"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 hand 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 cloths.
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."
+
Lucian wondered if he could ever get used to these circumstances. He saw the queen walk through a stone arch carved with the words "Mortician's Mausoleum." As he walked after the Queen, Lucian felt infinitely smaller.
He stared up at a high ceiling, patterned like a cathedral. Here, the candles were inside glass jars shaped like hourglasses. The walls and floors were made of polished sandstone and marble. Queen Marguerite's heels and Lucian's cane echoed with each step.
The scent of lilies faded here, and instead, Lucian smelled sage, parchment, and the barest hint of incense. The Queen was always a few steps ahead and never turned to see if anyone still followed her.
Next to her was the skeleton butler, holding onto a lantern. Behind them both were Lucian and Rosa, the silver flask bouncing slightly in her apron pocket as she walked.
Every so often, they passed by a large painting. The frame was made of bone and had a black lace cover. This one featured a woman with silver hair braided into a crown. She wore a long black coat over her dress, the edges stitched in ivory thread.
A coffin-shaped pin shone on the collar. Her lips were painted black, and she held a scalpel like it was a scepter. In her other hand was a leatherbound book.
He read the plaque beneath her.
Elwynne Fairchilde, Master Mortician, Fifth of the Silence Lineage.
Completed her service with honor.
Lovingly embalmed by Kristopher Brown.
Lucian swallowed. This mortician wasn't painted from life.
She was painted after death.
+
The Queen passed each portrait with silent sentiment, her head bowed. He looked to his right and another mortician portrait hung there, with an identical plaque. Lucian forced himself to follow.
Every portrait featured a man or a woman dressed in attire of a different age. Some wore fur-lined cloaks, veils, and high collars. Lucian even saw one who was neither a man or a woman, holding a talisman on a chain. A few even had animal ears.
They all had a coffin-shaped pins and a book on them. Some book covers were ornate and inlaid with gold or silver. Others looked like common journals.
He counted eleven portraits so far. All of their eyes were painted the same way. Distant. Not quite alive. It was like looking at wax dolls. Am I going to end up here someday? Painted after my death?
Lucian wasn't sure how he felt about that. Is this the price of peace?
+
"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."
Lucian asked quietly, "What happens if I fail, Your Majesty?"
She stopped walking and looked at him over her shoulder. Behind her veil was a neon-blue flame where her other eye would have been.
"We sacrifice you to summon another mortician. One who won't fail Atraeum." As she spoke, something gripped Lucian's shoulders—long, thin fingers, cold as river stones. It made him feel severely uncomfortable, but he couldn't shake himself free.
"12 other morticians served this Queendom, but you are the first," she continued, bringing her face close to his. "To ponder failure." She was so close that Lucian saw the faint outline of a skull behind her veil.
Oh, so that's why she kept it cove--The fingers on his shoulders sank their long nails into his skin. Lucian hissed in pain and Rosa whimpered.
Something wanted to dig in and feast on his flesh.
"Do you plan to leave us anytime soon...Lucian...?" The way she said his name--it didn't sound human. It echoed inside his bones.
Immediately, Lucian wanted to take it back and forget this ever happened.
"N-no, my Queen," he stammered. He heard his voice echo through the hallway, the fear magnified.
"N-n-no, my Queen..."
"Good. I would have you turned into a worm and fed to the birds." The creature that grasped his shoulders disappeared and her living half smiled pleasantly.
The only thing that remained were the painful marks on his shoulders, and he felt blood dripping down his sleeves. Queen Marguerite spoke in her soft authoritative voice once more. "I'm so glad we had this conversation. Do you want to learn more about your duties?"
Lucian nodded so quickly he gave himself a headache. Anything to avoid that again. "Y-yes, I do..."
She continued talking as they walked through the hallway. With every step, Lucian tried to ignore the garbled sound of laughter in his ear.
+
As Lucian tried to calm his heart, he looked up and almost bumped into the Queen.
"Sorry, Your Majesty," he said softly, but she hadn't paid attention to him.
She stopped at the end of the hall. The space widened into a domed chamber. Here, the walls were completely bare. A single glass-topped casket sat in the massive alcove, resting on a base carved from obsidian.
There was a man inside and he looked young, pale, and serene. If this was a wax doll, it was extremely lifelike. The coffin-shaped pin gleamed on his vest, embroidered with silver threading. The man's hands were folded over his chest, and a silver ring glinted on one finger. Next to him was a silver walking cane.
It looked like he'd simply fallen asleep. And save for the long ponytail, the man could have been Lucian's twin. What...why does he look like me? He looked for a plaque but didn't find one. This man had no name.
The Queen approached the casket slowly, and stood at its side. "My dearest advisor," she explained. "And friend." Her voice had grown softer as she said 'friend,' like she meant it.
He looked at the man and, absently, squeezed his walking cane. For a brief moment, Lucian swore that the cane inside the glass casket moved.
"This is the 12th mortician...he would have been your mentor."
She looked at Lucian and said softly, "You will be the 13th, and the first we've successfully summoned in a century."
Lucian was unable to speak, and nodded in understanding. Her expectations weighed heavily on his heart.
The Queen looked down at the body a moment longer.
Then turned.
Her expression was unreadable.
"You have much to learn...and the dead are waiting."
+
"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.