She had never seen fear like that in Carl’s eyes before. He tried to gloss it over by maintaining hard eye contact with the open space in front of him, but the quiver in his tight jaw was unmistakable.
The man was downright terrified.
Quickening her pace, Helspira entered the castle’s interior, the footsteps of marching soldiers echoing behind her. Relief flowed through her, like a warm stream, when the elegant tapestries and paintings filled her vision. Artwork, be it textile or canvas, had a way of calming her, which came in handy when trying to let go of the unbecoming desire to rip Carl’s head off and spike it onto the floor, like an overripe watermelon. She traced the textured brushstrokes with her gaze as she crossed the room toward Ben and Catseye.
The skeleton faced her, one hand on his hip. “Hey. You don’t let Cunty Carl out there get away with thatI-don’t-take-orders-from-demonsnonsense, do you?”
Helspira regarded him with a smile. “It’s fine. His words don’t hurt.”
“But your fist would.” Ben jabbed the air, a mock punch, as he followed the path Catseye blazed down the long corridor toward the Grand Hall. “I know it’s frowned upon for sentinels to assault fellow soldiers, but you could’ve smackedsomereverence into him. Bet he wouldn’t disregard you again if you showed him how strong a demon can be.”
Helspira looked down and freed a quick, quiet laugh. The brief surge of delight when picturing her fist crushing the bones in Carl’s skull softened when her humanitarian side returned. “Anyone can put down a snarling beast. I prefer to ask myself why it is snarling in the first place. Carl’s not wrong to be wary of demons.”
“You don’t seem so bad to me.”
Seven simple words strung together into a sentence she had never heard; Helspira smiled. “You don’t seem so bad yourself. I couldn’t help but overhear that you’d earned the title ofSentinel Champion. I can only dream of achieving such prestigious recognition. You must’ve been quite the swordsman in your time.”
“Nah. Well, yeah. But, to be honest, I was always pulled more toward music than the battlefield.” Ben tapped his chin, aclack-clack-clackof bone against bone. “If only I’d married my passionless talent for swordplay with my genuine devotion for the performance arts, I could’ve killed a man with a lute and had the best of both worlds.”
A laugh bubbled out of Helspira with such force that she pressed her fingers to her lips to stifle it. It wasn’t until her composure returned that she cleared her throat. “I’m no expert on matters of diplomacy, but I don’t think murdering people with instruments will do any favors for your likability.”
“I won’t lie; I do miss being likable. Or, at the very least, existing in someone’s proximity without the gawking.”
“And the whispering,” Helspira added.
“Or the pointing.”
“The horrified screaming.”
“Or, my personal favorite,” Ben said, “the falling to their knees and the pleading to the gods to rot out their eyes to spare them the sight of such a profane abomination.”
Helspira’s eyes widened. “I’ve yet to experience that one.”
“The night is young.” Ben gave her a playful nudge. “There’s still time. But since it seems everyone’s about as keen to talk to demons as they are to sentient sacks of bones, how about we form an alliance until the public develops some taste for good company?”
A warmth radiated through her chest. Helspira had fantasized about befriending Siapharian locals upon fleeing Chthonia. While a full set of human bones never manifested in her imaginings, she couldn’t be choosy. Two years of walking upon the upper world’s soil, and this was the longest conversation she had held with anyone other than Cecil.
But Cecil didn’t count. Not after everything that prickish wizard did.
As eager as she was to show the queen that she had been successful in retrieving Catseye, Helspira almost regretted it when they arrived at the regal, arched doorway to the Grand Hall. “If it’s an alliance you wish, it’s an alliance you shall have.” She grasped Ben’s hand and shook it. “But we’ll have to pick this conversation back up another time. The queen awaits.”
Any good feelings shared between Helspira and Ben fell short of Catseye. He stopped before the closed door, donning a frown. “Ten seconds away from being scolded by an old elf queen. Neat.” He sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”
Catseye cracked his knuckles and pushed the ornate door. To say it barely budged would have been generous. “Blood and bone, why do they insist on making these things so damned heavy?” he wheezed, digging his heels into the marble floor for traction. When his effort—or some sort of divine force’s pity—granted him access in the form of enough space for his thin body to squeeze through, he regarded Helspira, breathless, panting, arm extended. “Ladies first.”
“How ... gentlemanly? Thank you.” Gods, she hoped she tempered the pity in her voice enough to spare his feelings.
After slipping past him and into the Grand Hall’s spacious chamber, Ben, Catseye, and the remaining Red Sentinels followed, spreading out in the cavernous room.
Whomever had told the queen of their arrival had done so with great haste. Queen Saelihn already sat upon one of her many strategically placed thrones. This chair was more decorative than functional, but Helspira had heard that the work put into its craftsmanship had kept local woodworkers on the other side of financial ruin. Such generosity was not rare for the kingdom of Nyllmas’s beloved queen—at least when funding battles and sending aid to all the villages that had suffered during those battles didn’t ravage the kingdom’s finances.
In the room’s majesty, Helspira’s heart fluttered. She was rarely afforded entrance to the Grand Hall, and while the vaulted ceilings reminded her of how spacious Chthonia could be, the similarities ended there. Raw beauty lived in every corner, down to the flesh-stripped bones of a dragon mounted to the towering wall behind the queen’s throne. Sure, the fabled beast’s corpse was tacked with all the dignity of a dead moth skewered by an entomological pin, but it was still a sight to behold.
The doors closed behind them with aboom. Catseye, still trying to catch his breath, dusted his off-white sleeves and pretended to straighten a non-existent collar on his tunic. Despite the overhead chandeliers and the enormous stained-glass windows shedding light on his disheveled appearance, he embodied confidence as he slicked back his mop of silvery hair. Arms spread, scythe in one hand, he strode toward the queen and dipped into a bow. “Saelihn. Oh, pardon me, I mean, YourMajesty.” His jade eyes pierced through the veil of his hair as he raised his head mid-bow. “I see you’ve kept the dragon. You’re either sentimental toward old relics or your new interior designer has questionable taste.”
In one fluid motion, Queen Saelihn stood. Posture straight as an arrow, skin smooth as glass, and every strand of her long, dark hair pressed to perfection, the elf queen looked nothing like most centenarians, boasting the appearance of someone far closer to their early twenties than one coming up on two-hundred-plus years. “The dragon reminded me of better days,” she said, voice as flawless as her form. “Days when my dear friend ensured it would guarantee my protection should anyone ever make it past the Red Sentinel and invade the castle.”
A charming smirk appeared on Catseye’s face, and he straightened his posture, using his scythe for support. “Sentimental for old relics, then. Another mystery solved. In any case, it’s been too long.”
