a novella by

  S. Jean

  Forevermore

  Copyright © 2024 by S. Jean

  Star*Cadets

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover art, design, & illustrations by S. Jean

  For those of us with

  tragedies in our hearts.

  ~

  Content Warning

  This is a story of necromancy and skeletons and as such, dead bodies and gore are to be expected. Also within are sexually suggestive scenes, abusive mentor relationships, and the devouring of hearts.

  Read with care!

  One

  Delicate

  Birds were delicate, their bones even more so. Too much magic and they would crack, turning to dust, and never again would fly across the breeze. This tiny thing was splayed on a plate made from lapis lazuli, each bone accounted for and arranged in such a way, its once wings were spread to remind it of the days it flew upon the air. That was the trick, after all; when the bones remembered the life they once had, magic takes to the hollow holes left behind and fills it with the desire to move again. Knowing how much magic, however, was tricky. Animals were easy in the grand scheme of the spell, at least. Their lives were once based on desire and instinct, making them altogether simple.

  Humans were another matter entirely.

  Nezael hadn’t quite tried a human skeleton just yet; not for lack of wanting, however. His lord simply told him it wasn’t time yet and the most Nezael had done was assist the process. Before he tried his own, he had to prove proficiency in simpler animals. And so, today was a test to see how he’d do with one of the most fragile sets of bones: the innerworkings of a bird.

  His lord and master, the Great Sorcerer Carrow of the Thorns, watched Nezael work, standing behind him as a statue never once blinking as though to make sure he caught everything Nezael did (and didn’t) do. It took everything Nezael had to focus on the bird and not the potential failure or success.

  Taking a deep breath, he let the magic coil inside of him and pressed a gentle finger against the delicate bone that once made the wings. Mouthing ancient spells Carrow had penned himself, Nezael’s magic flitted through his veins as though called. The bird’s wings needed more magic than the rest of the body because the feathers no longer existed. Which, honestly, was a shame. The bird had once proudly displayed a vibrant red plumage and Nezael hated he’d had to peel the feathers and skin back to carefully extract the bones from within.

  Just as well. With winter so soon, the bird wouldn’t have survived. It was too late for it to join its brethren in migrating, having lulled itself into a false sense of security at Nezael’s windowsill because of the crumbs he’d left for it. All he’d wanted was to listen to its song while studying; he hadn’t meant to doom it. The poor thing relied on him instead of its own instincts and now it lay here on the slab. Perhaps its un-life would fare better...

  Magic twitched and frayed against the distraction and Nezael clenched his jaw. Focus, he told himself.

  At his coaxing, the magic stabilized and followed his finger. It threaded itself as a vibrant light cocooning itself around the bones to recreate the once muscle and tissue of the wing. It became a web of shimmering lines until it drew too soft and translucent for the naked eye to see. All it took for a sorcerer like Nezael and his lord, however, was a little more focus, and he saw past the reality of the bones and to the glimmering feathers he gently fashioned from the dormant magic threads. Without them, the skeleton bird simply wouldn’t fly. Each time he finished a feather, he wove it into the unseen muscles and moved onto the next. Very soon, he had brought his finger across the entire body and all the way to the other wing. He sat back in his chair and gazed at his work in its entirety.

  Currently, all the threads were slack against the bones, appearing almost like a shroud, but as far as he could see and quantify, it was all interwoven. Moment of truth. He looped careful fingers underneath the unseen threads and pulled them taut toward the core of the bird. The bones shuddered, rattling against the lapis, but remained whole. Good start. Nezael breathed in, gathering what magic lingered in the air, and gently blew a soft breath over the bones.

  It took away any bit of magic not yet settled and what was settled, the breath sealed it within the hollow bones. He withdrew his hands, letting the magic go, and waited. At first, he thought he’d tightened all the spells too quickly and it failed to catch, but then the bird was up on its legs, shaking feathers no longer there. The motion made the bones rattle, disconcerting to those not used to it, but to Nezael, music. The bird even chirped, a sound made from the vibration of magic against the bones, and it trilled its usual soft song for him.

