ORGANIZING A SMALLarmy had taken surprisingly little time. Perhaps that was par for the course when it involved stopping a mass murderer. The queen had spared forty-eight of the finest Red Sentinels to pave a course for Stow’s Peak, leaving enough soldiers behind to oversee the townsfolk and the castle should any additional chaos cross Vinepool’s borders.
To Banneret Rowan’s protest, their rotting captive-turned-tour guide led the company’s front. The banneret had insisted they didn’t need him, that they had a perfectly capable navigator to lead the sentinels to Stow’s Peak, that they had met their quota for undead traveling companions, and he didn’t wish to make his men and women any more uncomfortable than they already were, but there was no arguing with Catseye.“I’m not killing him twice,”Catseye had said to the banneret.“My karmic debt is even greater than my tax debt. If you want him deader than he already is, kill him yourself.”
Banneret Rowan was many things: a hard ass, a prick, a man who would do anything for crown and kingdom. But, to Helspira’s shock, he drew the line at killing an undead civilian whose second death served no greater purpose than to ease the discomfort of those under the banneret’s command.
If only he would offer the same courtesy to Ben, she thought. Then again, their corpse guide wasn’t responsible for siphoning nearly every scrap of power from the best weapon they had in the fight against Vessik.
Nature seemed fit to taunt Helspira’s circumstances with its gloomy, gray sky and notably absent sun. Clouds gathered overhead like a group of gossiping ladies whispering about tales of impending rainstorms. The luxury of Vinepool’s cobblestone streets had long faded into the horizon, paving way for raw terrain. Normally she would’ve delighted in her natural surroundings, but today everything mocked her. The amethistle was extra prickly, its purple burs sticking to her boots like jagged stowaways. The soft, mucky earth swallowed her feet, threatening to steal her footwear with each step. Even the wildlife made it difficult to maintain her sunny disposition. She could’ve sworn an owligator stared at her with derisive disgust as she traipsed past its den in the tall reeds.
For all those reasons, and historical certainties in which humans always kept her at arm’s length, it came as no surprise that her brothers- and sisters-in-arms had abandoned her to the back of the line with naught but Catseye and Ben for company.
Helspira had hoped the time between last night and this morning would’ve granted her some sort of epiphany, but even sharing the dire circumstances with her parents hadn’t helped. It would’ve been nice for them to say something concrete, like,“Yes, betray Catseye. Do it for your kingdom!”Or even,“You can’t kill that poor, sweet Ben. You may be a demon, but you’re not that kind of demon, young lady.”Instead, her da had placed his giant, clawed hands on her shoulders and had said in their native Chthonian,“Follow your heart, darling. You’re a grown woman capable of making grown decisions, and you’ve never let your mum and I down before.”
Precious. Adorable, even. And entirely unhelpful.
After a restless night, Helspira decided that if she could not tell what her heart wanted, it was best to follow her head. Alas, her head had come to the uncomfortable conclusion that Banneret Rowan was right.
Nyllmas needed a hero. It may be the smallest kingdom in Siaphara, but the thousands of people who called it their home deserved protection, and if that meant sacrificing one life, she would channel her inner demon to do it. No matter how vile, disgusting, and underhanded it was. No matter how thinking about it, even for a moment, made her want to hurl her guts onto the marshy, owligator-infested, knee-high grass.
Kill them all. That’ll solve the problem.
Helspira rolled her eyes at her inner-demon’s voice. Much as she despised it, she would have to tap into it a little. It got her and her parents out of Chthonia alive; it could see her to the finish line of this situation too. She only needed to get closer to Catseye and Ben, to manipulate them, like she had done to her captors in Chthonia. She would lower their guard, and then ... She could do what needed to be done.
Yes. Be smart. Be cunning. Be like Cecil.
“Stop!” she shouted, clamping her hands over her pointed ears.
Without hesitation, Catseye halted, arms at his sides. “Why? Am I about to step on an owligator?”
“No, sorry, I just”—Helspira cringed before blowing out a breath—“got lost in my thoughts.”
“Happens to the best of us,” he said. “Don’t forget to leave a trail of mental breadcrumbs so you can find your way back out.”
Beside her, Ben repositioned the lute strapped to his back into a much more accessible position and strummed an unfamiliar tune. “Is it just me or do we need a little traveling music?”
“No,” came the banneret’s aggressive tone from the front of the line. “We don’t need any damn music.”
A devilish grin spread across Catseye’s face. “Oh, he’ll wish he never said that,” he whispered. “Benjamin? Kindly initiate a beat. Something spritely, if it pleases you.”
With enthusiasm, Ben straightened. “It pleases me immensely.”
Loud, glorious music drowned out the sounds of droning beetles and skittering marsh creatures. Ben’s skeletal fingers plucked a feisty beat, and Catseye—Catseye bounded ahead, absent of anything resembling reluctance or humiliation, and danced alone to Ben’s tune with what Helspira had thought was undeserved confidence, until she saw he was actually quite fluid on his feet.
“B’yehnz.” Helspira shielded her growing smile with her hand. “He’s going to give the banneret an aneurysm.”
“Honestly? That’s probably his goal,” Ben replied without missing a beat.
Fearful of the banneret’s eavesdropping, Helspira lowered her voice. “Surely, if he wanted Banneret Rowan dead, he’d have murdered him in the Grand Hall.”
“Murdered? Nah.” Ben stretched out the last word a little too long to be convincing. “Sikras wouldn’t have—well, maybe. Probably. You know, now that I’m reflecting on the whole him-almost-killing-me-permanently thing, yeah, Sikras would’ve definitely offed Rowan. But he’d have spared the other sentinels.”
Despite the macabre conversational shift, Helspira freed a laugh. “You’re sure?”
“No, not even remotely. I like to think I know where Sikras’s murder threshold is, but it ebbs and flows like the tide.”
“Comforting.” With the conversation offering temporary reprieve from her mental turmoil, Helspira watched Catseye dance unabashedly alongside sentinels who tried way too hard to avoid eye contact. She had witnessed similar moves from ribbon dancers and buskers in Nyllmas, but Catseye’s precision over his footwork, twirls, and jumps triumphed any performance she had seen previously. “I feel like I should have secondhand embarrassment for him right now, but, instead, I’m just jealous of how good his moves are.”
“They should be good,” Ben said. “He’s been dancing since we were teenagers.”
