“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 theillusion of participationhas 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 THEopen 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,almostimpossible—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.”
“Well”—Helspira shrugged, looking every bit like the embodiment of perfection—“you deserve it.”
Sikras gently squeezed her hand and stood. He paced the room, his hands behind his back. “You know, Benjamin would’ve been absolutely appalled by my lack of manners. I should be giving his favorite ally everything she deserves.”
