For this is a heavy matter,

And the truth is cold to tell;

Do we not know, have we not heard,

The soul is like a lost bird,

The body a broken shell.

-- G. K. Chesterton, The Ballad of the White Horse

That went rather well, all things considered, Abihira thought with forced optimism. At least he didn't run away screaming.

Irímé's reaction was certainly better than she expected. He had neither fled from her as if she was about to perform necromancy on him, nor thrown a fit and publicly accused her of being a serial killer. At some point during the millennia since necromancy was outlawed people had come to associate it with murder, and to claim all necromancers were serial killers. It was a frankly ridiculous idea. They were practically opposites; one caused death and one reversed it -- or sought too. Abihira had mentally prepared enough excuses and arguments to fill a lengthy book. Of course it would turn out that she didn't need any of them. If she hadn't thought of any excuses, Irímé would probably have interrogated her as if she was a criminal on trial.

As it was he just stared at her through eyes large as dinner-plates. He made a choking, gasping sort of noise that left her worrying he was about to have a heart attack. But then he took a deep breath and visibly forced himself to calm down.

"Oh," was all he said.

He stayed silent for the rest of the performance. He continued to look as if he'd just witnessed something horrifying, and he sat so still he almost looked like he'd been turned to stone. When the opera was over and they left their box to rejoin Abi's parents Irímé was still deathly pale.

It was just as well that his mother and her parents were too busy talking their various friends and acquaintances to pay much attention to their children. Hartanna, deep in conversation with a duchess, hardly spared Abi a glance when she approached her.

"Irímé has a headache," she said, making the first excuse she could think of. "We'll leave now."

"Of course. Whatever you want," Hartanna said in the absent tone that showed she wasn't listening to a word. She'd have said exactly the same if Abi had announced her intention to jump off the opera house roof. She went right back to her conversation without thinking any more about Abi or anything she'd said. "I couldn't believe it when I heard. Imagine, spending so much money on such an ugly bracelet! Do you know, I'm sure it isn't even real gold."

Abi rolled her eyes and went back to Irímé. He was still standing just outside the door to their box, so deep in thought that he hardly noticed anything around him. Her ladies-in-waiting stayed at a polite distance, with nary a hint of curiosity on their faces. Abi knew better than to believe it. No doubt they were listening with all their might and main so they would have plenty to contribute to the servants' gossip. For the first time a disagreeable possibility struck her. What if their conversation wasn't as quiet as she thought it had been? The last thing she needed was for the entire household to hear she was a necromancer. What the servants knew, everyone knew sooner or later.

It had been years since she last eavesdropped on the staff's conversations. Now it looked like she'd have to start listening at every chance she got, until she was sure of what they knew or didn't know.

"Come on," she said to Irímé. "We're going home."

It was a testament to how shaken he was that he didn't even protest they should wait for their parents to leave.

Leaving the building was easier said than done. Everyone who'd been at the opera took the opportunity to catch up with their friends or make new acquaintances. The hallways, the stairs, the foyer, the pavement outside; everywhere was full of people deep in their own discussions. Abi grabbed Irímé's hand and pulled him through the gaps in the crowds. Her ladies-in-waiting followed as best they could.

Finally they reached the main door. And promptly ran into an unforeseen obstacle.

Until now no one had taken them under their notice. A few people grumbled as they pushed past, but that was all. Now for the first time someone directly approached them.

"Excuse me? Are you Abihira-mirthal[1]?"

Damn it, Abi thought even as she turned to see who had spoken. When will we get out of here?

The speaker was a young woman, at least ninety years younger than Abi herself, dressed in a pale lavender mirvomon. The amethysts woven through her hair looked real at a distance, but when she bowed they didn't catch the light the way real gems would.

"I'm Luamon Haliranssvóeln," she said, straightening up again. "My mother, Haliran-rúdaun, asked me to pass on her hopes that you are happy to be home, and to extend an invitation for you to come to tea any time you want to."

It was just the typical pleasantries extended to someone who was in the capital for the first time in years and who everyone decided they should at least try to be polite to. Abi gave no more thought to it than she'd given to all the similar greetings. She made some vague polite response and left quickly, dragging Irímé after her.

There were so many carriages outside the theatre that it took ten minutes just to find theirs. The coachman stared suspiciously at Abi when she told him to drive back to the palace. From the look on his face he must have thought she'd committed some crime and was fleeing to evade capture. Only the presence of her ladies-in-waiting, out of breath and disgruntled after elbowing their way through the throngs, convinced him that there was nothing sinister afoot. Everyone knew that these ladies-in-waiting were not the ones who had accompanied Abi to Seroyawa. Those ones were still there, packing up her belongings and preparing to bring them back to Eldrin. These ones were some of her mother's more junior servants, with no personal loyalty to Abi and no reason to cover up for her if she was in trouble.

Irímé remained grimly silent for the entire trip home. At some point Abi realised his silence had changed from "shocked" to "angry". Oh well. It had to happen. She could only hope the inevitable explosion came when there was no chance of anyone overhearing.

Arafaren stuck his head over the rails on the landing when he heard the main door open. "You're back!" he exclaimed unnecessarily as Abi dismissed her maids. "How did it go?"

