Chapter 1

Date: 11/07/1848 Town: Thornwell In which Letha fails to become a warrior.

If there was one thing to be said about Letha Regis, it would be that she was an exceptional necromancer.

At the age of eight, when most necromancers in her clan would scarcely have been taught to contact the dead in their dreams, young Letha had already mastered minor animation, and could flit from one plane of consciousness to the other with barely a break of sweat. This was, of course, largely because she had grown up with three older brothers, two of which had always found it funny to tug on her soul while they were visiting the Netherworld themselves, and she had in turn learned to chase them into the sea of dreams until she found herself needing to return to the world of the living again.

But by the time she reached the age of eight, her elder brothers had been chosen for their destinies. Nicholas, as a scholar for the clan elders. Nathaniel, as a warrior for the clan's army. And Julian, who was only nine, was on his way to inheriting their parent's bakery in town. Letha was a more preferable heir, having a natural knack for baking, but she had no interest in sticking around a stuffy bakery making bread and pies all day. She was quite determined that by the age of twelve she would be a perfect warrior, and join Nathaniel on the battlefield against those who opposed the Regis clan.

And today, today she had finally turned twelve. She had practiced the art of raising the dead with her brother Nathaniel every day since he was given leave from training, trying to perfect her skills in time for the test that came on her twelfth birthday. Nathaniel, at eighteen, was now exactly the sort of person Letha wanted to be. Strong, brave, talented, always in control of himself and his craft. She wasn't quite there, she knew, she had a habit of petty annoyance, but she was determined to be at least the best raiser of her group.

"These boots are itchy," she whined as Nathaniel crouched behind her, retying the bow that held in her stomach on the back of her dress. She had refused to allow her mother to dress her, because she was an adult now and she refused to be dressed by her mother. But her brother was a different story, and she only needed him to fix the back of her dress in any case.

"You're just nervous," Nathaniel reassured her, "Now stand up straight, we're nearly ready."

Letha stood up straight, feet together, shoulders back and head high as she knew was the proper posture. Her boots were still itchy, and the dress felt the wrong length and her hair wasn't yet pulled back into a proper bun and the lack of that familiar feeling of her inky curls pulled back by her green ribbon made her even more nervous. She stared into the mirror and stared into the green eyes of a girl who looked almost like a respectable woman, but too small and a bit too chubby and with her hair too messy...

"Hey. Relax." Nathaniel tugged her hair back gently, twisted it into the bun she liked, and she felt a bit better.

She was going to raise a proper risen, and it would tapdance. None of her cousins could make their risens tapdance. That would surely impress the elders. Although, getting tapshoes for a skeleton on short notice would be hard... perhaps it should waltz instead. She could be its lady for a waltz.

"Are you going to be watching the ceremony?" She asked, still watching her reflection.

"Of course. I wouldn't miss it for the world." Nathaniel reached over and pinned something to her hair, just above her ear, "And here, I'll even give you this for good luck.

Letha peered into the mirror, and saw that he had given her a hairpin with a crow's skull and feathers on it. A moment later, though the pin did not move, she heard the quiet gurgling of a contented crow. She clasped her hands together, and puffed herself up in pride. This was perfect. "It's beautiful."

"It was the least I could do - Aunt Matilda made it." Nathaniel glanced at the clock on the wall above the mirror, "We should be heading out soon. Are your boots still bothering you?"

"Hm?" She glanced down at her boots. They still bothered a bit, but she was hardly thinking about it now. She was sure it would go away. "No, they'll be fine. I want to be early."

There were three other Regis children turning twelve with Letha, though hers was the only birthday that fell perfectly on the day of the ceremony. Marionette Regis, Severin Thornwell and Aristeo Regis. She didn't know them well; in the town of Thornwell where the Regis clan resided, there were always too many cousins to count and too many odd relationships to keep up with. Such was the case in a family preoccupied with blood purity. Though Severin, the only one among the group who was not the child of two cousins, had the biggest advantage in becoming a warrior. The elders always liked sending the half-breeds to the front of the army.

After twenty minutes of riding in a carriage with Nathaniel, Letha now stood between Severin and Aristeo. It wasn't a place she liked to be. She could still remember playing with Aristeo when they were much younger, and he could constantly pull on her hair, and she knew for a fact that Severin cheated. She knew this because Marionette told her, and she wasn't about to let him cheat her out of becoming a warrior. But as she glanced at Marionette, she knew her main competition was from the boys; Marionette seemed much too nervous to raise properly, and was constantly fussing with her dress and hair. She would be far too distracted when her turn came, and Letha had never known her to be particularly skilled anyway.

