50. Konstantin
50
KONSTANTIN
M y rage burns so hot I half believe I will end up melting my iron manacles, as well as the chains coiled around my body. But of course, I burn through nothing. I’ve never loathed my element more than in this moment.
“Any movement on the quay?” Timo Volkov asks the kid standing nearest me, one of his sons.
Five out of his six hateful boys are gathered in my rail car, shotguns poised in their hands. Every time their grease-blackened fingers so much as twitch, I hold my breath—not for my sake; for Izolda’s. After all, the bullet from earlier might’ve knocked me out, but—according to Ksenia—my skull had bounced it out. I still felt like I’d taken a battering ram to the head…and looked it.
The Volkov half-blood shakes his head. “No movement, Atsa.”
Timo readjusts his barrel, leveling it at Izolda, who lies curled and unconscious on my cabin bed. “Send one of our people to check what’s taking so long.”
“Now, now, Timo.” Bohdan reclines further in the armchair— my armchair—and folds his legs. “Ksenia would hate your lack of trust.” He nods to me. “Especially after she delivered her big bad brother.”
I clutch his umber stare, picturing all the ways I will torture him once I break free, because I will break free. And then, with an iron sword, I will hack him into pieces that I’ll scatter across my oceans for the tides to bury deep. Contemplating my vengeance floods me with adrenaline that sharpens my senses, keeping me awake and alert.
Izolda whimpers in her sleep. Is it the memory of her mate being shot that torments her, or is she in pain because of her perforated palms?
I can still hear Ksenia inform her twin not to fret, that the blade wasn’t iron—unlike the one she used on my palms—and that her skin would knit in no time. The same way I can still hear Ksenia place the blame on me: “ If only our brother had handed over his talisman and kingdom, I wouldn’t have had to harm you, Iz .”
I should’ve admitted right away that I couldn’t take it off because of a bargain, but I’d been worried Ksenia would go after my fiancée and hurt yet another person I love. Not to mention that when she’d dragged me into my own Throne Room, I’d still foolishly believed Salom was assembling an army to liberate the castle.
What Bohdan did to him stains the backs of my gummy lids. I swiftly replace the image with what I will do to him, even though I’m well aware it won’t bring back the man who loved me like a father.
Fuck.
Gritting my teeth, I bear down on one of my hands, trying to thread it out of the manacle by popping my bones out of alignment. Sweat pours down the sides of my face as another bone gives. My vision blanks, and I sway.
When I reel my one working lid up, I find I’m sprawled onto my side. A treacly aroma tickles my flaring nostrils and turns my stomach. Bohdan is peeling himself a pear, watching me as though I were a snared reindeer. My line of sight on the feasting monster is cut off by two sets of legs, both ensconced in the uniforms of my fallen guards. The Volkov sons crouch.
Vasily prods me with the barrel of his gun. “Up.”
“Grab his arm,” the other says, as color finally seeps over the monochrome fragments of my blackout.
They haul me back to sitting. I seal my jaw, reining back my howl of pain, unwilling to give them the satisfaction of hearing how they’ve reduced me.
Once seated against the wooden baseboard, I test my broken hand, nearly blacking out when the iron manacle jostles the bone shards and the iron dagger gash that’s yet to heal. Evidently, garlanding me in toxic metal wasn’t enough for the lot of them.
I breathe in and out until the new dots of gray sprinkling my vision wash away. And then I hoist my shoulder to thread my hand out of the cuff. My skin is so slick with blood that the metal band slips…and slips. I flatten my spine to the wall, drinking the air in great drafts to avoid keeling over again.
“The instant Isla releases you of your bargain and you hand us your necklace, you and Izolda will be free to go into exile.” A perfect spiral of green peel drops onto the glass tabletop. “You already have an in with Luce, but I’m sure Eponine or Zendaya will be only too glad to host you.”
Bohdan wipes his blade on his jacket sleeve and bites the fruit. The juice cascades down his smooth jaw and over the gorget protecting his neck.
I try to funnel magic into my freed hand, but none prickles my palm. I suspect that until my talisman knits my iron-torn skin, my magic will remain dormant. “How much of a dunce do you believe me to be, Zaslofsky? You killed your own son and wife because they didn’t agree with your revolution. You’re never going to let me walk away.”
“I don’t have much of a choice in the matter. Ksenia doesn’t want you dead, and what woman wants, woman gets, right? We men are so weak when it comes to matters of the heart.” His long-suffering sigh is accompanied by a warped smile that makes him appear every bit the raving lunatic that he is.
“Tell me again how you plan on trapping a shifter sorceress?” I ask, chiefly to keep myself from sinking into oblivion as I wrap my broken fingers and hemorrhaging palm around my other hand and attempt to crush bone.
My vision spangles. I stop moving…take a fortifying breath. I need to heal, but how can I when so much iron is wedged around my body? Even the swelling on the right side of my head has yet to resorb.
“Same way we trapped Aodhan and that other Crow—with our Crow Tranquilizers. My wife didn’t have much going for her in the looks and charm departments, but her mind was brilliant. The air-propelled weapons she invented have changed the face of magical warfare forever.”