  Nezael’s lips stretched into a smile and he offered his finger to the bird like he had so many mornings before. On instinct with memory woven into the bones, the bird hopped up like it always did and gently pecked his hand, searching for stray crumbs.

  Lord Carrow exhaled behind him, reminding Nezael he was there, and the tension stole out of the room with the breath. Two hands gently combed Nezael’s feathery black hair from his forehead and Nezael followed the motion, tilting his head back. Carrow’s hands were warm today, tingling with latent magic. He pressed a kiss to Nezael’s forehead and his lips were just as warm.

  “What did I tell you?” Carrow murmured, his voice its usual rumble deep in his throat. One of his hands trailed down Nezael’s neck, its soft touch tempting Nezael to shiver, but he kept his composure. As Carrow rested his fingers against Nezael’s collarbone, he offered his other hand to the bird. It happily hopped from Nezael’s finger to Carrow’s and he drew it closer.

  “Talent and potential. Your worries were unfounded, my blossom.” He smiled, his amber eyes twinkling with magic, and the bird took its first flight through the great hall. It flew up to the rafters and settled happily beside the skeletal corvid Carrow had raised long ago to act as his eyes outside the tower.

  They both watched the bird go until it was settled in and once it was, Carrow gazed down at Nezael again. “You should have more confidence.” His fingers gently pressed into Nezael’s neck.

  “I shall endeavor to be so,” Nezael said, letting his lord feel his throat as he spoke. Another test. Magic carried across the body when cast and though Nezael knew he had dispelled it from his own fingers, many sorcerers forgot to let it go from their voice as well. If not released, the magic could continue unregulated through speech alone and form a mind of its own. “All of my success today has been because of you, my Lord, so it is only apt I thank you for this and more.”

  “Mm.” Carrow released him. “You’ve done exceptionally well this year.” He swept to Nezael’s side to lean on the ritual slab they’d been using as a desk and allowed Nezael to stand. His eyes tracked Nezael’s every move and Nezael studied him the same.

  His lord was a tall man with broad shoulders and long elegant limbs which Nezael could have watched for days as they weaved magic. Never a movement out of place; he truly deserved the title of Great Sorcerer. Always dressed in the finest clothes one could weave on magic alone with protective enchantments imbedded into the fabric. Today, he wore his smokey gray coat with fur lining the inside with his usual black tunic, breeches, and boots spelled to glide on air if he wished when he walked. The coat was trimmed in glimmering gold that hid all manner of counter spells within. Not a seam was out of place. The muted colors never distracted from his eyes shining like ambers and from his vibrant honey brown waves he kept brushed back so it trickled down around his neck.

  Nezael wasn’t quite as perfect or finely put together as his lord. While Carrow was tall and commanded a room on presence alone, Nezael was of middling height and a shrinking violet in comparison. He’d stopped growing a head shorter than his lord and wouldn’t bulk up with weight despite attempts otherwise. Carrow had once said sometimes magic was the culprit. Given how young Nezael had been when he began weaving his own spells, it likely curbed much of his growth to further augment his magic instead. Although Carrow never expressed regret over this because steeping Nezael in magic while he was young made him worthy to be the apprentice he was trained to be.

  In contrast to his lord’s honey brown locks, Nezael’s hair was a soft black with texture that reminded him of feathers. His eyes were softer than Carrow’s sharp stare and were a subdued cherry compared to the brilliance of his amber. He wore simple tunics and breeches from town, not yet been given his own garments woven from magic. Maybe soon, when Carrow felt Nezael was a true necromancer like him.

  It had to be soon given the way Carrow gazed at him with all the hunger of having an eager student and all the delight in the world of that said student having passed one of the most fragile tests.

