54. Konstantin
54
KONSTANTIN
A s Ksenia takes in the carnage and understands that she’s lost, I ask, “Was it worth it?”
“Fighting for what you believe in is always worth it.” Her eyes rove over Vasily’s unrecognizable form, then beyond him at Isla, whose wisdom has given my appetite for retribution pause.
Whatever brings you peace…
Erasing Alyona never brought me peace. Perhaps because a part of me believed that I could, in time, have guided her back toward the righteous path. But I hadn’t had a choice back then. She’d murdered our father, the king, signing her own death warrant.
I have a choice now, though.
“You said you didn’t want me dead, Ksen, but your admirer did.” I gesture to what’s left of the pompous male.
Her lips thin.
“How about now? Would you have preferred that chunk of flesh bathing in blood to have been me?”
She scoots her attention off the gruesome sight, affixing it to her lap. Her brow pleats when she takes in the black slip that espouses her borrowed body, and then her neck straightens with a snap and she’s squinting past me into a grimy mirror.
“Blood-magic is truly sensational, isn’t it? So…do you wish I were dead now?”
“No. I only ever wished to abolish the monarchy and send you into exile with all your shifter friends. I never meant for anyone to die.”
“Really? Not even Salom?”
“Except him,” she mutters.
Thanks to the sconce filtering light down her back, I catch her fussing with her manacles. Unlike the chain wrapped around her torso, which is carved from black stone, the cuffs are pure iron.
I kick her arms up with wind until I hear the distinct pop of bones displaced from their sockets. She smothers her scream behind gritted teeth.
“What about our niece?” I ask.
“She wanted”— breath —“to kill you.”
Little Witch, did you ever find out what Mestyla wanted with me?
Silence.
“Isla?” I look over my shoulder, my heart going numb at the sight of her clasped lids and motionless chest. I lurch to where she now lies on the floor and sink onto my knees while Ksenia jangles, either trying to reset her bones or to break free. I can’t seem to care.
All I care about is fishing that damn bullet out from beneath my mate’s clavicle. My fingers tremble on the flaps of fabric she must’ve sawed through with her blood. Delicately, I press them apart. My gut clenches, not at the sight of gushing blood, but at the worry that I may be angering the lesion and deepening her pain.
I call on my magic and funnel it into her wound to widen my access. When I spot the glimmer of metal embedded in muscle, I loose a deep exhale and begin to circle my finger, targeting the munition on all sides with steady drafts. Little by little, the iron casing unscrews itself from her flesh.
A torrent of fresh blood surges, floating the bullet out. Once it’s within reach, I pinch the thing. Inspect it. It’s hollow, which means the obsidian powder must’ve leaked out of it. Will her body flush the toxin out on its own? How can I speed up the process?
I press my ear to her mouth. Silence . My heart stumbles. Mutes.
I splay my fingers on her inert chest. Come back to me, Isla. Come back to me.
Come on…
Come on…
Fury bleaches my vision. I lurch to my feet and wheel around, then pound toward Ksenia and clutch her neck. My anger is so monumental that when I lift her, the hefty armchair gains altitude as well. “How do I get the fucking obsidian powder out of my mate?”
I feel her pulse trill my thumb, feel her panicked breaths peck my vibrating jaw.
“I don’t know,” she wheezes. “I d-don’t—know.”
I release her. As the armchair slams down onto the floor, I seize the shotgun at my back and aim it at her stomach. “Should we find out how long it takes to come out of you?”
Tears film her eyes. Which aren’t hers. Gods, I want to shoot them out of her face just to stop seeing them on someone other than Isla.
“I always assumed you were kinder than Atsa,” she croaks, “but you’re exactly like him.”
“You’re right. I am. I will stop at nothing to protect the people I love and the kingdom I call home.”
“Might as well get my execution over with, then, since I’ll stop at nothing to give humans equal rights.”
“They fucking have equal rights, Ksen!”
“They still can’t buy land in Fae districts!”
“I signed the land grant act last week.”
“Well, it isn’t as though they have the money to buy anything.”
“Not yet, but in time, they will.”
“They should be given the land for free.”