"Badly," Irímé muttered, stalking past Abi. He hesitated at the foot of the stairs, then abruptly turned and stormed into one of the sitting rooms. "Abihira, I want a word with you."

Abi grimaced and followed him, painfully aware of her annoying older brother's curious eyes watching the entire thing. She left the sitting room door open, but cast a spell to ensure no one could hear anything said inside.

"I suppose you're going to be angry and offended and complain I'm defying the gods or some such nonsense," she began before Irímé could speak. Her own anger made her words sharper than she intended. "And just when I thought we might possibly get on well enough together."

Irímé collapsed onto one of the chairs like a puppet that had its strings cut and buried his face in his hands. Through the open doorway Abi saw Arafaren approach, listening with all his might. He scowled at her when he realised he couldn't hear a word.

"Why?" Irímé asked. "Of all the things you could do, why did it have to be necromancy? Do you have some dead friend you want to resurrect?"

That was one of the marginally less offensive misconceptions about necromancers. They went mad with grief and broke the laws of nature, stories claimed. Perhaps it was true of some. But it was certainly not true of all.

"No." Abi folded her arms and sat down on the chair opposite him. "I didn't start studying necromancy because I want to bring a specific person back. I'm studying it because I'm curious. Because I want to know what happens after death. Because I want to know if raising the dead is truly possible."

"All the stories--"

Abi didn't quite roll her eyes. It took a tremendous effort not to. "Since when have stories ever told the whole truth? People lie. They forget things. They exaggerate. They tell their listeners what they want to hear. If you believe all the stories are true, then do you really believe the stars are portals to other worlds?"

Irímé glared at her from between his fingers. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course I don't believe that. But history tells us that necromancy is dangerous."

History is just another form of gossip, Abi thought. "It's not dangerous. I know what I'm doing."

"Oh, so you meant for those corpses to attack the town? People could have died!"

Abi had a sudden flashback to the corpse losing a battle with a table. Truly, a terrifying threat. "It wasn't nearly as serious as people say. The corpses didn't attack anyone. And I didn't send them to the town. I took my eyes off them for a minute and they wandered away."

Irímé glared at her. "What happens when you take your eyes off other corpses and they do go and attack people?"

"They won't," Abi said with the certainty of someone who didn't even know she was wrong. "I can control them."

A long and uncomfortable silence fell. Outside the door Arafaren didn't even try to pretend he wasn't watching everything. Irímé stood up sharply.

"I'm going to bed," he said. "I really do have a headache now. Please don't raise any more corpses tonight."

He stormed out before Abi could make a suitably cutting reply.

"What was all that about?" Arafaren asked when she removed the spell.

She walked past him without deigning to acknowledge his presence.

After that fiasco Abi went up to her own room. The minute she opened the door she knew something was wrong. Her window was wide open. Not only had it been closed before she left, she had checked it was locked. You never knew when a burglar might break in. Especially when most of the family were away for hours.

She looked around, taking a very quick inventory of everything. From all outward appearances the room was exactly as she'd left it. Not a single piece of jewellery was out of place.

Abi lit a candle and pulled open the wardrobe door. She'd hidden her necromancy notes behind a loose panel at the back of the wardrobe. Carefully she pulled the panel out. The notes were still there. She put it back into place and closed the wardrobe.

How strange, she thought, looking around again. Who goes to all the trouble of breaking in and then leaves empty-handed?

A quick inspection of the windows only added to the mystery. The lock hadn't been broken. The windows hadn't been forced. Someone had opened them from the inside. Unbidden a memory of one of Kiriyuki's ghost stories surfaced in her mind. There were creatures that could trick you into thinking they'd left the house, when really they were still there. Right behind you. Drawing closer... and closer...

Something brushed against Abi's shoulder. She let out a high-pitched yelp most unsuitable for an aspiring necromancer. When she looked round she groaned. It was only the curtain blowing in the wind.

"I'm an idiot," she grumbled aloud.

She closed the window and turned around. That was when she noticed the envelope. It was a plain white envelope, with none of the distinctive designs used in nobles' family stationery. Even the handwriting was plain and unremarkable. It sat on top of her bedside table, amidst the pile of books she hadn't got around to reading yet.

For attention of Princess Abihira, it read. Underlined twice on the next line was, Very important.

Common sense said to be extremely wary of mysterious envelopes left by equally mysterious housebreakers. Abi had never been on good terms with common sense. She opened it, took out the letter, and scanned its contents.

Beware of Haliran-rúdaun, it said, sounding like a plot device in an especially melodramatic potboiler. She is planning to gain your confidence so she can use your name in schemes of her own.

"What use would my name be to her?" Abi wondered to herself. "I'm not popular or influential."

She has committed grave crimes already. Have nothing to do with her, and her approaching ruin will not damage you.

If the writer had known anything about Abihira they would have known better than to create such a mystery. What crimes had Haliran committed? What schemes did she have? How did the writer know this, and what sort of ruin would Haliran suffer?

Before reading the letter Abi had no intention of accepting the invitation Luamon had extended to her earlier. Now however she was determined to visit Haliran at the first chance she got.