Abaddon's Mark

Chapter Fifty-One

AN: This is the last chapter of Abaddon's Mark. A nine-chapter novelette will launch in a few days and book three may launch within the month. For those who have been reading for the past two months with the quick upload schedule, please keep in mind that all but two chapters of the book were written before the flurried updates. Updates going forward could take longer due to deadlines and other projects. Thanks for reading.

Naena was standing beside Maeno when a funny sort of flutter went up her spine. She knew it wasn't a physical sensation but something deeper. As she refocused on the ballroom, she found herself staring at a man who looked strangely familiar.

Maeno swore and turned to face the other way. Then he swore again and gave Naena a look as she frowned at him.

"That's Jasor Salord," Maeno said.

"Oh?" Naena asked.

He nodded as Naena looked at Jasor, aware the man stared openly at her. Not liking the way the man stared at her or the implication of that gaze, she turned her back on the man and brought her hands before her as she let out a little breath.

Jasor looked a great deal like Nillon. The family relation was clear, but she didn't see any similarities between either of them and her reflection.

"Candidate for my father," she muttered.

"Strong one," Maeno said. "Nillon's father, rumour has it, might not even be his father. The old lord might be. Uncle he lives with never had children. Jasor's a famous bachelor. Lugh says the matriarchs wrote him off. He's refused to marry until he's recognized. It's a whole thing."

"What's he doing here?" Naena asked. "I thought the alumni ball was tomorrow."

"Dunno," Maeno said. "Maybe he's Lord Salord now. I haven't kept up with that, have you?"

Naena just shrugged in response as a wave washed over her. It swelled up from her feet like the tide coming in. Then it retreated but pooled around her toes. She lifted her skirts and checked on her feet to be sure. When she straightened, she found Maeno staring at the floor by her skirt.

"What?" she asked.

"That's a different colour," he said, though only barely so.

"Maybe it's the blood," she muttered. "And, no. No one's talking about it, but Magi Yole says sometimes a lord will be dead, but they won't announce it until after the ball. Especially with the older ones. If it's young and tragic, then everyone's talking about it. But they'd wait for Lord Salord. He was almost ninety years old, you know."

"That's young for a necromancer."

"Necromancer playing in Hell magic. Why am I not surprised?"

"It did revolutionize the field. They went from talking to dead people and peering into Hell to raising the dead, moving dead bodies and sometimes the living, stopping death in its tracks. So, they went from telling stories to haunting everyone. But a side effect of their field, much like healers, is that they tend to draw on the life force of those around them. Healer gets fewer colds. A necromancer has a longer life. Some live up to... how old is Arcdon again?"

"Wait, how old is Arcdon?" Naena asked as a shudder rolled through her. "For crying out loud. When I find out who is doing that, I will skin them alive!"

The students around them drew away. Conversation hushed, and the music halted for a second before the musicians took up playing once more.

"Maeno, how is it you do that thing you do, again?" she asked, turning to him fully. "Once I'm in it, I get it—"

She could see it, but most magic slung at someone was disconnected. Maeno had a way to trace the magic back thanks to his collecting magic from mages around him. It was a trick he was teaching her, but she was slow to grasp it. It sounded like he saw magic differently than she did, but some of it translated over, so she kept trying.