Chapter 12
She fell the remaining six feet, her shoulder breaking the impact. The hood of her cloak muffled her scream as she writhed on the ground. White spots floated behind her clenched eyelids as she willed the pain away. Primal panic set into her chest, mouth open, but no air found its way to her lungs.
What shallow breaths she could take were filled with the loamy scent of decomposing leaves, moss, and rich dirt as she rolled onto her front, pushing herself to stand.
The edge of the forest dropped into a deep gully, and beyond, a serviceable road on which a familiar carriage awaited.
Ksenia lurched through the brush and bramble, the sound of horses and hounds crashing through the nearby woods in hot pursuit.
Wind whipped leaves and branches through her hair as she tore her way to the carriage door.
Her fingers slipped on the handle as a slender hunting hound burst through the underbrush and leapt at her throat.
She wrenched the door open with a scream, throwing herself within.
The carriage lurched forward at a blistering pace, leaving the hunting party in the distance.
Ksenia dragged in thin, sharp breaths. Her legs trembled without control, the deep ache from climbing the aqueduct and well settling on her body, dull in some places, sharp and twinging in others. And beneath it all was a strange and anxious relief: she had survived.
Her stomach lurched. She hoped Petra had gone unseen.
She had survived, but Bohdan had also caught her.
Hearth would be on high alert, looking for a thief who fit her description.
She groaned, resting her aching head into her hands.
Even if she made it back to Beranek Manor, there would be an entire hunting party on her tail.
Bringing them to Varka seemed dangerous, but something about the noblewoman made Ksenia think she could handle the intrusion…
She straightened up, her mud-caked clothes smearing over the luxurious upholstered bench. The sword was dirty, but in good shape. She knew it’d take more than a fall to mar a blade as well-made as this one.
The scenery was a blur of drenched color as the carriage ferried her back to the manor.
A pale lavender palette painted the sky as the storm cleared, lingering whisps of white catching the first light of dawn with a bruised purple and peach-tinged gray as the carriage creaked to a halt in front of Beranek Manor.
Ksenia almost fell out of the carriage; a limp in her right hip from the fall made her falter. Servants opened the double doors unprompted, their noses wrinkling when she drew near.
Varka leaned against the circular table in the foyer, examining her nails, her eyes flicking up at Ksenia brightly.
“Well, well. You crazy, insane woman. You did it.”
A delirious smile cracked Ksenia’s lips as a laugh bubbled out. She had done it. Maybe she had a chance after all at the Sevrant trials if she had the guts to do what she did last night.
Varka met her halfway, striding firmly to embrace Ksenia in a tight hug. The air squeezed out of her lungs for a few precious seconds, and Ksenia shut her eyes, momentarily transported to her last embrace with Danika. Varka broke away, glassy-eyed herself.
“Now, let’s see your prize.”
Pride bloomed in her chest as she unearthed the blade from her muddy scarf.
Varka ran her calloused fingers over the fine hilt, caressing the emerald inset at the pommel. Her expression softened, as if years of longing had settled onto her face. A fragile half smile graced her lips, and her gaze clung to the magnificent sword in reverential wonder.
“Why is it important?” Ksenia murmured, her voice hoarse.
“Because it means a piece of my aunt is home again.”
“That blade belongs to the king; stealing it is a crime punishable by death.” The voice over her shoulder was precise, measured, and magnetic. Ksenia spun on her heel, and from the corner of her eye, saw Varka’s lips press into a firm line.
Standing in the manor’s threshold was Ksenia’s pursuer. The servants stiffened and averted their gazes.
Dawn light cast his sable hair golden where it fell in waves over his tawny brow. It softened his eyes, but they met hers once more with a darkly amused undertone in their crystalline green depths. Every line of his body was taut, precise. Power ready to be released with pinpoint control.
Ksenia froze. Recognition gripped her heart painfully.
No. No.
That severe, devilish look in his eye, the way he’d stared through the painting and right at her soul.
Blood prickled to the surface of her cheeks and flushed down her neck.
The captain and bastard prince himself, how plucky, Vornaya chided, and Ksenia bit her tongue.
Underneath his black suede vest, his charcoal tunic was trimmed with dark silver embroidery. His slacks cut a clean line from his hip to the tops of his polished leather boots.
“Bohdan, dear baby brother, you should know your rank in this household. We may share blood, but you’re far from demanding anything around here.”
Ksenia’s blood turned to ice. Brother. Ksenia dug her nails into her grimy palms as her gaze cut between Varka and Bohdan. It was widely known that Bohdan was a bastard, but no one ever spoke of his mother, so the fact that it was the late queen-to-be, Iskra Beranek, boggled the mind.
