Well, that went as well as could be expected, Tybalt thought. I didn’t expect him to be happy about it. But he didn’t seem angry. That’s about as good as it gets in these circumstances. And, of course, if he does decide to do something uncivil about this situation, I have a lot of undead and one very dangerous catgirl watching my back.

  There was no doubt in Tybalt’s mind that Kistana could kill Andric before the foxman could lay aggressive hands on him. Deciding to take on a bodyguard had been an impulsive decision, and one he mainly made because he noticed how similar her aura was to the mummy Beastking he had raised immediately beforehand. But now that he had her protecting him, he felt safer than he’d ever been.

  Having spoken with Andric, the necromancer decided to strike while the iron was hot.

  Uncle Edmund was standing over by the twins and Hayden, and Tybalt walked straight up to him. He spoke in a loud, clear voice that carried.

  “Sir, I don’t know how to ask this, it’s a little awkward after I’ve been staying in your home for days. But I have found myself very charmed by your nieces, and I would like to ask your permission to court them.”

  I’ll do it whether you give me permission or not, but I’d rather avoid scandalizing the beastfolk elders more than necessary if possible.

  There. That was done. It wasn’t as bad as deciding to tell Andric what he was doing, but Tybalt had been somehow more nervous about the older foxman’s reaction. It was one thing to express gratitude toward someone or even welcome him into your home. It was another thing entirely to approve of him courting the young ladies under your care.

  Uncle Edmund’s eyes darted over unmistakably to where Andric was for a fraction of a second.

  Don’t look at him, old man, Tybalt thought. Look at me.

  But it seemed that either Andric did not signal anything to Uncle Edmund, or the old man ultimately decided to ignore what the War Chief thought. Or Andric did not feel comfortable trying to stand in the way. That would have been odd to Tybalt, though. Why open yourself up to romantic competition?

  “Of course. It would be an honor for our family,” Uncle Edmund said after a moment, his voice a little weak.

  This was clearly not what he had expected for his nieces, potentially marrying outside of their race, but how could the foxman deny that it was a genuinely positive development? He had the right to refuse, but how would it look to exercise that right?

  “If the girls are all right with it, of course,” the foxman added.

  “I enthusiastically agree,” Vidalia said in a bubbly voice. She immediately latched onto Tybalt’s right arm as if they were already married.

  Don’t kiss me, don’t kiss me, don’t kiss me… That would make it look like they’d been having a relationship already—which was absolutely true, but not the image they were going for at that moment.

  “I assent,” said Victoria in a more reserved tone. “Thank you for the honor of your courtship, Lord Necromancer.” She took his hand in both of hers, shook it gently, and bowed her head with a serious expression.

  Be more like that while we’re in public, Vidalia, Tybalt thought. For Victoria, of course, it helped that she had not spent that much time alone with Tybalt. She was not affecting this formality. With the time he had spent raising the dead and her work each day on the family plot with her uncle and cousin, Victoria and Tybalt were genuinely not that close yet. He aimed to fix that over the next few weeks.

  A quiet cheer ran through the people still gathered around. It was led by Elder Michael, Tybalt noticed. The foxman had just a few minutes ago said he hoped Tybalt would marry into the tribe, so the necromancer supposed he had pleased the Elder by jumping right on that.

  Tybalt lowered his voice and spoke only to the people immediately around him. “Well, now that we have that done, I’ll walk home with your family, and after that, if Uncle Edmund is all right with it, I would like to go for a walk with Victoria around the mountainside. Kistana will follow at a distance.”

  Uncle Edmund nodded.

  “That sounds nice,” Victoria said. Tybalt saw a trace of a smile on her lips before she smoothed it out by what seemed to be a conscious effort.

  She doesn’t want anyone to know what she’s feeling.

  “A walk with just Victoria?” Vidalia asked in a quiet, pleading voice.

  Be patient.

  “I haven’t spent any time alone with your sister,” Tybalt whispered in her ear. “You and Mariella have hogged all of my attention since I woke up.”

