Delphinium, or A Necromancer's Home: The Courting of Life and Death, #2

By V. M. Jaskiernia

Lady Elizabeth Anne does not know about the dark magic her beloved practices, and he has no intent to tell her. As they travel to his childhood home for the summer, Pierre Salvador attempts to balance his newfound love with his murderous cræft.

 

After they arrive, the future Duc de Piques finds there is much to be done, and duties cannot be put off any longer. A fatal illness is spreading throughout his land, he is being claimed by those of Faery, and someone has already tried to take his life.

 

But it will take much more to kill a lord of death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: V. M. Jaskiernia
• Release date: May 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201060824

Book preview

V. M. Jaskiernia

Delphinium, or A Necromancer’s Home

The Courting of Life and Death, Book 2

Copyright © 2021 by V. M. Jaskiernia

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

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Contents

Summary

Spirits of Death

Cræft

Fée Funeral

Her Fate

Witch

Flirting

A Favor

Château

Death and Dreams

Council Meeting

Dancing Lessons

Going Into Town

Sabine

Letters

The Ladies

Secrets

Foundling

Surgery

Authority

More Letters

Fairy Boots

Fortune Telling

Dead

Dinner

Blancræft

Necrocræft

Presence of Death

Meetings

Magic of Death

Familiar

Midspring and Summerfinding

Church

Mora

Feuilles

The Prince and the Duc

Cold Iron

Cursed

Fée

Loyalties

Ghosts

Clinic

Hospital

Blood

Summer

Jourdain

Caught

Death

Requiem

Engagement

Truth

Revenge

Also by V. M. Jaskiernia

Summary

Lady Elizabeth Anne does not know about the dark magic her beloved practices, and he has no intent to tell her. As they travel to his childhood home for the summer, Pierre Salvador attempts to balance his newfound love with his murderous cræft.

After they arrive, the future Duc de Piques finds there is much to be done, and duties cannot be put off any longer. A fatal illness is spreading throughout his land, he is being claimed by those of Faery, and someone has already tried to take his life.

But it will take much more to kill a lord of death.

Spirits of Death

~ Iunday, 29th of Prima, 11831 ~

She had become ill. A cough began the day of their departure and lasted throughout the journey, bringing with it chills and taking away her appetite. Still far from Piques’s capital, they were commanded to stop and rest in a town, her suitor refusing to go further until her health improved. His orders were that of duc and doctor; none could argue.

Pierre Salvador carried Elizabeth Anne to the most elegant suite in the inn as if he were already her husband, laying her down in bed and then moving to the hall while a maid helped her undress. When he entered again, she was curled up under the covers, shivering. Ignoring the maid, he made his way to the lady, kissing her forehead and letting his lips linger to both comfort and assess a fever.

I am unfamiliar with what ails you, my dear, he said, pulling back and then stroking her curls. Her blue eyes were unfocused and her skin pale save for blotches on her cheeks. He felt her throat, noting abnormalities. I will consult with local physicians about this. You will be better soon.

Forgive me for being so much trouble— A kiss silenced her. The thought he could catch her illness entered his mind, but the desire to show her no blame won over. And if he did fall ill, feel the symptoms himself, at least he might recognize and hold back the spirits that plagued her.

She broke the kiss to cough. Spots of red betrayed how much worse her condition had become.

Rest for now, he said softly. Taking out a handkerchief, he wiped away her blood and tucked her in again. The duc then remained standing by her side, not wanting to leave her, one hand still stroking dark blonde hair damp from fever sweat.

There is drink for Lady Elizabeth by the bed, Your Grace, the maid said behind him. And chimes to the servant’s rooms for when she wakes.

Thank you, Pierre replied. You may go.

He poured his love a glass of diluted wine as the maid left and paused after she shut the door. Lizzy’s eyes were closed.

There were no witnesses.

He set the pitcher down and took off his gloves. With a folding knife taken from his pocket, he pricked his finger. Blood seeped out, becoming dark, first with saturation and then in hue. When it dripped down his hand, even the trail left behind was black.

He let several drops of blood fall into her drink before putting on his gloves again. They were dark as well, and by sight, one would not see the bloodstains. He would change them later when he had a spare moment.

