~ (Continued) Siwenday, 19th of Aprilis, 11831 ~
Pierre made his way to the personal dungeons of the Duc de Piques. As a child he had been frightened of the area, so rarely did anyone step foot in that part of the château that it seemed cursed, and rumors amid children only fueled those flames. In reality, it was merely unused and out of the way so many did not wander there, but with the current use, perhaps it could be said that it was, indeed, cursed.
At the back of the château there was a set of stone stairs that led down through the earth under the home proper. Near their end was a set of great metal doors, locked and barred, rusted over from years of neglect. The key was lost, had been for decades now, since before Félicien returned from Faery. It had been taken as a sign at the time and the dungeon closed off rather than new keys made, an outside prison instead built to house the criminal. Public opinion was such since then that the duc should not have a personal dungeon, that that was an outdated and cruel form of punishment. It was the beginning of several reforms along with the investigations that came along with someone being imprisoned at the duc's pleasure, the ruler's word not enough any longer to take away a man's freedom.
Pierre reached for the lock, and as soon as he touched it, it fell open for him. A handful of torches lit the area instead, showing the large open room where no doubt guards would once keep watch, already occupied. Several beds were pushed up against the walls, the sheets dirty but otherwise intact. A table with chairs stood near the center. At the far end was a hallway shrouded in darkness—cells for the condemned. The walls were packed dirt and clay, not quite stone, but not loose soil. It was cold. It felt like a grave.
There were three bodies laid out on the ground in varying stages of decay. A young woman and two men, identified more by their clothes and hair than flesh. Sabine sat at their heads, Aranea on her shoulder.
"Lady Sabine," he said, shutting the door. He could not hear, but he assumed the lock returned to its former position. Walking around the table, he pressed his face into his sleeve, preparing for the sickly scent of death that had somehow not yet permeated the entire room. There was none. Curious.
"Your Graceful Highness," she replied without looking up.
"May I know whose bodies these are?"
"After hearing what had happened in the hospital, I did some searching of my own," the lady of death said. "These three are all fay, refused treatment for illnesses or injury that ended their life. I am certain there are more, but these are those I could find for certain."
She stroked the cheek of the older man that lay on her right. Her hand was dark with blood already. "I cannot seem to return him. He was buried, his grave old and unkempt yet still a grave, so it is likely he has passed through Akhlys already. I have not yet tried to return the other two."
Pierre nodded, circling the bodies and inspecting them closer. If someone had passed through the mists, they were beyond reach. A grave and burial gave the spirit a signal to move on, but it was not immediate, and those buried long ago could still sometimes be brought back. A pyre, on the other hand, burning the body to ash, made it impossible, as the soul would immediately move on with no vessel to return to.
"And what will you do if you can return their lives?"
"Find them a place to stay. Let them live out their lives as they should have."
Somehow, that option had never occurred to Pierre. Those he returned to life were often very recently dead. The one time he had returned the life of one that had passed several years ago, it was to test his abilities, and he had not let the man stay alive very long after.

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Delphinium, or A Necromancer's Home (TCoLaD Book 2)
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