The Accused Dead: The Hidden Necromancer, #2

1

Farewell

Dawn breaks on the last day of my childhood.

Today I leave my father’s house never to return. Though I’ve wanted to escape for the last few weeks, I don’t feel relief. This morning good memories flood my mind and weigh me down with remorse. It’s my mother and older sister who haunt me as I sit on my bed watching the sunrise through a gap in my bedroom curtains. I’m not only leaving the home I shared with Aunt Leticia, Rennon, Carrie and my father, but the home where my mother once sang me to sleep and my older sister spent hours reading to me. I can’t help but think of their last days in this house.

On that final day when Angelina scaled the wall and vanished into the Deadlands, did she feel like I do now? Did she have a heavy lump in her gut and a raging headache? And what about my mother? Had she even suspected that she was awakening to her final day of freedom? Did her powers give her the slightest inkling she was about to be tested and condemned as a necromancer?

I’m sick with dread about what this day will bring, and how will it end. By tonight, I could find myself the wife of Crofter Beckett, lying in his bed, waiting to do my wifely duty. If that’s the outcome, I can’t even imagine how I will escape. My only hope is that Quade will succeed in his groom’s bid and take me to his house that looms over the cemetery. But what if the day unfolds and reveals a twist in my fate I could never have predicted? What will I do then?

Of course, I can’t help but fear what the necromancer may do. Since the attack on Quade, the necromancer hasn’t whispered in my dreams while I sleep. None of the Beloved Dead have appeared in the garden, much to my relief. I can’t be naive and believe the necromancer has lost interest in me. Most likely she is planning something new, and being caught off guard is my greatest fear.

I set my hand on the bulging leather satchel at my side. I woke early so I’m already clad in my day dress. My nightgown is packed along with my other clothes. My personal possessions are few, yet the room feels emptier with only Carrie’s things in the wardrobe and on our small bookshelf. Already I’m being erased from the house like my mother and Angelina. It’s a disquieting feeling.

By happenstance, my birthday falls on the day of the Bridal Auction. I’m an adult today, but I don’t feel any different. I’m still the same anxious, frightened, but determined girl I was yesterday. How I feel doesn’t matter. After all my family endured, I’m saddened by my father’s staunch loyalty to the Lost Texts. It has brought us so much pain. The Lost Texts have declared me an adult and order that I should be married, so I will be.

There are four Bridal Auctions every year, and mine is at the start of the summer. My father often said in the past he’d preferred an autumn Bridal Auction, for that’s when most of the newly eligible grooms are flush with cash from their harvests. His tone is decidedly different since he made a deal with Crofter Beckett. He has yet to confess their bargain, which annoys me. I’m touched that he would sacrifice half his business to arrange a marriage, but it upsets me that he won’t even confide in me about my future.

I’m glad that I have taken matters into my own hands and made plans with Quade. I wonder how my father will deal with Quade bidding for my hand. Quade does come from a wealthy family, but he’s an outsider.

A year ago, I imagined myself an excited blushing bride, anxious to discover who my husband would be. I find it hard to believe I’d once been so ridiculously content with my life’s path being decided by others. The tradition has definitely soured with me.

Rituals I once thought would be exciting are now aggravating. I’ve been bored with the mundane tasks I must perform as a Potential Bride. The last two days I’ve prepared for the auction under the watchful eye of one of the volunteer Matrons of Honor. Matron Nowak, a dour-faced and very round wife of one of the Elders, has observed all my preparations while barely speaking a word to me. Instead, she spent most of her time glowering and grunting with disapproval. I’m not looking forward to her assisting me at the Bridal Auction, but I have no choice.

Summer Brides are considered blessed since the sun will be shining on their wedding day. If the dark thunderheads on the horizon are any indication, this day will be anything other than sunny. It seems suitable that my wedding day would be a dreary one since my fate hangs in the balance.

Are you scared? Carrie whispers from across the room.

I’m sorry I woke you. I tried to be quiet.

I couldn’t sleep. I kept tossing and turning thinking about what you’re going to go through today.

I used to be excited about my Bridal Auction. I sigh while leaning back against the headboard. I was so naive.

"So you are scared."

Pressing my lips together, I nod.

Sitting up, Carrie sweeps her blond hair back from her face. With a weary groan, she stares at the window. The weather is dreary.

Seems about right for a day like this.

You have a plan with Quade. That’s good, right?

It’s good, but I have to be honest with myself. It might fail. What scares me is that I have no idea how this day will end.

Lowering her eyes, Carrie whispers, You could go over the wall like Angelina.

I don’t want to die out there, I reply. I’d rather take my chances inside the walls.

She might not be dead, you know. If she was like mom, maybe she survived.

There are so many Unblessed in the Deadlands, I don’t think she could control them without proper training. My words are sensible, but I do hope my sister is still alive.

But after what you did to Bale... She lowers her voice. "Don’t you know how to control them?"

