“Old habits die hard.” Impressed, Sikras sent a quick smirk Helspira’s way. “The gray is just a harmless side effect of keeping Benjamin, well ... Benjamin.”
Shit. They had circled back to that subject. And why did all of Siaphara’s crickets suddenly start chirping in the background? What god or goddess did Sikras aggrieve so greatly that it was necessary to amplify the ever-growing, awkward silence?
Oh, wait. All of them.
The three sat in quiet with only the crackling fire—and the damnable cacophony of crickets—for company. In the thick of discomfort, Benjamin’s disembodied voice broke the stillness. “Hey. Want to know the best part about being an undead musician?”
Chest tight, heart pounding, Sikras lifted his gaze to meet the empty sockets where Benjamin’s eyes used to be.
Sun-bleached fingers wiggled as Benjamin lifted his hands. “No calluses.”
Relief crashed over him like a warm, sudden wave. Sweet, blissful exoneration. Sikras closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, one side of his lips tugging into a half-smile. “Mark me, my friend, one day you will perform for kings and queens.”
“I’d settle for performing in front of any crowd that wouldn’t immediately scream and run in the opposite direction.”
“Everferd is one of Nyllmas’s larger cities,” Sikras said. “I wager we’ll find crowds a’plenty there. Surely we can spare a moment for a song before we acquire this wizard fellow’s scroll, right, Helspira?” Sikras faced her but flinched at the sight of her expression.
He’d recognize that look anywhere: wide, unfocused eyes burdened with unnatural horror. Subtly quivering lips. Fingers digging into the palms with so much force, one’s nailbeds turned white.Guilt. Sikras could’ve written the damned book on the subject. “Are you all right?”
Her head snapped toward him, and she nodded far longer than what one would consider normal. “Yes. Of course. Just ... Just thinking about the scroll.”
Oh, a lie. How curious. She would need far more practice to sell such falsehoods to Sikras Nikabod, but he would rather know an awful liar than a good one. He said nothing, only ensnared her in a devious, knowing smirk.
As if she felt the scrutiny of his gaze, Helspira cleared her throat and stood. “I’m going to soak in the sky until dinner’s done. Excuse me, gentlemen.” She bent into a playful, halfhearted curtsy before putting several yards between herself and the others, carving out a spot to sit in the field.
Time slowed to a snail’s pace waiting for the damned rabbit to cook. Sikras cursed himself for not packing Rack and Ruin. He and Benjamin could’ve enjoyed two games or more by the time the meat started smelling palatable. No doubt, his nose was being more generous than his tongue would be. Given that they had neglected to pack any seasoning beyond salt, the meal promised to be as appetizing as a picnic on a viscera-strewn battle ground. If Sikras had any sense at all, he would’ve had that shavugin fetch some wild herbs before severing the spell that animated it.
Immune to burning heat, Benjamin poked the browned meat, ripped off a chunk, plopped it onto one of the small wooden plates he pulled from the pack, and handed it to Sikras. “Here,” he whispered.
“Why are we whispering?” Sikras whispered back, about to take a bite, before Benjamin smacked him on the arm. “Blood and bone! What was that for?”
Benjamin made an exaggerated gesture toward Helspira. “What’s wrong with you? Ladies first.”
Scoffing, Sikras rubbed his arm. “How do you hit that hard without any muscles?”
“One of life’s greatest mysteries. Now offer the lady some food.”
“All right, all right. Forgive me for not fine tuning my social prowess.” Sikras stood, dusted himself off, and smoothed out his tunic. “Four years of isolation tends to erode one’s manners.”
“Well, try to remember them. For me. And for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I like her, and she could be good for you.”
Sikras wrinkled his nose. “I’m not following.”
“Dionus help me; you are rusty.” Benjamin laughed and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Just give her the food.”
Squinting, Sikras scrutinized Benjamin, scouring for additional information. It was decidedly hard to read a man who had no face. After several backward steps, he abandoned the effort and redirected his focus to Helspira.
“I think I’ll retire to the tent for the evening,” Benjamin called out to the pair. “Eating is strictly performative for me, anyway. You two can fight over who gets the privilege of sleeping next to me, but go easy on him, Hels. He’s fragile.”
Sikras freed a playful huff and tipped an imaginary hat. “Goodnight, Benjamin.”
As Benjamin disappeared into the canvas tent’s interior, Helspira sat upright, knees to her chest. “So, he can’t feel. He can’t eat. Can he actually sleep, or ...?”
“He doesn’t require rest in the same way you or I do, no. But I like to think the quiet affords him some benefit. Mental respite, perhaps?” Sikras handed her the plate.