Sleep well, Lizzy. Do not forget to drink. I will have a light dinner brought to you later. She did not reply, already asleep or too weak to answer.

He sat in one of the spare chairs and put away his knife. Perhaps she would wake to quench her thirst, and he would be able to use cræft to try to heal her by means outside the natural. This, too, kept him from seeing the rest of his entourage. There was enough on his mind without half the court attempting to gain favor.

For half an hour, the duc watched his dear friend. She slept peacefully, only coughing now and again, and her shivering began to cease. Pierre only moved to wipe her lips once and later again to touch her throat. It was still early spring—perhaps this was an illness she caught in winter?

The door creaked as it opened. Pierre glanced over to see a black cat entering the room and smiled as Pluta nudged the door closed with her head. She then turned to him and jumped into his lap. Pierre hugged her as she began to purr.

I have just been here with Lizzy, he told his pet. He whispered so as not to wake the girl. The cat nudged him to continue. She is very ill. I do not know what to do, Pluta. I don’t know how to feel. A doctor has been sent for, but what if they can offer no help either? Elizabeth had been unwell, but seemingly not terribly so, until that morning when she could no longer hide the blood that came with her increasing fits of coughing.

Still over a week away from their original destination of Spadille, they were only six days, perhaps five, from her home in Eichel. Lord Ophion, the royal physical, was also visiting her home at the moment. Perhaps a detour there would be prudent.

Pluta pressed herself to her master and purred louder to try to offer comfort.

What is the worst that can happen? the cat asked. To most, it would sound like mewling, but to him and those that knew necrocræft, it would be Saiva’s common language.

She could suffer, he replied, looking up to the sleeping comte’s daughter. And I might not be able to do anything.

Illness was something one learned to understand and live with in Clandestina. While some of the best healers and doctors of the world resided in this realm, it was by necessity. Death was not a certainty for many illnesses that would have taken lives anywhere else, but that did not mean the journey to health was smooth. The guardians who had once controlled this were all but gone. Some resided in other realms, most had just disappeared, but the magic of a realm was innate. Other places could continue to thrive without ever knowing about the keres; this land of fée and human was in turmoil.

Yet some did not accept this fate so easily.

The lord of death stepped out of the room, giving Lizzy one last glance before shutting the door. His familiar was still nestled in his arms.

My Lady? Pierre asked the air. A presence arose behind him and arms wrapped around his waist. Death rested her head between his shoulder-blades. She brought a chill with her, as if she had stood out in the snow for far too long and had yet to warm, and the duc shivered in her embrace.

The illness— he began.

The spirits are not mine, Mora said. They come from my plane, but only in ancestry. She was not divine, though at times called a goddess to honor her power. Neither all-knowing nor all-powerful, she was a being that came from another plane and had a power over certain spirits—a daimon. The last of the keres, the daimons of pain and suffering. Legend and time had turned her into a being that responded to Death. And sometimes Life.

Do what you will, she said before he could ask his question. Piques is your land and Clandestina your home. You do not need my permission, Lord Pierre. The wrong title to call him as he was a duc, but she was referring to his other rank as her chosen.

Will you help? he asked. Mora had been wary of Elizabeth since the girl had returned to Pierre’s life. Had been jealous even that he had come back to life after committing suicide (the final of her tests) instead of staying with her in the land of the dead. Elizabeth was a large part of why he had chosen to return.

I will not hinder. She placed a kiss of ice to the nape of his neck, and the weight of her against him vanished. The cold remained.

Cræft

~ (Continued) Iunday, 29th of Prima, 11831 ~

Pierre made his way to the dining hall a while later. He had gone to his own rooms to try to think, but he could not focus. Pluta listened, but did not know enough about medicine to offer any aid, and even magically, this was beyond her. Grabbing his cane, Pierre went to join those that had accompanied him—they had been left to have meals while Lizzy was tended to and rooms sorted. From guards, to those driving the carriages, miscellaneous staff, and other nobles who had been at the castle for his birthday party just two weeks past: Traveling as a child of the court came with great attention.