I shrug. I don’t know. I went by pure instinct. I’m not even sure what I did. All I know is that it somehow worked. I was so afraid of what Bale would do to Quade...

You like him, don’t you?

I pretend to be confused by her question. What do you mean?

Carrie scurries over to my bed and perches next to me. "You know what I mean. Your eyes do this thing when I mention Quade."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about. My eyes don’t do this thing you’re talking about." I’m not about to admit that I often reminiscence about his lips on my forehead, the feel of his hand covering mine, or the beating of his heart when I rested my head on his chest.

Carrie points an accusing finger at my face. That is what I’m talking about. You get this far away dreamy look.

I sigh in surrender. Carrie, he’s the first man I’ve ever really been around. Maybe how he makes me feel is normal for girls when they’re around men. Maybe that’s why we’re not allowed to associate with them.

What do you feel?

I struggle to find a good word. At last, I say, Fluttery inside. I lift one shoulder. But I don’t know what that means.

Carrie ponders my quandary, her lips pursed. Do you think that’s how Potential Brides are supposed to feel about the Grooms?

Maybe? Mother told me that love comes slowly. It evolves over time. So what I feel can’t be that. All I know is that I trust him. He’s my friend. That’s good, right?

Yeah, especially if he wins the auction.

There is a sharp rap on the door. Ilyse, are you ready?

Yes, Father. I am.

The door creaks open, and he peers in at me and Carrie. The escort will be here in ten minutes. Matron Nowak has already departed with your bridal display and dress. You should come out to say goodbye to your brother. He’s waiting for you.

This is the end of my life here.

My father hesitates, as though he’s about to say something, then appears to think better of it. Instead, he departs, leaving the door ajar.

Tears fill Carrie’s eyes and I wipe away my own. I don’t know what to do other than to embrace her. I hate leaving her behind, but I don’t have a choice. But I promise myself I will come back for her one day.

I’ll be okay, I assure her, but the words are hollow.

The next few minutes are excruciating. My family gathers in the foyer to see me off. These are my final moments in my childhood home, and they’re anything but joyful. The tension that fills the small space is paralyzing. My father’s brow is furrowed. Carrie can’t stop weeping. Even Rennon is grim. Instead of peppering me with a million questions, he clutches my hand. I’m glad we’ll have another chance to say goodbye because this sendoff is morose. Tradition dictates that I will see them again if I become a Bride, for they’ll attend my wedding. If I become Unclaimed, they will visit me at one of the boarding houses that accommodates single women.

Outside, bells chime.

The escort is here, my father says, his voice rough and clipped.

I’ve only heard this tone from him when he’s attempting to restrain his emotions. This is the way he sounded after my mother died and Angelina went over the wall. Though I feel increasingly estranged from him, I’m comforted by the fact he does still love me.

At least for now.

I’ll see you soon, I assure Rennon and Carrie.

Carrie clings to me when I embrace her, and Rennon presses his wet face into my neck when I lean over to hug him.

No time for that. Ilyse needs to depart, my father says, separating us.

When he opens the door, beyond our gate a pretty, ivory carriage draped with flower laurels comes into view. The carriage is a long blocky vehicle drawn by horses. The glass windows glint in the morning light, and it’s hard to make out the girls inside through the light rainfall. Other escorts will pick up the remaining thirty girls that are Potential Brides on this day. I always imagined Prudence and I would journey together to the Great Hall, but our friendship is in tatters and she’s Unclaimed.

My father accompanies me down the walk holding an umbrella over our heads and guides me through the gate. I glance back at my sister and little brother one last time and they wave. Their tear-stained faces will haunt me for as long as I live.

The coachman swings down from his perch to open the door at the rear of the carriage, and my father helps me climb up using a small retractable step. Inside my former classmates are dressed in their simple day dresses and bonnets. There are nine girls already seated on the benches and I’m the last to join them. The air is thick with humidity and the fragrance of freshly washed hair and skin.

I take my seat, the only one left, in the corner opposite Beth, a blond girl with a ruddy face and round figure. Everyone at school is certain she will be Unclaimed, and I suspect they’re right. Her swollen face and joints, sparse blond hair, and wheezing voice speak of an illness her mother tries to treat with herbal teas. Schoolmistress Simmons offered to take Beth to the Republic for a proper diagnosis and treatment but was rebuffed. Sadly, the scorn the followers of the Lost Texts have for tech includes modern medicines, so Beth has suffered for years.

The door thumps shut, not even giving me a chance to wave to my father. I have to crane my neck to see out the nearest window, but it’s too late. The carriage surges forward and I barely catch a glimpse of my father waving.

You’re thinner, Beth says to me. Like a skeleton.

Her comment is abrupt. Some would consider it rude, but I know it’s just Beth’s way. She was often sick at home, so she never made friends and rarely talks. When she does choose to speak, it’s with a bluntness most people don’t like. Prudence disliked Beth, so I rarely interacted with her even when she made overtures of friendship.

