One of Idris’s favourite things about living in the palace was the wide, open spaces. It was much easier to focus his studies on the more morbid aspects of his work with the sunshine beating down on him and the fountain tunefully splashing in the background. The open arches of the courtyard called to him, and he spent many of the warmer months seated on the flowerbed wall, surrounded by books, sipping mint tea.

The beauty of the courtyard garden was multi-faceted. It was covered on the outside with trellises where the fae jasmine climbed in dainty vines, making homes for birds and night owls, and was open in the large central square, where the fountain ran, delivering water down prettily designed irrigation channels to the rest of the garden. There were orchards nestled beyond thick, bushy hedges and geometric flower beds, filled with all of the joys that the kingdom’s warm climate had to offer. Idris had walked those paths more often than he could count, over many years; he knew every corner and petal, and regularly inquired of the planting schedule and maintenance that was needed.

After his bath and with no sign of Kurellan coming to take him up on his offer, he packed his book satchel and asked Lila to accompany him to the garden. With blanket and tea-tray in hand, she dutifully followed after him, out into the spring warmth. The bells in the garden rang chirpier arias than the ones in the dungeon, singing out like birdsong, high in the trees.

“The honey roses are fragrant, today,” Idris said to her, stepping out onto the gravel path.

“Truly, they bloom better in these early months,” she said. “They do make me sneeze so, though.”

“How fare the apple trees? I do so miss the cider.”

“Blossoming, Sir Idris. Should be a plentiful harvest.”

“Good morning, Sir Idris!” called the Head Gardener. Idris waved.

He settled in his usual spot, on the wall beside the rockery, placed down his texts and spread the blanket on the patch of lawn before him, and was about to dive into the knottier points of aria control when he heard, “Ah, Sir Idris, there you are.”

Lila bowed low to the elderly, red-robed gentleman coming down the path. Idris sighed, put down his book.

“And good morning to you, Magus Arundale.” He made to stand and bow, but Arundale raised a hand and shook his head. “Thank you. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“A fine day for reading, Sir Idris,” said the magus, squinting into the sun.

“It is, indeed.”

“Her majesty has summoned court.”

Idris nodded, but his stomach clenched at the news. “I see. Thank you, Magus. Is it urgent business, or will we be informed later today?”

“Not so urgent.” Magus Arundale glanced Lila. “Fetch your master a glass of water, child. It is warm, and he looks veritably parched.”

Lila hesitated, but Idris smiled at her. “That would be wonderful, Lila. Thank you.”

She bowed and hurried away; Magus Arundale took a seat beside Idris and placed his papery hands on his lap.

“She is a good girl, that Lila,” he said.

“The finest. Observant and kind.” Idris sighed again. The children were hunting for bugs beneath the shrubbery, scuffing their fine shoes in the dirt. “I assume this has something to do with my... Judge Kurellan’s work, of late.”

“It does. He claims he has enough evidence to move a force out of the palace and go hunting for dissidents.”

Idris scoffed. Instead of a reprimand, Magus Arundale simply raised his palms.

“He would threaten the peace with half-strung-together sentences from the mouths of the dead,” said Idris. “He sees danger where there is none. I wish the Queen hadn’t -”

“Finish that sentence carefully, boy.”

Idris swallowed, bit the inside of his cheeks. It would not do well for people to know he was making demands of the Queen, after all she had done for him. It was bad enough to most that he was so young and held so high in her esteem, so close to her that they were practically family.

“I understand your frustration,” said Magus Arundale. “But, the cost of the peace we have won is that we must be vigilant. That is your position here, is it not?”

“It is. Forgive me, Magus. I am... sceptical of Kurellan’s intent, that is all. I do not want fighting, again.”

“Nor do I.” The magus fanned his face with a fan he kept hidden in his robe sleeve. “You are being treated well, I hope?”

“Better than I deserve, as always, Magus.”

“Excellent. I do miss our little lessons, don’t you?”

Idris smiled wanly, thinking of the dimly lit alcove off the magician’s library where Magus Arundale scolded and cajoled for hours, the iron tension in his neck and shoulders as he tried to wrestle with arias that would not obey.

“Every day,” he said diplomatically.

“You were a fine magician then, and you are a fine magician now.” The old man touched Idris’s shoulder in an uncharacteristic display of tenderness. “Do not forget. Court. You must wear your fine robes, understood?”

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“Of course, Magus Arundale. A good day to you.”

“And to you, young man. Ah, Lila, back with the water? Good girl.”

“Good day, Magus,” she said, bowing low.

“I fear we won’t get any uninterrupted reading time today, Lila,” said Idris, once Magus Arundale was out of sight. “We shall drink our water and finish our tea, and head back to the chamber. I will need my navy robes, I think, and my cane.”

“Certainly, Sir Idris.”

Court was a dreary necessity, all show and bluster that Idris cared little for. He disliked the eyes of the other courtiers upon him; his time would be better spent in study and contemplation, and he found it difficult to follow the intricacies of court gossip and intrigue. To the others, he was an oddity that the Queen kept around as a show-of-force. Mostly, he unnerved them. In previous years, he had attempted to quell their doubt by being charming and affable, but the charade was tiring and it did nothing to improve his reputation. In the end, he decided if he had to be there, he would be there as a matter of business, not for any other reason.

That, and the Queen expected him, and he did not want to disappoint her.

“Sir Idris!”

Idris looked up from packing his satchel to find one of the children, face red with pent-up grief, running towards him.

“Why, whatever is the matter?” he said, kneeling.

The girl held out her hands. Inside was a mouse, very still.

