“Necromancy is illegal,” Acadian said quietly, his voice barely a whisper, so no one in the tavern might overhear.

  Felina had invited them all to join her at the Patient Way Inn & Tavern to thank them for bringing the news of Doran’s death, however difficult it had been to hear. The tavern exuded a refined elegance despite its rigid marble exterior. Inside, the warm light of tiny sprites of flame danced atop wickless candles, casting a golden glow over the wooden-paneled floors and smooth, well-worked tables. The blue evening light filtered through delicate curtains, and the faint gleam of streetlamps outside painted faint patterns on the cobbled streets. The atmosphere was a strange juxtaposition. Relaxed, comforting. But there was an undercurrent of formality that mirrored the tension of the circumstances that brought them there.

  The tavern expanded upwards to a second floor, where more private alcoves provided reprieve for higher-priority patrons. Felina had managed to save one of these nooks, prompting a ripple of whispers and curious glances when six unknown patrons were allowed into such a coveted space.

  Circe set down her glass of wine with a sharp clink and crossed her arms across her chest, “This man is going to get himself sent to Malimagus. People die. There is no need to throw away his life as well.” Her tone was biting, her unsympathetic sneer daring anyone to contradict her. She hadn’t disclosed where she had been during the day when they had asked, and they gathered by her tone that they should not ask again.

  Felina’s face bore a perpetual worry. Her eyes were swollen and red, evidence that she had been crying ever since they left the Gallysis. “He loves him. We all do. And Doran loves…” she paused, swallowing hard. “Loved. Doran loved Zander, too.”

  Flynn’s expression was more serious than they had all known him to carry. He held on quite carefully to Felina’s words. “The law forbids it. Raising the dead is a crime, and for good reason. Derogaan raised an undead army and it nearly lost the Loyal Gods the war. To try and manipulate the dead is to call on the god of death himself.”

  “I’m not saying I condone it,” Felina said, impatient. “I just mean that I understand. If I lost someone that important to me, I don’t know what I’d do. Knowing Zander, he probably blames himself, too.”

  Frank wrestled a goblet out of Gostor’s fists, muttering as he set it back on the table, “Circe is right. People die every day. People we care about, people we don’t. He can’t carry this burden himself.”

  The tiefling girl let out a soft, sad scoff, “He can and he will. They saved each other more times than I can count. Treasure hunting will do that. Zander will wrestle with this for the rest of his life if he can’t get Doran back. He’ll drive himself mad.”

  The table fell quiet for a while. There was much less to say after that. They sipped their drinks and picked at their meals, eyeing one another. The quiet clinking and clanging of silverware and goblets was broken by a sharp sigh from Felina.

  “Apologies,” she said, forcing a smile. “I don’t mean to bring you down with grief. You’ve done an honorable thing for us. I am very thankful, and I know Zander is as well, even if he can’t express that right now. But tell me your story. I’m sure you have plenty of adventures to share.”

  Acadian leaned back in the booth, “Just a rag-tag team of adventurers, I s’pose. Pickin’ up jobs here and there. Got caught up in a bit of a tiff with a witch, but we’ve been curse-free thus far. Truth be told, we’ve only known each other a short while, most of us.”

  “Is that right?” she answered. “Zander, Doran, and I, we’ve encountered a couple of witches. Made friends with one, too. She helped us out a good deal.”

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  Arsa looked up from discreetly scraping food into his bag, “You made friends with a witch? Surely not an Empire witch.”

  Felina’s smile brightened for the first time that evening. “She was, actually. In fact, she was what mages call a -”

  Her sentence was interrupted by the polite clearing of a throat. Their server bowed before the table, placing a wooden chair at the end of the booth. From behind stepped Zander.

  His golden hair was freshly tied back, framing a void expression. The skin beneath his eyes was bright red, made even more dramatic against his fair complexion. He wore a formal jacket, not dissimilar to the one they had returned to him. Frank noticed he was wearing two rings on his left hand. One of which shimmered with a familiar silver sheen.

  Felina sat upright, gasping softly. “Zander, I…” she stammered.

  He closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his angular nose. His arched lips parted barely before any sound came out.

  “I came, first and foremost, to thank you. You could have left my husband’s belongings where they were. You could have stolen them or sold them for coin. But you sought me out to deliver me the news with nothing more than a letter and a ring. I cannot express to you how much that means to me. Thank you.”

  The group looked to Frank, who bit his lip. He nodded to the elf and grimaced before looking down at the wood of the table.

  Flynn waited for a beat before speaking, “If no one else is going to say it, then I will. If you’re thinking of raising him from the dead, I have to remind you, as a champion of Bane, the god of fate and destiny, that you are forbidden by the law of the Archmagus from tampering with necromancy in any form. Furthermore -”

  “I make no plan to break Archmagical law,” Zander interrupted, raising a finger. His gaze remained fixed on a single point, his eyes distant. “You are right that necromancy is illegal. But not in every form.”

  Acadian leaned forward, his tone skeptical. “In what form is it considered legal, then?” he asked.

  “The Archmagus keeps five scrolls of Resurrection, distributed among citizens they deem worthy of possessing such a privilege.”

  Flynn shook his head, “Those scrolls can only be used by the people who were ordained to receive them.”

  Zander’s retort was quick, “I happen to know exactly who possesses the scroll in Ayeron. And he owes me a favor.”

  “Even then,” the knight pressed, “the ritual must be overseen by an official of the state belonging to the country where the scroll was distributed.”

  A faint sneer tugged at Zander’s lips. “I work for an official of the state,” he said.

  Felina’s voice was gentle but firm, “Layson hates magic. He would never agree to it.

  “I’ll make him agree to it,” Zander said, his words sharp, demanding compliance. Felina reached across the table and placed her hand gently over his. His eyes wavered, hesitantly meeting hers.

  Her voice trembled, “I miss him, too. But you cannot put all your faith in these people doing you favors. It will only break you more if they don’t deliver.”

  His lip quivered. “I have to get him back,” he whispered.

  The table bowed their heads, giving Zander as much privacy as they could in such close quarters. All but Circe. Her gaze pierced through him.

  “Does he want to come back?” she asked, coldly.

  Zander and Felina looked back at her. Arsa’s eyes widened as he looked away. He knew she had nerve, but this was a new line.

  Zander’s expression faltered, “What?”

  “Does he want to come back?” she repeated, her voice slower, cutting. “When you attempt a resurrection, the deceased get a say in the matter. You’re everything on your lover wanting to return. I don’t know what existence lies beyond this one, but I can’t imagine it is any worse than the hell that this life constantly proves to be. Would he want to come back?”

  Zander’s hand trembled as he rubbed his thumb against his forefinger until it became as red as his tear-worn eyes. The company watched him, waiting.

  He took a long, shaky breath.

  “I don’t know,” his voice was raw. “I don’t know if Doran wants to come back. I don’t know if what lies beyond is kinder than this world or if I have the right to pull him from it. But I do know that I could never live with myself if I didn’t try. If he refuses me, then I will let him go and handle the repercussions myself. But until I hear it from his lips, until I know for certain that he is at peace… I have to believe he would want one more chance. A chance to be here, with me.”

  A tear fell from his eye and clung to the hollow of his cheek. He closed his eyes and let it roll down. When he opened them again, Circe’s hand gently pushed the tear away before returning to her lap.

  “How can we help you?”