Chapter 35: Just a Little Undead Diplomacy

The morning wind brushed against my face, cool and sharp, carrying that kind of false calm that only ever shows up before something dramatic happens. I stood in the middle of a wide green plain. The world was quiet—just grass, horizon, and the whisper of air.

To the west, Dravencourt. Far away in the valley, its capital rose like a smug jewel on a crown—palace gleaming, sprawling city clinging around it like desperate fleas. The biggest city I’d ever seen, and every inch of it probably reeking of arrogance.

To the east, Virelia. Less pomp, more woods and lordlings clutching their little feudal scraps like children hoarding toys.

“Your Majesty,” Aelith’s voice came from behind me, sweet, lilting, and far too polished. I didn’t need to turn to picture her kneeling. When we were alone, she was playful, teasing. But the moment titles got involved, she shifted into courtly formality like a swan gliding on water. Elves and their obsession with appearances.

“Good,” I murmured, eyes fixed on the horizon. “Won’t be long before we get company. Look—over there.”

I pointed toward Dravencourt. Sure enough, a formation of imperial guards was trudging toward us, shiny armor glinting under the sun, flanked by a handful of those ever-self-righteous acolytes of the Holy Order. Nothing spices up a morning like zealots and men who polish their breastplates too often.

“I’ll go with Splinterbutt,” I said, a grin curling at my lips. “His presence alone should make them piss themselves.”

“As you command, Highness,” Aelith replied, her voice soft with reverence. She always played her role perfectly.

I turned.

Behind me lay the kind of sight that would have made any living general weep with equal parts awe and horror. The largest undead army I had ever pulled together—thousands upon thousands of skeletal soldiers, standing in flawless formation. Perfectly still, waiting, like the silence before thunder.

At their head, Splinterbutt. Towering, armored, axe in hand. A mountain of bone and menace. My glorious, ridiculous mountain.

I swung up onto Cluckles, my giant skeletal chicken of doom, like mounting a warhorse designed by a drunk god with a twisted sense of humor.

Splinterbutt moved forward to meet me, and together we began our march to greet Dravencourt’s little welcoming party.

I stopped a few meters short of the Dravencourt procession. With a flick of my hand, I signaled Splinterbutt to halt, then slid down from Cluckles’ bony spine.

The reaction was immediate. I could see it ripple through the soldiers—nervous shivers, hands tightening on weapons, the kind of wide eyes you only get when you realize death itself might actually be standing across from you. And that was just from looking at two of my skeletal pets. Imagine if they could see the whole set.

I walked forward alone. Predictably, their leader stepped out to meet me halfway.

He removed his helm. Young. Stern. Trying hard to project authority while his eyes betrayed the fact that he wanted to bolt for the hills.

“I am Sir Garrick Duroth,” he said, voice steady but jaw tight. “Who are you, and what is your purpose here?”

I smiled—not warmly, not kindly, just the kind of smile that says, Oh darling, you are so out of your depth.

“Greetings. Let’s skip the pleasantries—I don’t have time to waste on protocol. My name is Rissa. I’ve been called many things: whore, viper, Priestess of Death. Some elves even have the audacity to call me ‘queen.’ But none of that matters. You may simply call me Rissa.”

His expression twitched. Good.

“I have no intention of attacking Dravencourt,” I continued, my voice sharp as a blade. “This army you see? A demonstration of force, nothing more. My enemy is not you. My enemy is Virelia. That is why I stand here, on the border between your nations—because I know the two of you have your precious little pact.”

I paused, letting that sink in.

“By now, I assume you’ve heard the rumors. How Virelia captured a so-called ‘undead’ six years ago.” I let out a short, cutting laugh. “That was me. But let me make one thing very clear: I am no mindless undead. Of course, I don’t expect you to believe that while I stand here with thousands of skeletons at my command, enough to turn the world into ash.”

I laughed again—louder this time, rich and mocking.

