"I'm…not dreaming, am I?" Lucian said softly, eyes to the ground. "Not at all," she replied, and he clearly heard the amusement in her voice. "You're exactly where you wished to be, mortician. A quiet life, among the dead."
So the bar actually did make my wish come true. It just had to kill me to do it. Lucian wanted to roll his eyes, but suppressed the urge.
She extended her right had to him, and instead of skin, he saw an exposed bone so white it must have been carved from ivory. The fingers were hidden under a black lace glove. His fingers brushed against her palm and Lucian wondered if he should kiss the gold ring.
Thankfully, she made the choice for him. "Rise. We have much to discuss."
The corpses and skeletons around them returned to their duties: sweeping grave dirt, gathering glowing lilies, and folding threadbare cloth.
Shyly, one approached and handed Lucian a silver flask.
It was cold before he even touched it.
"You sounded so parched," said the corpse, adjusting her apron.
Lucian nodded, grateful. He took a swig—and nearly coughed. It was crisp and icy, like glacial spring water.
"Easy now," the corpse cautioned. "Her Majesty wouldn't appreciate you drowning in the resurrection room." She laughed, her pale shoulders shaking under a dark grey maid uniform.
"I hadn't thought to ask if you were thirsty." The Queen said suddenly, her left eye looking a bit sad. "Your Majesty! I'm sorry if I overstepped," the maid said with a deep curtsy. "I still have some life inside of me, and still suffer from daily thirst. I thought he might need some after his journey."
She was rewarded by a half-smile. "No, Rosa. Thank you for reminding me our mortician is human." Lucian didn't think her voice could sound any heavier than that moment. "I've already had my weekly drink, so it completely slipped my mind."
Lucian returned Rosa's flask. "All right, your highness. I'm ready to follow."
In that moment, Lucian thought that Queen Marguerite's smile had been warmer than any candle in the resurrection room.
"Come then. You too, Rosa. In case he gets thirsty again."
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Lucian wondered if he could ever get used to these circumstances. They walked through a long, grand hallway paved with intricate marble and smooth obsidian. The Queen walked first, and never waited, never turned to see if he still followed her.
Next to her was the skeleton butler, holding onto a lantern now instead of a candelabra. Behind them both were Lucian and Rosa, the silver flask bouncing slightly in her apron pocket as she moved.
Hanging from the walls were ornately framed paintings of people. Men, women, and beings that were neither. A few even had animal ears and tails. All of them wore a thick black coat with a silver coffin-shaped pin on their vests…and a heavy book was always by their side.
The design changed with every mortician's portrait.
Some covers were ornate and inlaid with gold or silver. Others were so plain they looked like common leatherbound books.
As he took in all of the ancient history surrounding them, the Queen continued talking.
"As Atraeum's newest mortician, your main duty is to let the undead rest. Not all of them," Queen Marguerite said sternly. "Just the ones that are particularly restless. Some of them enjoy working, even in the afterlife."
She continued listing his duties, but Lucian was more engrossed by the portraits. For a second, he stopped walking and stared at a painting that looked dangerously familiar, because it looked like him.
The man had longer hair swept into a ponytail and even through a painting, Lucian felt like the man radiated authority that rivaled Queen Marguerite. The most important thing though, was the book he held in one hand and the cane in the other.
The book was completely burnt on one side, and yet the man held it with confidence. As for the cane…
Lucian's gaze lowered toward the walking cane, and he felt a strange chill. While the painting was done in grayscale, the runes carved into it seemed identical. The fear that crept into his heart the longer he gazed at it confirmed this, or so he thought.
Rosa tugged at his arm gently. "She'll notice if you fall behind." As they quickly caught up to the queen, Rosa looked over her shoulder. The shadows dancing across the wall from the candlelight had grown slightly larger. She clucked her cold tongue and kept walking
The maid clucked her cold tongue and kept walking. She ignored the way one of the shadows snarled at her, then turned its black stare back to Lucian.
Lucian said nothing, but the grip of his cane definitely felt warmer. It was like the object remembered someone else as he held it.
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Is that where you draw the line, Luci? Not the undead, the glowing flowers, or the creepy mortician portraits--but the idea of a sentient cane? Lucian thought, scolding himself.
"That one was special," Rosa murmured beside him. She handed him the cold flask and he dabbed some water onto his burning cheeks. "The Queen doesn't like talking about him. But some of us do...privately, of course."
Lucian looked at her. "Who was he?"
The maid just adjusted her glasses and smiled politely, the kind that didn't reach her pale eyes. "Maybe the Grimoire itself will let you know. It depends."
"On what?"
"If it likes you."
Ah. That definitely didn't sound promising. I wonder if it will even appear... Lucian didn't want to think about what the Queen would do about that. She would probably think he was a failure and then sacrifice him to summon a better mortician.
He shook his head, as if that could dislodge his negative thoughts.
After a few more steps, the hallway narrowed slightly and the candles burned much brighter, like the shadows didn't want to get too close.
Fear left Lucian's heart as he felt the change of air pressure: it was now thick and silent. The Queen had stopped speaking. They turned the final corner and arrived at a beautifully carved dark brown wooden door.
He wouldn't have been surprised if it was painted using ink. Lucian thought about the sleek black bar at Lion.
Ah. If only I could have said goodbye...
Oblivious to his thoughts, Marguerite gently patted the door with her left hand. A warm green light pulsed in return, like it was a living thing. "This is yours now," she said as she turned toward him. Her veil, pinned tightly to the right side of her head, shimmered with the abrupt movement.
"Until the Grimoire tells you to leave."
Before Lucian could ask where the book was, the door opened by itself and he was welcomed...by the sound of rustling pages.