“Gods, nothing will ever be enough in your eyes, will it? Why do I even bother trying to reason with someone whose outlook on the world is so bloody hermetic?”
Ksenia’s lids pinch. “You should kill me before Izolda wakes. This way, you can tell her I perished in the crossfire and…”
Words keep leaking from her mouth but all I hear is a new heartbeat—one that is neither hers, nor mine.
“Sorry we’re late,” Vance says, stepping right through the door. “Didn’t expect your sleeping fumes to knock me out quite as fast as they did.” He surveys the scene. “Just glad to have regained consciousness before the others.”
I stare at the male, at his glowing palms. And then I stare at another set of glowing palms.
With a jut of his chin, Vance says, “Mind pointing that thing elsewhere, Vizosh? I would very much like not to dig more shell casings out of my body.”
“Isla…I got the bullet out, but…” I let the rifle settle against my hip, my gaze dragging over Mestyla. Even with amber hair and ebony eyes, I’m struck by how much of my sister dwells in her. “Can you do something to hasten her recovery? Suture her skin or?—”
“The obsidian needs to leak out. Elio used water on Lach and Aodhan, which sped up the process.”
The news he brings eases the tautness in my neck, punching in the reminder that her stasis is temporary.
“Perhaps your sister could help?” he ventures.
I gape at him, appalled by the mere thought. “Neither Ksenia’s hands nor her magic are going anywhere near Isla!”
“I meant Izolda.”
I peer at where she lays, half-concealed by the bed. “She’s still unconscious, and her palms need healing.”
“I’ll get to work on that. Come, Mestyla.” After inspecting the damage, he asks, “Iron?”
“No,” I reply.
After slicing through Izolda’s restraints, he blackens her palms with his blood. “Elio’s on his way with Lach and Aodhan. He can tend to Isla once he arrives. They should be here any minute.”
A swallow creaks down my throat. “Once you’re done, can you remove your glamour from Ksenia’s skin?”
“Of course.”
As he works on Izolda, I focus on the girl he ferried back from the underworld. “Did you want me dead, Mestyla?”
“Like she’d tell you the truth…” Ksenia mutters.
I don’t pay my sister any mind, but Mestyla does. She narrows her eyes on Ksenia.
I step in between them to sever the connection and coax my niece’s fathomless stare back to me. “Concentrate on me.”
“No, Mr. Korol. I only wanted to meet you.”
Ksenia snorts. “To slay you, Kostya.”
My niece vibrates. “She lies!”
“I know,” I say.
“She lied about wanting to help me. She lied about who killed my father—it wasn’t Isla. The same way it wasn’t Salom who set fire to my home; it was my own biological father!” Her gaze skips over the corpses.
“It’s that one.” I gesture to the bust at her feet as Vance crosses the cabin toward Ksenia and bleeds Isla’s likeness from my sister’s features.
If only he could bleed Izolda’s likeness as well.
“I’ve never hurt anyone in my life, but, Gods, how I want to hurt you right now.” Mestyla’s glowing palms flicker as she fists her fingers.
“Spoken like a true Korol,” Ksenia spits out through the jagged gaps of her again-ruined front teeth.
“Oh, good, she’s still alive.” Aodhan’s voice flashes through the obscurity.
And then my brother-in-law is there, crouched over his mate. After checking on Vance’s handiwork, he combs a lock of hair off Izolda’s wan forehead, scoops her into his arms, and crosses over to me.
The wagon rattles, shuttling magic into my palms and adrenaline into my veins.
“It’s Lach and the other two,” Aodhan says.
“ Two ?” I ask.
“Elio and Sofiya.”
My head rears back. “Sofiya? As in Milana’s sister?”
“As in my new favorite family member,” he declares. “After Isla, obviously.”
Words fail me.
A rhythmic clicking resounds on the ceiling—Lachlano’s talons? When it carries on in the corridor, I surmise it mustn’t be talons; a Crow wouldn’t fit in such a narrow space.
I hear Sofiya mention how the train looked loads comelier in shades of blue than in shades of gore an instant before the knob rattles. I unbolt the lock with a flick of my fingers.