“Yet here we are, Garrick,” I said, shrugging like it hardly mattered. The last thing I want is a war—with you or with Virelia. But Princess Lyra, let’s say, has stolen something from me, something very dear; and the truth is I don’t want to storm Virelia’s palace and massacre everyone inside—although if they keep poking me, I’ll do it with great pleasure. I demand one thing, and I promise I’ll disarm the undead army the moment it’s done. I also think it’ll be good for both sides, my dear Garrick.

“You have my attention,” the knight said.

“Good,” I replied. “As you well know, Princess Lyra has been conspiring against factions of the Holy Order within Virelia—the same Order that props up the alliance between Virelia and Dravencourt, together with the three northern city-states. If Lyra comes to power—which, believe me, she would—that would be a problem for you, and for the entire world, honestly. I demand that the kingdom of Virelia hand over a girl named Margo, who is being held captive by Lyra, and as I said, I will not attack Virelia. Refuse, and first I will raze Virelia and then Dravencourt, and I will turn you all into undead; believe me, it won’t be pleasant—you won’t be soldiers for the rest of eternity, but my personal xylophones, and I will make my undead play songs with you for the rest of your days, purely for my simple amusement.” I said, grinning with a thoroughly Machiavellian smile.

Garrick shuddered.

“Lady Rissa,” he said, all polite and very aware I wasn’t bluffing. “I can’t promise you anything right now — I must consult His Imperial Highness — but believe me, the last thing we want is a war with an army of the undead. Could you wait a few days for our answer?” he asked.

“Two days,” I said, flat. “Don’t make me wait, Garrick. I’ll expect you at dawn in two days, on the hilltop. Come yourself — I don’t want any kings or nobles showing up to speak to me; they’re far too pompous, you know. My outfit might make me look like a priestess, but trust me, I’ve got a warrior’s soul, so I’ll get on far better with you, handsome.” I added, giving him a wink.

It didn’t amuse him. He simply bowed, turned, and walked away.

Two days passed in the blink of an eye.

There I was, exactly where I told Garrick I'd be — perched on the hilltop at dawn. I was sitting on a tree stump, sipping wine from a goblet, my long black hair whipping out from under my white hood in the morning breeze. Aelith stood beside me, graceful and calm; the sun made her hair look even more silver than usual.

Suddenly Aelith’s elven ears twitched.

“He’s coming, Your Highness,” she said.

No more than a minute later Garrick rode up — no helmet, just himself on a horse. He dismounted and offered a restrained bow.

“Well?” I said without getting up, taking another sip and resting my chin on my hand, legs crossed as I looked at him with all the enthusiasm of someone checking a boring noticeboard.

“Lady Rissa,” Garrick said. “His Imperial Majesty has agreed to pressure Virelia to hand over their hostage in order to avoid war. However, he requests assurance that you will not attack Dravencourt.” He spoke seriously, voice shaking a little.

“No problem, Garrick,” I said, finishing my goblet and pushing myself up from the stump. “Margo — the girl held as bait — is very important to me. Important enough that I threatened two countries with an undead army, as you can see. Demand they hand her over to Dravencourt. Give her lodging, money, a life there. She will be your pass. While she’s safe, there will be no war.”

Garrick bowed his head. “It will be done, Lady Rissa.”

Good. I gathered power — enough to make the ground tremble around me. Garrick stumbled back, bewildered, and fell flat on his face.

Then, as if I’d flicked a switch, my entire skeleton army vanished. I’d teleported them back to the Mist Caves. Everyone except Aelith, who remained at my side, and Splinterbutt — who stood a few paces away with Cluckles by his side.

“I’ve done my part, Garrick,” I said. “My army is gone. But just as easily as I made them disappear, I can make them appear inside Dravencourt’s gates — with no warning. It would be a slaughter. And you, my dear knight? I’ll use your skull as my goblet every night.” I stepped closer, my eyes flashing red with channeled magic. “Believe me, I’ve carried skulls in my bag before — carrying one more would be nothing.”

“I might show up in Dravencourt any day,” I continued as I drew back. “I hope Margo is safe. Oh, and tell me where the best tavern in the kingdom is, handsome.”

And with that, I teleported away — Aelith, Splinterbutt, and Cluckles right beside me.