  His eyes darted to Victoria as he finished speaking. He thought he’d heard a little noise. Was she trying not to laugh? Her expression straightened up in an instant once she felt his eyes on her, but that only made him more confident in what he’d seen.

  Yeah, she almost laughed at Vidalia just now. Then she hid her feelings again. I think she’s probably a much more interesting girl than she’s shown me so far. Victoria had given little hints of her character over the last several days that he’d been awake, but they had been subtle. Tybalt’s impression of her was only now finally beginning to come together.

  “All—all right,” Vidalia said. Her tone wasn’t sulky, but the word dejected would not have been out of place.

  “You silly fox, come to me tonight,” Tybalt whispered. “After the feast, after everyone goes to bed. I have a project we need to work on together.”

  “I’m always at your service, darling,” the foxgirl replied instantly. Her tail smacking against the back of his leg was the clearest giveaway that she was pleased. It was especially cute in the necromancer’s eyes, because she was excited to spend time alone with him even though he had said it was for “a project” rather than anything sexual or romantic.

  Over the next several minutes, Tybalt engaged with the crowd a bit. There were many people there who were eager to finally express their gratitude to him in person, press gifts on him—which he stored in the ring he’d been given by Lord Mudo, impressing them—and ask him questions.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Tybalt tried to answer each question or bit of praise as best he could without ruining the favorable impression these people had of him.

  His favorite part was when people started asking him if they could keep their undead servants, because he could grant all of those requests easily. None of those undead were competitive with his new mummies, and most of them were weaker than the average undead that had been training over the last few days under his or Baldwin and Hieron’s direction.

  “Lord Necromancer, your zombie has been so helpful around the house…”

  “Lord Tybalt, this undead has become really essential to my daily life, you see I have a bad back…”

  “Me too, I’m not truly able-bodied anymore, sir…”

  “My lord, your skeleton is an amazing cook!”

  “What?” That last one came after most of the beastfolk had dispersed, returning to their homes that were mostly scattered across this mountain and the neighboring two.

  “The skeleton has been cooking for us,” said the foxman who had accompanied the middle-aged foxwoman speaking to Tybalt.

  “Oh. Right. Of course. The undead can have many talents.” He paused. “Why don’t you show me?”

  “Yes, my lord,” the foxwoman said. She seemed slightly nervous, but as she led Tybalt to her hut in the village, her next words revealed why. “Will you let us keep him, sir? I was never a great cook myself, and—”

  “Why don’t you show me what the skeleton is up to?” Tybalt repeated, interrupting the foxwoman. “Then I’ll answer you.” The foxwoman didn’t seem to mind but simply nodded.

  Mariella mentioned something about this, didn’t she? the necromancer recalled as he and the others followed the foxwoman and her husband. And from when I checked in, I guess I knew the undead were back in the village doing odd jobs before she said anything, but it’s really strange to think of a skeleton… cooking. How could it possibly be any good? They can’t taste.

  They walked a short distance until the foxwoman reached a large hut around the middle of the village.

  “Wait here for just a moment, please, Lord Necromancer,” the foxwoman said.

  She put her head through the entryway and gently called in, “Effie? Ellie? Are you decent? We have important company…”

  “We’re dressed, Emma,” a voice replied. “Come on in.”

  Right, Tybalt thought. Sisters. Sister-wives.

  Emma led the party into her hut, and Tybalt was immediately slightly surprised to see her two sisters. The trio had a significant age gap. One of them was in her late thirties or perhaps early forties. The middle sibling was in her early thirties, while the youngest was in her mid or perhaps late twenties. None of them would have been as beautiful as the women in Tybalt’s entourage, but they were pretty. The necromancer couldn’t help but notice that they seemed to be aging poorly. The age gaps were so visible because of all the sun damage that had toughened and wrinkled the older sisters’ skin.

