awed and lovely. The moth flitted up into the air between them, spiraling with a soft, papery sound of beating wings. “I did it!”
“You did.” Náli knew that his own smile couldn’t possibly encompass the wealth of pride and wonder that filled him. It was staggering, what they’d managed, all evident in the looping flutters of a dead moth.
“I hope,” an accented voice said behind him, “you don’t think that’s anything worth boasting about.”
Ice skittered down Náli’s spine. The moth dropped, drained of its magic, as Mattias stepped around him, smile vanished, and drew his sword with a loud rasp.
Náli turned, already knowing who he’d find, and flung out an arm to keep Mattias back. The Immortal Emperor Unchallenged, Romanus Tyrsbane, stood a dozen paces away, clothed in Selesee purple stitched with gold, his sword belt gold and heavy at his waist, his hair tightly plaited.
Náli tsked. “You don’t think we’d be so flagrant with our real power, do you?” We have to go back, he thought, frantic. But he had to make sure Mattias came with him.
“It didn’t kill you, I see,” Romanus observed. “Pity.”
Mattias gripped Náli’s arm. “Get behind me.”
Romanus tilted his head. “Your dog thinks he can protect you. How sweet.”
Náli gripped Mattias’s sleeve. Please, he thought. Just stay here. We have to go! “Not a dog,” he snapped at Romanus, teeth bared. “If you’re expecting to sweep this side of the world with magic, don’t think it’ll be so easy. There’s far more sorcery here than you’re anticipating, and you’ve already failed in Aeretoll.”
Romanus smirked. “Have I?” he asked, voice like silk. “Was that a failure?” He took a step, and Náli pushed Mattias a step back with difficulty. “Because I like to think of it merely as a beginning. A chance to test your sorcery.” His tone dripped scorn, his sneer vicious.
“The thing you must ask yourself, pretty little Corpse Lord, is if you and your sorcerers will have any control over your magic when its mother calls.” He lifted an empty, pale palm.
“Matti, go. Cross back over!”
The world crackled and sparked with lightning.
THE END
~*~
