Lila and her friends met Idris at the entrance, and dipped so low for the Queen that their knees brushed the floor.

“Majesty,” they all whispered.

“Ladies,” said Cressida, with a pleasant, honest smile. “Come, walk with us. Keep Sir Idris and I company, won’t you?”

“Yes, Majesty. Thank you, Majesty.”

“Lila, Her Majesty’s shawl,” Idris prompted, and Lila rushed to take it from him. “Stay close.”

“It would be wonderful if these young women picked you some flowers, for your chambers,” Cressida said. “You can take any you like, girls. My treat. Gather lilac ones, they’re his favourite.”

“Yes, Majesty,” the girls said, and led the way.

They walked slowly, at Idris’s afternoon pace. With his leg the way it was, he always did better in the mornings. Cressida did not mind. Her attendants followed discreetly some way behind, while Lila and her group hurried ahead, pausing only to pick flowers for Idris.

“I have a question,” Cressida said, once they were away from the gossiping groups at court.

“I dislike you starting conversations that way. It makes me nervous.”

“If the thieves are getting in without tripping the weaver wards,” she said, as if she did not hear him, “then perhaps the wards are not to blame?”

Idris did not respond, immediately. Investigations of this nature were really not his place; he was merely a tool to facilitate them.

“You think we have people on the inside allowing them access?” he said quietly. “You should have told Kurellan -”

“I’m telling you,” she said lightly.

Idris sighed, pained. “Well,” he said, then thought about it some more. “Well, I suppose it is a possibility. But if that were true, it would have to be someone with knowledge of how to get an outsider past the wards. A weaver, or another magician.”

“Or a soldier?” said Cressida.

“Perhaps.”

“The timing is... suspicious,” she said. “We are two months from the anniversary of the treaty. If someone is allowing people with malintent access to the palace – to our weapons – then we must flush the rat out, and I do not know if we have caught it in time.”

“Which is why you want me away with Kurellan, with the best men at our disposal,” Idris finished.

“It is. You are clever, Idris, I do forget sometimes.”

If the Court Necromancer was away with the judge, then a spy might be more brazen. It was a bold strategy, but Cressida was known for bold strategies.

“Inviting the imposter to speed up their plan might put you at direct risk of -” he said, but she shook her head and clicked her tongue.

“I have soldiers and guards and magicians for that.”

“Then surely Kurellan should be here, with you. As much as I dislike the old goat, he is a fine investigator.”

Cressida shook her head and pinched Idris’s wrist. “You worry like my father used to.”

“Someone has to worry about you,” he said mildly, “because you don’t worry at all.”

“Be careful of this dip, now.”

“I have it.”

“There is only one person I trust, Idris,” she said, allowing him to lean more heavily on her for a moment. “You know that.”

“I know.”

“If all goes well, then the festival will take place as planned, the royal meeting will be a success, and we can go back to giving farmers undead workers and sipping mint tea under the pear trees, hmm?”

“You never cease, do you?”

“You talk like an old man, did anyone ever tell you that?”

“I was raised by old men.”

“Please do keep Kurellan on a tight rein, though,” she said, as the residences came into view.

“I will do my best.”

As the Queen and her necromancer passed by, courtiers bowed and curtseyed, lowering their eyes; attendants cleared their way through the bright, spacious halls, until they were outside Idris’s private chambers, on the first floor. Lila passed Cressida’s attendant the shawl, her arms filled with purple flowers, and bowed to the Queen.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Majesty.”

“He’s all yours, Lila. Do be very gentle with him this evening,” said Cressida, letting go of Idris’s arm, allowing Lila to take his elbow, instead. “He is rather shaky on his feet. Sir Idris.”

“Your Majesty,” he said, and kissed her offered ring. She smiled good-humouredly.

“Lila, please do keep an eye out for a nice lady for our friend.” She plucked at his collar, tutted at his long hair. “And be honest – don't you think he would look much more handsome with a good haircut?”

Lila bit her lip momentarily, then said, “Actually, Your Majesty, I think it suits him.”

“Hmm. I suppose.” To Idris, “Whatever supplies you need, I will provide. Thank you for being so amenable to this. You truly are a wonderful asset to the kingdom.”

He smiled, tried not to look like he was teasing her in front of her attendants, despite knowing she was teasing him in front of his.

“I thank you, Majesty. I try.”

“Pack well. Rest. I will see you off when you go. Lila, a pleasure as always.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Queen Cressida departed, flanked by guards and servants. Idris stood and waited until she was gone, as was customary.

“Out of these heavy things, please, Lila,” he finally said, suddenly feeling tired.

“Yes, Sir Idris.”

“And we should start packing some clothes for our journey.”