He raised a finger when he entered the dining hall, hushing the man that would announce his presence. He would be polite with the rest later, but for now, he needed just one person—his student Wolfram. Pierre found him quickly, sitting among a group of young men that helped with the animals.

Have you heard of this illness? the duc asked, interrupting some story about the dogs. Wolfram nodded, though the others seemed unsure of what to do with the duc before them. They settled for keeping their eyes on their mostly empty plates.

Yes, Your Grace, he replied aloud, standing to address his master. But I have only heard of it in passing. I do not know the treatment. I have just heard the lord physician mention it. Before being with the duc, Wolfram had been a student of the royal physician, Ophion, Pierre’s uncle, in both medicine and necrocræft.

Pierre nodded, the tightening of his grip on his cane the only sign of his discomfort. Let us go wait for the doctor and see if this has been happening in the area. Come along. Wolfram was still a student, but he was bright to be chosen by Ophion. And brave, Pierre added to himself, thinking of how he had reacted to learning of what Pierre had done to him because of their dark magic. His fresh eyes might help Pierre see something that emotion was clouding over.

The remaining food was forgotten, Wolfram attending Pierre while leaving behind the others. Several more people offered to come, but the duc ignored them and walked by. He had spent the last several years as a student of medicine, becoming accustomed to his social rank not interfering too much with his life. Since returning to court, the transition was still new.

What else has Ophion said?

It presents with a harsh cough that can lead to blood coming up from the lungs and throat. The few cases he has seen…

Ended in death, Pierre finished for the boy when Wolfram did not voice the words. Under his breath he added, At least death I can cure.

They stood before Elizabeth’s room now. Guards were at the stairs but none in this hall, giving the lady and the duc any privacy they desired. A chaperon would have been proper, but with the sickness, Pierre was a physician before he was a lover.

Your Grace? Wolfram asked, as the duc had paused and the movements of his fingers showed him to be using magic. Though still a new apprentice of Mora, the boy felt the spirits of illness in the air give their attention to the duc. He could not help the shiver that ran through him.

She drank the wine, Pierre said. And fell back to sleep immediately. I can feel her soul once again, he added with a smile. Come. He opened the door and ushered in his magical apprentice. The door was then closed and locked, and Pluta meowed from her spot on Elizabeth’s bed before jumping down to be near them. A familiar was good to have around when performing complex magic.

Pierre put aside his cane, pulling off his gloves and stuffing them into a pocket before he shrugged off his outer jacket. As Wolfram took the outerwear, he watched and saw that at no moment did the duc stop painting with his fingers, reeling in the spirits so that their attention, will, and power were his to control.

The lord of death then made to snap his fingers. The movement was there, but he could not press hard enough and there was no sound. He tried again and still could not do it. Positioning his hand for a third time, he could not press at all, and his fingers moved apart as if an invisible force was pulling them in opposite directions. Pierre fought until his thumb was so far back that it dislocated with an audible pop. He swore, cradling his hand and glaring at the air. Wolfram, who had been entranced with the display, suddenly found himself able to move and rushed to help.

Ease it back in carefully, Pierre said, holding out his throbbing hand. He had not had spirits react to him so violently in years. Wolfram did not bother cautioning that it would hurt before snapping it back in place.

Pierre flinched and made a pained noise. Thank you, the duc said, releasing a breath as he tested his fingers. It would swell some, but mobility was not much affected. He would shuffle his favorite deck of cards later to make sure of that.

They do not want me to interfere, he spoke, more to himself than Wolfram. He ran a hand through his black, grey-streaked hair, made so from pain and cræft. Mora mentioned them being unlike her own. A magic and its spirits were, in theory, the same throughout a realm. That was, after all, what the borders of the realms signified. But citizens were not always loyal to their liege, and borders could be crossed.

He walked back over to Elizabeth and stood closer to her than before. She was still sleeping deeply, unaffected by their talking—though that was his doing. The first spell he had put her under was unconsciousness, which had been allowed of him.

She coughed even in dream and more blood came up. He wiped her lips with a handkerchief.

He began to draw with his fingers again, as if coaxing over a frightened animal. He did not ask for anything aside from information, making sure to be polite, and it was finally given.

