The best way to talk with Cressida outside of the palace was by manipulating scrying water. As a water aria magician, she could speak through the reflection; she and Idris had used it as a way to plan evenings where she had climbed out of windows to visit town taverns and go night fishing with him when they were much younger. Each courtier had a vial of water from her personal enchanted stock and they could use it as they saw fit when they needed a private audience. Idris barely ever needed to use his scrying water (he much preferred writing letters, anyway), so when her voice came through, he could already tell that she was worried.

His explanation for why he was calling did not help.

“I do not see why Marbury is this sudden fixation for you,” she said, the water vibrating with each word.

“I think I miss my uncle,” Idris said. That was the truth. His days of post-amputation recuperation had been empty without Uncle Haylan and his mind kept drifting to memories of their time together. “And… I suppose I am wondering about the divergence again.” ‘The divergence’ was how they used to talk about his necromancy, when the word ‘necromancy’ made him want to gag. “There must be records at Temple Hill. If I could find some and bring them to the palace, I can settle the matter definitively, and then I will know for sure.”

“It is tantamount to burglary,” said Cressida. “It is trespass, certainly.”

“It was my home, Cress. Besides, I am sure that nobody is there. The healers in Marbury will hardly even recognise me. If I tell them I am there on the Queen’s business, then…”

“Idris… I do not care who your father is. It changes nothing. You are still my dearest friend.”

“Truthfully, I do not care, either. It is not as if either father has been particularly important in raising me. It would be reassuring to know, though.” He played with his fingers, glanced at the map that Lila had procured. “It might be good for Willard’s studies, if nothing else.”

“Will this make you better, Idris?” said Cressida, her voice sad and soft.

“Maybe. I swear,” he said, meaning it, “that once I come back from Marbury, we will never speak of Temple Hill or the name Eremont or my father or any of that, ever again. You are my family, Cress. Marbury is… it is a place where many secrets were kept from me and I am rather tired of secrets. I want to put a painful chapter of my life to bed.”

“Is Lady DeTrentaville going with you?”

Idris hid his sigh. “If she must.”

“She must, yes.”

“Then she will.”

“All my father ever wanted was for you to be happy and well,” said Cressida. “It never pained him to have you dine at our table, or to watch us play and grow together. There was no pity there. I want you to know that.”

“I know that. He was always kind and I do not doubt his intentions. I am grateful for him, and Uncle Haylan, and you, Cress. I have… I have been a bad friend, lately, and –“

“Not a bad friend. A sick friend. A sad friend and a lonely friend but not bad. I still love you, you old wretch. A few weeks of your usual wallowing in your own misery will never be enough to turn me away. We are stronger than that.”

“I never said ‘happy birthday’ and I feel terrible.”

“There is next year.”

Idris pursed his lips. He wanted to tell her so badly that there may not be a next year, that if he had to destroy all of the Spirit Glass he might end up hurting himself beyond saving, but instead he made his voice cheerful for her and said, “If I even come to your party next year. You realise I made a special effort?”

“You are a strange, sad man, Idris,” she said, with her usual good humour. “Perhaps I will not invite you next year, how about that?”

“Ouch.”

“I opened your gift this morning, and I want you to know I am wearing it.”

Idris smiled to himself. “I am glad. How does it fit?”

“You remembered that I have the smallest child wrists, so it fits perfectly.”

“Good. I should go,” he said, glancing to the fading light outside.

“How are the Crescent Mountains?”

“Beautiful, like you said. There are waterwings, here. They are wonderful little things. I shall miss them when we leave.”

“One day, you should come with me to the Imperial Kingdom. Their dragons are quite something.” The Queen sighed. “Be safe, Rissy, yes?”

“I will be. Thank you, Cress. I will write another letter when I reach Marbury.”

“I look forward to it. Be well, Idris.”

“Thank you, Majesty.”

The water, which had been holding a rather rigid mirror in the bowl, visibly loosened. Idris sighed and tipped it back into the vial.

