Dreams of the Necromancer (Memento Mori 2)

26

Gideon wept.

He knew it was childish to do so. But he could not help it.

There was no explanation he could give that could make it right. Nothing he could say or do that would make her forgive him. But he felt as though he needed to try, regardless. “I love you, Marguerite. I love you more than I had ever loved anyone or anything in this world. When you died—when I had to watch you die, I couldn’t let it happen.”

He took in a breath, held it, and let it out in a rush, trying to steady his words. “With all my power, with all my ancient knowledge, there was no way I could bring you back to true life. There is no such thing. Once it’s gone, it’s…gone. But I couldn’t stomach the idea of making you one of my revenants, a rotted corpse with an illusion of life over it. I only had seconds before Death came to sever your soul and take you to the shores of another world. I had no way to keep you here.”

Familiar anger surged through him. “What good is being what I am, with all my power, if I cannot save the life of the woman I love? What was the point of it all, if I was to be alone for the rest of eternity? I—I panicked. I was furious at you for what you had done. I kept your soul away from Death the only way I knew how. By joining mine with yours. Our souls, since that moment, have been one and the same. Bound together until you die your final death, and we greet the void as one.”

“The—the talisman. The whole time—you told me it was going to fix your phylactery—it was a lie. A game.”

“No. I hoped that as you rediscover your past, it would indeed mend you. You no longer suffer blackouts. You are stronger, more fearsome than I have ever seen you. It was not a lie. Just…not the whole truth. But a game? Maybe.” He wiped his face and sat back, finally finding the courage to look at her.

Her emerald eyes were wide, and red with tears. He could see her trembling from across the room, and he wanted to rush to her side—to bundle her up into his arms and make it all okay. But he was not welcome. He would never be welcome again.

“All this time that I’ve felt—felt drawn to you, pulled toward you—the—all—it’s all—”

“Because my soul lives within your heart, twisted up with yours.” That is why you care for me. That is why you are attracted to me. Because when we are together, you feel whole.

He needn’t spell it out for her. The look of horror on her face was proof enough that she had pieced it together on her own.

Slowly, clearly numb, she shook her head. They sat in silence for what seemed like an hour, watching each other, as she clearly struggled to come to terms with the truth. Finally, he could take it no longer. If he was to die this day, he wanted to get it over with. “I am sure the priests are eager to learn of your discovery. You should tell them the nature of my phylactery before you take your life one last time.”

“It makes sense. I think I’ve always known. I wanted to forget, but…I never really could, not deep down. But I—” She stopped. She swallowed thickly. “But I want to know the rest of it.”

He blinked. “What?”

She shook her head, angrier that time. “You’ve shown me what you did. But now I want to know why.”

“I told you—I love you. It was a selfish desire to—”

“No, fuck you, Gideon!” She stood, the fury coming over her suddenly. “It’s all still missing. I don’t have the rest. Give me the rest of my memories!”

“I—I—” He stammered, feeling the wave of compulsion wash over him. It felt as though there was a chain around his throat, dragging him forward. If he had been ordered to kneel, he would be on the ground in an instant. If she had ordered him to crawl, he would do so without a flinch. But that was an order he could not fulfill. “I do not know how.”

She ran her hands through her hair. “I do. I think I do, anyway.” She was still shivering. “I can’t—I can’t let it end like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I promised you I wouldn’t judge you until I knew all of it. All of it. And I’m not going to. I—I can’t. I can’t.”

He heard the edge of a frenetic panic leaking into her voice. He stood, and carefully—cautiously—ready for her to rightfully jump at him in fury or flee in terror, edged closer to her. When he reached out to touch her, she shook her head, and he dropped his hand to his side. Yes, he supposed he deserved that.

He deserved much worse that was still to come.

“I’m here, Marguerite,” he said to her softly, trying to help her come back from the proverbial cliff in her mind before it led to a far more literal one. “Breathe.”

Lifting her palms, she stared down at them, as if trying to see something beneath the skin. “We can’t come apart now, can we?”

“No. We are indistinguishable, I’m afraid. Ripping us apart would destroy us both.”

With a weak nod, she dropped her hands. “I don’t want to die…”

That was a relief. But it was short-lived.

“But I can’t live without knowing the whole story.”