“That long, huh?”
“Believe it or not.” Ben continued strumming. “Back when I still had flesh and hair that would make the gods themselves jealous.”
Helspira smiled. “And how, exactly, do two teenage boys develop a taste for the art of dance?”
“Oh, I can’t dance to save my life, which is irrelevant, I suppose, since I’m already dead.” Ben nodded toward his instrument. “My passion was always the lute. Music. Composition. My parents unfortunately insisted I learn the art of swordplay instead. So, while Imri studied the pacifist teachings of Goddess Tiagon and went on to become a cleric, I studied the mercy killings of the goddess’s twin brother, Dionus, and went on to become a Red Sentinel.”
“To your credit”—Helspira gestured to the lute—“it doesn’t seem like you let swordplay get in the way of your passion.”
“I would’ve. Imri and I weren’t ones to defy our parents. But one day, after practicing with my blade day into night, Sikras stopped by for a visit. He asked me why I looked so miserable. I couldn’t shoulder the secret any longer, so I confessed to him that I never wanted to be a sentinel, that I craved the freedom and creativity of a bard, a troubadour, a person who sung the stories of swords swung rather than the one who did the swinging. The very next day, he gifted me a lute. I’m certain to this day he had stolen it, but it was a nice gesture nevertheless.”
“Aww.” Helspira smiled. “And you’ve been playing ever since?”
“No.” A sound reminiscent of a laugh echoed from Ben’s jaw. “I was too terrified to play it. I was a naturally talented swordsman, but that boon did not translate into being a talented musician no matter how many hopes and dreams I had. Sikras, though ... He said that didn’t matter, that music moved people regardless of skill. Then, either to prove his point or to torture me, he started moving. And never stopped. By Dionus’s mercy, he was as terrible a dancer as I was a musician.”
Helspira studied Catseye’s movements with more scrutiny. The precision of his feet, fluid and graceful, and the poised agility with which he incorporated the scythe into his choreography did not paint the picture of a talentless man. Coupled with Ben’s music, the two seemed fit to rival any city busker. “I can’t picture a time either of you struggled with your respective skills.”
“Sikras made me practice every day, even when I was beyond embarrassed at my inability. His terrible dancing made me feel better about my own inadequacy. I can still hear him goading me. ‘Come on, Benjamin, I can’t dance without music,’” he said in his best Catseye impression. “He made me better. Much better. I hope one day to return the favor.”
“I’m no expert,” Helspira said, “but I don’t think he can improve much.”
“No, not better at dancing, just ... better.” Ben’s ghostly voice assumed a hint of sorrow. “He buried the pain of losing Imri, Vessik, and me somewhere deep. Somewhere I haven’t been able to reach yet. I keep hoping he’ll find his way back from the dark, but”—Ben shook his head—“he’s been wandering in it so long, I’m afraid he’s grown more comfortable with the shadows.”
Could Ben hear her teeth grinding? Helspira tried to relax the tension in her jaw. Now wasnotthe time to pity a man who she intended on betraying. She had to stay the course, stick to the plan, get in close. She had manipulated countless demons and beasts in Chthonia in the name of survival. Manipulating a human would be easy by comparison. “Ben, we’ve formed something of an alliance, haven’t we?”
“Are you hitting on me? Because if so, I’m all ears.”
“What? No, I—” Sunlight stabbed her eyes when they widened, and her head flinched back. “I was just going to ask if, well, sinceouralliance was going so well, maybe you could help me get closer to Catseye, too. I could help you get him out of those shadows you spoke of. What might someone do to earn his trust? Or his favor?”
The atmosphere’s somberness shattered with the sound of Ben’s laugh. “Hisfavor? Wait, wait, wait, hold on. Did Sikras catch your eye? The prosthetic one or the real one? It’s got to be the prosthetic. You can’t see out of it, can you? There’s no enchantments on it or—”
“Ben!” The heat of a thousand suns burned Helspira’s cheeks. “Keep your voice down, please. I only meant to say that since we’re traveling together and everything—”
“Sikras?Really?”
“I’m just trying to—”
Ben stopped strumming to double over in laughter, hands on kneecaps, lute hanging from its strap. “I can’t believe my nonexistent ears. Don’t get me wrong, I love the guy, but he’s not exactly a lady’s man.”
Crippled by embarrassment, Helspira threw up her hands. “Forget it. This was a stupid idea.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh. It’s just”—Ben snickered again—“it’s Sikras for Dionus’s sake. I mean, if it were the version of him that existed prior to constantly sustaining my existence, I could see it, but the gray hair, the gaunt frame ...That’swhat does it for you?”
“Ben, I swear to all of Siaphara’s gods—”
He quieted his laughter but still giggled like an immature child into his fleshless hand. “No deity of your own whose name you can utter in vain?”
Helspira frowned. “Deities either do not hear Chthonian prayers from all the way below Siaphara’s soil or they simply choose not to answer them.”
“Godless, huh? Jeez, maybe you and Sikras would get along better than I thought. You two can hold hands and complain about omnipotent beings together.”
Frazzled to lightheadedness, Helspira balled her hands into fists. “For the last time, I have no interest in—”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Ben raised his hands in surrender. “I just ... I miss giving Imri a hard time, and right now, you’re the only woman who can stand the sight of me. Except Canida. Boy, if that woman wasn’t doomed to death, she and I could’ve really had something.”
Rage bowed out to sympathy, and the tightness in Helspira’s shoulders eased. “I’m sorry to hear about your sister. I lost my siblings in Chthonia too, but I was so young when they died. I didn’t grow to know them the way you knew Imri.”
Ben shrugged. “I’m sure it still stung just as bad. What were your siblings like?”