*

The rest of Dravid’s confession was informative. Idris read it, then absorbed it while he soaked in the hot spring outside his room.

The Spirit Glass armour and weapons – the Dead Walker set – worked by strength of will and a not inconsiderable amount of life energy. Blood magic worked the same way, but the Spirit Glass was fae, and fae magic, it seemed, was rather loose in the wrong hands. Dravid understood that in using the Spirit Dagger he was likely taking years off his own life. He described linking with the dagger as a ‘transformative, addictive experience’. He followed The Remaker’s instructions, taking the dagger into the depths of the woods and sleeping with the blade against his heart, drawing runes with blood from his fingers on his own chest. The dreams, he wrote, were lucid and terrifying.

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Idris wondered what would make a man do such a thing. What would drive someone to make the Dead Walker armour in the first place, much less wield it? Was Dravid’s desire for his father’s affection so perverse that he was willing to abuse his own body for it? Or was it simply a lust for power?

Beyond the dagger, Dravid used his father’s network of assassins and spies to fill the towns he was going to hit on the way through to Veridia. Bartold, the old commander of Cressida’s guard, ensured that Idris and Kurellan would be away when Dravid started his assault and that Idris would be a convenient scapegoat.

There was still so much to learn, though.

Idris rubbed the still-purple mark on his left shoulder where the Spirit Dagger had gone in, glanced at the line in his right arm where Joa’s dagger had stolen the blood for his poppet.

The likelihood that this endeavour would kill Idris had not left his mind. Destroying the dagger had almost been enough to end him. The burnt skin on his left hand had only recently healed. And…

And Willard had told him exactly how desperate the situation in the sewer way had been. When Lila had found Idris, there had been grey lines of necrosis in his neck, pulsing up into his right cheek. The exertion had dredged the necrotic energy in his aptitude right through him, from the residual necrosis in his leg. If it had entered his heart…

That and the disgusting fluid he had been spewing while he fitted, the fluid that Magus Arundale was still studying.

I necrotised both of Dravid’s hands, he remembered. Without thinking.

He thought of the gold light swirling around Willard’s fingers.

The worst part about being a lone necromancer was that there was so much he did not know about his own magic. Stances and hand positions were universal; the magician adapted each to his own tastes and as the aria dictated. But a water magician could learn nuance from another water magician in a way that rarer disciplines could not. Idris, taught by sea magicians and stone magicians and healers, had only books to guide him and the turbulent notes of the death aria that only he could hear.

“The world is vast,” Uncle Haylan used to say, “and time has stolen much.”

Idris closed his eyes, sighed. What he would give for his uncle’s wisdom, now.

Once he was out of the hot spring, he catalogued his scar tissue. He found it comforting to resort to old healer lessons when the weight of the kingdom sat on his shoulders. Gently, he touched the lump in the bridge of his nose.

“Lila?” he called into the dim suite. She did not reply. Instead, he wrote her a note, put it on his desk, and retired to bed.

*

The route that Idris outlined to Riette was circuitous, and she seemed confused about why they would take the road to Outer Arbedes when there was a more direct route back to Veridia.

“Willard’s studies are… perplexing to me, at best,” he said. “The fae energies there might help him make sense of his own attunement. A day or so of meditation near the ruins could do him wonders.”

“And what will you do while he is sitting in fairy circles?” she said, a knowing look in her hazel eyes.

“I will visit Temple Hill,” he said, like it was the most normal thing to do in the world.

“For?”

“I have to write a will.”

This took the smile right off Riette’s face. “Idris, is…?”

“No, no. Everything is fine. All of this is working as it should,” he said, gesturing to his body. “Or at least I think it is. The will is preventative. Everything that happened in Braemar rather rattled me and I think it is best to be cautious. However, all of my documents are in Temple Hill, and while the house itself is not mine, there are personal possessions and other scrolls which I need to organise. My parents will not be there and I doubt they will ever return from wherever they are, so there is no danger in collecting my trunk and being on my way.” He shrugged. “I also promised Lila I would take her one day.”