I slide my gaze over the weapons in question. “Your plan lacks logic, for if my mate is knocked out, then she can’t exactly release me from her bargain.”
He grins. “Do you know long it takes to drain a body of blood?”
My gaze slams back into his depraved one as he closes his kinked lips around the white flesh of the pear.
Still chewing, he says, “So, I actually don’t know the answer myself, but I’m excited to find out.”
“I’ll make mincemeat of you,” I whisper.
His grin reaches the other side of his mouth, which he closes around his pear once more. “I’ll be wearing your necklace.”
I pull in another deep breath. “What about Ksenia?”
Bohdan swallows another chunk. “We’re going to split your pretty medallion into several segments. One person shouldn’t have so much ascendence over death.”
“Planning on hawking hallowed jewelry now that you’ve lost access to your wife’s armament facility?”
“I haven’t lost access to anything. Her death was an accident. Her parents will see reason. And if they don’t”—he drags one finger across his throat—“off with their ugly heads.” He chuckles. “As for the reason I’ll be splitting your talisman…Ksenia and I have many to thank, and what better way of showing gratitude than with the gift of eternal life?” He addresses a reverent nod toward his cousin, who sneers at me.
“They’re here!” Timo’s oldest son exclaims.
My stomach grows cold, then hot, as though they’d shot me in the gut.
Bohdan discards his pear, then walks to the door, props it open, and yells at the rogues aboard to get the engine running. And then he lingers there, waiting, irises dancing with relief and lunacy. Actually, not relief. Just lunacy. He is a psychopath through and through—so arrogant that he believes himself infallible.
When Ksenia steps into the room, two guards holding up a battered and unconscious Isla between them, my ribs tighten, shredding both my lungs and heart. Where the fuck is Vance? He wouldn’t have abandoned her.
Except…
Except he would have…to go after his mate.
The train begins to glide forward, away from the castle. Ksenia winces as she shoots out one hand to catch her balance on the door frame. When I spot the gleam of my ring on her finger, I almost launch myself away from the wall to strangle her.
“Shackle the Crow Princess to the chair, then go find my future queen a healer!” Bohdan snaps to the guards lowering my mate into the armchair he’s just vacated.
Future queen…
Even Ksenia wrinkles her nose. Either she’s still disenchanted with him for having killed Lev, or she isn’t on the same page as he is concerning the future governance of Glace.
Where one of the human rebels regards the room and people in it with unnerving interest as he wraps Isla in obsidian chains, the other regards me . I narrow my eyes, which widens his.
The one casing my royal trolley growls, “Tighter,” effectively tearing his colleague’s gaze off me.
As Ksenia scans the room, scrutinizing first her sister, then me, she says—with that muted lisp that makes me wish I’d knocked out more of her teeth, “It didn’t work by the way. They weren’t able to bring your daughter back from the dead.”
The news pleats my brow, angering the throbbing at my temples. I was there. I saw my niece resurrect. Could Ksenia be lying? And if she is, then why ?
Bohdan sighs. “Probably for the best, since she might’ve held a grudge. Also”—he wrinkles his pert nose—“I’m not sure I could’ve gotten used to having a beast as a daughter. Though having her blood at our disposal would’ve been practical…”
One of the human soldiers looks up from the link of obsidian chain he’s looping around Isla’s chair. Is it me, or do his lips curl?
“A healer!” My sister’s raised voice hurries the two rebels.
The instant the padlock clicks into place, they stand and tread toward the door.
After they’ve shuffled past a perspiring Ksenia, she adds, “Mestyla would’ve remained tethered to that brutish Vance, so her blood wouldn’t have proven very useful.”
Bohdan walks up to her. “I’d have found a way to untether them. Every creature of the Cauldron has a mortal flaw.”
He touches her cheek.
“If you’re worried I’m angry with you, rest assured that I’m not, treasure. I understand you had no choice. The same way I hope you’ll come to understand that I had no choice.” He probes her stare with his.
“I know,” she ends up saying,
“Good.” He tries to kiss her, but she turns her face with a wince. “Where do you hurt?”
“My waist. The Crow managed to gouge me with her talons before the useless idiots pumped her with lead and obsidian.”
“Weren’t you wearing your armor?”
Ksenia must be in real pain, for she sags. “She melted it off me with her blood magic.”
She unscrews her face from Bohdan’s palm and totters toward me, hand digging into the growing bloodstain dampening her lavender gown.
“While I waited, I got him to sign over the deed to the kingdom. Granted, he had to use his mouth, but it’s still his signature.” Bohdan pats the pocket of the jacket he wears over his cuirass.
“What a brilliant strategist you are.” Her mocking tone is jarring. “I couldn’t get her to rescind her bargain, but at least I got a pretty ring.” As she lowers herself to her knees in front of me, she holds out her hand, taunting me. “Fits like a glove.”
The train jostles, rocking her, and she catches herself on my shoulders, causing me to shudder in both pain and disgust. When she glides one palm to my nape, smearing her blood over my soiled shirt, my disgust swells to such proportion that it eclipses the pain.
