“I am quite well,” Idris insisted for the fifth time, except this time from the comfort of his own couch. The healer tutted and drew more aria sigils over his bare chest. Behind the healer, Lila stood mute, hands behind her back, while Willard rummaged in his medicine chest for the correct herbs. The Queen, still in her birthday finery, sat beside Idris, directing the healer. “I promise, it was the wine and the heat. The excitement of the party.”

“It does no harm to be certain,” said Cressida. “Correct, Willard?”

“Correct, Majesty,” he said, finally holding up the jar he wanted. “This’ll pep you right up, Idris. You want, I can brew it in a tea?”

“I think we might all want a little tea, actually, Master Willard,” said Cressida with a sigh. “Do you mind?”

“Oh, not at all, Majesty.”

“That’s not your place, Master Willard,” said Lila, flushed. “I will brew tea.”

“If everyone keeps fussing, I am going to lose my temper,” said Idris. “I am fine. I will sleep. Lila, I would like it if you escorted Her Majesty back to her own party –“

“I’ll make the tea,” said Willard, his eyes wide, and he removed himself.

“This is my fault,” said Lila, bowing her head. “Your Majesty, I take full responsibility. Sir Idris is not well enough for parties and I failed in discouraging him from attending.”

“Nonsense, Lila, you are perfection incarnate,” said Cressida warmly, patting Lila’s elbow. “You and I both know that Sir Idris is a stubborn little worm.”

“’Worm’ is low,” he muttered as the healer sang his soft, breathy aria.

“Sick friends do not jeopardise their recovery for parties,” said the Queen.

“I am no longer sick.”

“The last time I saw you collapse from a single cup of wine, we were thirteen,” she said scornfully. “Honestly, you are the worst. Kurellan told me you looked pale.”

“I always look pale.” Cressida slapped his arm. “If I am sick, you cannot hit me, Cress.”

“I thought you were well,” she snapped, pinching his ear hard.

“Ouch.”

“Sir Idris is exhausted,” the healer determined, finally standing. “He needs rest.”

“Your body has been through trauma,” said Cressida, as if it was the first time he was hearing it. “You may feel much improved, but that is no excuse for dragging yourself to court functions. Do I need to have you strapped to your bed? You hate parties, anyway. I do not know what possessed you.”

“He’s bored,” said Willard, returning with a tea tray.

“Willard,” Idris said firmly.

“What? You are,” the hedge witch said, snorting. “Elsewise you wouldn’t be gallivanting in the gardens at midnight –“

“Willard.”

“You scold him like I do not already know,” said Cressida.

“’Gallivanting,’” Idris repeated, embarrassed. “Plonking around with this stupid thing on –“ He knocked his prosthetic foot against the floor firmly. “I would hardly call it ‘gallivanting’ –“

“A tantrum now? Very mature,” she said, standing up. “Well, I know when I am not wanted. Lila, a pleasure, as always. Master Willard, I hope you can calm this little baby down before his bedtime.”

“You did not have to make a big to-do about it –“

“A ‘happy birthday’ would have been nice,” she said, and she stalked out of the room.

It was quiet, and Idris let out a long, irritated breath.

“Thank you, Willard, that will be all,” he muttered. Willard rolled his eyes and sat on the couch, pushing a teacup into Idris’s hand.

“I ain’t your attendant, and you don’t get to ‘thank you’ me and I disappear,” he said. “Now drink your tea.”

“It was not all so bad as she made it seem,” said Idris huffily, closing his shirt and hunching his shoulders.

“Maybe it weren’t, but maybe you should’ve listened to old Lila, hmm?” When Idris said nothing, Willard sighed. “Oh, you are a right grumpy sod today, ain’t you? That’s fine.”

“I am sorry, Lila,” Idris said in a low, soft voice. She nodded and gathered up his coat and waistcoat.

“It is quite all right, sir. I will hang these up to freshen them and perhaps for the next party, I come all the way to the door with you, hmm?”

“Perhaps, yes. Thank you.”

“There,” said Willard, patting Idris’s knee. “Better.”

“And I am sorry to you, Willard –“

“Ah, nonsense. Drink.”

“I quite ruined your evening,” Idris said. “It is a lovely night for stargazing.”

“There’ll be many more. I think you gave Her Majesty quite the fright, though.”

