The Necromancer Princess: The Necromancer Princess, #1

By Valery Keith

Exiled from her birthright as a child, Brianna's only crime was to be born a necromancer in a world that mandates their execution.  Rather than have his only child executed, her father, the King of Belmontis, entrusts his closest friend with her care and sends her away before claiming her death from illness.

Twenty years later, her father has been assassinated by her cousin, who now holds the throne, while Brianna is living anonymously in the Warrens of Mountainvale, the city's worst, most dangerous slums. Though she is unaware of the gathering threat beyond the borders of the country she might have ruled, a foreign necromancer is gathering his army to invade, starting with the city she now calls home. Having already taken a neighboring nation in just weeks, they have set their sights on wealthy Belmontis and only another necromancer can stop them.

When Garrett Morvan, Mountainvale's city commander, receives a royal command to arrest the necromancer hiding in his city and hold her until the King's representative can arrive, he's shocked to think such a foul creature might be lurking in his city. Only when his men finally bring her in, she's nothing like he imagined a necromancer would be. Instead of the mad hag he expected, she's young, beautiful, sarcastic and determined to escape his custody, one way or another....

A romantic fantasy from the author of the "Our Lady of Joy" series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Valery Keith
• Release date: Aug 10, 2017
• ISBN: 9781944535209

Book preview

One

Twenty Years Later

Samuel Hollings, the current King of Belmontis, looked at Lord Hayden, who appeared to be nearly senile by now, judging by the things he was saying. They had been discussing the threat from the north, where neighboring Serria had just been invaded and conquered by Angoth, their neighbor to the west. The war had been over in less than two weeks, Angothian forces sweeping across the country like a plague. More disturbing still, they were being led by their new ruler, a necromancer who was replenishing their army by reanimating freshly-killed soldiers of the conflict.

It had been nearly impossible to believe those first reports, because necromancy had not been reported in several hundred years. But with that kind of power, this Angothian madman would not stop at Serria, he knew, not when his wealthy country beckoned. Soon enough, this man and his army of the dead would be at their door and he had no way to stop it, not even with magic.

He knew the Mages Guild had a small number of stone mages who might be used to close the mountain pass between the countries, but they were not anywhere near Mountainvale right now. As few as there were, the stone mages were always traveling from one contracted repair to the next. He doubted the Mages Guild could recall them all in under a month or two, at best. So they would be useless. Even if a few did manage to join the army, he didn’t feel very confident about the final outcome. Not with the reports he had been receiving.

Belmontis would fight, but based on those reports, it would not end any differently than it had in Serria, not when they faced someone who could use the dead to keep fighting. Without a necromancer of their own to challenge him for control of the dead, they would fall as surely as every other foe. After all, history showed that once these armies of the dead began their march, stopping them was nearly impossible unless one of their own was willing to help.

So he had called a meeting of his advisers to inform them of the threat. Unsurprisingly, once they had understood their comfortable way of life was soon likely to end, they had looked as dazed as he had felt. When he had realized that none of them had anything of value to add, he had issued an edict to find out all they could through their contacts, reminding them that their country’s independence was at stake before dismissing them.

Only Hayden had lingered, asking for a moment of his time. So he had indulged him, but now, that was clearly revealed as a mistake. Based on his nonsensical babbling just moments ago, Hayden had finally slipped into dementia. He claimed that they had a weapon to equal this new ruler and the anticipated invasion. But since he himself would have already known about that, he assumed the old man was just off his rocker.

What? he snapped. What do you mean there’s a necromancer right here? Don’t be absurd. Aside from this madman, there hasn’t been one born in more than two centuries. It’s a forgotten magic.

There was one born twenty-four years ago, Your Majesty. Right here in this palace.

His head snapped back as he understood. Little Brianna Ravenhurst never died, did she? That cagey old bastard sent the princess away instead of letting that be known.

She was exiled to Blackwood at her father’s command, Hayden confirmed. After his, he met the King’s eyes even as his voice did not change, death, her foster father took her to his childhood home of Mountainvale. He has since passed away, but as far as I know, she is still there, residing in the Warrens. In light of the situation, I believe she might be able to help.

Ignoring the threat that Hayden knew about his assassination of his uncle, the King focused on the necromancer princess. The Warrens in Mountainvale? Oh, how the mighty have fallen. I wonder how a former princess likes stepping around puddles of piss in her silk shoes. This ought to be interesting. But how convenient, since the fastest way for them to invade puts that city first in line for attack. He met Hayden’s impassive gaze. I’ll send a message to the city commander there. He can pick her up in anticipation of your arrival. Until then, tell no one. The longer it takes for this to reach the people, the better. Public unrest and panic will only cause more problems.