“Hello, everyone!” Sofiya exclaims, punching the door into Bohdan’s trunk. A grimace seizes her mouth as she hobbles in on Elio’s arm. “I didn’t think it could smell any fouler in here than it did in the other wagon, but apparently, even I can be wro…” Her mouth remains agape yet stops discharging sound at the sight of the newest shifter. She blinks at Mestyla, then drops her voice to a hiss. “Is it me, or does the she-Serpent resemble?—”
I make cursory introductions. “Sofiya, meet my niece, Mestyla.”
“Holy snow gremlins…” Sofiya’s eyes are pitched so wide she looks like someone has just informed her that the sun would wrest its way over the horizon this winter. “Alyona the Antimorph laid with a shifter?”
“Not quite. Elio”—I nod to my mate, who still hasn’t come to—“Isla’s wound could use some cleansing.”
“On it.” He leads Sofiya to the bed before kneeling beside his best friend on the floor.
“Why are you limping?” I ask, my attention divided between the seemingly injured Fae and the woman who holds the key to my soul.
Sofiya hitches up her long skirt, displaying a peg leg she must’ve fashioned with her earth-magic, considering how well adjusted it is. “I’m down half a leg. Courtesy of your mate.”
My jaw clicks as I unleash the full force of my pent-up ire on her. “Stop trying to pass yourself off as a victim! If Isla chopped off your leg, then?—”
“She did it to save my life.” Sofiya dips her chin. “Your fiancée and I are friends now. Very good friends.”
I need a minute to process this madness. I take that minute to observe Elio filling my mate’s wound with water that cascades right back out—seemingly darker, though it could just be a trick of the dim light and my desperate optimism.
Little Witch? I whisper into the bond.
Her stillness gnaws on my sanity.
“Is it me, or is Ksenia wearing your necklace?” Sofiya suddenly asks.
“It’s a useless bauble now,” I say.
She frowns. “Are we sure?”
“It graced Bohdan’s neck, and look what became of him.” I gesture to the grisly doorstop.
As she scrutinizes him, she fluffs her soiled skirt, draping it back over her legs. “They sent Timo Jr. with a squadron of assholes after my father. Luckily, Ekaterina equipped my parents with perimeter detectors and powerful weapons. All this to say, your Voshnan devotees have been reduced to orca feed, Ksenia.”
She flutters the emerald fur trim of her floor-length cape.
“Oh, and do you know what Timo Jr. used his last breath for? He used it to tell my parents I was dead. An abominable rat until the end, that one. That whole family, really. If they haven’t been eradicated, I’d like to assist in their permanent removal.”
“You’re looking at the rest of them.” I motion to their carbonized vestiges.
“What about the wives?” she asks.
A deep sigh stretches my lungs. “A problem for another day.”
“Lach offered to give me a ride to my parents’ once he’s done canvasing the tunnel and you’re all home safe.” The slight indent in her scarred cheek dips as she smiles. “They’ll probably assume a Shabbin has given someone else my face when they see me riding in on a Crow.”
“How come you were in the capital in the first place?” I ask.
“Because of your bargain.”
My brow pleats.
“The one where I need to report to you all that concerns your family. I learned that Ksenia”—disgust crimps her features—“was having an affair with Bohdan.”
“I wasn’t,” Ksenia lisps. “I was only using him. I never slept with him. I would never have done that to Lev.”
Aodhan mustn’t fall for her spectacle of decency because he growls, “You scored your sister’s palms. You chained your brother.”
“I pierced Iz’s palms with a copper blade so that Bohdi wasn’t tempted to use an iron sword. As for Konstantin, he wore his necklace…” She glances down at the blood-lacquered chain strung around her neck like a relaxed noose. “I knew he’d heal.”
“You had me shot in the fucking head, Ksen!”
“My command was to knock you out. I didn’t realize they’d do it with a bullet.”
“Is it me, or does it smell like bullshit?” Aodhan leans toward Ksenia and exaggerates a sniff. “Yeah—definitely bullshit.”
She grits what’s left of her teeth. “He was wearing his necklace.”
