A considering hum came from Sikras as he stepped closer to Tog and the writhing, snapping Viina. “Toggones, may I?”
Tog never broke from the gentle, rhythmic sway to calm his beloved. “May you what?”
“May I help your wife?” Sikras asked.
A deep grunt. “If you can.”
Helspira bit the inside of her cheek. Before she could pry for details, Sikras shook his hands, manipulated his fingers into a practiced pose, and whispered words she didn’t understand. He tapped her mother’s head with his index finger as magical recoil lurched his body.
Ben caught Sikras when his knees gave out.
With a gasp, Helspira faced him, but her mother’s tender grasp on her arm pulled her focus away.
“Helspira?” Viina’s pupils, once little pinpricks, returned to normal. She withered into her husband’s chest and bit her lip. “Did it happen again?Tse am kichinge tatyuhung.”
“Mum!” Helspira threw her arms around her mother’s neck and squeezed. “You’re back already. That was—” With dawning excitement, she turned. “Sikras, what did you do? A—are you okay?”
Sikras grasped Ben’s arm for support, then wiped the sweat from his brow, the blood from his nose, and managed naught but a nod.
“How?” Helspira aided him in standing straighter. “I thought you said you didn’t know any healing spells.”
Catching his breath, Sikras grinned. “I don’t. Can’t heal someone to save my life. I just manipulated her neurotransmitters a little, and ...” His head lolled, words slurred. “She’s not fixed. I can’t fix her. I can just block the ... the norepinephrine ... the adrenaline ...”
“Mental manipulation?” Ben readjusted Sikras’s weight in his arms. “I thought you just worked in shadow blades and dead people. Where the fuck did you learn magic like that?”
Sikras flashed a mischievous albeit exhausted smirk. “Language, Benjamin. We’re in the company of ladies and gentlemen.”
Relinquishing his hold on Viina, Tog stepped toward Sikras. He plucked him from Ben’s arms, stood him upright, and dusted him off. “For you”—Tog pulled Sikras into a crushing hug—“I will make many lemon tarts.”
“Our mansion has a fully functional kitchen,” Sikras wheezed.
“Sikras has a point, Hels.” Ben nudged her. “It’s on the outskirts of the city. The perfect place for people who want to stay close but be forgotten. The banneret won’t find them there. Vaulted ceilings, too. Da here won’t have to hunch his back just to walk from room to room.”
Helspira cringed, searching her parents for their reactions. They both gave approving nods.
“My daughter, still making friends with bones.” With a loving smile, Tog lifted Helspira’s chin with one of his giant claws. “Go. Go save our home.”
Smiling, she laid her hand atop her da’s. “All right,” she said with a relenting nod. “If you two will be okay, then by all means ... let’s go.”
