Page 11 of Cast in Atonement

Mrs. Erickson had never learned how to hide her joy; her eyes became almost luminous. For a person who was technically a Necromancer, she found joy in life in a way that Kaylin wished she could emulate.

Joy was a little less evident as they reached the chancellor’s closed doors.

“Have they stopped arguing?” Kaylin whispered.

“They have stopped discussing their differences in their native tongue.”

Good enough. She hoped that the room wasn’t full of red-eyed, bristling Dragons; orange was the new gold.

The chancellor was behind his desk, that great divider that made clear to anyone who entered who was in charge here.

Bellusdeo and Tiamaris were seated—stiffly, given their armor—in chairs large enough to accommodate them comfortably, if one ignored the fact that neither wanted to sit in the first place. Eyes had remained orange, but barely.

The chancellor looked up as the door opened; Kaylin and Mrs. Erickson were bracketed by the doorframe. “Corporal.”

Kaylin lifted a hand. “I’m off duty.”

“Kaylin, then. Won’t you introduce your companion?”

“This is Mrs. Erickson.”

“Ah. Lord Sanabalis has mentioned her.” To Mrs. Erickson, he added, “He believes you are a Necromancer. What do you believe?”

03

Mrs. Erickson was silent. Kaylin tried not to hover protectively around her; this was easier, because Bellusdeo was hovering enough for two. The gold Dragon, on the other hand, was hovering impatiently, which made her presence less comforting.

The chancellor had asked the question of Mrs. Erickson, and he seemed content to wait for her response; his glare made clear that no one else was to speak for her, but his voice had been almost gentle, if you took his general grouchiness into account.

Mrs. Erickson exhaled, well aware that everyone was waiting on her answer. Her hands remained by her sides, but her shoulders were slumped; she straightened them. “I think that’s a bit harsh,” she said quietly. “But all I know of Necromancers are children’s stories.”

“Which stories?”

“The ones in which Necromancers—evil villains, all—raised an army of the undead and used it to attack the hero.”

“Ah. These are not stories we were told as children.”

“Oh?” Her eyes brightened. “What stories were you told as children?”

“Stories about the terrible deaths of hatchlings at the hands of their infuriated guardians and parents.”

She winced, but her lips then turned up in a smile because the chancellor was smiling fondly.

“The Imperial College is rather dry,” the former Arkon said. “The word, to the scholars of the ancient, is a classification, a category. It does not, in theory, involve moral or ethical judgment at all. Judgment,” he added, “is what we bring to it.”

She nodded.

“To be fair, while we call it a classification, Necromancy has not been considered a practical class of magic such as would be studied in the Imperial College or the Arcanum; there is just enough historical information that implies something genuine at the root of the various stories children tell. You are therefore going to be of great interest to those whose studies encompass magical history.” He cleared his throat.

Mrs. Erickson met his gaze head-on, although her hands trembled.

Bellusdeo roared. Her hands were fists, and her eyes were red.

Tiamaris roared as well, and not to be outdone, his eyes were crimson.

The former Arkon was clearly accustomed to this; his eyes, while orange, didn’t darken at all. If anything, he looked slightly bored. “If the two of you wish to continue this...disappointing fracas, I suggest you do it outside.” The doors to the office swung open—probably at Killian’s behest. “And do not mistake me: I mean outside of the Academia grounds. Mrs. Erickson has come for a reason, but it is almost impossible to hear her at the moment.”

Before Bellusdeo could speak again, the chancellor lifted a hand. “I am serious, Bellusdeo. You are always welcome in any home I call mine, but your interference is not.”

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