“Sikras”—Vessik lifted tear-filled eyes to gaze at Imri’s undead body as she mindlessly awaited a new command—“I killed Imri. Commanded her to kill you. I killed Ben. I killedyou. I—I’m a monster. I’m so ... I’m so sorry.”
“You were under her spell.” Sikras groaned against Ithusa’s power. “Listen to me, Vessik Holm, it isnota crime to be naïve.”
Vessik pulled in a trembling breath. “You can’t stay her spell forever. She owns my soul. The second your barrier fades, I’ll return to the madman I was.”
“I’ll figure something out. I’m the fucking Cat’s Eye, I can do this, I—I just need more time.”
“You’re out of time. We both are. I did not deserve the gift of seeing you again, but I am so, so glad I got to look upon you one last time. My dearest friend.” Vessik slid his hands across the snow and grasped the handle of his short sword.
“Vessik.” Sweat snaked down, tickling the side of Sikras’s temples, as his voice tightened. “What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, raising the blade. “For everything.”
“Don’t you fucking dare! Vessik, I swear to—”
The barrier fell when Sikras reached out to stop him.
Too late.
Vessik stabbed the blade into his heart.
Breaking into a run, Sikras slid beside him. Every beat of Vessik’s heart caused more blood to seep between skin and steel. Sikras grasped his hand, squeezing every ounce of frustration into it, cursing, loathing that for all the magic he had memorized, for every disgusting carnal spell that could rip a man’s body in half or could call forth a devastating hailstorm or could raise the seas to drown a city, for all thedamagehe could do, he could not fix the damage that was done.
Vessik managed a final weak smile. “You don’t have to forgive me,” he sputtered.
“Don’t. Dammit, Vessik, you can’t. I—” Sikras struggled to fill his lungs, breaths too erratic and shallow as he fought through his blurring vision to see his friend’s face. “You’re the only reason there’s good in me. I don’t like who I am when you’re not around. I—I don’t know how to be a good man without you.”
Vessik squeezed the last of his strength into Sikras’s hand. “You are a good man, Sikras.” He managed a blood-stained smile. “But right now, Nyllmas could really use a ruthless lunatic instead. Tear her to sh—shreds, pal.”
Gravity pulled a tear from Sikras’s chin onto Vessik’s face, and when the life fled from his friend’s eyes, Sikras thought for a moment he had stopped breathing as well. On compulsion, Sikras searched for him, his soul, reaching into Enos with his mind. He knew Vessik wouldn’t be there, yet still, in vain, he scoured.
Nothing.
Freed from the dome, Ithusa sauntered over, flaunting mild irritation. She lifted the chain around her neck, off which dangled a small iron vial. “Looking for this?”
Sikras peeled his attention from Vessik’s corpse and turned it on Ithusa. He followed her swinging vial like a pendulum, curling his upper lip when he realized what it was: a soul jar, likely where Vessik’s soul became shackled upon his demise.
“Now that my necromancer is dead, I’mreallygoing to need you to accept the terms of my deal,” Ithusa muttered, bottom lip jutting out in a mock pout.
“In lieu of declining diplomatically,” Sikras replied with a rasp, “I think I’ll opt for the classicfuck you.”
A laugh bubbled from Ithusa’s lips, her hand flying to her chest. “You drive a hard bargain, but I should’ve expected as much from a man who bartered with Death herself. Fine. How about two souls, then?”
Before he could demand an elaboration, Ithusa lifted a finger and pointed to Imri’s body just as her bones rattled, collapsed, and fell to the earth. Without Vessik’s spell to animate them, undead across the sprawling plain crumbled, wilting like flowers in a blight.
“Two souls?” Sikras whispered, a chill cutting through him, as he studied Imri’s corpse.
“My bird was there, watching, listening when that demon woman took a blade to the belly for you.” Ithusa stepped forward, hips and tail swaying. “You told the banneret you’d damn all Siaphara for a single soul. So, tell me, would you damn it for two?”
A flash of rage and realization ruptured in Sikras’s core, and he turned his fury to Ithusa. “Imri’s soul has been in your jar for the last four years?”
“I should think that was obvious. The moment Vessik sold his soul to me, I owned him and, by extension, every spirit he called back from Enos. He needed only to pluck them from the afterlife before their chosen gods came to collect them. An easy feat, that. You know deities work at their own pace.” Her voice adopted an underlining hatred, and she scowled. “Even when their venerator is their own damned daughter. I’ve been trying to get my father’s attention ever since he returned to his divine plane and left my mother and I to rot in this mortal shithole.”
“Don’t preach to me about daddy issues. You’re telling me you’ve had Imri’s soul for four years?” Sikras repeated, hoping it would help his mind wrap around the fact. The only solace he had known was believing Imri’s soul had gone to Tiagon’s eternal paradise, that only her essence lamented these last four years, but the important part of her, the part of her that loved and felt and remembered, was with the goddess she had dedicated her life to. “Four years, you kept her from peace?”
Ithusa’s claws clicked against the small iron object dangling from her neck. “Four years of pleas and screams. Imri’s soul cries out for Tiagon every day. You could finally give her and Vessik the gift of eternal rest. You need only trade me your soul for theirs.”
Shadows swirled around Sikras’s hands and feet. How many souls were in that jar, feeding that monster?
