Chapter 33: Skeletons: Because Living Minions Are Overrated

“My Queen, here’s another cup for you,” Aelith said, all sugar and light, setting the goblet down with the kind of careful grace that made everyone in the tavern pretend they weren’t staring.

“Aelith,” I said, cutting her off before she could bow or call me something itty-bitty and royal. “I know you love fussing with ‘majesty’ and ‘your highness’ and all that glittery nonsense, and honestly I don’t care. But here — just for tonight — do me a favor and don’t call me that. We’re trying not to cause a scene.” I said it half reprimand, half possessive tease. She knew she couldn’t annoy me for long.

We were in Cinabar, in the little inn I’d learned to like for its crooked floorboards and honest ale. Memories drifted like smoke: Serine caughing after her first shot of ale, Arkanthos’ skull murmuring some ridiculous story inside my bag, the first time I met Cassian and thought, oh for the love of everything, how did that boy survive with that ridiculous haircut? Cinabar felt like a tiny town of sanity—useful, familiar, and not remotely suitable for anybody with a throne complex.

“Mmmmpfff, it’s not fair, Rissa,” Aelith huffed, cheeks puffed out like a windbag. She stood on her stool and flung her arms wide, hair catching the low light. “I want the whole world to know that our queen is the best in all reigns!”

“Stop,” I ordered, downing the cup in one clean swallow. “Do you realize every man in this dump is staring? If you prance around like that I will literally roll across the table and strangle half of them with my cloak just out of jealousy. Charming concept, but bad for discretion.” I grinned at her; she beamed back, and the way the men’s eyes followed her made my teeth itch with that possessive little flare.

Gods, even I wanted to throw myself on top of her right then—my perfect porcelain elf doll—just to stake my claim and torch anyone else who dared look at her curves. But we’d already drawn enough eyes tonight, and a public scandal in the middle of some piss-stained tavern wasn’t going to help. I tipped back my cup and drained it in one swallow. “Let’s go,” I said, rising to my feet.

She followed me out with a grin so wide it almost hurt to look at.

We’d been on the road for two months since leaving Liraen. Sure, there were faster ways south toward Virelia, faster than crossing the damned Meridional Range—but speed wasn’t the point.

“Rissa,” Aelith said, falling into step beside me. “You still haven’t told me why we came here. I mean, I get that you didn’t want to teleport us—you gave me the whole drunken speech, remember? How was it—” She staggered dramatically, clutching at an invisible goblet, and dropped her voice into a slurred mockery of mine. “‘I can’t waste my power, Aelith, because I’m saving up for the greatest spectacle this miserable world has ever seen! Mwa-ha-ha-ha!’”

I sighed so hard it nearly cracked my ribs. “Your impression of me is atrocious.”

She darted ahead, winked, and stuck her tongue out at me. She was one of the very few people alive who could mock me and get away with it. My weakness. She reminded me of Serine’s kindness and Arkanthos’ constant mischief, wrapped up in a face too radiant for her own good.

“So?” she pressed, eyes shining. “What’s in Cinabar? And why the hell did you sell the cart and the mounts?”

“Simple, darling,” I said. “Because a cart that size won’t fit through the Mist Caves. And what’s there?” I grinned, sharp and secretive. “You’ll see soon enough. But first—didn’t you notice we weren’t three in Liraen?”

Her brows knitted. “What? Of course you were. The tall, broody lizard-boy with the tragic haircut. The short, timid girl. And you, Rissa. That’s everyone.”

I barked out a laugh. “Oh, Aelith. No, no. There was a fourth. I just happened to be carrying him in my bag.”

Her jaw dropped. “You… what?”

“Arkanthos,” I said, savoring the name. “Five-thousand-year-old archmage, dead but not quite, chatty as hell, and very portable when you separate the skull from the rest. I kept him close. And now, we’re about to meet… let’s call them his distant relatives.”

I let the words drip with sarcasm, a malicious little promise.

