Chapter Twenty-Three
Sikras
SIKRAS LET OUT AN IMPRESSED whistle from inside the stone mausoleum.
Normally, personal crypts like this felt claustrophobic, but Saelihn had certainly gone out of her way to erect something spacious enough to accommodate Benjamin’s and Imri’s caskets.
Strange to think they had both been dead for years, that this structure had been here for years, and only just recently had bodies to fill it.
“Suspenders,” Sikras said as he stood before Benjamin’s casket, the clothing draped over his arm.
“Fresh from the tailor. Wouldn’t you know it?
I can master countless hand movements and their accompanying verbal components, dedicate numerous Rack and Ruin strategies to memory, and memorize the choreography of dozens of different dances, but I never thought for one second about suspenders instead of pants.
” He laid them atop Benjamin’s casket, with a sigh. “Better late than never, right?”
Silence was his only reply, of course. Sikras knew Benjamin couldn’t hear him. Even if the gods did favor him, on no level would his words ever transcend to the twin gods’ afterlife. And yet he couldn’t stop talking.
Running his finger along the casket, Sikras frowned at the sight of dust. “I should have Saelihn send someone to clean these.”
“You should,” came a voice from the opening.
Hopefully his startled shriek sounded more manly than the echo in the mausoleum made it sound. After Sikras calmed himself, he straightened the collar of his vest. “Saelihn, hey, fancy meeting you here. Mausoleums are lovely this time of year, are they not?”
Darkness fell over her as she stepped inside, a lute in her hand. “I wanted to thank you for attending their funeral. Their second funeral,” she added pointedly. “I know it must’ve been difficult.”
“Not even remotely.”
“I see for all your progress that you’re still a compulsive liar.”
Sikras shrugged. “I guess old habits don’t die as easily as my loved ones.”
Saelihn frowned. “Your dark humor remains intact as well.”
“You know what they say.” Sikras faced the caskets as a stream of light through the doorway illuminated floating flecks of dust. “If you don’t laugh, you cry.”
Saelihn’s gaze dropped to the lute she carried, and her slender finger gave one string a pluck. The sound vibrated off the walls before fading into nothing. “Your loved ones are not all dead, you know. I’m still here.”
A sharp gasp, and Sikras’s head flinched back. Forgiveness? He closed his eyes, a weight lifting, as he smiled in the dark. “What can I say? I’m speechless.”
“The great Sikras Nikabod, stunned into silence?” Saelihn smirked. “There may be more to celebrate today than I thought.”
His grim chuckle echoed as he leaned over to give her a friendly nudge.
With a poised stance, Saelihn ran her fingers over Imri’s casket. “You get used to outliving your loved ones when you’re an elf who gallivants with humans, but she left a rather large hole in my heart.”
Sikras’s hands sank into his pockets as Saelihn traced the filigree on Imri’s casket. “I miss her too. It’s funny. She was out there for years, and I never fully knew where. Now I know exactly where she is, and she’s never felt farther away.”
Saelihn caught him in her gaze and smiled. “She would have liked your demon friend.”
“Imri liked everyone.” Looking down, Sikras grinned. “But, yeah. She’d have really liked Helspira. I trust she’s been reinitiated into the Red Sentinel?”
Saelihn nodded. “We’d be fools to lose her.”
Writhing in old discomfort, Sikras bristled. “And Rowan is okay with this?”
“It was his idea.”
A surge of mixed emotions flooded him, but Sikras kept them in check with a quiet sigh. “I’m surprised the banneret made it to the funeral, and not just because of his injuries.”
“He always respected Sentinel Champion Reese and Imri. Still, I understood his aggression toward you and Ben.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Gods, Sikras lived for the day when he didn’t have to touch that topic anymore. “Drained powers. Dead townsfolk. I’ve heard it all before.”
“Don’t be too hard on him. Banneret Rowan is a soldier through and through.
He returned to the battlefield to find this for you, by the way.
” Saelihn proffered the lute. “Ben’s heart may have beat to a bard’s tune, but he was a soldier, too.
Sentinels earn their rest, and you denied Ben his right to it.
I suspect Rowan was aggrieved by this, in addition to his jealousy.
While you got to enjoy Ben’s company postmortem, Rowan did not receive the same gift of extra time with his daughter. ”
Sikras accepted Benjamin’s lute and ran his thumb over one of the strings. “You’re an observant woman, Saelihn. I guess that’s why you’re queen.”
“Might I make one more observation?”
“Please.”
“I saw Sentinel Helspira sitting in Ben’s old room as I was headed to the mausoleum to find you.”
