Raizia's head was whirring—and she wasn't sure how much of that was from the blood loss.

She kept replaying the past few minutes: the man who had come from nowhere and plunged a knife into her abdomen, Aris carrying her away as she had slipped in and out of consciousness... and then the moment she had been able to cast a spell, channeling her magick through Aris' hands.

It had been exhilarating and terrifying and unbelievable. But it had worked. She had been able to cast a spell for the first time since losing her casting finger.

Through Aris.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. The soldier (she was now convinced he was a soldier—no one could have killed a man that easily) was walking much closer to her this time, eyeing the surroundings more diligently to ensure no one came near. His grey tunic was soaked in her blood. His dark eyes swept through the crowd. And his jaw—already starting to sprout stubble—was set in a tight scowl that seemed to frighten most of their onlookers.

When they finally found their way to Zaidi's stall, the old woman immediately stood up from her chair and cocked her head in confusion. "Raizia?" she asked. "You're limping."

"Ran into a little trouble on the way here," Raizia said. "But it should be taken care of now." She noticed that Aris hadn't joined her at the stall. He was several feet away, pacing the perimeter. He didn't need to—this area of the marker was just as empty as it usually was—but she appreciated his vigilance.

Zaidi clearly heard his footsteps, because she smiled. "Found yourself a bodyguard?"

Raizia chuckled darkly. "Well, actually... kind of."

And so Raizia quickly updated Zaidi on everything that had happened over the past two days: the resurrection-gone-wrong in the graveyard, losing her finger, binding Aris into her service, as well as her near-death experience earlier that morning and her newfound ability to channel her magick through Aris.

Zaidi listened to it all with respectful silence. Only at the end did she say, "Huh. You've had a busy few days."

"I don't really know what to do," Raizia said, pulling off her left glove and staring at the place where her finger used to be. "I can't cast on my own anymore, it seems. But I can through him. Which is good that I can at least cast something, but I can't keep him around forever." She lowered her voice. "He's definitely a soldier—and not some run-of-the-mill one. He has connections."

"He's also very cute."

Raizia raised an incredulous brow. "What do you know? You're blind."

Zaidi shrugged her shoulders, skin wrinkling. "I can tell these things." Then she gestured for Raizia to pass her her hand, which the necromancer did.

As she had done several times before, Zaidi ran her own hands over Raizia's fingers, delicately feeling every divot in the skin covering tendon, muscle, and bone. After a moment of silence, she said, "You'll be able to cast on your own again—you don't have to worry about that. You learned how to do it once, you'll learn how to do it again. It'll just take time. As for your soldier..." She shrugged. "You're lucky you found someone you can channel your magick through. It's not the most common phenomenon, I admit, but it's not unheard of. I say keep him around for now. He's useful. And the fact that you can cast through him might means there's more to him than meets the eye."

Raizia glanced back at him. "Okay."

Suddenly, Zaidi squeezed Raizia's hand. Raizia was caught offguard by it and whipped her head back to face the old woman. The sorcerer was leaning in towards her, her lips close to Raizia's ear. "And be careful," she whispered. "Something is going around and killing people."

"Wait—what?" Raizia asked. "What are you talking about?"

"There's something going around. No one's sure if it's a new poison, or a plague, or a spell. It doesn't seem to discriminate. But a few people have died—almost suddenly, without warning. Just keep your eye open." She cocked her head towards Aris. "And keep him around. You might need to use your magick in a pinch."

"Thanks for the heads up," Raizia said, taking back her hand. "I'll keep my eyes open."

"Good." Zaidi then called out, loudly, so Aris could hear: "Be good to her!"

Aris turned around confused. Raizia, meanwhile, felt a blush creep up onto her lips. "Goodbye, Zaidi," she said, quickly moving away and forcing a bewildered Aris to follow.

Aris didn't feel that he could let his guard down until they were both back at the sorcerer's home.

As they crossed into the dark apartment, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to process everything that had happened at the market—particularly how easily he had killed that man. He remembered when it had been so hard to wield a deathly blow, but in that moment, when he saw the bloody knife and heard Raizia's cry, instinct had taken over and he had slit a man's throat without a thought.

He was bound to the necromancer's service; he had seen the glowing chains that had circled his wrists when she had cursed him that night in the graveyard. He wondered if that meant he was magically bound to protect her as well? Had he killed that man because of some spell, or had he done it on his own accord, out of his own twisted sense of duty? He couldn't tell.

The necromancer walked like she was drunk, stumbling in the darkness. Her hand skated along a counter until she found a box of matches, which she used to light a single candle. It barely lit up her face, but even in its warm glow, she looked like death—which wasn't surprising considering the day she had had. "I'm going to sleep now," she announced. "You can go home. I'll be fine tonight on my own." Then she paused, and her lips pressed together as if she was struggling to find the words to something. Finally she said, "Thank you, by the way. For saving my life. I... I know it may not mean much to you, saving the life of a necromancer, but... it meant a lot to me. So thanks."

The thank-you caught Aris off-guard—as well as the early dismissal. He hadn't quite figured out how he'd keep his dealings with the necromancer a secret. Being able to spend his nights in the inner city would give him enough cover so that he wouldn't incur the king's wrath.