  That’s the trouble with the world we live in, he thought. If you spend all your time working outside, you’re bound to grow old before your time. It feels unfair. We’re—well, most of us are given only limited time in this world. To spend most of it working and to lose your youth faster than your body would permit under ideal circumstances is a bit sad.

  He thought of his mother and had to repress a bitter frown.

  It’s not just a bit sad. It’s a problem, one that I can alleviate to some degree. He made up his mind on the spot that he would let the family keep the skeleton, as long as it wasn’t some insanely special variant that he needed.

  “You must be Lord Necromancer!” said the middle sister.

  “Thank you for gracing our humble home,” said the youngest sister.

  Tybalt greeted them in turn but then excused himself from the unfolding conversation to focus on his skeleton.

  The creature crouched at the back of the hut, its back turned to Tybalt. That in itself was strange. Was he not its master? Why wasn’t he the creature’s immediate center of attention once he entered the vicinity? Skeletons weren’t even intelligent undead, generally.

  I’ll check its status after I observe it a little.

  The skeleton continued what it was doing, stirring a large pot over a fireplace. Being undead, it didn’t mind being close enough to the fire that it would have been uncomfortable for a human. And Tybalt realized, as it angled its body slightly to stir the pot again, that it wore a sort of sackcloth apron.

  He could sense the monster’s inner state as he observed it. The skeleton was a simple creature. And it seemed to take some joy in the process of cooking. It was nothing emotionally complex, which was why the feeling came across so distinctly through their bond.

  “Serve us,” Tybalt said quietly. “If the food is ready to be eaten.”

  The skeleton tilted its head to look at him, then looked back to the pot. It raised a ladle full of stew up to its face and seemed to peer deep into the contents.

  Then it prepared bowls for everyone.

  “I, um, didn’t know lunch was ready,” Emma said as Tybalt joined the group seated in the middle of the hut.

  The necromancer felt a little funny about having just decided for everyone that it was time to eat. It wasn’t his home, after all. But he ignored that feeling. He had his reasons. He needed to know if the skeleton was actually doing a good job, or if it would mess up and poison them. These people had only been living with the creature for a few days or so.

  As the group sat chattering, the skeleton walked around serving them. It clumsily spilled a little on the floor when it came around to serve Emma, but she just smiled, took the bowl, and wiped up the mess.

  Tybalt gave her an apologetic smile. Skeletons are clumsy. Of course this thing wouldn’t be able to move around this little hut gracefully. I don’t know why I’m even entertaining the idea that it could cook.

  Then he received his bowl. As Tybalt sniffed it suspiciously, a rich umami odor rolled off the surface of the stew. The necromancer was surprised—frankly a little dismayed—to find his mouth beginning to water. He picked up a spoon, annoyed at his own body’s reaction.

  Just because it smells good—

  He stopped mid-thought as he tasted the first spoonful of stew. It took him a few seconds to gather his thoughts.

  As he did so, he chewed, swirled the broth around in his mouth, and swallowed.

  Then he blinked.

  What the fuck? Why is it better than my cooking? How? This is the most basic kind of undead. I created it with barely a thought.

  He swallowed and looked at Emma, staring nervously at him across her bowl of soup. As he met her eyes, she looked away.

  Well, if the skeleton enjoys it, which it clearly does, and it’s not going to accidentally poison them…

  In desperation, he checked the skeleton’s status, but there was no answer for him there. It had somehow picked up a skill simply labeled “Cooking,” but it hadn’t evolved to a more intelligent variation of skeleton or something.

  “You can keep it,” Tybalt said quietly after a moment. He turned to the skeleton. “On condition that whenever we come to this village, you’d better cook for us too.”

  Low cheers filled the hut.

  But Tybalt’s mind was elsewhere.

  If a skeleton could do a task as complicated as cooking, then maybe… Maybe the whole world could be this way. Maybe I could save everyone from having to do their own work. At least the bits they don’t want to do.

  The necromancer would look back on this moment as the first time that, rather than merely wanting to tear things down, he seriously considered how he could make the world a better place.