The Queen had been the worst affected by Idris’s situation. She knew the trials and tribulations he had suffered after the first amputation, aged eleven, and been with him through all of that pain – and then, to save his life, she had to inflict it upon him again. Her order was law, and she ordered it. The days she had sat reading to him and watching the healers administer bandages and aria songs were not purely for his comfort. It was her own special sort of sorry.

“I am such a horrible friend.” Idris nursed the cup. “Dragging her from her party like this, and then biting her head off when she helped me.”

“We all have bad days, Idris.”

Idris watched Willard tidy up the medicine chest. The hedge witch had not been in the palace long, yet he had adapted rapidly to palace life. He adored the hut that the Head Gardener had let him build out by the stables and would spend hours feeding his pigs and collecting herbs, but once that was done he changed right out of his old foraging clothes and straight into smart, practical apprentice attire, ready to tackle the stances and texts that Idris prepared for his instruction in aria magic. He had even allowed the barber to trim his tumble of blond curls and most days, he wore them tied atop his head in a ribbon. Boots were still a fight. Even now, he wore only his suede foot-straps to walk around in.

“Is Lila very upset that I interrupted your romantic evening?” Idris said. Willard raised his eyebrows and grinned at him, his smile showing the gap between his two front teeth.

“Master Dead-Talker, there was no romance involved. Just a little star-watching. You get to worrying too quick, y’know. Prolly that’s why your body is so sleepy all the time.”

“My body is sleepy because I abuse it too much.”

“You said it.”

Idris reached down, unlatched the pins on his fake leg and shimmied his stump out of the cup. He was still adjusting to the shorter length – only weeks ago the healers had taken two more inches off – so when he attempted to cross his right leg onto his thigh, he misjudged and almost lost his balance. Carefully, he stripped the top sleeve and under-sock off and examined the skin beneath. There, in lines like grey veins, were hair-cracks of necrosis, radiating from the cauterised stump end. He sighed, touched the grey skin lightly.

“I will sleep,” he said.

“Lemme get your medicines,” said Willard, but Lila interrupted.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“No need. They are laid out at your bedside already, Sir Idris.” She picked up the prosthetic and the sleeve, and she squeezed his shoulder. “Be careful getting into bed, won’t you, sir?”

“I will be.”

“Here. Up,” said Willard, lending an arm.

“Good night, Lila,” said Idris, hopping towards his bedchamber with Willard’s support. “And I truly am sorry.”

“Please just rest. That is enough penance,” she said, but with a small smile.

Lila used to conduct Idris’s night-time rituals, but of late, he preferred to do it himself or have Willard assist. Tonight, he shooed Willard out almost immediately once he knew he had everything he needed. As he washed the stump in cool water, he listened hard for the inevitable conversation in the parlour.

“He is embarrassed,” said Lila’s voice quietly. “There were so many people there… it is the talking that wounds him most.”

“Think he’ll sleep?” said Willard.

“I do hope so.”

“I left some sleeping nettle in there. P’raps he’ll take the hint, eh?”

“Perhaps.”

Idris sighed, dried off the skin with his towel and reached for the medicated bandages.

“Willard, do you think…?” Lila paused, then rushed on as if in a panic. “His leg, he won’t let me help anymore. Is it worse than I think it is? Worse than before? Or –“

“I think he just wants to be more independent. It ain’t much worse. Just shorter.”

“I worry.”

“Ey, that’s all right, Miss Lila. Worrying is normal. I don’t think he’s that sick, personally. Think he needs to take it all a touch more seriously but… ah, he’ll be right as rain tomorrow.”

“I do hope so. Thank you for everything, again.”

“Ain’t no bother.”

The medicated bandages tingled. Idris did not take them off. He thought, again, of how traumatic it must have been for his friends – for Cressida – to have to ask the healers to strap him down and take those two inches, while he fitted and frothed at the mouth. He was glad to not remember it but he wished there was a way to talk to Lila about it without either of them being upset.

Realistically, looking after himself was a small price to pay for what they had done for him. Lila had always been by his side and was dangerously loyal; Willard had given up his whole life and accepted a brand new one. And Cressida? Her father took in a child necromancer with one foot at the drop of a hat, given him the best healers, a seat at the table of House Naga, in exchange for fealty and duty. They were family.