Harmful micro-animalia ran rampant in her body, clustering around her throat and lungs. Her whole body was weakened and, in time, it would simply stop working. Unfortunately, that was all that he could tell. Necrocræft was not a miracle. One had to understand what one was looking for, and this was new to him.

He tried anyway, banishing some of the illness with a general command, and the spirits thankfully thinned.

Perhaps if you try, he said over his shoulder to Wolfram. He broke the active connection and moved out of the way to let the boy come closer. A dull ache in the back of his head confirmed his actions would have consequences.

I am not sure…

You have not started your practical training, I know. But the first step is knowledge. I am here, Pierre assured him. Should you overstep, I can save you and her.

Wolfram looked worriedly at the duc but took off his gloves. He had practiced cutting into his hands with Ophion, to know how deeply to cut, how to hide the pain, but that was as far as he had gone. The lord handed him a small folding knife and began to explain.

The greater the wound, the greater the magic. But eventually you will be skilled enough that small incisions will do the trick. There are also areas where the magic is more concentrated. If a wound is deep or closer to your heart, there will be a stronger connection. But lines of power are easiest found on the hand. While painful to use the hand later unless a familiar helps to heal you, it is fastest and easiest in the moment. He took Wolfram’s hand and opened his own palm to compare the two. Instead of reading the lines to know things about a person, a suitor of death cuts their flesh along them. This one for healing, he said, tracing a scar on his own hand and then the same line on Wolfram’s. And this for illness. Another for death. This is not better or worse than other parts of the body that have similar threads, but it is easiest to do quickly, and what you likely will most often use. Eventually, you may not need the lines.

And for bringing back the dead? Wolfram asked. Pierre had done it in front of him with just a cut along his palm, something small and thin that would heal over in a few days’ time, even without Pluta’s help. It had not even been on any specific line of power.

For the first year or two, you will cut your wrist for that, Pierre said. Pushing up his sleeve, he exposed a long scar running from his wrist to halfway up his elbow, with smaller ones surrounding it.

Wolfram slowly pushed up his own sleeve and swallowed to keep down his anxiety. Even with a familiar you will scar at times, though far fainter than it would be otherwise. This wound is meant to be deep, Wolfram. I say it happened when I fell from a horse, should I need my sleeves rolled up in company. It helps that I am not the best rider. The attempt at levity was lost on the boy still looking at the scars.

You do this because to bring back a life, at first, you must risk your own?

Correct, Pierre confirmed. And then, in one motion, he took the open knife from Wolfram and cut down his student’s arm. To his credit, the boy held back his yelp of surprise and pain. It was a shallow wound, though, not threatening to his life just yet.

Pierre ran a finger along the cut, gathering blood. He then wiped his hand on the handkerchief he still had in his hand.

Pluta? Heal him and clean the floor. Pierre smiled at Wolfram and said a quick apology while the familiar jumped on top of a chair to reach the arm. Several scratchy licks later, the wound was closed and only tinged pink. The blood from his arm and the floor were, too, then taken care of.

Wolfram, are you alright?

Yes, Your Grace. Just a little shocked. Thank you, I am not sure if I could have done that myself. But surely Lady Elizabeth—

Is still with us. But perhaps the risk I forced upon you will entice the spirits to tell you more than they told me.

The duc wiped Lizzy’s lips with Wolfram’s blood and stepped aside. Feel with your soul. The motions of your fingers do not need to be anything specific, just get their attention.

Wolfram did so, closing his eyes and using a hand to play an invisible piano in the air. Another sense opened to him, as if he was, for the first time in his life, seeing detail or color. He felt, somewhat with his mind and yet also with his whole body, a connection with Lady Elizabeth. He felt her heart, her breath, her life, and how to aid or end those things. It felt too intimate, and he almost broke the connection, but a hand on his shoulder steadied him. Concentrating, Wolfram narrowed the feeling to the parts of her body that were ill.

It feels like death, he said. Like Lady Mora, but not the same. I do not think this illness wants to kill her, though. It is just that her, anyone’s, body will not survive long in this state.

