Rook practically floated home. The energy that ran through him as he held onto Tynan was invigorating. He’d never experienced anything like it. It felt like he could kick off the ground and soar straight up to the Ether. He scarcely remembered most of his ride. It was almost a shock to find himself in his stable, his servant Aden taking the reins of his horse. He fought to centre himself. He knew more than most people how dangerous it could be to hold onto a soul for too long, and it had taken hours to leave the castle after the king had discovered what had happened.

“Has Malone arrived yet?” he asked Aden.

“Yes, Mage. He’s waiting in the drawing room.”

“Good, good.”

The plan had gone flawlessly, but there had been a moment when Rook had wondered if he had pushed the monarch too far. Bryant had been incensed when he had discovered that Tynan had died. When Malone had announced that she had been poisoned, and that ostensibly, that had been the true purpose of the rebels’ mission, he had been near apoplectic. He had locked the girl away beneath the castle, summoning Malone, Rook and a handful of other mages he trusted. There, he had announced his true intentions for the girl, for those who had not known: that he wanted to use her blood to power a device left to him by Irida. Malone had assured him that although her blood was tainted now, it could be easily healed once her soul was returned to her body. Rook had admitted that her soul had already re-joined the Ether.

The king had raged, and issued threats and ultimately cast Rook from his sight. Rook knew he’d have called in other necromancers. They wouldn’t be able to help and sooner rather than later, Bryant would need Rook’s services again. Rook practically floated up the stairs through his home. Truth be told, he hadn’t spent an abundance of time within its walls since he was a much younger man. The plush decorating and muted pastille colours spoke of a merchant heritage he had never fulfilled, after his magic had surfaced.

Malone turned to him, arms crossed and wearing a scowl as Rook approached. Rook smirked. The healer liked to play at being hard, but he was a soft touch and easy to goad. One suggestion that Rook might allow the girl to get hurt without his involvement had been enough to guarantee the man’s full participation. Then again, Tynan was deeply important to the healer.

“What do you have to grin at, boy?” Malone snapped.

Rook realised he was smiling and smoothed his expression.

“Have you got her?”

Malone grunted and jerked a thumb behind him.

“Your man put her in the tub.”

Nodding, Rook started to his kitchen, where a metal tub stood upon tiled floor.

“She’s fresh?”

Malone looked uncomfortable.

“She is. She died this morning.”

“I trust she isn’t recognisable, though.”

“No. She’s a servant.”

Rook leaned over and peered into the tub to inspect the girl. She lay submerged in ice and she was very definitely dead. Her lay at an odd angle. Bruises coiled round her throat like a disturbing necklace and her skin was startlingly pale. Malone shifted, refusing to look at her.

“Fucking nobles,” he growled.

Touching her forehead delicately with his fingers, Rook glanced over his shoulder at the healer.

“Are you ready?”

“Guess so. Fucking necromancers.”

“Fucking necromancers,” Rook agreed.

Rook closed his eyes and pushed Tynan’s sole into the servant’s body. It should have been easy, no more difficult than pouring water from a vase. He’d held onto Tynan for too long, though, and she fought. Her soul grasped at his being with ethereal hooks. He fought her, forcing her into the new vessel. He felt a great, terrible tearing sensation, and then Malone grunted in satisfaction.

The girl in the tub trembled; then, her eyes flew wide. It was done.