"You're welcome," he said finally, and he was about to step out when he looked down and remembered the state of his tunic. Drenched in blood, it looked like he had just murdered someone—which, in all truth, he had.

"Shit," he muttered.

Raizia raised an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"My tunic," he said. "It just... looks suspicious. The guards at the wall might ask questions."

"I don't think I have any clothing that would fit you," Raizia said. Suddenly there was a glimmer in her eye. "But we can try and clean it together... with magick."

Magick. Aris shivered a little bit at the thought. It had been so strange to have the necromancer's magick run through him, conducting down his arms as if he were a human lightning rod. But despite how odd it had felt, it had also felt good. Intoxicating almost.

Dark magick corrupts, he reminded himself. "It's okay," he said. "You can sleep. I'll just... wash it the old-fashioned way."

The necromancer looked a tad disappointed, but then she nodded. "All right. I do have a soap that does well with getting blood out of things. Let me grab it for you."

"Thanks," Aris mumbled. As Raizia went to grab the soap, Aris slipped the tunic off of his body. He found the bucket of water he had been using earlier for the necromancer's laundry and soaked it in there. When the necromancer returned with the soap, he caught her looking at his bare chest. He had a feeling she was staring at the large scar on his shoulder, from a time on the battlefield that had nearly cost him his life. She looked away quickly and passed him the soap.

"I'm off to bed," Raizia said. "Goodnight." And just like that, the necromancer disappeared behind the door leading to her bedroom.

Aris scrubbed his shirt for a few minutes, working the dried blood out of the tight grey weave. When the last stain had been washed away, he took the shirt out of the water and wrung it dry. He wanted to give it time to dry on the line, but he had places to be. So he slipped the damp fabric back over his head and left the necromancer's house.

Aris walked into the party with a clean tunic, ducking through the long gauzy curtains and emerging into the chaos.

The king's parties were often wild and fantastical, and this one was no exception. Although he was hosting for only about forty people, he had decorated the hall as if there were to be thousands. There were long tapestries of fabric hanging from the ceiling, creating a strange maze. But if that wasn't confusing enough, there were women high above him wrapped in these fabrics, twirling and spinning in a fantastical show in time to the music that wafted through the space.

Attractive men walked by carrying glasses of wine and champagne on trays, weaving in and out of the curtains. Aris took one for himself and continued his way through the maze until he emerged into what appeared to be the central hub of the party. King Erran was sitting on a chaise lounge. An assortment of beautiful men and women sat around him, laughing at his jokes, sipping wine, eating grapes. Aris was always surprised at how beautiful the people the King surrounded himself with were—and occasionally, how scantily clad. One girl's dress left hardly anything up to the imagination.

The King saw Aris approaching, and his eyes lit up. "Aris, my friend! You made it! I thought you couldn't come."

"I had an opening in my schedule," Aris said with a grin as the King sat up and made room for him, making the overly zealous girl pout in disappointment.

As Aris sat next to him, he saw the hazy glimmer over the King's skin: the layers of protection spells. No matter how close anyone was to the King, they could never harm him—nor even touch him for that matter. I wonder if he can even enjoy sex... Aris had thought on more than one occasion.

"What are we celebrating today?" Aris asked.

The King grinned. "Life, my friend. We are celebrating life today, and not being in the ground."

Aris tried to grin back, but the thought of his mother's body bursting into flames suddenly flashed through his head, and instead what came out was more of a scowl.

The King seemed to have noticed it, but instead of taking offense, winced himself. "Oh gods... that was a stupid thing of me to say. Your mother—"

"It's all right," Aris said. "I don't think she would have wanted me to mourn her for too long."

Erran nodded, lightly clinking his glass against Aris', and they both drank long to that.

King Erran ran a finger along the chaise. "You know, there's a whisper going around that you were spotted in the commoner's market today."

Aris' heart sank. Shit. Someone saw me. Instead, he did his best to keep his voice level. "Really? That's odd."

"Yes," Erran said, just as levelly. "Very odd. They say you—or perhaps, someone who looks like you—was actually walking around with the necromancer."

"Huh," was all Aris could muster.

Erran leaned forward, so close his lips brushed against Aris' ear. "Just be careful," the king whispered. "Necromancers can be dangerous." And then the king leaned back and had a sip of his wine and was laughing as if he had just shared a joke with Aris.

Aris did his best to chuckle in response, although his mouth tasted like metal. The King knew that he was consorting with the necromancer. He wasn't forbidding him from doing it, just warning him: Be careful.

Aris sipped his wine. He thought of his day with the necromancer, of the blood he had spilled her behalf, and the dark magick that he had guided with his own hands. Oh gods, Erran, if only it were that easy...

- - -

Yay! We're officially about halfway through the novella! I would love to hear your thoughts on the characters, the plots, etc--and please don't hesitate to point out any mistakes! Although I pride myself on having a decent ability with grammar, I can definitely make stupid mistakes in a new draft, so if you see something, say something, and I'll be sure to fix it!

Hope everyone has been enjoying the ONC this year! Happy reading and writing!

- Bdicocco