“Which you planned to steal…” My tone borders on boredom despite the fact that my magic simmers beneath my skin, eager to grind down more than the enamel in her mouth.
Her chin tips at a defiant angle. “ After you healed.”
“How noble,” Aodhan sneers. “I’d clap if my injured mate weren’t passed out in my arms, attempting to mend from your compassion, Ksen.”
“What about my death?” Mestyla’s trembling fists drum against her deeply soiled white frock.
Though Alyona dwells in the daggered shape of her features, and her father in the striking fullness of her lips, the girl carries a candor that neither genitor ever possessed. In truth, she reminds me most of Izolda.
Ksenia’s lids flinch. “You’re alive again, Mesty, and more powerful than ever.”
“So, I should thank you for stabbing me and passing me off as a villain?” My niece’s voice gusts through her lips like a ravenous squall, the sort that sinks galleons.
I’ve no doubt she’d enjoy nothing more than to swim my sister out to sea and leave her reckoning to the terrifying creatures that inhabit its sapphire folds.
“All clear!” Lachlano announces, trouncing into the room. Like Sofiya, he does a double-take upon seeing Mestyla. Because he recognizes my family in her traits or because she’s a stranger? “Where’s Ilya?”
“Safe,” I say. “Apparently, Ksenia sent him away so harm wouldn’t befall him. Like she sent away Milana. A shame she didn’t care for her twin as much as she did the others.”
Aodhan fusses with Izolda’s arms, tucking them closer to his chest. “So, Yuri didn’t make a full recovery?”
“Don’t know.” Ksenia’s obsidian chains roll and clink with her shrug. “Don’t care.”
If her handcuffs hadn’t been made of iron, I would’ve skewered her palms. I probably should, for caution’s sake.
A realization knifes my brain, displacing all other contemplations. “The soldiers that went with him…were they in my employ?”
“Yes.”
Aodhan grunts. “Like you can be trusted. Does anyone have salt on them?”
“There’s no point,” I tell him. “Ksenia has been ingesting small doses of iron to counteract the effect of salt. Isn’t that right, Ksen?”
“Fuckin’ A.” Aodhan’s lips curl in disgust. “That means you’ve been preparing your coup for years.” He glances around the grimy wagon. “You fucking disgust me.”
“Not as much as you disgust me,” she snipes back.
When he rocks forward with deadly intent, I hold up my palm.
“Don’t give her what she wants.” I can almost hear Aodhan’s heels grind into the floor as he settles back.
“I can ask Colm and Fionn to pick Ilya up, Vizosh.” Lachlano’s offer cuts through the stifling air like a cool current.
“I’d appreciate that.”
A beat of silence slips by as Isla’s friend morphs into his shadows to transmit the message.
“Will you kill her?” Mestyla asks.
Ksenia’s stare locks with mine, as though she, too, were waiting on my answer.
I recall Isla’s advice to find a punishment that will bring me peace. Ksenia’s betrayal is so fresh that I’ve no idea yet what to do. “I’m waiting for Izolda to weigh in.”
As though she’d heard my urge for her input, my beloved sister rouses with a soft whimper. “Aodhan? Kostya?” Her eyes spangle in the single sconce lighting the cramped space. “Are we…are we alive?”
“Yes.” I drag my gaze over Isla, hunting the air around her body for the vibration of her pulse. If you don’t hurry back to me , I will be obliged to call you Wife all the time. In front of everyone. Even your parents. Even your grandfather.
I will my mate to scoff. To remind me that I no longer wear protection against iron talons. To fill all the murky hollows within me with her bright voice.
Suddenly, from the void, surges a husky murmur, You and your threats of marriage, Your Highness.
I swirl to her and slam down onto my knees beside Elio.
“Thank you,” I rasp, the words scraping up the ragged ramparts of my throat.
“I’m afraid your gratitude is premature, Vizosh. She still hasn’t…”
Isla’s eyes flutter open then, their splendor igniting the shade that consumed my being while she listed out of my world.
A prickling heat swathes my lids and nose. I rein it back, then arch over her body, bowing to her and to the Gods above and to the Cauldron below for blessing me with this transcendent woman.