The evening was quiet. Lila made sure to check in on Idris hourly as the afternoon passed, as he made lists of equipment and books he might need on his three-week journey. While it was not in him to argue with Cressida, he was uneasy about her decision. Drawing a spy out of court was not as uncommon as people would think, but usually there were more people let into the secret. He was not sure if his discomfort was because he was being sent away, or if it was because he was the only person who really knew what she was planning.

If nobody else knew, then she clearly suspected that the spy was in the high court, and that bothered him. They had known these people since they were children, and everyone doted on Cressida. With her father gone, though... perhaps she was not as safe as she had always assumed.

He finished signing scrolls and writing missives by the light of the resin lamp on his desk, as the first scent of the fae jasmine tickled his nose through the open window.

“The hour is late,” said Lila, bringing in a cup of wine and straightening the pile of books on his desk. “Will you retire?”

“I am sorry, Lila, I am keeping you up,” he said. “I shall. You should, too.”

“Let me assist you,” she said, holding out an arm.

The evening ritual was painful and unpleasant, which was one reason why Idris appreciated Lila so much. She never flinched or wavered, and she never made him feel like he was a bother. She set him down on the edge of the bed, pulled across the bowl of warm water and tested it on the inside of her elbow, and sat on the footstool, hands waiting for Idris’s right foot.

He lifted it into her grip, and she began unbuckling the straps.

“Sir Idris, can I ask a bold question?” she said.

“By all means.”

“People say...” She paused, focused on the buckles. “Is there a reason why you and Her Majesty... aren’t married?”

Idris sighed, smiled. “Many. Mostly being, we are not in love.”

“Oh.” She flushed. “I always thought...”

“People do.”

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

Lila slid the false foot off the stump of Idris’s leg; as the taut fabric left, he winced and blew through his teeth. A sharp shot of pain pinged his nerves. Quickly, she wrapped the stump in the medicinal cloth she had already prepared, and he immediately felt the pain soothe and numb.

“No,” said Idris, frowning. “We are family, the Queen and I. Just not by blood. Like you, Lila.”

She blinked, startled. “Me, Sir Idris?”

“Of course. We have been together some time, now, haven’t we? Four years, isn’t it? You are as close to me as kin.” He gestured to his wrapped stump. “I wouldn’t let just anyone manhandle me the way you do.”

“Am I not being gentle?”

“You are, Lila. I am teasing, which is most unkind of me.”

“How does it feel?”

“Sore. The medicine is working, though.”

Lila checked the skin around the stump, looking for sores and calluses, then moved his prosthetic to the side to clean and polish. The false foot was so well-made that if it were not for the pain, Idris would forget he did not have his own foot most days; he wore it everywhere, except the bath and to bed. Nobody wanted to see him hopping around with only one ankle.

“Well,” she said, a little shyly, “I am truthfully honoured to be considered so close to you, Sir Idris. I do care quite fiercely for you, all being told. I am glad to be such a help to you.”

She took off the medicinal cloth, washed the skin down with warm water and dried it, and tied a calico bag around the shin to cover the base.

“We will have to pack three boots with us,” she said, looking down at the metal foot.

“I will leave that in your capable hands.”

“Do you need me still, Sir Idris?”

“No, thank you, Lila. Sleep well.”

“I’ll leave the window open, shall I?”

“Please.”

“Goodnight, sir,” she said, bowing, and retreated to her rooms.

Idris lifted his stump to the bed and lay on his back, thinking about the body he raised that morning. Outside, the aria bells chirped and cooed with their pleasant sounds. His stump itched, freed from the sweaty confines of the prosthetic’s straps, and he was sure, like most nights, he could feel his right foot, still. He longed to scratch it.

His uncle had always said that the phantom foot would leave, eventually. The older Idris got, the less he believed it. His uncle was not here, and the ghostly weight of his foot was. He wished it was the other way around. There is no doubt that Uncle Haylan saved Idris’s life and livelihood, bringing him to the palace, but in the years since Haylan’s passing, navigating court and queens and attendants became so worrying to Idris that he would give anything to see his old uncle again.

Nearly anything. Anything except raising him.

The one request Haylan had on his deathbed was not to tell Idris where his grave was. Idris understood it not as a slight, but a way to resist temptation. The first morning Haylan was not there and one of Cressida’s handmaidens took over the duty of putting on Idris’s foot, he sobbed so fiercely that he scared the poor girl away, and he lay in bed without his prosthetic for five days. It was only when Cressida herself came and filled his mouth with sleeping nettle that he could bear her to strap the metal foot on. He walked around, dazed by herbs every morning, until Lila was brought to him. It was not long after that he got his court position.

He missed his uncle’s healing aria, the way it whistled through his nose as he tended to Idris’s skin, the scent of the herbs clinging to both of their clothes.

His phantom foot throbbed. Idris reached for the cup of wine on the bedside table, drank deeply, and closed his eyes.