“Do youreallyremember it?” Ben’s voice chimed. “Or do you just think you remember it? I may not have a brain, but I recall what happened the last time you thought you remembered a spell.”
“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” Sikras lifted his gaze to Helspira and whispered, “You might want to stand back just in case Ben’s right that I have no idea what I’m doing.”
Unable to stop a soft smile from forming, Helspira took a polite step backward.
Sikras bowed his head, fingers shifting into a pattern. “Diafotizo.”
In an instant, the dim azure glow brightened. It was not the obvious overwhelming blaze of fire in the night, but a soft, subdued illumination that cast a sapphire haze within several feet of the mushroom’s radius.
“Huh.” A clacking noise rattled the air as Ben gave a slow clap. “Look at that, nobody’s on fire, and you both have your eyebrows. I’m beginning to think youdoknow more than just how to raise a corpse and a shadow blade.”
A weak laugh sounded in the night, and Sikras gathered the mushrooms before offering one to Helspira. “I might know a bit more than I let on. I don’t want to brag, but during my interim as a failing apprentice, I also learned how to curse in not one, not two, butthreedead languages.”
Somehow Helspira’s worries faded when she accepted the proffered fungus. The soft glow accentuated the fatigue in Sikras’s now bloodshot eyes, the dark circles beneath them, his hollowed cheeks—but it also emphasized the life in his smile. The way his faint green irises flickered with mischievousness when he said something clever. Her gaze lingered on him, and she knew she should look away, sever eye contact, but she remained frozen, fixated, a captive to the gravitational pull of his aura.
It wasn’t until Ben coughed into his skeletal fist that her gaze snapped from Sikras and toward the undead musician.
“Well, now that I’ve erected my fortress,” Ben said, “I think I’ll turn in early again.”
Sikras cocked his head. “Three nights in a row? I’m starting to think I’ve offended you somehow.”
“As if you could say anything that would offend me. I just need to process the future. We have the scroll. Dionus willing, we’ll rendezvous with Rowan shortly, and I’ll be tasked with wrapping up what we should’ve finished four years ago. It’s a lot to take in.”
Sikras lifted a hand in surrender. “Of course. Please, take all the time you need. I’m here if you need an ear or a lesson in ancient cursing. I hear it can be very therapeutic.”
“I can always count on you, Sikras. And Helspira?”
She blinked, back straight, as she faced Ben.
“Thank you. I may not be able to sleep,” he said, “but I’ll rest a lot easier now.”
Warmth surged through her chest, radiating down her arms and to her fingers. “Any time, Ben.”
The stillness became all too loud the moment Ben disappeared into the tent’s flap. Helspira regarded Sikras with a nervous smile.
With the aid of his scythe, he eased onto the ground, resting the long weapon across his lap. “Sounds like you two had an interesting conversation while I was gone.”
She pulled her knees to her chest. “You could say that.”
“No surprise there. Benjamin is full of interesting conversations.”
“Which is not something every dead man can say.”
A short laugh rasped in Sikras’s throat. “Eloquently put. And you? How are you fairing? Not everyone enjoys the erratic highs and lows that sharing company with a washed-up necromancer and his undead brother-in-law brings. Holding fast to that mental stability of yours?”
Helspira shared in his quiet chuckle and looked down. “So far.”
“Well, that makes one of us.”
They sat in the forest’s cacophony of piercing crescendos that the night’s most vocal creatures offered. Soft chittering, melodious chirping, and the rustling of dry, wind-blown leaves amplified the ambiance. Siaphara became a different world at night. It would have been easy to lose herself in the sights and sounds, as she did every evening, but Sikras’s labored breathing clashed with the singing insects. In the bioluminescent glow, she caught the shimmer of sweat on his brow, and her stomach tightened when he pressed a finger into his temple. “Are you all right?”
“Finer than double-milled flour,” came his reply.
If his statement wasn’t coupled with the sight of him visibly wincing, she may have believed him. “It’s the sentries, isn’t it? How many did you resurrect?”
“Enough to feel a little safer.”
Helspira’s thoughts drifted to the conversation they had shared in Everferd when Sikras spoke of Dionus’s efforts to reclaim Ben’s soul. He had looked so tired then. He looked tired now. “Aren’t you afraid of overdoing it? Casting beyond your body’s ability and giving Dionus the chance to swoop in and take Ben to his afterlife?”
