Aconitella, or A Necromancer's Wife (TCoLaD Book 3)

Tête-à-tête

~ Dvoday, 30th of Septembrie, 11831 ~

"Is there anything you haven't told me about yourself?" her husband asked into her curls, kissing her head and tracing a mindless pattern up and down her side. Dawn's light peaked through the curtains, illuminating the tired newlyweds that refused to sleep, for it would mean being apart while in their dreams. They had drifted off a few times throughout the night, but woke to move closer to each other, or to re-consummate their marriage. Now they were huddled close again after another bought.

"Mm—no," Lizzy murmured. "If I think of something when I am more awake, I'll tell you."

"Alright, my dear." He tilted up her chin, lifting himself up on his elbow to kiss her from above.

"And you?" she asked when they broke apart.

"You know some of my cræft," he hedged. She was not comfortable with his magia, though accepted him while he continued to practice it. He kissed her neck, closing his eyes and breathing in her scent. "My crimes. My true name."

"The magia that is also blancræft," she countered, wrapping her arms around him, holding him, steadying him. "And your good deeds. You—" her words ended in a squeak when he bit her gently.

"Pierre!"

She was naïve. Sweet and kind. She had feared for a short time when realizing he practiced necrocræft, but Mora had already guided her, introducing her to the magia, revealing that there was a light within the darkness that she could cling to, while ignoring the shadows. But death was death, and at times it was most gruesome in the light.

"Elizabeth... I have never known you to remain ignorant if you could gain knowledge. When you found out about my cræft, you said you know of my evil deeds, but do not understand why. And that you do not wish to understand... I thought I could leave it be, and keep this from you as an open secret. But you are my wife, and I do not wish to keep myself, any part of myself, from you. Please. Will you—Can you try to understand?" When she tried to ease his guilt by calling his magic healing cræft, she was not wrong. He could heal. Wounds that would be fatal and no other doctor could mend, he could make disappear. The dead he could return to life, their spirits following him out of the Mists of Judgment. But he also harmed, and killed, and the souls of those who had died by his hand howled in injustice when they were not acknowledged. He was no saint, and it was blasphemous to paint him in such a light.

"It was exhilarating when it was theoretical," she said in a whisper. For the first time that night, her eyes were not on him. She stared behind him, into the room, focusing on the edges of dawn. Her grip tightened on him and he felt her nails. She clung to him in fear, not passion. "When it was just magical discussion, about what could be, but not what was. And when I was reading about it, after I found out about your cræft, I tried to find any meaning as to why. I told myself perhaps it was just for medicine. That those who died by your hand were meant to. But it was too much. I... I wanted you to stop."

"I won't," he whispered back.

"You won't," she agreed. She sighed, turning back to him with wide, innocent eyes. Her grip lessened, but she did not let go of him. She was still with him. Still his wife, in his bed. In their bed. "You told me your necrocræft would make it difficult for us to have children while we planned our wedding. But that is not entirely true, is it? What was Mora's gift to you tonight?"

"In most circumstances, I, as a lord of death, would be infertile," he said. "I found out that this was not always the case last summer, and I thought to research and overcome this to have children with you. Research it on our honeymoon when I had time. It would have been a challenge, no doubt, but I do love a challenge, and I could not let this stop us from having children. Lady Mora, though, unbound me from being so close to death that I could no longer beget life, at least for a time."