The Enterprise of Death - Jesse Bullington [33]
But of course she would have, and of course she did it again before a week was out. The necromancer kept the bandit chief’s skull balanced in the bear’s mouth, baiting her to ask for him back, but she simply ate in silence, answered his questions with a flat directness, and returned to her hut with that peculiar excitement, that bizarre, alien illness working on her mind and stomach. Awa had forgotten what it felt like to be happy, and the return of the sensation confused and worried her.
The glacier had done what it could, and so Omorose retained a good deal of her beauty. Her eyes were deep and still as the blackest wells, and Awa’s thirst to drink from them grew and grew throughout the sultry days. Best of all was the realization that Awa had prevented the necromancer from plucking a single hair from Omorose, let alone her tongue, and so after only a few nights Awa worked up the nerve to actually talk to her mistress instead of leaving her mute.
“You can speak?” Awa asked her as Omorose settled in behind her, those marble-smooth and cold arms a marvelous weight on Awa’s side and shoulder.
“Yash,” Omorose said, her voice muffled. Awa led her mistress outside to inspect her properly, something she had not dared do before lest the necromancer see her. The ice crystals in Omorose’s long hair rendered her ropey, snarled locks into an extension of the stars set in the black firmament blazing down on them, and Awa had Omorose open her mouth. There was the problem, a thick mold clogging the poor girl’s mouth. After thoroughly cleaning her mistress’s palate with her shaking fingers, Awa quickly took her back inside.
“Hold me, Omorose,” Awa whispered, and Omorose did. After a deliciously long pause, Awa asked, “Did you miss me?”
“Of course,” said Omorose, and with ever-softening fingers she stroked the tears from Awa’s cheeks. “I’ve been waiting for you. Why did you make me wait so long?”
“I was scared,” said Awa.
Omorose laid her hands on Awa’s back and sighed. “So was I. I was worried you wouldn’t come, after how I’d treated you. I was worried you would think I meant those mean things I said, I worried …”
“No!” Awa rolled over to face Omorose in the darkness, her nostrils far too deadened to appreciate the strength of her mistress’s aroma. “I knew, I mean, I thought … I hoped …”
“I was confused,” Omorose said, her hands finding Awa’s in the darkness. “I was confused and scared, and I didn’t know what I was doing. I’m sorry, Awa, I’m so, so sorry!”
These words that Awa had longed for, had needed so badly, melted her like fat on a fire into a spluttering, sobbing mess as she clung to her mistress. Some wicked part of Awa had always maintained that Omorose did not care about her, did not care about anyone but herself, and this secret self had whispered its lies to Awa even after Omorose’s death, had told her to forget the witty, sarcastic mistress with hair dark as the heart of a storm and eyes bright as lightning. Awa’s love was vindicated, and then she realized Omorose had said her name for the first time. Rather than bringing on more sobs, this gave Awa a terrible case of the giggles, and soon Omorose was laughing along with her, and for one night everything that had befallen Awa seemed a fair price for what she had gained.
“Rare night,” the necromancer said a week later, after they finished supper.
“Oh?” Awa was sure he suspected