“I am a terrible brother,” he whispered to nobody.

He resolved to make it right when he woke.

*

“Again,” said Idris.

Willard shook out his arms and legs, dug his toes into the grass.

“’S’right knotty to do without the book, Idris,” he said, trying to catch a glimpse of the page. Idris held it out of his view and waved a hand for him to continue with his work. Willard sighed heavily. “Fine, fine. What’s it called, again?”

“This is The Attunement. Basic number one.”

Willard looked over at Lila and Riette, some way away, working on their swordsmanship. Idris tutted, slapped the back of his wrist, and Willard jumped and loosened his arms again.

“Right. Attunement. Number one,” Willard said.

The clash of steel on steel and Riette’s shouts of encouragement rang through the soft summer morning. Idris settled on his blanket at Willard’s side; from where he sat on the rockery wall, he could see past the hedge witch to the small square of grass that the ladies were using for sword practice. Riette lifted Lila’s shoulders, helped her to swing slowly in an arc.

“’S’distracting, ain’t it?” said Willard.

Idris tutted and smacked the back of Willard’s thigh with the book.

“Work.”

“Aye, m’lord.”

“Stop. Just stances, please. From memory.”

“You can ask them to move,” said Willard, raising his arms and tilting his feet into the required angle. “Unless, that is, you like watching.”

“I will hit you again, squire.”

The addition of Riette and Lila’s training to the usual outdoor lesson was not Idris’s idea. He had been as surprised as Lila to find Riette at the door, and he could not very well send her away, even though she did admit she was early for their session because the training grounds were full.

“You’ve spoken to Lady Riette, aye?” said Willard.

“One more word –“

“Aye, m’lord.”

Finally, Willard relaxed into the stance, took the deep breaths required to fully feel and admit the aria. The fae aria was not strong in the palace, but most arias could be felt if the user concentrated hard enough. The bells that Idris had set up on their little travel post sang songs of the sun and of water, of earth and stone and, far away, the death aria, deep and mournful, resonating uniquely in his bones. He was trying his level best not to dive deep into the notes that had accompanied him since birth – it was like trying not to think, but matters of his health required that he refrained.

“Into your stomach,” Idris said. “Good. Gently, now.” He lifted himself on his left knee, nudged Willard’s wrist. Willard, eyes closed, face serene, stood in an acceptable Attunement, feet shoulder width apart, arms raised beside his hips, palms up. “Do you feel it?” asked Idris. “In your bones?” Willard merely nodded. “Can you hear it?” He nodded again. “Shift into Traveller. Basic Traveller.”

Slowly, Willard lifted his right hand to chest height, open palm, breathed deep again.

“Any word you speak, now, I will not understand,” said Idris softly. “That is fine. I want you to try and ask the aria to collect. All you have to do is say, ‘collect’. It will burn a little, in your mouth, but that means it is correct. Nod if you are ready.”

Willard nodded.

The crumbs of fae magic that Willard had been able to do were few and far between. Idris knew next to nothing about fae arias; neither did Willard. In that way, Idris was probably the best teacher the hedge witch could have, having also gone through training with aria magicians who could not even begin to understand his attunement. Now and then, Willard could produce sparks or encourage a plant to grow an extra leaf, but that was as far as it had gone.

Willard spoke. The sound that came from his lips, though, was a twinkling, unearthly sound that no human should have been able to produce. His right hand glittered with gold.

“Open your eyes,” Idris urged, excited all at once.

Willard peeked, gasped, and it was all over. The aria pushed the breeze out harder, filling Idris with tingles, and the gold vanished, and Willard groaned, disappointed.

“Why’d it go?” he said, shaking his hand.

“You stopped concentrating.”

“You told me to open my eyes –“

“You should be able to cast with your eyes open, Willard.”

“Ugh, this is the worst,” the hedge witch said, plonking himself down on the blanket in a sulk. “Why’s it so finnicky?”

“Aria magic is its own beast,” said Idris, watching Riette and Lila spar. “It is not a tame beast, by any means. You have to inhabit it, understand it, and direct it. Even then, it can be… overwhelming. And that,” he added, smacking Willard’s shin with the book again, “is why you study your stances. Being overtaken by an aria is no laughing matter.”

“I am studying,” said Willard. “It won’t stick.”