Riette nodded, finished securing her soldier’s braid and sighed.

“I do not know Marbury very well,” she said, “but if the Queen wishes me to travel beside you, I shall.”

Lila knocked on the open door. “I have the papers you requested, sir.”

“Perfect. Thank you, Lila.”

Riette left, and Lila sat near Idris at the desk while he tidied the new documents into his chest.

“Sir Idris?”

“Hmm?”

“I thought all of your property belonged to the crown,” she said quietly. “I did not know you…”

“There are items that are mine and mine alone,” he said, “and I wish you to have them if I meet my untimely demise.” When she said nothing, he looked up, and was surprised to see that she looked upset. “Dear me, Lila, it is merely precaution and a convenient excuse. Whatever is the matter?”

But she shook her head and looked out at the veranda.

“Do I not have the right to divide my own property as I wish?” he said, walking over to her.

“Of course you do, I…” She blushed fiercely. “It is right improper to be giving your things to me, sir. That’s all.”

“Improper how?”

“I am…”

“You are,” he said, sitting on the chaise longue beside her, “my friend. My friend who has taken excellent care of me and always been there for me.”

“And a commoner,” she said, as if he was being stupid.

“Oh, hush. There is nothing common about you at all.”

“I serve you.”

“You can leave at any time,” he said.

At this, she pursed her lips and took a deep breath. Idris had tried to dismiss her several times – it was uncomfortable business having a young female attendant, especially after his appointment to court – and had made it clear that she was only beneath him in other people’s eyes but that appearances had to be kept up. Every time he had placed a levy of dismissal into her hands, he had found it tucked in his desk or placed beneath his bed.

“People will talk,” she said tersely.

“People will talk whether I am dead or not. If it is not that I am secretly courting the Queen, it is that I am some depraved blood magician. You can handle a few malicious rumours, and I will be too dead to care.”

“I hate the way you talk about death, as if it means nothing,” she said.

“Bad habit, Lila. You know that.” He sighed. “Mostly… mostly my will ensures that I get the burial rites I choose, which does mean something. I will not leave behind a useful corpse for some other necromancer. If the worst happens to me, would you make sure I have a quiet little pyre somewhere pretty? That would make me very happy.”

Lila brushed a tear aside and nodded quickly. “I will.”

“Maybe here?” he said, looking out at the waterfalls.

“I would do that for you, sir.”

“I frightened you very much, didn’t I? In Braemar?” he said softly. She nodded mutely. “I am sorry.”

“I have seen you sick,” she said. “I have never seen you that sick. Sometimes… sometimes, in your fever, you woke and stared around as if you were totally blind, and… and you cried for your uncle and tore at the sheets as if we were holding you hostage. Nothing could calm you, nothing would…”

Idris took her shaking hand; she gripped his fingers fiercely and took a soothing breath.

“If I find this Dead Walker armour,” he said, “it could be worse than that.”

“I know.”

“If…” He did not know how to ask, but he wanted to be plain. “If you find me like that again, Lila, and the necrosis does not subside like it did last time… you know how to give me a clean end, don’t you?”

Lila nodded again, held his hand with both of hers.

“And if it ever comes to pass that someone or something else has control of me,” he continued, “you have to take my head clean off. It is the only way.”

They were quiet for a while, sitting hand in hand on the edge of things.

“The waterwings are coming in for dinner,” Lila whispered. “Did you ever get one to eat from your hand, like you wanted?”

“Dragons are willful,” said Idris. “I do not think I will manage it tonight.”

“That means we have to come back one day and stay longer.”

“I think that would be very pleasant indeed, Lila.”

Lila picked up the bowl of dried figs anyway, and she walked to the lip of the veranda and held out fruit until her arms were sore. Idris simply watched her, wondering how many more moments like this he had left.