***

After trying to understand the spirits of the illness and failing, Pierre and Wolfram retired to the duc’s large suite to wait until the local physician came. The boy held a whispered conversation with his lord’s familiar, and Pierre sat shuffling a deck of cards.

Will my hair turn grey, like His Grace’s? Wolfram asked. He tried to pull down a lock of his own black hair to see if any of the color had changed.

Probably a little, Pluta said, licking her paw and cleaning her fur. There was still some blood between her digits. And you’ll have a headache tomorrow, too. But it should not be too bad yet.

I can withstand a headache. If it meant helping Elizabeth, and later being able to bring back the girl he loved, he would gladly deal with pain.

It did not take long for a servant to announce the doctor’s arrival.

Have him brought here, Pierre said, pocketing his toy. A few moments later, there was another knock, and the door opened.

Your Grace? a doctor greeted them upon entering the room.

The duc stood and crossed the room to shake his hand, a gesture of equality from physician to physician.

My beloved is ill, Pierre began without further introduction. A harsh cough that leads to bleeding, though whether from the lungs or throat, I am not certain. She runs a fever and is weak and pale. She is asleep at the moment, though if you need to examine her, she may be woken.

The doctor nodded, looking grave. There is no need, Your Grace. I have seen the illness. It is rarer here than in the south of Piques, but it is slowly spreading north. I know of no name for it, but I can describe what is happening. It is an illness that can lie dormant in a human person for many months if not years. I speculate there are many infected among us; we are merely not ill. When it becomes active, there is bleeding, as you have seen, weakness and degeneration until death if it is not stopped.

And what causes it to become active?

The presence of death, the doctor replied. Pierre remained composed, but Wolfram coughed to hide his intake of breath. The doctor did not pay him any attention.

How is this treated? the duc continued.

I have medicines to treat the cough, the tearing, and to keep down the fever—but these only treat the symptoms and not the illness. The afflicted must be surrounded by life. It is early spring—if she has just become ill, then perhaps it will not be for long. By autumn I hope to have a better cure in mind. I can come by soon again to see her when she is awake.

Thank you. If you could show me the medicines that will help and provide me with enough doses until we reach Spadille, I would be most grateful. How much will it be? And if you need any aid to find this cure, financial or otherwise, then I will provide it.

For you and your beloved, My Grace, there is no charge. I may take you up on the offer for research patronage, though.

They shook hands once more, and the doctor left.

***

Pierre sat by her bed again that evening, reading through letters that she had sent him. They had held a correspondence for a time while he had gone to University, but he was ashamed to admit that she wrote him far more often than he replied. There were a few letters in the box that he had not even opened, though he had certainly planned to read them upon getting them.

He slid a finger under the wax seal and opened one of the forgotten letters. It was short, just a note to ask how he was doing now that her brother had returned home and he still stayed. He did not even remember getting it.

I was well, he replied to her now. Glad that Piers had passed his exams and could return early to his family. I helped him with those, I’m sure he told you. He begged me to study with him so he could learn quicker and get home to Eglė. Then I needed to continue my own studies. So, as you guessed, I was busy. They had taken many of the same courses, but Pierre had not been content with just being a doctor. He had decided to become a surgeon as well, learn more invasive techniques, and know more about the human body. He also needed to finish Mora’s lessons.

He went to his own room once night set, asking Pluta to wake him every other hour so he could check on Lizzy. A nurse was staying by her side at all times that he was away, but he needed to see for himself how she was doing. He checked her temperature throughout the night and woke her up once so that she could drink a tea to bring down her fever. Her coughing increased, as did the amount of blood that was left after it, but her fever broke. In the last few hours before dawn, when Pierre had been finally been told to go rest by the nurse, Lizzy seemed to improve and then become stable.

***

~ Dvoday, 30th of Prima, 11831 ~

In the morning Elizabeth said that she was feeling better and he need not hover. Pierre was torn between staying with her, and possibly making her worse because of his magic, and staying away when there were things only he would know about her. Not due to any recent long-term intimacy, but the cræft that he suspected made her ill might be the only thing that could help her.