She glanced across the field, past the cleaned skeletons laid out for them to raise, to the family watching next to the five elders come to judge their performances. Aristeo's older sister Elodia was there, with his six-year-old brother Gilligan who seemed fervishly excited about the ceremony. Marionette's little brother Elliott stood beside him, looking bored and somewhat annoyed. They were about the same age, it was funny seeing how different they looked. Elliott with short, messy hair and his prim and proper clothing. Gilligan with his long hair falling over his face and his clothing all scuffed up from getting himself into trouble.

And beside them, Nathaniel and Julian were there to cheer for her, Julian grinning and... she could swear from here that Nathaniel looked sad. She couldn't imagine why. She was fulfilling her destiny. She was going to be the best.

It occurred to her belatedly that no one had shown up for Severin, but by then the ceremony had started. Severin, the oldest by a month, went first. He stepped forward and held his hands above his skeleton, and the beast that had once been human glowed vaguely before slowly shifting, shaking, gripping the earth and pushing itself to its feet. It stood there a moment and Severin grimaced in concentration, before it slowly shambled toward the goal beside the elders. The further it got from Severin, the less interested it seemed in performing his will. No wonder; the Regis blood wasn't very strong in him.

Finally, the skeleton sat itself down in the fresh patch of dirt allocated as its goal, and laid down properly for disanimation. It clearly took some work, and it was a sloppy job, but the skeleton fell lifeless again.

"That didn't seem quite right..." Letha muttered to herself, not expecting anyone to speak back.

"Right ‘ard’ead ya got there, if'n ye ask me." Responded a voice from her skeleton.

Oh.

"I'm sorry, I didn't properly greet you." Letha glanced down at the skeleton below her. The voice seemed to come from a lowerclass woman, her voice and accent both coarse as rocks. "My name is Letha. I'm going to become a warrior today."

"Aye, that's dandy..." The skeleton paused, "You wouldn't ‘appen t’be Vincentia Regis's daughter Letha, now wouldja?"

"I am."

"Well, ain't that just the peachiest thing." The dead woman seemed to perk up, "If I ain't the very same that ‘elped you out o' your mum's belly. Why, it seems like just yesterday I... well, that ‘ardly matters. It's all a jumble once you're dead, y'know."

"Well, as lovely as that is, I need a bit of your help now. Is there anything you can do to help me win this ceremony? I wish to join the warriors."

"Well, far be it from me to ignore the pleas of a nice girl... When you need control, just you ask."

"Thank you, ma'am-"

"Don't talk to your skeleton." Aristeo Regis hissed at her, scowling from his place to her left.

She stuck out her tongue to him.

And as he was about to respond, with some rude gesture no doubt, he was called upon to match Severin's performance. His skeleton rose up quickly enough, and seemed more fluid, but Letha couldn't help giggling at the pompous air it had as it marched down the field. It was as if all of Aristeo's assurance that the world revolved around himself had poured into the corpse and left nothing else. And a moment later it had stopped so Aristeo could glare at her. Honestly, that just made it all the funnier.

"Stop giggling, I need to concentrate." Aristeo barked, much like a puppy. "You're getting in the way."

"I don't- think I'm doing anything-" She forced out through her laughter, "Now finish your trial!"

Aristeo rolled his eyes and marched his skeleton to its goal, where it sat down hard and crossed its arms before falling in a heap as he disanimated it.

Now it was Letha's turn. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and her crow pin cawed in her ear as she did. It was loud, but calming. As if it had blasted away all the bad thoughts in her mind. Perhaps it had. She wouldn't be surprised if it were enchanted in some form or another. She opened her eyes and looked down at the corpse below her feet, "I'd like to animate you now, ma'am."

"All well and good, child. Whenever you're ready."

"Thank you, ma'am."

She held her hands up above the skeleton, and felt her energy flow into the old bones and easily filter out the woman's soul. She would have it back as soon as Letha disanimated the corpse, but for now the skeleton was simply an extension of herself. The skeleton got to its feet, quickly as Aristeo's, and strode with dignified steps toward the goal.

"You're doing it wrong." Aristeo spoke.

"No I'm not."

"She's moving too fast."

"Shut your trap, Aristeo."

"I will not-"

Letha glared him into submission, and turned back toward her skeleton. It stood in front of its goal, looked up at the elders and did a twirl and a bow before laying itself down on its patch of dirt. There, that should be enough. With a graceful motion of her hand, she disanimated the corpse.

"What in blazes was that?" Aristeo grimaced, "It looked like your skeleton was breaking control."

"It wasn't." She said, in a voice that did not accept argument.

Marionette went next, and Letha barely concentrated on her performance. She was sure it was fine, but all she wanted was to go forward to when the elders told her she was the best, and she would be joining her brother and the other warriors.

"We'll be taking Severin." The elders announced. "That is all."