And when I arrive to find her in custody, then what, Your Majesty?

Then you will personally remind her that it is her duty to do as her King decrees. You can even offer her an official pardon. Convince her that if she fights for us, her necromancy will be forgiven and once she is done, she will forever after be free of that worry. Once she agrees, have the commander train her for war, since she will be on the front line once the invasion comes. Let’s send her against the other necromancer, like in the history books. Maybe she can even kill him before she dies herself.

But being what she is, she cannot rule, Your Majesty, Hayden argued, his expression horrified. Surely if she helps you and uses her magic only to save the country from invasion, her death is not necessary? She has done nothing to indicate she is a threat to your rule, despite the passage of years. Her father has been gone for nearly a decade now, yet she has remained unknown all this time. She’s living in the Warrens of Mountainvale, Your Majesty. The Warrens, of all places. She is poor and without influence. Surely you cannot consider her a threat?

Of course I do, the King snapped. She’s a necromancer, Hayden. Those fools in Angoth and Serria are following one right now. So she is most certainly a threat, especially if she does as I want and kills him. Then what’s to stop her from doing the same thing to me? He shook his head. No, no matter how quiet she has been all these years, it doesn’t matter. She is a threat to the stability of this country. As such, there is no future for her past this one, serving her country like a patriot until death. He smiled. That would make her dear father proud.

As you wish, Your Majesty, Hayden replied, bowing as he backed out of the room.

As soon as he was gone and the door was shut, the King frowned, unable to stop his worries about this latest development. Like the rest of the country, he had assumed that the previous king’s only living heir had died of a fever twenty years ago. He had been a young man at the time, but he could still recall that spurt of glee when he had realized that his cousin’s death had been his chance.

After that, he had turned all his efforts to that very thing, finding allies and establishing a power base that, while still loyal to the King, respected him greatly. After all, he didn’t want turncoats surrounding him once he had risen to power. So he had recruited and cultivated each of them carefully and waited for an opportunity. While his uncle had never trusted him, he had always played the dutiful nephew. Eventually, his uncle’s suspicions had eased enough to finally present a chance and he had successfully poisoned the man.

He had grieved along with everyone, and it had not even been insincere. He was sorry that he had killed his uncle, but after spending years vainly hoping the man would just choke on a chicken bone and die already, he had run out of patience. So he had taken matters into his own hands. Other than Hayden, who appeared certain of his guilt even if he had never said a word, there had been nothing aside from murmurs, none of which had been loud enough to stop him.

But if the King had produced an heir, it would have been different. The fact that she was alive at all was unacceptable. He could not have her name bandied about by those who opposed him, nor have her used as an excuse for rebellion. Necromancer or not, her blood ties alone made her dangerous.

Even if exposed as the foul creature she was, that was no guarantee the people would turn from her, based on what had happened in Angoth. While their culture was very different, he still couldn’t take the risk. Necromancers were despised and feared by most people, but he couldn’t trust that would be enough to reduce the potential risk she represented to one he was willing to tolerate. For now, he needed her, but once she had served her purpose, she would be killed. She had no purpose for existing outside of this one, anyway.

That she was the only other necromancer in existence was not surprising, just very fortunate in this specific and rare case. After all, they had been ruthless in weeding necromancy out after the Great Wars had decimated so many countries, nearly five hundred years ago now. They had been caused by only eight necromancers, spread across different warring countries, he recalled now from his history lessons.

Yet they had killed too many to count over the thirteen years the wars had lasted. The necromancers had been killed one by one, but the cost had been terrible. When the last had finally been killed, so that the dead could not continually rise to keep fighting, all the nations had agreed that necromancy had to be eradicated.

There was no purpose for it outside of war, after all. The spark which had made them uniquely human long gone from their corporeal shells, the dead could not think or speak or feel, but only be used like puppets. But unlike puppets, they were deadly, their nerves firing under the necromancer’s magic so that they acted on muscle memory alone unless otherwise manipulated.

That meant dead soldiers were even more dangerous than live ones. They were killing machines who felt no pain and kept coming until their limbs were sheered off. Those few survivors who had lived through engagements with the dead armies knew that they were nearly impossible to fight.

So once she had served her country, his cousin Brianna would die.

Two

Mountainvale’s city commander, Garrett Morvan, was rather surprised when the message arrived from the King. His aide Wilkins had handed it off after the royal messenger had delivered it, his brows high as he announced the sender, which Garrett completely understood. He was the regional commander here, that was true, responsible for keeping the city safe, which was no small thing. But even still, he had never expected a message from his country’s ruler.