  Nezael couldn’t help the pride swelling in his chest. It must have shown. Carrow’s eyes darted to his and Nezael forced himself to keep eye contact. “Yes, my Lord?”

  Carrow shook his head, his smile so warm and inviting, Nezael could have stared at it all day to memorize it for as long as he could. “Oh, naught is amiss, my blossom.” Carrow reached out and cupped Nezael’s face in his hands. “Isabella wanted your assistance once you were done in here. I have meetings to attend with visitors coming in, so do right by her and please, stay out of sight, hm?”

  “Of course.” Nezael smiled and his whole body warmed when Carrow pressed his lips to Nezael’s forehead again. �
��Are many coming this time?”

  “Enough to keep me wary.” He dropped his hands and stepped away. “Perhaps soon we’ll be able to do more than simply hide. See to Isabella now. I must prepare.”

  Carrow headed out of the hall without another warm word and the corvid took flight after him. The creature was a magical marvel on its own; Carrow could see through its eyes and even control its movements if he wanted to. Nezael had a lot more to learn before he could even think to try that. He peered up at his own tiny bird. It had nestled itself against the crook in the rafters, looking right at home.

  “Stay wherever you wish,” he said gently. The bird cocked its head toward him. “My home is yours forevermore.” He blew it a gentle kiss, letting magic carry the gesture farther, and was delighted when the bird shuffled unseen feathers in reply.

  Hopefully, it felt as at home as Nezael did and he trekked after his lord.

  Nezael didn’t know how long he’d been at the tower—or even his own age, if he was honest—but it had been his home for as long as he could remember. There were snapshots of a life before the tower, but they were silent and fuzzy with nothing to say about them but vague shapes and ideas. Nezael ignored them. What did the past matter when he was here now? With a Lord who smiled at him so? With magic thrumming through his body, wanting to help the world change? And who could grant him the ability but his one and only lord?

  As such, this tower hidden past the forest full of brambles and thorns was his home. Stone walls fortified with latent magic, windows which creaked when opened (if they even could be), and drafts aplenty ghosted through hallways covered in mismatched tapestries to stave off the long winters. Rugs of all kinds covered the floors, each one treaded on for years before and would still be around years later, creating a splash of muted colors across the halls. Lord Carrow never quite made the place homey—he likely hadn’t intended to spend so long here—but Nezael had done his best to bring life to it once he saw how the town south past the brambles looked.

  There, the interiors were warm, with golden hues from the windows always lighting the rich warmth of the wood. Colors aplenty were draped across barren walls in patterned fabrics and Nezael loved it all. It reminded him of life and he wanted it here too. Sure, his attempts were paltry at best, relying on what little he received from selling potions in the marketplace during the summer, but it let him enjoy the tower more. He’d even hung bushels of dried flowers from the wooden beams, their muted shades the perfect pop of color most hallways needed, and bought old and worn tapestries from merchants to give it second life on their walls. This way, they had colors among the cold drafty hallways. Though his lord never quite complimented the frivolous change, Nezael had caught him smiling at everything more than once.

  Nezael turned into the spiral stairwell leading to Isabella’s workroom. It was located in the lowest room the tower had to offer so that if one of her potions met an unfortunate end, the rest of the tower would be spared.

  Isabella had agreed with adding more colors to the tower so much, that she’d decked out her workroom in all the shades she could gather. Bright, gaudy cloth that never seemed to dull went across any wall she wasn’t using. Those that weren’t covered had honeycomb shaped shelves made of wood fixed to them, the wood made of soft, golden shades. Each cubby was filled with jars housing all manner and color of herbs. The center of the room contained her table with a cauldron and burner, various glass measuring instruments, stone pestles, and even her bronze scales. The floor was covered in rugs crisscrossing on top of one another, each one soft on her skeletal feet. Her bed was pushed into one corner, draped in as many colors as the floor and walls, and she’d hung up a floral printed tapestry to act as canopy over her bed. All the pops of colors were dear to Isabella, what she called memories of her excursions to the town marketplace with Nezael by her side.