Bohdan takes a step toward her. “What are you doing?”
“I just want to look my brother in the eye when I tell him that he’s about to lose everything.” Her fingers glide down my spine, bumping over the first coil of chain.
I need to get her off me before her fingers journey any lower and she discovers my freed hand.
“I hope she was worth it.” Her murmur fans over my enflamed cheek.
I’m breathing so fast and furiously that every tug of air carries Isla’s scent deeper into my lungs.
Not Ksenia’s.
Isla’s .
I don’t know why this strikes me as improbable when I live and breathe for the Crow.
My sister cranes her neck and glowers at the Volkov standing nearest us. “Can you make yourself useful and go check on my healer?”
He starts at her brusque tone but then does as she asks and heads toward the cabin door. A moment later, he’s racing back and slapping the door shut, coughing.
“Fumes.” He spits out a glob of saliva, wobbles, and then slams into the bedframe and flops onto the floor.
“Is he dead?” Bohdan asks, not an ounce of emotion other than surprise coloring his tone, while Timo leaves his station to lunge toward to his son.
“Asleep.” Deep-rooted relief gusts out of Timo’s reedy lips.
“Ugh. One of the idiots in our employ must’ve pulled the slumbering gas lever,” Ksenia carps.
“Slumbering gas?” Timo bellows.
“Yes. My brother doesn’t care for people to see the route his trains take. Wouldn’t want misfits and lessers to try and enter the castle unannounced.” She smirks as her fingers hop to the next coil of chain, while I consider trying to fit my broken fingers back into the manacle. “Gust your air-magic against the sealed door for a couple minutes. It’ll keep the mist from penetrating.”
As he straightens, Timo stares at her, then at the door, then ascribes the responsibility to the gray-eyed son not currently snoring on the floor and resumes his post at Izolda’s side.
As Ksenia’s ex, Vasily, begins to stream air at the paper-thin interstices, my sister says, “Bohdi, check Isla’s wrists to see if they’re still bleeding.”
Bohdan drags the chair out, then grips Isla’s soiled jacket sleeves and pushes them up. Ribbons of blood drip from gashes on her wrists.
“Still bleeding,” he confirms.
My chest scuds with such anguish that I feel like I’ve managed to enlarge the chain wrapped around me.
“I heard the most ridiculous thing tonight,” Ksenia says.
“What did you hear, treasure?” Bohdan asks.
“I heard Isla has a birthmark shaped like Glace on her cunt that gave my brother the delusion that she’d someday be his mate.”
My throat clenches. How does she?—
“Mind hiking up her skirts to check?” Ksenia nods toward my betrothed.
“Do NOT put your filthy hands on my wife,” I snarl.
Ksenia cups my jaw with the hand not traveling down my spine, forcing my stare off Bohdan, who is tugging up the black slip I poured over Isla’s head mere hours ago.
“Your wife, huh?” My sister’s throat jostles, but not with disgust…with?—
I suddenly suck in air, and not because Isla’s thighs are on display, but because one of the coils of chain has slackened.
“So?” Ksenia calls out. “The birthmark?”
As I clutch her gaze and she clutches mine, warmth swathes my clammy, aching skin.
“It actually is shaped like our kingdom,” Bohdan remarks. “Incredible. Take a look!”
Timo’s sons rush over to peer at the birthmark, but not Timo and not the woman kneeling before me.
She doesn’t even turn. Because she knows that mark by heart.
She’s beheld it every day of her life.
“Not interested in copping a look?” my little witch asks the Volkov patriarch, her fingers trailing lower. When they bump against my cuffs, her pupils widen.
“I don’t care for demons and don’t believe in fate marks,” Timo sneers.
She hooks the manacle still wrapped around my wrist. “I never thought of birthmarks as divine imprints. Is that how you perceive congenital smudges, Kostya? As symbols of fate?” she asks, basting the iron with her magical blood.
“Yes.” My voice is husky with emotion.
Tiny beads of sweat glisten on her upper lip. She licks them away. “Such a quixotic man you’ve become,” she says, sawing through my cuff. Once done, she presses her hands against my shoulders and stands.
I crane my neck. “Love will do that to a person.”
Her lips tremble. Her throat rolls. She carries a shaky hand to her face and scrapes away a lock that’s tumbled across her bejeweled stare. How I wish the features were hers and not Ksenia’s.
“What did you brother just say, treasure?” Bohdan asks.
Her hand drops to her side and fists air. No, not air…her skirt. “That he’s succumbed to the charms of shifters, just like my misguided twin.”
The train careens to the right, sending everything that isn’t nailed to the floor, skidding. There’s a soft thud, like something dropping. Isla trips, shuffling her feet. I assume it’s to catch herself on the mirrored panel above my head. It’s not.
She’s just slid something between the wood and my body…something which I make quick work of concealing beneath me.
As the train rights itself, so does Isla. Layer by layer, she steels her spine, rebuilding her facade so others will see a pitiless jailor while all I see is my Cauldron-forged angel.
My winged tempest.
My everything.