Vision stared. Panic flooded her, and she was uncertain whether she was frozen by fear, or by the certainty that this body would not run at her command. She pulled the cloak tighter around her shoulders, willing it to give her strength. When she spoke, she was pleased to hear that a sharp edge to her words masked her fear.

  “Explain that to me,” she said coldly.

  Malone touched her shoulder and she bared her teeth at him. He withdrew.

  “What is the last thing you remember, girl?” asked the older man.

  She turned her head away, closing her eyes. Her mind was… fuzzy. She recalled pain. It sang through her head still, as if her very being had been torn asunder. After that, the clang of swords and yet more pain. Was it possible she had been slain? She realised she was clenching her jaw and released the pressure with conscious effort. She turned to Rook.

  “You are a necromancer.”

  He flashed a scornful grin.

  “Indeed, Lady.”

  “Do you know who I am?”

  Rook grinned wider. Malone cleared his throat.

  “We know who you were – but I think we can agree that you can no longer be that person.”

  “Tynan Amaya,” Rook said, “Irida’s daughter.”

  “Yes,” Malone said gruffly.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Vision pressed her lips together in a thin line and considered the men.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Pardon?” Malone asked.

  Rook said nothing, only watched her from where he lounged against the wall.

  “If you’ve gone out of your way to… retrieve… me, it was for a reason, right?”

  Malone held up his hands in a pacifying gesture.

  “To keep you from the king, nothing more. It would serve nobody if he used you for his purposes.”

  She hesitated, then plunged ahead, “You know what they are? His purposes?”

  “You don’t?” Rook said with a snort, “Ether help us.”

  “Leave, if you cannot keep a civil tongue in your head,” Malone snapped.

  Rook bent in a mocking half-bow and took his leave. Malone pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head slowly.

  “I am sorry for him. He’s… well, he’s a necromancer. I didn’t expect him to be so hostile, I expect that his part in this took something out of him.”

  She retreated further into her cloak, feeling no less exposed for Rook’s absence.

  “Will he be back?”

  “Oh, yes. This is his house.”

  She looked down at herself and her state of undress. She needed something to wear, if she were to speak as a person, rather than as a victim of circumstance.

  “Can I have some clothes?”

  “Yes. Let’s give you some time to adjust to that body first though, yes? I doubt you could dress yourself now. To answer your question – your mother made a phylactery, do you know this word?”

  She shook her head.

  “It’s…” Malone grunted, “Rook would explain it better, I won’t try and butcher it myself. It has the power to bind to the King’s soul and make him nigh-unkillable. Age wouldn’t touch him, either. Your blood is all he needs to make it work.”

  “I see,” she said, “But… my body? Does the king not have my body?”

  Malone smiled suddenly, “He does. It is poisoned.”

  A shiver ran down her spine, that had nothing to do with cold. The cheerful tone of pride in his voice was deeply disturbing to her.

  “They are keeping it from decay in the hopes of finding a way to cure it,” Malone explained, “But neither Rook, nor I know of a way it can be done without the presence of your soul.”

  Nearby, someone cleared their throat. Vision whirled, to see a woman dressed like a servant hovering in the mouth of the hallway.

  “Mage Hayes,” she said, “Mage Alaton has sent me to see to the girl.”

  Malone waved her in.

  “By all means,” he turned his attention to Vision, “Go and see the state we’ve left you in.”