  Isabella herself was dressed in thick fabrics as vibrant as her personality. She always kept a shawl wrapped around her head to protect her polished skull, tucking it in expertly every time, and wore long robes to hide the fragility of her bones within. She wrapped her skeletal fingers in strips of fabric that differed in color from one finger to the next and on top of that, she wore jeweled rings enchanted to protect her hands. Nezael didn’t know how old she was (and he learned very quickly it was a rude question) and had no idea how long she’d been Lord Carrow’s skeletal potions master, but Carrow’s magic within her bones was as strong as ever, woven so precisely, it was as though she still maintained the fluidity of her once muscles.

  She looked up from her measuring beaker as Nezael slipped past the curtain in the doorway. The room always had an air of incense and herbs Isabella herself could no longer smell, but to Nezael, it smelled like home.

  Though Isabella had no face, as was the case of all the raised skeletons, Nezael still felt the warmth of a smile as she gazed at him.

  “I see you’re about and smiling,” she said, her voice oscillating against the magic in her skull. She never knew if it was really how her voice had sounded in life, but Nezael liked it for what it was. It had a strange kind of cadence he adored. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this smile, my little lord?”

  Nezael came up to her table and let the smile stretch. “I raised the bird! None of the bones cracked once and I really did it this time.”

  Bones pushed against Nezael’s leg and he glanced down. The cat he had raised earlier this year rubbed against him like it always did when he visited Isabella. He gently bent down and massaged its forehead with his finger. A glint of magic reacted, reinvigorating the cat, and it sauntered back to the bed where it must have been napping before he came in.

  Isabella clapped her hands. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you mastered a bird! Our Lord must have been so ecstatic. Why, that must have been him I heard dancing across the floor above.”

  Sarcasm dripped from her voice and Nezael bit back his snicker. Lord Carrow was indeed hard to impress and held many of his emotions close to his chest.

  “He was happy,” Nezael said and left it at that as the ghost of the kiss fluttered across his skin. “As much as he’s ever happy, I suppose. He told me you needed my help?”

  Isabella paused, tilting her head like she was confused, and then chuckled. “Oh dear. I was fussing and he must have heard me. Well, a bored little lord such as thee needs distractions, I suppose.” She set her beaker down and shuffled past him, the aroma of spice and herbs trailing in her wake as it cascaded off her robes, and he followed her to the honeycomb shelves. She trailed a boney finger across the contents until she found the jar she searched for and wiggled it free.

  Empty, but the lingering magic inside from the herbs that once was made the glass shimmer. Nezael took it and read the label. “Vistarium herbs?”

  “Yes, they grow very precariously and are even more precarious to gather.” Isabella returned to her table and pulled a tome of herbs out from her pile of books. She never quite treated her books with the same reverence as her herbs, but then again, she likely had all the pages memorized. This was purely for Nezael’s benefit.

  She flipped through the thick vellum pages until she reached the center. On one side of the spread, there was a carefully rendered sketch of the plant and herb in question, and on the other, the list of potions to be made with such a plant.

  “It absorbs magic,” Isabella explained, too impatient to wait for Nezael to read the entire thing. “Given how late it is in the year, it’s risky for me to search for the plant on my own. It’d take what scant power I have left.” Without magic, skeletons ceased being able to move. Dangerous for her when her magic was at its thinnest so close to winter. “All our wards use these herbs as a base to protect us from any strange spells used against us and our lord has been going through it like it’s going out of style.” She tilted her head toward Nezael in what he construed as a mischievous grin. “You up for fetching me some more? I do know how you adore walks outside.”

  Even if sometimes Lord Carrow wished Nezael never left at all. Nezael smiled all the same and nodded. “Of course.” He giggled as Isabella leaned forward and bumped her bony cheek against his. Her magic tickled across his skin, reminding him of a kiss on the cheek, and she withdrew to gather supplies for him.