In the end, there was business to attend to, and the decision was made for him. Though they had not planned for a stay in this town along their way, the foster son of the roi, and future duc of Piques, was there and that came with expectations. He ordered several to attend to her and made certain that the bells that chimed for the maids and nurses were in order. Wolfram was given a specific set of orders to check the microanimalia after meals if she slept and to monitor her humors.

I love you, he whispered into her ear before he left. She was again asleep, and he could not tell if she heard, but he wanted to say the words. It was the first time he said them aloud to her.

The day was long. He met the maior and thanked him for the extended welcome. As a new medical graduate, he also went to oversee the small local hospital and staff. There he met again with the doctor that had promised to see Elizabeth later, making proper introductions this time (his name was Hervé Yannick), and scheduling another visit for the next day.

By the time he returned to the inn, it was late, and the nurse assured him Elizabeth was better than this morning. Wishing to see her, but almost certain now that his presence was not helping her, he only paused by her door to whisper good night on the way to his room.

Fée Funeral

~ Trisday, 1st of Aprilis, 11831 ~

It was dark when Pierre woke. At first he thought it was worry that took him from dreams, but he then saw Mora sitting on the edge of his bed. Her clothes were more smog than cloth, with a low-cut back, her great bat-wings displayed. She also wore a veil crowned with blue larkspur that stood out in her dark hair.

There is a funeral procession coming, she said as he sat up. One of your distant kin, I believe. You have never seen a fée funeral, and I thought you might wish to.

I am technically fay, and even then, do not call myself such. Would I be welcome? He did not consider himself fée, his late father and living sister were those who had been raised in Faery. Fay implied a more distant relation to the plane, like ancestry, or dwelling there after adolescence, where the magic of the land would affect one less strongly. He usually thought of himself as just human.

But anyone related at all to Faery, no matter how distantly or closely, could be considered the bestia of Fae.

Was there a different attitude in Piques than where he had lived in Cœurs? He did not remember if it had affected his childhood much, besides celebrations and leaving offerings on certain days or searching for fairy rings. After his père’s disappearance, the roi and reine had taken him in, citing that he needed a stable home and to learn politics, as he was a noble child and heir to a duchy. His uncle Ophion had visited when he could, still often traveling as a doctor to all who were in need. Then later, with becoming Lord Physician, Ophion was at the castle far more often, and he sometimes celebrated the seasonal festivities with Eglė and Pierre.

You are son to a man that had been chosen and spirited away to their plane. His time there will have changed his humors, his person, for the rest of his life, and for any child he sired. Your duchy is the closest to Faery as well. There will be weight to that heritage even if you do not embrace it. You should learn. She crawled over to his side, her layered skirt disappearing into the darkness when it was too difficult to pull along and reappearing when convenient. And I have never known you to pass up an opportunity to learn.

This is most certainly true, my lady.

He got out of bed, beginning to change his clothes as she settled into the warmth his body had left.

Is there a particular reason you are luring me to this side of myself? We have discussed it before, but never in depth.

The royal land of Hearts clings to its humanity—did you never notice other students uncertain of being paired with you, or even professors wary of your gaze? she asked. He had, of course, but never thought it had anything to do with being fée-kith. Such things were rarely mentioned in Cœurs. He would have thought it to do with status as princeling or even an aura about him because of the dark cræft he practiced. Then again, his closest friends were from the land where a misstep in the woods would lead you into a fée’s domain.

And?

As I said, you are fée-kin. They, and the keres, were the first true people of this land. You are no longer my suitor. You have passed your tests as a physician and are a lord of death, true, but only as a human man.

He stopped buttoning up his waistcoat to turn and look at her.

Then there is more I could do?

She did not answer, which in and of itself was answer enough. If the comparison held true, then it was easy to understand—he was a physician, but had not the experience of a doctor many years into his career. Now as a lord of death, and a fay one at that, the spirits may react to him in other ways. This was merely another beginning.

Pierre finished dressing in dark formal attire. This was a solemn occasion, and to offend the fée would be a terrible thing. When he looked over at her again, Mora was missing. A sprig of larkspur lay on his pillow.

