Dust to Dust
A murder mystery with royal necromancers, political intrigue, and an absolutely non-sentient skeleton
She was not the heir, only the younger sister. Her fits didn't matter. She also had greater necromantic ability than the crown prince. This didn't matter either.
Robbie didn't mind the work, though it left him sore and filthy. He minded his studies even less, even enjoyed them. Peering through the Veil between this world and the next was as simple to him as putting a foot ahead of the other, so expanding his knowledge by analyzing the theories proposed by other scholars in the discipline was, for the most part, an exciting venture.
As long as he didn't get distracted by other, more exciting ventures.
The ambling skeleton, Missy's construct—which was not at all sentient, though she tried to fool people into thinking he was— lowered itself into a kneel on Robbie's left. Missy landed on his right, plopping down with the dramatics he'd come to expect from the princess.
With an arm pressed to her forehead to block the sweltering afternoon sun, she cried, “Where is your crow! Tell him I will offer three— no, four goats if he can conjure some clouds.”
Never far and lured by the sound of distress, a caw echoed above them. It only took a moment for the crow to settle on Robbie's shoulder. A gruff, almost-but-not-quite-human voice spilled from its beak: "Make it five, and humans."
There was little shade where they sat. They were hard-pressed to find shade in Lithune at all. Plenty of plants, though they weren't green like the ones from Bourfort or Elrey. He'd never seen a full-leafed tree, but Sir Eries had shown him sketches in a rare moment of tenderness. One day, he'd venture north and see them for himself.
One day, when his training was finished. When the crown deemed him ready or no longer had use for him. The crown— or Missy.
Dust to Dust, Chapter One
After dinner, Jamie wandered the halls of the palace, peeking into alcoves and ignoring the guards who hushed their conversations when he passed. They held him in the regard necessary for his station, offering respect in situations where respect was demanded, but he wasn't fooled by the way they jerked to attention. Their whispers found his ears eventually.
The only house guard he was interested in conversing with wasn't on duty, and the others weren't familiar with Missy's hiding spots, so he kept walking with little more than a nod. They were in full armor save for the helmets tucked under their arms. The metal was oiled black with the di Petris crest chiseled in the center of the chest. It was overkill, surely, but Jamie's father had emphasized keeping up appearances even when there were no guests in the palace, so Jamie enforced a strict dress code while on duty.
It was good for morale, he figured, though none of them were fooled into proper conduct. Not completely. Jamie's dalliances made that inevitable.
But he wasn't looking for Nikolas— or, he wasn't actively looking for Nikolas. If the man happened to be wandering the same hallway… Well, Jamie never could deny his company.
Dust to Dust, Chapter Two
Robbie stifled a cough and leaned back to look around the stack to his left. Some younger acolytes were talking quietly at one of the tables nearest the window, oblivious to the red eyes peeking from the sill outside. If they saw Sir Cornfield, they'd move to a different seat, which was reasonable except that Sir Cornfield wouldn't hurt anyone. At least, he hadn't hurt anyone yet. At least, not since Robbie had known him.
Sir Eries’ voice startled him. Robbie stilled his hands, planting his toes on the ground and locking the muscles in his legs to keep from rocking. The old knight was looking at him now, amused.
“Sorry, sir," Robbie said.
“The dead don't fidget. Why should they choose you to relay their messages if you cannot stay still for more than a minute?”
“Quite right, sir.”
“Where is your crow?”
Robbie hesitated. “Not far.”
“You should know where your familiar is at all times.”
Sir Cornfield would set this library alight before resolving to be called Robbie’s familiar. “He’s on the sill of the west window. He prefers not to be inside if he can help it.”
Dust to Dust, Chapter Five
"Maybe," Robbie said. "It's strange, in any case."
"Stranger than a medium with no necromantic heritage?"
He fought a smile and lost. "Stranger than a princess who prefers the servants' quarters."
"I don't prefer the servants' quarters." She snapped the book shut, nearly catching his finger, and tossed it. The thunk of it hitting the ground made Robbie wince. "I prefer your quarters, and only when you're here."
The admission was permission enough for him to rest the back of his hand against hers. He kept his eyes trained on the ceiling but felt her sink further into the bed like his proximity was enough to soothe her.
"The hallways were empty," she continued, "if it's gossip you're worried about."
"Missy, when have I ever worried about gossip?"
Her exhale tickled his ear. They settled into a comfortable silence, listening to each other breathe. Robbie wished he'd doffed his jacket before laying down, as the sun beating on them was almost unbearable and only partially blocked by Cornfield's silhouette. The jam crusting his sleeve flaked onto his bed. He'd have ants if he didn't clean it properly— but her breaths were even and deep, so he didn't dare move.
Dust to Dust, Chapter Seven