“Please could you?” she sniffed. “Please would you?”

Idris pulled a face, rolled up his sleeves. “Only if you promise to hold him very still, and not bother him again once the aria has run its course. All right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Now hold still.”

Finding the death aria was difficult, outside of the dungeon. The crisp, bright arias of the courtyard were not his kind, and he could not follow their melodies. Thankfully, the mouse was freshly dead, and still held its own musicality for Idris to use – and besides, it was small and uncomplicated, not like trying to reanimate a human corpse and ask it to speak. If Magus Arundale knew he was bringing back rodents for the children on a whim, he would probably be upset.

“Count to five,” Idris told the girl.

He held out his pentagon, breathed deep, and by the time she reached two, the mouse was back, scurrying around on her palm.

“Oh, Sir Idris, you are so clever!” she cried, holding it close to her chest.

“Remember our promise.”

“I will! Thank you!”

As he stood, Lila raised her eyebrows at him. “I know,” he said wearily, and continued clearing up his books.

Back in his chambers, he changed into a crisp white shirt and fresh breeches. Lila fetched his court clothes – a long velvet coat in the deepest navy blue, adorned with black embroidery that only showed when he turned a certain way or the light fell on him. The patterns told the court his story, detailing his family crest on the back and his personal sigil on both breast panels: a black clematis inside a pentagon, its vines curling around the collar. It was fastened around his neck with a brooch of the same design.

Lila brushed it down as he stood, gazing at himself in the mirror, cane in hand.

“Acceptable?” he asked her, and she nodded.

“Every inch the Court Necromancer, sir,” she said.

He blew out his cheeks. “Ugh.”

She smiled, her eyes playful. “We could swap?”

“I am sure Kurellan would be thrilled to see the part of Sir Idris of Gleesdale played by a short attendant girl from the back-end of nowhere.”

She stood straight and tall, only just reaching Idris’s shoulder, and puffed out her chest. It was not often that Lila asserted her character like this, but it was welcome, after the morning they had had. Idris suppressed a laugh; she scraped her hair into a low-hanging ponytail, like his, and gave him a sideways look.

“It’s uncanny,” he said, chuckling slightly. “Nobody would ever know the difference.”

“You could wear the brighter coloured coat? The orange one is aired and fresh – the scarlet, too,” she suggested, but he shook his head.

“It matters little. I have a role to play and I have to play it satisfactorily.”

“Oh, your rings,” she said, and rushed off to gather them from the bathroom.

Fully adorned, he took a few moments by the window to gather his strength, until at last he heard the low, long horn of the court, summoning him and the others to their duties.

“Lila?” She, too, was dressed as appropriate for accompanying her master to the chamber – long, powder-blue skirt, starched white blouse and her apron with his sigil on the hem; back in her usual role, she bowed her head as expected. “Perfect. After you.”

The hallways of the palace residence were busy, suddenly. Courtiers emerged from their private chambers with attendants in tow, polished boots clicking on the marble floor, skirts and trains rustling. Some attendants carried papers with them, but most had items which would make their masters more comfortable during the meeting if it went overlong, such as stools, shawls and refreshments. Lila made sure Idris had ample space to walk and not knock into any rushing bodies – he only used the cane for long walks or if he would be standing for undefined amounts of time, and he was rather accident prone with it. Her job was made easier by the fact that most other courtiers and their attendants avoided Idris like he was covered in plague sores, as if by touching him they were somehow one step closer to death. When they saw him, they lowered their eyes quickly and stopped in their tracks, mumbled under their breath and let him go first.

Court was always held in the large, oval chamber in the centre of the palace complex. The giant dragon horn which summoned the courtiers sat in its golden stirrup beside the entrance, where some of the older members of the Queen’s court conversed before entering the room. The sun beat fiercely down on the white steps, which were only partially shaded by the shrubs that ran parallel up the incline. From the east – Idris’s approach – the main palace residence of the Queen and her immediate family made a picturesque backdrop of turrets and stained glass, beyond the bothersome problems of court. It glowed with lapis draconis, ringing the top dome, like a fiery beacon in the sky.

Nobody called to greet Idris as he walked, but he noticed their eyes and the lowering of their voices. While a Court Necromancer was considered necessary, the presence of one was distasteful to most, even to other practising magicians. The title ‘necromancer’ conjured up images of shambling, rotting corpses and a puppet master gleefully pulling the strings, and with that came the assumption that all necromancers were depraved and morbid creatures who craved death and destruction above all else. Idris accepted that his work was gruesome, but what was he to do about it? Hardly anyone ever saw him work, save Kurellan and some of the generals. They only saw the persona Idris put out while he stood quietly, gravely, in court.

He had done things he was not proud of. Things that saved the kingdom but grated on his morals, that woke him at night in cold sweats as if he could hear the arias blasting out of his bedchamber. But duty came before his personal comfort and wishes. Loyalty and fealty. That was what the Queen – and the kingdom – expected of him.

He nodded respectfully at his peers as he passed, even if they did not meet his eye, and paused before the great chamber doors, wide open and letting the cool air out. Lila passed him a kerchief to dab at his brow, and he smiled in thanks; she adjusted his brooch and batted some dust off his coattail.

“Thank you, Lila. You are dismissed. It is a glorious day for an afternoon stroll. I will meet you here on the second horn.”

She bowed low, muttered, “Sincerest thanks, Sir Idris,” and turned. At the top of the stairs, some other attendants caught up with her, and, giggling and smiling, they linked arms and descended into the shade.

Clutching his cane like a warm, friendly hand, Idris sighed and entered the assembly hall.