Her heart leaped at the thought, but reality pulled her head from the clouds. “We can’t. The banneret—”
The speed with which Catseye whipped around and beseeched her with pleading hands was impressive, especially given how dizzy it seemed to make him. “Let’s not forget our duty but merely delay it a little. Just for tonight.”
“We should really focus on the task at hand,” she said.
“I’ve delayed aiding Nyllmas for four years. Surely it won’t spontaneously combust in a single night. Tell me one more time you want to press forward, and we will, but I can see how this place entices you. The intoxicating scent of the baker’s pastries, the flawless performances of the buskers, the freakish charm only a sea of malodorous rats can bring. Come on, Hels. We can touch all the imported silks, maybe find some new essential oils? Incense? Visit the tavern? The metalsmiths always have an impressive array of jewelry, or—”
“Gods,” Helspira cut him off, smiling. “You’re a terrible influence.”
A wry smirk appeared, his green eyes gleaming. “I assure you, I’ve done far more terrible things than support local artisans.”
“Red Sentinels aren’t well known for their disposable incomes,” she admitted, arms crossed. “And you’re waist deep in tax debt. How would we even fund our evening?”
Catseye fished out a small satchel of coins from his pocket. “Our lavish desires will hereby be purchased for us thanks to the lecherous Mr. Bilsby. May his wife, Canida, rest in peace knowing we’re using his coin to fund our needless frivolities.”
“Speaking of needless,” Ben cut in, “can we purchase one of those cloaks? Even with this cuirass and scarf, I’m feeling a bit more exposed than usual, and I don’t foresee our side quest to acquire pants coming to fruition any time soon.”
“You needn’t dull your glow for these tasteless heathens, Benjamin, but if it pleases you, here.” Catseye dug through the satchel, plucked out a handful of coins, and placed them in Ben’s hand. “Go find the best damn cloak that lewd bastard’s money can buy.”
“And here I thought pleasuring his undead wife would be the biggest middle finger I could give that man. Life just keeps getting better.” Ben nudged Catseye playfully, then headed toward the cloth merchant’s stall.
“And you”—Catseye captured Helspira in his gaze as he rattled the bag—“what does your heart desire?”
All-mighty fate, what a question. The wellbeing of her kingdom? The status of a folk hero? A haven for her parents to grow old? One of those gods-forsaken pastries that had no business smelling that delicious? More time with Catseye and Ben? Her heart desired so many things ...
Helspira writhed in indecision. All that awaited her after they retrieved the scroll was the betrayal of her companions if she followed Rowan’s orders or the betrayal of her kingdom if she didn’t. Neither was a fate she felt too eager to meet. For that reason, she said, “Do you think any of those pastries are filled with wild berries?”
Catseye grinned. “There are several types of berries native to Everferd. Would you care to see which we can find?”
Her freshly filed claws dug into her palms, and she bit her bottom lip. “Yes. Yes, I would.”
A practiced bow followed, only the faintest quiver of weakness showing in the shaking arm he offered her. “Shall we?”
Heart thrumming, Helspira wove her arm into his and aided him in straightening his posture. “Let’s.”
Ben rejoined them, shrouded in a red, mid-calf cloak to match his scarf, lute strapped to his back.
“The gang’s all here.” Catseye’s eyes shined. “Let’s see what this city has to offer.”
“We’re doing this, huh?” Ben faced Helspira and lifted a hand to carry his echoing whisper. “We should be very concerned that, between the three of us, he’ll be presenting as the normal one.”
Helspira failed to stifle a giggle, and together the three entered the market’s heart. Though they still earned apprehensive stares from uneasy townsfolk, Helspira felt no discomfort. In the company of Catseye and Ben—and a sea of freshly resurrected rats that drew much of the ire away from them—she did not feel like a demon among men.
It was a feeling that lasted from afternoon to sunset.
Fit to burst from having sampled nearly every morsel of food they encountered, Helspira all but collapsed onto a stone retaining wall that now served as her chair. Full as her stomach was, her heart was fuller. Having glimpsed the splendors of Everferd, from its rituals to its religion, to its wares, its art, its architecture, its fashion, its mannerisms, her spirit never soared higher. Smiling, she closed her eyes, a welcome breeze blowing her Red Sentinel scarf behind her.
“What a day.” Catseye plopped beside Helspira to stare at the local buskers, a near permanent grin affixed to his lips. “We’ve done almost everything.”
Helspira freed an exhausted laugh, the setting sun casting long shadows as it sank behind the buildings. “Almost everything? What more could we possibly do?”
“Bring some Vinepool culture to the local music scene, of course.” He tugged on Ben’s cloak, then gestured toward a group of people gathered around several ribbon dancers and a man who plucked at a lyre. “The lyrist is a good musician, sure, but he’s notBenjamingood. Go on.”
When his proximity earned him lingering stares from the men and women nearby, a noise escaped Ben that sounded like a scoff. “What are you on about?”
Standing, Catseye draped an arm over Ben’s shoulder and gestured toward the crowd. “I see an audience, and I see a talented man holding a lute. Get out there and let them learn that your heart may have decayed, but it still beats within your music.”
Ben shifted his weight, hesitating. “I don’t know. They look pretty traumatized already.”