“You study in tandem with your physical practice. The books do not teach you muscle memory.”

He sighed, tilted his head and crossed his legs beneath him. “How long’d it take you to do it?”

“You mean, on purpose?” said Idris. “That is a different question.”

“On purpose.”

“I was sixteen. I had been studying daily since the age of eleven. I raised a dog.” Idris shrugged. “There were several mice and flowers before that but… realistically, the dog was the first thing that mattered.”

“A big dog?” said Willard.

“Large. Hunting dog. His name was Madderly.” Idris frowned. “He was a good dog. I did miss him.”

“Am I too old for this?”

“No. You have plenty of time.”

Over the way, Lila’s sword hit Riette’s armour on the stomach, and Riette grinned and laughed and congratulated her, and Lila blushed and bowed low.

“She’s getting right good,” said Willard.

“She is.”

“You gonna tell me what the whole thing is with Lady Riette and how you won’t look at her for more’n ten seconds?”

Idris was going to scold Willard, but from the corner of his eye, he saw the Queen and her retinue approaching.

“I am surrounded by demanding women,” he muttered. Willard scoffed at him.

“That ain’t no hardship so far as I can see.” He stood so he could bow low to Cressida. “Your Majesty. Ain’t it a fine day?”

Cressida smiled, her parasol neatly tucked over her shoulder. “It is, Willard.”

Idris dipped his head, but did not get up. “Majesty. Forgive me if I do not rise.”

“Forgiven.” She nodded at her ladies. “A moment? Willard?”

“Oh. Aye. I’ll… study the book some more, in the shade,” said the hedge witch, scooping up his book.

“Traveller One,” Idris called after him. “Shifting into Parallels of Focus, please!”

“Aye, m’lord.”

“He only calls me that to punish me,” said Idris as Cressida sat.

“Can we talk plainly, Idris?” she said quietly. “Without… the defensive attitude, or the ‘Majesty’, or any of that?”

He sighed, nodded. Cressida paused a moment.

“I am not going to let you deny it any longer. There is something you are holding back from me and I know better than to pry. Whatever it is, it is your business alone. But your behaviour is worrisome to me and I am frightened for you.”

Idris said nothing. He had not told her about his continuing contract with the fae, to find the remaining Spirit Glass and destroy it. The treasurers had kept his secret, too, that he was inquiring about the Dead Walker pauldrons in the vault. She did not know he had Dravid Orrost’s full confession, tucked away in his bedroom desk drawer. All she knew was that her best friend had fallen, injured, in protecting the kingdom and was not better, not yet. He did not want to worry her with any of this. She had enough to deal with.

“With that in mind,” she said, “I would like you to leave the court. Just for a week or two,” she added, seeing him start and open his mouth to protest. “To rest. To set your mind right. The stress is bad for you, and you cannot do any necromancy anyway. I want you rejuvenated and calm, so that we can start planning your work for the autumn. I am not sending you out to raise thralls and help farmhands if you are fainting on your feet at parties, there is no way.”

“And where would you wish me to go to?” he said, not holding back the bitterness. “Your Majesty?”

“Honestly, Idris, you act like it is a prison sentence –“

“I suppose the other courtiers suggested it? That I should leave? I should wonder what else they are saying about me behind my back –“

“You stop it,” she hissed, and he was silent, but furious in it. “This is exactly what I mean. This paranoia. Casually omitting details from me and then being upset when I learn them. I thought you were my best friend and we could share everything but apparently I am mistaken. Whatever monsters inhabit your dreams are acting through you in your waking hours and I am tired of feeling guilty about it.”

This time, Idris bit his tongue. He watched Lila and Riette as they cleared up their equipment, smiling and joking together.

“I am sorry,” he said.

“I want you to be sorry and yourself,” said Cressida firmly. “Please. For my sake, if for nothing else.”

He nodded.

“I hear the Crescent Mountains are beautiful this time of year,” she said, standing. “They have wonderful villas with private hot springs. I think being closer to nature might clear your mind, don’t you?” She sighed. “Take whatever carriage and supplies you want. Just… come back better.”

Idris said nothing. The Queen waited but, receiving no response, eventually she walked away. When Lila approached, confused, he said, “Prepare a travel bag, Lila. We’re leaving,” and gave her no other explanation.