Eirin wakes up in the middle of a storm next to her own corpse. In front of her is the masked necromancer who has revived her and whom she must obey, even against her own will.
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This is a short fantasy nouvelle, perfect for those readers who are...
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"Get up, Eirin," the necromancer says. "I think you deserve the truth. You have proven to be loyal and helpful. You respect my silences and obey without questioning more than necessary. You truly have the soul of a palace warrior, and I don't know whether I love it or hate it."
"I'm sorry," I continue to look at the ground. "That's how they trained me."
"I know." The necromancer extends his arm toward me. "Stand up. At this time, I do not wish you to see me as an heir to the crown, but as another warrior. As the sorcerer who will restore the magical freedom of the kingdom."
Even if he asks for it, I can't look up. I'm still trying to process the information as my mind wanders into vestiges of the past. I try hard to remember the scene in question, and, little by little, stray images and voices that I had buried come back to me.
Prince Kail, soon to be married, appeared one cold, dark night through the side door of the palace that I was guarding. We were not at war, but we feared that an imminent attack might come from the north. The cold penetrated to the bones, through the fabric and armor that protected my chest and other vital points. I had already lost all feeling in my fingers, numb beneath the gloves. That winter was brutal and had no mercy on Garel; every few days, we found beggars and prostitutes dead in the narrow streets of the low-lying areas.
Seeing me near the threshold, his majesty was frightened and backed away. He hugged tightly the bundle he held in his hands. He met mine harshly and opened his mouth, ready to give an order that never came.
"May I help you, Your Highness?" I lowered my head and asked.
He hesitated. His legs trembled slightly, perhaps from the cold or from fear. Or both. "Tell me your name." As he finished saying this, the baby he was holding made a soft sound, like a hiccup.
"Eirin, your majesty. Eirin Valheiner." I introduced myself with a bow and heard the cry of the child, who woke up completely at the rudeness of my tone.
That little boy was his son, the illegitimate son that the prince had had with his true lover, one of the maids, and not with the woman with whom he had been forced to marry. I had heard the rumors told in the corridors of the palace, but I did not believe them to be true.
"Have mercy on this infant," he begged. "And don't tell anyone you've seen me."
In that moment, I felt more human than ever. The fragility in his voice surprised me. He didn't act like a leader or a general but like a scared man.
I finally looked up and saw a face aged with fear, with deep bags under the eyes and unshaven.
"I am at your service," I assured.
"If you are faithful to me and have a good heart, you must leave your post," he said. "You will take this little baby to the point I have marked on the map I carry in my pocket and leave him there." He will be saved, I promise," the prince explained. "It is the only way."