Built in the gem and ore-rich mountains of the north, Mountainvale was a prosperous center for trade. Accordingly, the Royal Commander of the King’s Troops in the city was a very well-respected position. But that was not a role that should have ever brought him to the notice of the King, he thought as he looked at that embossed, heavy wax seal for a moment, wondering what it could possibly say.

But once he had read it, he was shocked at what the missive contained. The King claimed that Mountainvale was harboring some filthy necromancer and that he was to take the hag into custody on the King’s order. In spite of the source, Garret doubted the claim, wondering how that could possibly be true. He had recently been dealing with an unusual rash of unsolved murders, thefts, assaults, public drunkenness and brawling, and now this.

Necromancy was even worse. It was in a class all of its own. It was illegal magic for good reason, so if he had anyone like that roaming around in his city animating the dead, he suspected he would have already known. He might not do patrols himself anymore, but he had walked many over the years before rising to his present position. He knew what was happening in his own city, and there had been nothing to even suggest such a thing. It had to be a mistake.

Since Garret had taken over from the previous commander, corrupt bastard that he had been, the city had been doing better under his tenure than it ever had before. At the age of twenty-seven, Garrett was the youngest man ever chosen to lead the King’s forces here. He was proud of his record and his city, and it bothered him greatly to think there might be a serpent in his paradise.

A massive city carved out of the mountain range dividing Belmontis and Serria centuries ago by stone mages, Mountainvale was built in tiers, through which the wealth rose to the very top. The highest level in the city was informally known to residents as the Upper City, where the rich and powerful enjoyed their mansions and money in the sun’s direct light. The houses and buildings there were stone, drawn from the city’s original creation and reshaped into massive, sprawling estates which left no doubt of their owners’ affluence and power. Any required repairs or alterations to the Upper City homes or Mountainvale itself were managed through the Mages Guild, which had assigned their few stone mages to a traveling circuit which spanned the country, annually inspecting and maintaining the stone cities which their brethren had originally created.

The level below, called the Middle City by its residents, housed those next in line for glory, many of whom served the Upper City through business, trade and entertainment. Like all the levels, it connected to the others through numerous stone staircases and ramps designed for handcarts. In addition, a winding trail circled the very edges of the city from top to bottom, restricted but for horse-drawn carts to bring in goods from the flats around the mountains, where the city’s food was produced. Homes in the Middle City were always made of wood and metal only, as if the stone mages had used up all their materials on the wealthy and the stairs between the levels, so that any beneath that highest tier would never be guaranteed that same permanence here.

While the affluent of the Middle City could build vast mansions if they had the resources, their building materials were entirely different and construction never involved stone mages. Their homes were always built of wood harvested from beyond the farmed flatland at the base of the mountain, with vast sheets of decoratively hammered metal created within the city itself, or with some combination of both, leading to some truly spectacular residences. But they were never built of stone. That building material, and the high cost of a stone mage required to shape it according to the extravagant and status-driven demands of the wealthy, was reserved for the Upper City only. Catch basin for the Upper City as it was, the Middle City lived in its shadow in more ways than one.

The working class resided in the tier below, which they called the Lower City. There the houses were much smaller and the streets much narrower, making it darker, smokier and more cramped than the level above. The Lower City residents fed the foundries, forges and mines in the vast mountain range, from which Mountainvale derived its wealth. While it was not a desirable place to live in any sense when compared to the higher levels of the city, its most fortunate and entrepreneurial residents soon moved up to the Middle City. Since there were always more hopefuls to take their place in a city this large and affluent, it was always crowded with new arrivals.

The lowest point of the huge, multi-storied mountain city, the Warrens, was reserved for the dregs. It was the dankest, darkest and dirtiest part of the city, even as it comprised both the only entries to the city and the massive sprawling base which appeared to hold the rest aloft. While the magic used in its construction ensured that even the most unlikely proportions would have remained standing, the city followed the standard rules of geometry, even if only for its residents’ mental comfort. So the Warrens, carved out from the very base of the mountains, was the largest of all the levels, ironically enough.

Visitors came to the city from either side of the mountain, either in-country through the flats or over the border and through the pass from Serria with trade goods. Once they reached the city, no matter which side they had come from, they would be greeted by a huge stone archway, wide enough for multiple carriages to travel abreast. Those massive archways brought them right inside the mountain city to an open space not unlike the foyer of a house, a massive and ornate set of stone stairs at each entrance leading to the higher levels directly in front of them. To each side, the carriage roads led away as they circled the mountain on their climb to the top, while smaller paths for foot traffic led around the stairs, trails which the wise visitor never followed. Because if they did, they would soon find themselves in the Warrens, the largest, poorest part of the city, which lurked in the vast space between those beautiful stairs like a criminal.

