Ben scoffed. “You do know necromancy is just a subcategory of wizardry, right?”
“And? I’m an asshole.”
Ben nodded. “Fair point. You’re my favorite asshole, though.”
Catseye wrapped an arm around Ben’s bony shoulder. “And you, my favorite abomination.”
As the pair started toward Everferd, Helspira’s stomach coiled like a thousand wriggling worms. How was she supposed to follow Rowan’s command and deceive Ben now? How could she possibly risk ripping Catseye’s companion away,hercompanion, when she remembered how awful it had felt to have Frank ripped away from her?
Her boots were in more danger than she thought. If she didn’t hurl her guts out onto them, it would be by the gods’ own intervention.
THEODORE’S MANSIONstuck out like a tall tree in the middle of an open prairie. Except Everferd was anything but an open prairie. The city was just as cluttered and busy and bustling as she remembered.
Flattened river stone, smoothed by centuries of treading feet, made the streets that weaved through the city like loose twine. As the trio marched onward, more luxuries came to light. Merchants called out to passing customers as street performers entertained the crowds with music and tricks. The aroma of exotic spices, sizzling meats, and fresh-baked pastries enticed all to indulge in a treat from one of the numerous market stalls. Helspira stared at them longingly. Everferd was thrice the size of Vinepool and housed all manner of curiosities. The desire to taste every local morsel, gaze upon every handcrafted creation the people poured their hearts into making, screamed at her. To immerse herself in human culture was all she had ever wanted.
To think she nearly had the chance when Cecil had taken her here—nobody would’ve dared to snub a demon who walked arm in arm with a powerful wizard. Alas, he had been far too focused on the primary objective of his trip to indulge in sightseeing.
Now here she was. Again. And still, she couldn’t lose herself in the fantasy. The soul-crushing weight of having to murder a sweet, undead skeleton and emotionally destroy an already fragile man who teetered on the edge of sanity really soured such frivolities.
“Which one catches your eye?”
Helspira startled at the sudden rush of Catseye’s whispered words in her ear. “Pardon?” she asked, spinning.
“The merchants. The music. The food, the entertainment, the wares.” He pointed to each one with matching enthusiasm. “Didn’t you tell me just last night how much you craved participation in the arts, the culture? I see it in your face, Hels.Rapture. So tell me, which shall we visit first?”
The urge to yell outthe pastry chef!was nearly as intense as her demonic impulses, but she held the words inside. They shouldn’t. They couldn’t. They had a kingdom to aid. “We’re here to secure the scroll and return to Banneret Rowan. We can’t waste time enjoying the city.”
“Sikras, look!” Ben swatted Catseye with the back of his hand. “Tsa’nakai races.”
“What-akai races?” Arching a brow, Helspira followed Ben’s pointing finger to an elevated plank of wood no longer than six feet. Small strips divided the board into narrow sections, each one housing a creature smaller than a human hand. Helspira squinted to better assess the animal’s features. She counted at least ten legs, with little black talons emerging from each one. A long fuzzy tail emerged from beneath a decorated shell affixed to the creature’s back, and four iridescent wings sprouted from the shell’s top, which seemed to serve no purpose whatsoever, as the beast appeared to favor dragging itself across the plank at a painfully slow pace. “I’d hardly call that a race,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Those creatures are barely moving.”
Ben faced her, hands clasped. “That’s the best part. The races takehours. Where else can you find half a day’s worth of entertainment for so cheap? One time, I bet twenty silver on a tsa’nakai named The Ever-Revolving Door to Nowhere. Took him five hours and thirty-two minutes to cross the finish line, and he was first place. Quadrupled my bet that day. Sikras, let’s have a look, yeah?”
Ben’s enthusiasm faded when he started toward the races and the bustling crowd gasped, parting like ripples in water. A child gawked, lip quivering, the sight of a sentient skeleton apparently too much to bear. She freed a horrified wail, and her mother scooped her up, scurrying away.
Halting, Ben took one, two, three steps backward. “I mean ... Nah, never mind. Maybe another time.”
Helspira’s heart bled for him. She knew that pain. Moments from offering a comforting hand, her ears pulsed at the sound of Catseye murmuring something. From the corner of her eye, she saw him flinch. “Are you all right?”
“The locals sure are skittish.” Catseye panted as he wiped a layer of sweat from his forehead. “Must be all the rats.”
“What rats?” Helspira regretted the question as soon as she had asked it. Catseye clearly had intended to blame the locals’ edgy behavior on imaginary rodents to spare Ben’s feelings. She shouldn’t have drawn attention to—
Startled shrieks flew from the mouths of several Everferd residents when over a dozen rodents, half of which were decomposed, skittered between their feet.
Catseye nodded to them, nonchalant but unsteady. “Those rats. You’d think a nice town like this would be more mindful of its vermin.”
Despite his effort to steady his tone, Helspira recognized the ill effects of magical backlash. Cecil had complained about energy casters as much as Catseye complained about material casters, constantly disparaging their stupidity for allowing thaumaturgic recoil to ravage their bodies. She caught Catseye’s gaze—his playful, pleading gaze—a silent appeal for her to play along for Ben’s sake. “Yeah,” Helspira said, a genuine smile forming. “Come to think of it, Everferd had a rat problem the last time I was here.”
Gratitude shined through his obvious discomfort, and though he sagged into his scythe like it was the only thing holding him up, he still managed to look utterly charming when he winked at her.
Oh.
Why did that wink make her stomach flip?
How ... unexpected.
Catseye approached Ben and threw an arm over his shoulder. “What say you, Benjamin? I’ve got ten silver on whichever racer has the most syllables in its name, and I’d bet one of my remaining eight lives that Helspira wants to try something from that pastry cart.”