Aelith stared at me like she’d fallen into one of my riddles. And maybe she had. By now she knew better than to push. She just slipped her arm through mine, smiling as if she could wait out my secrets.

Past midnight, we slipped out of Cinabar without fanfare—just two shadows cutting south under a waning moon. Aelith trailed behind me, as always, light on her feet, smiling like this was some midnight stroll instead of a march into the unknown. She could’ve been dancing for all I knew.

The road was almost insultingly easy. All it took was flaring just enough of that delicious undead aura of mine to make the local beasts piss themselves and scatter. And the ones too stupid to take the hint? Well. Let’s just say I didn’t have to lift a finger.

Because Aelith. Gods, my darling elf doll was lethal when she wanted to be. She wasn’t just pretty hair and pouty lips—though, trust me, those were weaponized enough on their own. No, she moved like a whisper, hid blades in more places than I could count (seriously, I still don’t know where half of them come from—sometimes I think she pulls them out of thin air just to mess with me), and when she fought? Her strikes hummed with elven spirit-magic. Quick, sharp, precise. She could vanish into thin air, move with the wind, or strike with the weight of stone.

If I had to put her in a neat little box, I’d call her a magical assassin. And a damn good one. She could go toe-to-toe with Myrrin—Lyra’s pet murderess. Maybe not in raw brutality, but in brains? Tricks? Adaptability? Aelith would tie her up in knots before Myrrin knew she’d lost.

Recruiting Aelith hadn’t just been a treat for the eyes—it was one of the smartest decisions I’d ever made. She was dangerous, clever, loyal… and so utterly, devastatingly usefull.

Finally we reached the mouth of the caves—everything oddly clear, and a clean, cool breath of air sighed out from its depths.

Aelith grabbed my sleeve like a drowning woman clutching driftwood before I step in. “Rissa—” Her voice was small. “We shouldn’t go in. I… I feel—presences. Death. It’s the worst I’ve ever felt.”

I laughed so loud I startled the bats. Proper, cinematic laughter—like someone had just handed me the punchline to the universe. “Oh, sweetheart,” I said, wiping my eyes theatrically, “you elves are so… sensitive. Of course it reeks of death.”

She didn’t laugh. She stared at me with those pale, earnest eyes and for a second looked exactly like someone who might actually faint from too much sincerity. Fine. Time for demonstration.

“Look,” I told her, and because subtlety is for poets and not for me, I let everything go.

I poured out the smell of tombs and old iron, the chill of winter that never quite leaves the bones, the sticky little tang of rot like a promise. It wasn’t a trick; it was me letting the shadow-silk of my aura unfurl—loud, blunt, unavoidable. The scent of it rolled across the stone like a tide.

Aelith staggered back so fast she nearly kissed the dirt. Her hands flew to her mouth. She looked at me the way the priests used to look at relics: equal parts reverence and abject terror.

“Stop—stop—” she breathed. Words failed her. Bless her pointy heart.

I shut it off with a smile and offered my hand like I was only being polite. “Ta-da. One patented Rissa display. Relax. It’s just my aura. Not contagious. I’m the contagious one.”

“It feels like…” Aelith’s voice faltered, as if even naming it might summon something terrible.

“Yes,” I cut in with a grin, “like the essence of the undead that comes from this cave. I know. Don’t worry—it won’t harm you. Come on, I’ll protect you. I’d never let anything happen to my delicate little elf.” I slipped my arm through hers as I spoke.

She nodded, still pale, but the simple weight of my touch seemed enough to steady her trembling.

The tunnels swallowed our footsteps, the silence thick enough to feel unnatural. No claws scraping in the dark, no beasts lurking in the shadows. Just us, and the hollow drip of water echoing somewhere far behind.

“Well, looks like my little friends have been keeping busy,” I said, chest puffed out in mock pride. “Good to see they’re doing their job.”

“My… friends?” Aelith whispered, still clinging to my arm like her life depended on it.

“You’ll see.”