Letha's heart sank. That wasn't right. Severin had performed the worst out of the group. Was it simply because he was a half-blood? Did they want that badly to get him out of the town that they would give up a perfect warrior?

"Don't act surprised," Aristeo grumbled, "Your skeleton made an obscene gesture at me on its way to the mark."

Letha paused, and considered this. Oh. She supposed that would lessen her image.

"It hardly matters. I didn't want to be a warrior anyway," Aristeo continued, "I just don't plan to let Severin show me up."

"Well, that's nice. But I honestly don't care how proud you are of being a failure." Letha shrugged, trying to seem calm, "I'll simply have to try again in the next ceremony."

"Good luck," the boy responded, his voice full of sarcasm.

She didn't need luck. But she was hardly going to wait another year to demand a performance next to a bunch of twelve year olds when she would already be thirteen. She left the line-up and marched across the field, her boots sinking lightly into the soil. Halfway across she caught the eye of Nathaniel, and he shook his head as if he knew what she was planning. But she already knew there was no other option. This was the option that worked.

Laurentia Regis looked down with a disgruntled expression as Letha tugged on her sleeve. She was old, her hair thin and gray - Letha had never seen it when it was black - and her skin akin to leather. But her eyes were cold and blue, her pupils sharp like a cat's. This woman was supposedly her grandmother, but she rarely visited and didn't seem at all like her father. To Letha, she was merely a member of the council. "What is it, child?"

"I performed best out of the group." Letha proclaimed, with a hard look.

"Yes, yes." The old woman dismissed her, turning to rejoin her own group.

"Why did you choose Severin, then? He can barely control his skeleton!"

"But he tried." Laurentia hissed. "You and your cousins do not try, you show off and you argue. A boy like Severin can be trained, but a boy like Aristeo and a girl like you can only harm those who try."

"But- but I can be trained!" Letha didn't want to say she begged, but it was the best word for it, "I listen to others and the risens listen to me, if you just let me prove it-"

"You will be reevaluated when we feel you are ready for it. Until then..." her grandmother narrowed her eyes, and a chill ran down Letha's back, "Consider the art of needlework."

She was too stunned to object, and the elders left for their carriage. She stood there, dumbly watching with her mouth slack, until Nathaniel and Julian came to lead her away. She glanced back as they led her away, and saw Marionette picking up her little brother, Severin wandering alone to his carriage, and Aristeo being fussed over by his older sister. Aristeo. He was the reason she'd lost out. If he hadn't picked a fight in the middle of the ceremony...

There was no sense worrying about it now, she told herself. She allowed her brothers to lead her away, keeping her grudge to herself. She likely wouldn't see him again for several years, knowing how well she had avoided him up until now. For now, she had no reason to worry about him.

***

Dinner with her family was quiet, after the chaos of the morning. Aside from the formal greetings as Nicholas came to dine with them for the first time in two years - he was now nineteen and living with his own wife - there was a daunting amount of silence as silverware clinked against fine china and echoed through the large dining hall. Letha didn't mind it, it suited how she felt. She didn't care for a loud conversation when she'd lost out on her dream, and she knew everyone else would be daunted by her silence.

"So, Nathaniel," Nicholas finally broke the silence, "I hear you'll be returning to the barracks soon."

"Yes," Nathaniel nodded, "I took my leave for a week to see Letha in the young warriors' ceremony, but I do need to get back. There hasn't been a true battle in a while, but... a direfox decided to make her nest under one of the battlements, and we didn't notice her until her kits came. Richard Thornwell and I are the best equipped to get her out with, uh... minimum casualties."

"Only one litter? Surely they can handle that alone."

"Richard and I are the fastest runners. If we do our jobs properly we can lure the foxes to a new den without having to fight them. Then, at least, the kits can keep both parents."

"You can't just kill the beasts?"

"Well, it's not exactly as simple as that, these foxes are large enough to take down a work horse alone. Even our guns aren't much use once one of them is angry."

Letha stared at her plate. Nathaniel was leaving her for a litter of direfox kits, and Severin Thornwell was coming along instead of her. Another six months of waiting around for him at best, and worse he could be let out of the barracks and take a wife and then she'd never see him again.

She was shaken from her thoughts by a hand on her back, and a reassuring smile from Nathaniel. "Cheer up, Letha, I'll be back as soon as I can. And one day you'll be able to join me there, yes?"

Somehow, she was starting to doubt it. And she certainly didn't want Nathaniel babying her, she knew she wouldn't see him for a while and he didn't have to sugarcoat it. Without a word, she left the table and walked out of the room, her chair clattering to the floor before one of the servants hurried to pick it up and push it in. If she wasn't going to see him, she would rather that started sooner than later.