The resemblance came into focus as a slow curl tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You never told her, did you?”
Ksenia’s eyes shot daggers at him.
Varka had made a fool of her—feeding her half-truths while hiding the fact that the king’s bastard shared her blood. She bit her curses back between clenched teeth.
“How rude of me, Bohdi,” Varka continued with a lazy wave of her hand, and his eyes narrowed a scintilla at the nickname. “You remember Senka, don’t you? My new champion for the trials?”
His laugh was sharp, brief. “Champion? Come now, she’s a thief. Turn her over.” He hooked his thumb into the pocket of his slacks, the picture of ease—as if he weren’t about to drag her to the executioner’s block, again.
“I think not. Senka is under my protection, and if I can’t have her remains, at least I now have her sword.”
Ksenia stiffened. Remains?
His shoulder sloped downward as he leaned against the wooden doorway, his eyes crinkling with faint amusement.
“I didn’t know you were so fond of family. Family over everything? Even our fealty to the king?”
“I will cut out your tongue if you speak of that man again.” Varka’s words dripped with vitriol, the emerald blade pointed at her half-brother.
The servant staff startled.
Bohdan raised his hands in fake acquiescence. “You could visit Hearth more often. My father asks about you all the time.”
Varka’s shoulders squared. “I’d rather go to hell.”
“There’s the stubborn sister I grew up with,” he drawled.
“We shared a nursemaid, hardly a home,” Varka spat.
“As for her—” Bohdan swung his finger at Ksenia. “Let the poor girl go. From what I’ve seen, she won’t survive a minute of the trials.”
“Says the man from whom I stole this blade,” Ksenia snarked.
Curiosity tilted his head.
“A mercy I won’t make the mistake of extending a third time.” His voice dropped a few degrees, and a chill crept up her spine.
He strode lazily past Varka and Ksenia, up the grand staircase, and disappeared to the western wing of the second floor.
Hot-blooded embarrassment flooded her system. Had he recognized her spying on him that night? Impossible. The peepholes were well-concealed. But if he had grown up here and knew the manor as well as Varka…
A frustrated scream broke at the back of her throat.
Bohdan was an enigma. He had already been complicit in her death once, and she sensed their lives would be hopelessly entangled further.
Ksenia’s anger was redirected at Varka. “Why didn’t you tell me he was your brother?”
“I did not deem it necessary information. If you couldn’t pull this off, you had no hope in the trials.
” Varka polished the sword with the hem of her sleeve, the metal coming away spotless.
“Besides, I got you something.” She jammed her hand deep into her pocket, a confused look crossing her face as she came up empty-handed.
A smile played on Ksenia’s lips as she watched Varka pat herself down, searching for something.
“Looking for this?” A heavy gold token flipped and spun in the air with a chiming note, then dropped back into Ksenia’s palm.
The family crest from the manor’s rose window was delicately etched into the surface. This coin was enough to feed and house her for several years—at least.
“You clever woman. You finally figured it out.” Varka’s grin beamed from ear to ear. “That is your token to enter the Sevrant trials.”
Ksenia’s smugness was short-lived as another glaring concern consumed her mind.
“But why is he staying here? How do you expect him not to assassinate me in my sleep?” Ksenia ground her molars as Varka happily balanced the sword in her hand.
If Ksenia slipped up and Bohdan found out she was a bondsmith, she would meet yet another early death.
She could hardly believe that Varka allowed him into Beranek Manor.
Her suspicions had led her to think that Varka was a Bound Eye supporter, so letting Bohdan, the captain of the Envorsen, over the threshold was like dancing with death.
“Because as much as I detest the bastard, he is still part kin to me.” Varka clapped a hand on Ksenia’s shoulder, but the action was hollow.
Ksenia schooled herself not to trust so quickly. Varka may have made grand claims about wanting revenge against Karsan, but her motives and memory around the king could be questionable. There was no telling how far Karsan’s compulsion reached.
Ksenia shuddered, remembering how people in Brannfels had turned on bondsmith families they’d known their whole lives—betraying people they’d lived beside for years.
“Come to dinner tonight. I don’t think I can manage a whole meal alone with him.” Varka shuddered.
“You’re reinstating my meal privileges so you don’t have to dine with your half-brother?” Ksenia cocked a brow.
“Consider it part of your training. We’ve gone over fighting, scheming, and stealing—but don’t forget you’re going to have to survive at court. A lot of that job is done without a knife.”