The path widened into a massive chamber I half-remembered, the ceiling so high it vanished into blackness. I stretched out my arms dramatically and let my voice thunder off the walls:

“Hello? It’s me—your mistress. Time to come out and play!”

The echo shook the cavern like a drum. Aelith nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Rissa, please,” she begged, her voice trembling. “Don’t shout like that—something might—” Her words died as her eyes widened. “They’re already coming. I can feel them.”

The ground shuddered. From the cracks in the stone, from the walls, from unseen burrows, they came. Bones rattling, jaws clattering, thousands upon thousands of skeletons surged forth. Human, beast, monstrosities twisted beyond recognition. In seconds we were swallowed by an ocean of the dead.

Aelith choked on a scream, clutching my arm so hard her nails bit through the fabric.

“Easy,” I murmured, stroking her hair like she was a frightened kitten. “Just breathe.”

I raised my voice, hands on my hips. “Alright, bone-sacks! First things first—good work clearing out the pests in these caves all this time. You’ve earned yourselves a nice tall glass of milk for all that calcium you’re burning through. Round of applause!”

The chamber erupted in sound. Thousands of bony hands clacking together, skulls rattling, the noise echoing like a thousand castanets rattling at once. I hadn’t expected them to actually do it, but damn, it was hilarious.

“Good. Now,” I said, lifting a hand for silence, “is there anyone among you who can actually think, like Arkanthos? Or am I stuck talking to a choir of maracas?”

The crowd parted, bones grinding against stone. Out stepped a giant of a skeleton, clad in rusted armor that still clung stubbornly to his frame. His eye sockets glowed faintly with pale blue fire. In one hand, he carried an axe bigger than me, swinging it with the same ease I might a walking stick.

He dropped to one knee, the sound booming across the cavern, and bowed his skull low.

“I am Kaelor the Unbroken,” he said, voice deep as an avalanche rumbling through the earth. “General of the Silent Host. At your command, Mistress.”

“Kaelor the Unbroken?” I tilted my head, squinting up at the mountain of bones. “Sweetheart, from here I can already count three cracks in your ribs and a chip the size of my fist on your jaw. Unbroken, my ass.” I tapped my chin theatrically. “We’ll workshop something better. How about… Sir Rattlepants? No, too jaunty. Maybe Count Calcium? Mmm, closer. Ah, I’ve got it—‘Splinterbutt the Eternal.’ Perfect. Rolls right off the tongue.”

The great armored skeleton bowed his massive skull, the blue fire in his sockets flaring with something suspiciously close to pride.

“It is a true honor, my mistress,” he said in a voice that made the cavern tremble. “To bear a name gifted by you—I swear upon my marrow, I shall uphold it with reverence.”

I snorted. “Splinterbutt swearing an oath. Gods, this is already my favorite day.”

“Alright, Splinterbutt,” I said, folding my arms and leaning against a jagged stalagmite like I owned the place. “I want you in command of all the undead in these caves. Round them up, organize them into formations, like an actual army. Five days from now, you march south. Your orders are to hold the line at the border between Virelia and Dravencourt. Got it?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Splinterbutt said, bowing so low I worried his skull might detach.

I raised a finger, because of course there was more. “One more thing. I don’t want any human casualties along the way. They might run, they might attack, but your blades are for monsters and beasts only. Is that clear?”

“Crystal clear, Mistress,” he replied, the hollow echo of his voice vibrating through the cavern like a cathedral bell.

“Perfect. Now that everything’s crystal clear, let’s get out of here, Aelith,” I said, brushing past the nearest stalagmites. “See you soon, Splinterbutt!” I called over my shoulder, waving theatrically as we headed for the southern exit, straight toward the great forest of Virelia.

Aelith practically flew to keep up, her little feet scrambling over the rocky floor like she’d just smelled fire. Honestly, who could blame her? I snorted to myself, amusement curling in my chest. Even I had to admit—being surrounded by a sea of clattering bones wasn’t exactly a cozy stroll.