Everything drained into the Warrens, from the city’s rainwater to its humanity. Open to light and air on the outskirts, as was true for all the levels below the Upper City, not even that real estate was valued. Unlike the levels above it, even the homes which benefited from direct light were squalid, rotting shacks. The Warrens was a endless, winding collection of narrow alleys, cramped, shabby homes and hopeless souls, all of it dark and fetid. It was where the lost made their homes once they understood they weren’t welcome anywhere else. Then they spent their lives there, drinking, stealing and whoring, none of which helped ease their pain at being considered something lesser. He ought to know, Garrett thought, since he’d been born there.

If his father had not been lucky enough to inherit his aunt’s home in the Middle City and her courier business after her death, he might still be there too, waiting for old age to come and deliver him to something better. But instead, his parents had moved them right in, then taken over her business. Luckily, his father had a knack for planning and his mother one for finances, which their two children had inherited, insuring the business had prospered even after they were gone, as it was even more successful now under his sister Marian’s guidance. So despite being born into poverty, Garrett had been one of the lucky ones, because he had been able to escape.

But for most Warrens residents, there would be no escape. Stigmatized simply by their origins, Warrens rats would find few opportunities in the city outside of crime. The Lower City, comprised of the working class, wanted nothing to do with them, considering them layabouts and criminals, nor did they have the money to employ them. The Middle City, mostly merchants and business owners who could afford servants and staff for home and business, would not hire Warrens residents. Hiring a Warrens rat made no sense when the Lower City provided a much more trustworthy employee.

And they were utterly unwelcome in the Upper City. While it was possible that some might have the resources to dress up and pass unnoticed among the more affluent residents, he doubted that was a common scenario. Even if they did, it would gain them nothing. No Upper City resident would employ or even interact with anyone from the Warrens, and their manners would always reveal them as such. That kept them out of areas they didn’t belong, since it would gain them nothing but unwelcome attention from the law. Overall, Warrens residents were trouble, and this hag was likely no exception.

Even worse, this was not just some dangerous criminal who needed to be brought into custody, but a necromancer of all things, which was just revolting. He couldn’t imagine the kind of hideous creature who commanded the dead willingly, how sick and twisted such an individual must be to have such an unnatural calling from birth. It was simply disgusting. He was certain that even speaking to her would make his skin crawl.

But the King had commanded she be brought into custody and treated well until Lord Hayden, the King’s emissary, arrived to speak to her. So he would be stuck with her care until then. He would send some men to bring her in as he had been ordered, but he would not divulge the charges against her, just in case there was some mistake. He would hate to accuse some poor woman of necromancy, only to find out later she was innocent. Despised as that type of magic generally was, even the accusation had the potential to ruin her life, which would be inexcusable if this was just a misunderstanding or a case of mistaken identity.

But maybe it wasn’t a mistake and maybe this woman really was living in his city, no matter how unbelievable it seemed. If that was the case, he knew that once he saw her, everything would become clear. If they dragged in some mad hag, stinking of rotted flesh and pure insanity, he’d know there had been no mistake.

Until then, he would reserve judgment and say nothing about this command from the King. Necromancy was an extinct magic, and had been for several hundred years now. It was absurd to even consider that one could be lurking here in the city without him knowing. He just couldn’t believe any citizen here could be a necromancer. Nor could he figure out how they had discovered her all the way from the capital when even the city commander knew nothing about it.

More bizarre was the order to hold her in custody. By law, if she was a necromancer, she should be executed immediately, not be held until a representative of the King arrived. Perhaps the King wanted her execution to be held in public, Garrett speculated, frowning as he wondered what that might entail and hoping it wasn’t the case. If so, hopefully, they would take her to the capital for it. He certainly didn’t want that kind of event to happen here.

It would be a gruesome, unpleasant event, playing to the worst of humanity by killing some old woman for the crowd’s entertainment, mad hag or not. Plus, the crowd control would be a nightmare. It made him irritable just thinking about it.

But unfortunately, he didn’t have the right to protest, nor even say anything about it. Not when the King himself had commanded it. So he would take her into custody, and when the King’s representative arrived, he would turn her over. Once that happened, it was out of his hands, whether he had to arrange for her execution or not.

Uneasy for no reason he could define, he went to go issue the order to take her into custody.