With a click of his tongue, he woke Pluta. His familiar stretched and shook herself off before jumping up onto his shoulders. He scratched her under the chin.

A fée funeral. We will be on our best behavior.

She purred her reply while curling up around his neck.

Enough of the moon’s light shone through the windows to mark his way out without the need of a lamp or candle. He walked softly, cane high in his hand, not wishing to alert anyone to his departure.

Outside of Elizabeth’s doorway, he paused. This reminded him of the night they had snuck out only a few weeks ago. It had been Springfinding, to watch the fée enter this plane of being and prepare it for the changes in season. He had been ill, and the adventure had lifted his spirits while the night magic had helped his condition. She would surely wish to see this.

Would the night air help her, though, as it had him? Or would the fact that this was a funeral mean there were more spirits of death and make her worse?

An invisible hand on his cheek turned his head, and a cool wind pushed him along. He let his hand slip off the doorknob and continued out alone.

***

They walked through the unusually empty town, wearing robes in a multitude of pale colors, holding bouquets of twigs as well as large boughs. At the very end of their procession, the body lay on a litter made of branches, carried between several men high in the air. It was wrapped in white glowing cloth.

Fée were rarely put to rest in this plane, many having so long ago taken to another world, but they were as much a people of Clandestina as any other, perhaps more. Some chose to remember this.

Pierre found his way amongst the mourners, Mora beside him with her arm through the crook of his. They were welcomed without question.

They walked south along the main road, heading towards the entrance of the town. Whispers filled the air as they spoke of the deceased, his life, his accomplishments, his family. They became louder the longer they walked. Fée magic filled the air, and Pierre could not even feel any spirits of death around.

They came out of the city almost yelling stories about him and bursting into laughter at memories. It felt much better than the other funerals Pierre had been to—this was joyous and a happy remembrance. Finally, they stopped before a shallow grave. Those carrying branches of varying length lined up, and each walked past, placing their offering into the pit. The body was placed on the very top, lowered with the stretcher. It was a pyre.

Then the fun truly began. The group spread out in pairs and small rings along the main road. They laughed, danced and sang, and anyone who looked out into the night would see only fairy lights bobbing in the air. The man had died well, in old age, even for a citizen of Faery, and this was a celebration.

When anyone tired, they looked to the surrounding homes. If there was milk and honey or ale left out, they drank the offering and blessed the house, a warning to their kin from pulling pranks upon a silly human. If they did not see anything close by, they chose a house to punish instead. A cow would only give sour milk for three days, or the next time guests came over, they would feel ill until they left. Nothing permanent or too dangerous as this was a funeral and to exacerbate the spirits of death was a line even the fée worried about treading. They lived long lives in a plane where time was unlike to itself, but death would find them, eventually.

Pierre and Mora danced with the fée, twirling and leaping to the many tunes that came together in the night. No court dance would be this reckless, much less take place on an occasion such as this, and the duc was glad he had been invited. Pluta danced as well, jumping around amongst the crowd to laughter and cheers.

After a time (hours? days?) a calm came over them. They regrouped, standing around the deceased, laying down any new branches and flowers that had been picked up during the dances.

An elderly fée woman came then from the forest. A murmuring broke out amongst the gathered—the staff she carried, which should have been lit so she could begin the pyre, was not.

The dead man suddenly threw his wrappings aside and leapt up from within the branches. Fool’s Day! he called.

Several gasped, others shouted in surprise, and then laughed in delight. His family crowded around him, relief and some anger in their voices, but mostly joy.

Did you know of this? Pierre asked Mora. He had thought the man had not felt dead to him, but dismissed it as not knowing the fée very well. That it was the first of Aprilis now had not even entered his mind.

I did. He liked the celebration and did not wish to miss it because of his own death.

The cheer of the night returned, heightened as there was no death to be wary of. A few of the pranks pulled after this were more harmful than before, or done without much reason, and Pierre intervened when one couple thought to exchange a false-child for one in a human home.

They have much on their mind right now with a young babe. To forget to leave out offerings is not their fault. Please, leave them be.

We would have returned him after a few days, the woman said. Which, in Faery, might mean years. She looked from the figure in her arms, a doll