“No.” The single word choked out of Helspira’s throat, and she shook her head. “No, no, dammit! I offered her mercy. I thought—”
The betrayal took a back seat when her peripheral vision caught Sikras hunching over, dragging a dagger toward his broken body. The treachery’s sting abandoned her like the tide fleeing the shore, and she skidded to his side. Blood-drenched and marred by viscera, her stomach roiled from the thick stench of iron, but that nausea paled in comparison to the sight of Sikras, fingers mangled, vest shredded and wet from the blood pooling out his back wound. “Sikras”—her stomach sank when she saw him fumbling with the dagger—“what are you doing?”
“It wasn’t his fault. Ithusa was manipulating Vessik the entire time.” He grunted, readjusting his grip on the blood-slicked handle. “She has his soul. He’ll never find peace if I don’t ... I can’t just let her—”
Guilt boiled in Helspira’s chest, and her words came out quick, thoughtless. “She’s gone. Fled back to Chthonia. Her portal wreaked of brimstone and ash; I’d know that stench anywhere. Even if you know where in Chthonia she went, you’re on a time restraint. Your last life would be gone before you found her. Only an idiot would trail her in your condition.”
“I happen to be quite good at surviving idiocy,” he rasped.
“Really? How many times have you died in the last hour?”
“I stopped counting because it was depressing. Besides, I’m fine.” Sikras attempted a smirk, but the confidence failed to reach his eyes. “Barely a papercut.”
Her bottom lip trembled, gaze fixating on the hole in his back. “I think I can see one of your kidneys,” she whispered.
“Maybe, sure”—Sikras winced—“but Ithusa was kind enough to go around them when she was stabbing me, so ...”
Merciful fate. It looked as if he grasped for every ounce of concentration to keep his eyes from rolling into the back of his head. Tears burned at her eye, and she bowed her head. “I shouldn’t have let her go. I’m sorry. My inner demon shouted, screamed at me to kill her, but I didn’t want to be like them, like the others. I thought she’d free the souls, I—I didn’t think she’d—”
Sikras silenced her by abandoning the dagger and sliding his hand across the snow to wrap his still-functioning fingers around her wrist. “Don’t ever apologize for doing what you thought was right. She had way too many lives left anyway.”
His touch, gentle and forgiving, exonerated her but did not keep the tears at bay. His wounds would not be immediately fatal, but without the aid of a cleric, he would succumb eventually. Helspira ran her fingers through the loose curls of his black hair. “Tell me how many times you died. Please.”
Melting into her hand, his eyelids fell to close. “Not as many as you’d think, fighting the daughter of a god. You’re right, though. I won’t pursue her. Not now. However, in the best interest of my overall usefulness, I really ought to die one more time.”
Her gaze flitted to the dagger he retrieved, and her stomach sank. “You’re not going to ...?”
“I must. We’ll never make it to a cleric before my lives are gone, and I can’t bring Ben back without casting. If I die, the Cat’s Eye will heal me.”
Helspira’s focus panned to the red cloak containing Ben’s bones, dropped the moment she had plowed into Ithusa. Hopefully the process had not jostled his remains too much. “I don’t know if I can watch you die, Sikras.”
“I’m not a fan of the idea myself, but Vessik made it look easy.” He swallowed what Helspira guessed to be a mouthful of blood, confirming her suspicions when he coughed it up and onto the snow. “Perhaps you’d wish to do the honors? I saw you on the battlefield; I know you’d make it quick. That mercy of yours would come in handy right now.”
Jabbed by the embarrassment of her savage display, Helspira looked away, gaze landing on Ithusa’s severed wing, severed arm, severed finger. “I’m so sorry you had to see that. I saw her standing over you, and I just ... It’s barbaric what I did to her.”
“Are you kidding?” Deep red marred Sikras’s teeth when he attempted a charming grin. “If I wasn’t actively bleeding out, I’d be so turned on right now.”
It sounded like she laughed, or was it a sob? Something in-between, perhaps. “I’m not strong enough to kill you, Sikras. I’m sorry. If that’s what you must do, I have only one request.”
Pale green eyes softened. “Your wishes are mine. Tell me what we need.”
Dammit. She had tried so hard to contain her tears, but the warmth of one escaped and trailed down her cheek. “Come back to me. Please.”
A shaking hand reached her face, and his thumb wiped away her tear. “Cross my heart,tse tsu.”
Had she heard him right?My reason.In Chthonian. Where had he learned such a thing? Helspira parted her lips, breathless. “What did you call me?”
“Tse tsu,” he repeated in a whisper. “Blood and bone, that’s the one that meansmy reason, right? I also asked your da to teach me some Chthonian curse words before we left the mansion. Really hoping I didn’t mar my romantic gesture by calling you something inappropriate.”
“No, that’s”—heat flooded her cheeks, and she was certain she was blushing—“that’s right.”
Through his obvious agony, he managed a smile. His eyes widened as he peered over her shoulder and pointed with the only hand that had intact bones. “Gone gods. What’s that over there?”
Helspira turned in an instant. As she scanned the horizon for whatever it was Sikras had tried to guide her focus toward, her ears pulsed from his guttural cry. She now knew why he had directed her attention elsewhere. Mercy. A shiver ran through her as she faced him, fully expecting to see a dagger somewhere it shouldn’t be, but no. The dagger remained on the ground, and yet Sikras was dead.
An hour must have passed. Death had claimed her prize.
Helspira patiently held his hand, counting the seconds, until the man she adored crawled back from Enos into a fresh, unbroken body. If any compassionate gods existed at all, that would be the last time she ever witnessed the death of Sikras ‘Catseye’ Nikabod.