Three

Brianna trailed after the man and child in the dimming light, staying far back. The little boy was one of Eddie’s, so while she would normally be frightened for his safety, walking off with a man like this, right now that was the plan. In this specific case, this man was a sickness infecting their city, and Bree was the cure.

When two boys from the Warrens had disappeared in the last few weeks after being seen walking away with this man, only to have their naked, broken little bodies found days later in a trash heap, Eddie had asked her if she wanted the contract. Since this kind of job was the only kind of contract she ever accepted, she was game. She had to live here too, after all. The idea that some predator was targeting the children here because they were poor and had no defenders enraged her.

So now, horrifically enough, she was looking forward to this. She trailed after the pair as they left the Warrens, climbing the staircase to the Lower City. From there, the man led the child to the next closest staircase, which led to the Middle City.

Eddie had told her he was Middle City, which meant a far easier kill than in the Upper City, where the law had a stronger presence, guarding the wealth first and best as they always did. So she was relieved to see the man turn down a side street away from the staircases, chattering to the little boy like he was just being kind. When the man held out his hand and the child took something from it, she cringed before reminding herself that this little boy was one of the many orphans working for Eddie, and had been schooled by Eddie himself.

No matter how young and defenseless this little boy looked, he was no naive child and she was right behind them, she reminded herself as her heart raced and she started to sweat. Nothing bad was going to happen to this child because she would make sure of it, so no matter how it looked or felt right now, he was not in danger. They had planned this all out, after all, lookouts watching her even now, so this man was not going to escape, nor harm this little boy. Instead, she was going to put him down like a sick animal, because that’s exactly what he was.

She picked up her pace as they reached a lovely home. A harried look on her face like she was late for something, she continued rushing along behind them as the man opened the front door, ushering the child right inside. From the corner of her eye as she drew even, she could see him looking around the street casually, his eyes sliding over her and dismissing her as no concern of his. Then he turned and followed the child inside.

Once his back was turned, she unsheathed her knife and leaped.

He crashed right through the open door and landed in the foyer on his face, her on his back. She had her knife against his throat even as the child darted around her to the door. She was aware of him sticking his head out to make sure the street was clear but for the lookouts, then she heard the door close again. Meanwhile, the man started to wiggle like he was thinking about fighting. She brought the knife in close to his neck as soon as he started to move and ducked her head, so her mouth was at his ear.

Stay still, she hissed, or I will kill you. If you cooperate, you’ll live.

As soon as he froze, she lifted her head to see the little boy standing in front of her. Despite the fact that he knew exactly what was happening, he was smiling happily, looking like a normal child. And because she was going to kill this man the minute he left, he could still continue to be a normal child. There were far worse things which could have happened to him, after all.

She had seen the tears in her uncle’s eyes as he had told her about the two little boys who had been murdered, the way his fists had clenched in genuine grief, his voice flattening out as he had struggled to control himself. He didn’t tell her all the disgusting details, but he didn’t have to. When a hard man like Eddie acted like that, she understood that it was humanity at its cruelest and most perverse.

So when he had asked if she wanted the pleasure, she had jumped at the chance. After all, she was an agent of death by birth, being a necromancer. So if she had to embrace death, then this was how she would do it. Thinking of that and feeling the man lying passively underneath her, like he believed his cooperation might spare him to continue his sickening behavior, she smiled at the little boy.

You good to walk home? she asked softly. If you need to, take my lookout. I won’t be long.

Lizzie is waiting by the stairs for me, he replied, sounding happy at that fact. We’re going to get candy and cookies on the way home. Tessa’s right across the street, waiting on you. Maybe you can stop for sweets, too. He says come by when you’re done. Bye, Bree.

He waved once, then turned to the door. She waited until he had closed the door behind him, expecting the ensuing isolation to give the man some courage. He would think she was the only one now, so the odds were even better that he could get out of this alive without anyone being the wiser.

If he were anyone else, she’d feel sorry for him, being that stupid and hopeful. As it was, she wanted him to die with the taste of hope curdling in his mouth as he realized he was not going to get away this time. She felt him tense suddenly, all his muscles tightening as he prepared to throw her off.

That’s when she cut his throat.

The knife was already against his neck so it was easy and almost instantaneous, a single swift pull and the blade cut deep. He started to thrash, garbled noises erupting from him as he finally understood that her promise of safety was a lie. She rode him like an ill-tempered horse as blood soaked the carpet near his face, trying to keep her knees out of it and avoid it splattering all over her, so she didn’t have to borrow any clothes before leaving. He lived alone and worked long hours as a banker when he wasn’t hunting children, but that didn’t mean he never had visitors. So lingering, even just to find some new clothes free of blood, would be a mistake, especially when she always wore black