Sikras smirked. “Is that an observation or a statement?”
“Both. I observed her in the room. I’m stating that you’re a fool if you don’t speak to her.
” Saelihn straightened the collar of Sikras’s tunic and smoothed out his vest. “Under Tiagon’s eyes, I am forbidden from violence, but if you wait four more years before you allow yourself to be happy, I will smack you. ”
His quiet chuckle echoed in the crypt. “I really hope Tiagon lets you into her paradise some day, Saelihn. If anyone deserves it, it’s you.”
“She will not.” Saelihn inclined her chin, no malice in her words.
“The crimes I committed in my youth, all the people I delivered to early graves ... Such sins are unforgiveable to Goddess Tiagon. But”—she smiled—“I will continue to pray. Even if I cannot secure a spot in Tiagon’s afterlife, my public veneration still holds value.
If I can inspire even one person to live a life of empathy and kindness . ..”
“I suppose the illusion of participation has some value,” Sikras muttered with a playful wink. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”
“I know. We may be monsters, but we’re not without some redeeming qualities, yes?”
Sikras shrugged. “Are we still monsters if we’re trying to get better?”
“History never forgets. We’ll always be what we were. But rotten apples can still fertilize soil.”
“Sound point. And hey, if you want to revisit your former violent streak, ole Tiagon may actually bless you with holy favor if you smacked me. I’m not exactly her favorite person.”
“Well”—Saelihn’s eyes shined, her arched brow insinuating unspoken assumptions—“you seem to be Helspira’s.”
Yes. And she was his. “Would you excuse me, Your Majesty?”
Saelihn bowed, stepped aside, and extended a hand for him to pass.
SIKRAS APPROACHED THE open door, gave it a small push, and leaned against the frame. There, on the bed with Benjamin’s scarf wrapped around her neck, sat Helspira. The draping ends of the scarlet cloth rested in her hands, and she gently brushed her thumb over the material, with a sigh.
She had to know he was here. It was impossible to—no, almost impossible—to sneak up on a demon.
“Red looks good on you,” Sikras said, surveying the scarf. “Of course, I knew that the moment you were covered head to toe in Ithusa’s blood.”
A sad, calm smile tugged one corner of her lips, but she didn’t look up. “It’s good to see you.”
Anticipation hid between her mourning. It would be a lie to say he wasn’t eager to see her as well, after having holed up in his bedroom for several days following the events outside Vinepool.
“I apologize for my absence. I’m used to burying feelings rather than friends.
Processing sentiments such as these”—Sikras shuddered—“I don’t know how people do it.
Unpleasant all around. At least Toggones brought me pastries. ”
Helspira’s head dipped back in a sigh. “B’yehnz, I’m sorry. I specifically told him not to bother you.”
“No, no. It’s okay, really. I think he likes me.”
“Both of my parents like you. Thank you for letting them stay at your place.” She finally rewarded him with her gaze and a shy smile. “For letting me stay at your place.”
The door squealed as Sikras opened it farther and entered the room.
“I’m grateful for the company. Never did master the art of solitude.
I know you can’t see the stars at night from inside, but I could always commission a skylight.
Now that Saelihn has cleared my debt, I’m free to hemorrhage money again. ”
“That’s sweet, but the room you gave me is on the first floor. I suppose a skylight would give me a lovely view of the second story, though. You have surprisingly good taste in decor.”
“If you like the cobwebs and contracts littering the floor,” Sikras said, sitting beside her, “you should see all the dust in the basement. Really pulls the whole mansion together.”
A short, sweet laugh ruptured from her, and she admired the lute as Sikras placed it beside her on the bed. “I miss him,” she admitted with wistful defeat.
“Me, too.” Sikras looked down while twirling the golden band on his ring finger, then gently removed it. His skin felt an absence without the familiar metal touching it, and yet it no longer felt right to wear it. “Both of them, actually. At least they have each other.”
Helspira glimpsed the ring, flashed a mysterious smile, and held out her hand. “May I?”
Sikras blinked. Without hesitation, he placed the ring in her open palm.
With care, Helspira set it on her knee and resumed tearing three strips of red fabric from Benjamin’s scarf with her teeth.
Nimble fingers braided the thin cloth into a sturdy chain through which she threaded the ring, proudly draping the makeshift necklace over Sikras’s head.
“There. Now you’ll always have a piece of them both with you. ”
He grasped the ring between his fingers and rubbed the textured fabric of the woven threads. Smiling, Sikras tucked it into his tunic, close to his heart. “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever given me.”