Complete!
Raizia has already died twice and she's not planning on dying again anytime soon.
The 20-year-old necromancer makes ends meet by offering her resurrection services to a select few for an exorbitant fee. There's just one condition: she will...
Over the span of three hours, Raizia's apartment was transformed. The clothes that had once littered every free surface had been collected, washed, and hung to dry. The dishes that had been piling up in the sink were scrubbed, dried, and put away neatly in their cupboards. The bed was made, all surfaces dusted, and a collection of wood stacked by the fireplace.
Aris did all of this without saying a word—except to occasionally ask Raizia where she kept her brushes or other cleaning supplies.
Raizia watched him with mild fascination as he scrubbed the floors. He wore a grey tunic with short sleeves; she watched the cords of muscle ripple down his arms as he moved the brush back and forth. He's definitely a soldier, she thought. The rigid precision of his movements, the layers of muscle, the ability to keep his mouth shut—all the qualities of a good soldier. The only thing that didn't add up was the wealth. Soldiers were usually plucked from the poor; the rich had no need to sacrifice their own lives when they had others who would sacrifice it all for "honor."
Maybe he's higher up in the service... a commander, perhaps.
As she was thinking this, Aris looked up suddenly, catching her staring. Raizia felt a blush rise on her cheeks, but she turned away so he couldn't see it. "There's some ash still there," she lied. "Keep scrubbing."
As he went back to his task, she looked down at her hand, where her finger used to be. She had tried, several times now, to cast a spell, but it hadn't worked. Magick needed a conduit, and for her, it had always been that finger. With it gone, she still had magick within her, but she couldn't access it. She was useless.
In addition, Raizia was seriously regretting binding Aris into her service. She had realized, over the past several hours, that she didn't really need him—nor want him—around. He wasn't a sorcerer; he wouldn't be able to help with any of her spells. And while having an extra helping hand to do her laundry and dishes was helpful, she didn't necessarily think it outweighed the risks. Here was a man who was wealthy, strong, and likely some high-ranking official in the military, and she was forcing him to do menial labor. It made sense for him to do some penitence for his misdeeds, but if she kept him in her service too long, he would become resentful, and people who became resentful did stupid things. It made sense to release him from their bind as soon as possible.
The problem was, without her magick, she couldn't undo the binding spell. Which meant Aris would be forced to help her until she got her magick back. Which could be a very long time.
Zaidi might know how to fix it, she thought to herself. Although the old woman now spent most of her time creating herbal brews, she had once been a practiced sorcerer.
"You can stop," Raizia said suddenly, grabbing her cloak. "And come with me. We're going to the market."
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Aris found himself quite uncomfortable as he walked through the winding streets this afternoon.
He had been to the market many times before when he lived outside the city walls, and he was used to be stared at occasionally for his height or his soldier's uniform. But typically it was a passing glance that quickly fell away. With the necromancer at his side, the stares were relentless.