I’ve been in mourning. It’s hard to eat, I tell her.

I don’t eat much, you know. Hardly a thing, but I’m still round.

Out of the corner of my vision, I spot the rolled eyes and hear the snickers of our classmates. No one believes Beth, but I do. She’s sick and our faith in the Lost Texts will keep her that way. My eyes are open now. I understand the cruelty that comes with blind devotion. I also understand why she’s noticed my skinnier frame. She’s been trying for the last year to whittle her figure down to no avail.

Some men like round women, I assure her.

Really? Beth’s eyes fill with hope and her mouth twitches into a smile.

I nod. I was told that by a very reliable source.

Well, maybe there will be a man who’ll like a girl as boney as you.

Her words sting but I tell myself she doesn’t mean to sound cruel.

One of the girls on the far side of the carriage says in a hushed voice that is pointedly loud enough for us to hear, Look! The two future Unclaimed are trying to make each other feel better.

Why are the Elders even letting them be a part of the Bridal Auction? No one will want them, her friend snickers.

They’re girls from the class that graduated before mine. I’m the youngest of this group, barely included because my birthday fell on the cutoff date. I don’t recall all their names, but I remember their venomous looks and spiteful words after my mother died and Angelina disappeared.

Who’d want to marry a necromancer? She probably likes to play with dead bodies, another voice hisses.

Harsh laughter follows.

I don’t look at the girls. I focus straight ahead, aiming my gaze past Beth’s shoulder. The rain patters against the window, blurring the view. The pedestrians on the sides of the street turn to watch the carriage roll by, and a few raise hands to wave at the Potential Brides. I always dreamed of this day, imagining it to be exciting and full of promise. Instead, dread fills my gut. It’s difficult not to cry, but somehow I manage not to shed a tear as the girls gossip about me.

Beth sags in her chair, her head down even though she’s not their target. Maybe she’s trying not to draw the attention of the sharp-tongued young women. I ignore all the barbs thrown at me and swallow down my rage when they target my mother, aunt, and sister.

Why is she still considered Pious Standing? It’s wrong. Even my father says so, someone says.

She betrayed her only friend. Poor Prudence.

She should have climbed over the wall like her sister.

Or died like her mother and aunt.

Everyone knows all the women in her family are guilty.

Necromancers are evil. Everyone knows that.

I clasp my hands together and clench my jaw to keep from yelling at the girls. Soon I’ll be away from them, one way or the other.

She was tested and found innocent, Beth says sharply. Leave her alone.

Our tormentors stare at Beth in surprise, then burst into peals of laughter. I flash Beth a thankful smile, even though she failed in her attempt to quiet them, but she already has her head down again.

I refuse to be cowed by the girls mocking us so openly. I lift my chin in defiance and resolve. No matter what happens, I have to take my future into my own hands.

2

The Potential Brides

When the carriage arrives at the Great Hall, relief fills me. I’m ready to be out of this cramped space listening to people who have no idea what I’m suffering. Worse yet, I know they don’t care. The moment the door to the carriage opens, I escape into the humid air that smells of ozone from the coming storm. The raindrops are warm against my skin as I hurry up the steps with Beth close behind me.

The Great Hall has white pillars and a peaked roof. It’s another one of the old buildings left over from the civilization that fell long ago. It’s been restored to be plain, but I can see where it was once very grand. Other escorts are arriving and all the Potential Brides cluster together under the portico chatting with excitement while we wait to be taken inside.

Beth and I stand close to the edge, but we don’t interact. I stare out at the steadily falling rain and listen to the distant rumble of thunder. Even over the coming storm, I hear Beth wheezing and remember how Prudence used to mock her. Guilt eats at me because I always laughed.

Finally, we’re guided into the building by volunteer bridesmaids and led down a long corridor to a cafeteria where breakfast waits for us. Rows of tables, set with plain white dishes and flatware, are arranged so we can easily view the dais where Elder Johan’s wife stands chatting with a few other Matrons. I’m relieved to see Jane among them. Little name cards indicate where we should sit. I’m relieved to find myself far from my tormentors and among girls I had a more casual relationship with over the years. None seem inclined to give me a second glance or speak to me, which is a relief.

After prayer, we’re served scrambled eggs, toasted bread smeared with butter and peach jam, coffee, and cold milk. Famished despite my nerves, I dine with relish. Eating gives me something to do other than worry about what the day will bring.

Matron Felice has a few words to say, Jane announces.

Elder Johan’s wife steps forward. Her black hair flecked with white strands is a halo of tight curls around her head. She wears a rose-colored dress under a long white cloak, a symbol of her position as the Matron of Brides. A wide grin forms on her dark face as she spreads out her arms in welcome. "My lovely young women, Pious, Dutiful, Plain, and in Good Standing,