Chapter 17
By the morning of the second trial, the dungeon felt significantly larger with fewer bodies crammed into the space. More than half of the competitors were already gone, leaving the lucky—or the unfortunate—survivors to brave the fresh horrors that awaited them.
Along the back of the wall, a fire crackled in the stone hearth. Bohdan leaned casually against a desk in front of the fireplace, light turning him into a dark silhouette.
He watched Ksenia with the patience of someone who had all the time in the world to get what he wanted, exactly how he wanted it. Just like how he somehow got Danika to do his dirty work.
The position of Sevrant would be no different, as the unseen hand of the king. But she had no choice if she were to free herself and her sister.
She couldn’t come up with a strong reason why Danika sold out those people. Her actions were antithetical to everything they had done together, helping their kind escape the Envorsen.
Perhaps she was being tortured? But Danika looked fine and well, albeit tired.
A glimmer in the room snapped her attention back, along with everyone else’s—like a crimson star, fallen to earth.
Bohdan held up a ruby earring. The stud was a glowing cabochon cut, perfectly smooth and orb-like. Hanging from the stud was a magnificent pear-cut ruby. Unlike the smooth glow of its counterpart, the faceted surface fractured the light into brilliant crimson shards across the walls.
“Welcome to the first trial, candidates. We began with thirty, and now we are twelve.”
A confused murmur scattered through the crowd.
“…First trial?”
“…You mean—we’ve only begun?”
Bohdan cleared his throat, and the room instantly fell silent. “Catch and Kill was not a trial; it was intended to thin the herd.”
Ksenia swallowed thickly. She was further from her goal than she expected.
“If you’re finished complaining, I will deliver your brief.
” Bohdan’s voice took a steely edge as he went on.
“The challenge is called Infiltration and Extraction.” He held the jewel higher.
“This is a crown jewel of the late Queen Ravenka Saranov. As you can see, I possess only one earring. Your mission is to locate the missing relic from within the castle as discreetly as possible. The guards are permitted to kill on sight and defend the jewel at all costs. You have three days to find and steal it.”
Ksenia pushed through the competitors to get a closer look. The earring was stunning: a delicate gold filigree encased the stud and the pear-shaped gem, connected by a platinum bail.
Simple, but the simple things were the hardest to get right.
She tore her eyes from the earring to find Bohdan studying her with dangerous intensity.
She averted her gaze, intent on steadying her panic.
Although she had covered her face before she encountered Danika and Bohdan in the Vein, she couldn’t be certain whether he’d recognized her three nights ago.
Thankfully, he hadn’t returned to Beranek manor since, sparing her the agony of wondering if every glance carried suspicion.
“For this trial, you’ll be split into teams of three.”
An uproar exploded from the competitors.
“You either complete the trials with the rules as they are, or face execution. As I said, there will be no losing survivors, only one surviving winner.” His statement stopped their complaints.
She became aware of how many Envorsen were lining the edges of the room, casually leaning against the wall, making small talk. Still, their eyes shifted and roved over the dozen competitors gathered at the center.
They were memorizing their faces to root out suspicious activity for the challenge.
As the only woman, she would stick out like a sore thumb.
Bohdan was counting their heads now, dividing them into four groups.
Ksenia’s eye twitched when she narrowly missed being placed into a team with Tivan. Nothing good could come of that partnership. Better they were on opposing teams so they could kill each other civilly.
She turned to her newly assigned teammates.
Standing a head taller than most, a man was fiddling with the collar of his vest, which hung on his frame despite its well-tailored appearance.
The other was stout like an ox, his thick arms corded with muscle, but his hands looked capable of finesse and craft. An odd trio they would be.
Introductions were curt. The thin man was Pavel. The thick man was Vuk.
Both looked expectantly at Ksenia.
“How did you survive Catch and Kill?” Vuk grunted, his bushy eyebrow raised.
“Same as the rest of you. Crossed over the wall.” Ksenia rolled her eyes.
“But you’re a woman,” Vuk replied with a snort.
“You’re a woman,” Pavel chimed in, his syllables growing brighter at the end.
“Am I really? I had no idea.” Ksenia looked down upon herself, feigning bewilderment before thrusting her middle finger in their faces.
Pavel waved his hand impatiently. “No, I don’t mean to insult you. I meant this is a hidden advantage.”
A quick snap of Bohdan’s fingers called their attention. “Before you leave, come see me for your personalized dossier on your cover moving forward. You will adopt these personas any time you are within Hearth, except during the trials themselves.”
Aliases? Ksenia hadn’t expected this, and by the looks of the crowd, no one else did either.
They lined up before him, and he riffled through the folios before doling out each competitor’s assigned covers.
Bohdan reached Ksenia and passed her the heavy parchment. Their fingers brushed briefly in the exchange, and a shock of electricity zipped up her spine.
Stop thinking about him. Stop it now.
He moved on impassively.
Competitors had already opened their dossiers.
“Scribe? Ugh, I hate writing,” one man complained.
Another: “Taster! Amazing—assuming I don’t get poisoned, but I’ll eat well till then.”
Ksenia flipped open her own.
Courtesan.
Courtesan.
Her eyes daggered at Bohdan’s profile as he handed out assignments to the remaining few.
After a few disgruntled exchanges about their covers, the competitors had filtered out of the room, all except for Ksenia.
Bohdan had returned to the desk.
She slammed the dossier down on the table. The force jolted the ink pot on the desk, spilling black liquid onto the lacquered surface.
“Courtesan. Really?”
“Is there a problem, candidate?” Bohdan dipped his pen into the pot and continued writing.
“I am not a whore.” Vitriol coated her words. She was many things: a bondsmith, a treasoner, soon-to-be-assassin of the king, but not a whore.
“This is a cover. There aren’t that many options for women in Hearth, but if you prefer, I can make you a chambermaid.”
“Anything. Else.” She stabbed the desk with her index finger.
He gingerly placed the pen flat on the desk and rose from his chair, his next words catching her off guard.
“Why were you following me the other night?”
She blinked before her face took on an angry snarl.
“Not everything is about you, you insufferable bastard. You and I being in the same location was a coincidence.”
He leaned in, his words soft in her ear when he said, “And not everything is about you with these trials, so take the cover or die. I’m more than happy to see you out of the competition.”
The air had turned frigid. Goosebumps broke out over her flesh, and she prayed he couldn’t see her reaction.
It’s not worth fighting over, she decided, digging her nails into her palms.
She had to play this game till the end, then she would kill the bastard and his king where they stood.
She snatched the paperwork off his desk and turned on her heel to leave.
Pavel and Vuk were in Hearth’s great hall when she located them twenty minutes later. This marked the first moment she was allowed to roam the common areas of Hearth in daylight.
The main cathedral structure of Hearth was dozens of stories tall.
Her head tipped back completely to look at the gold leaf that served as the negative space in the paintings of the gods on the cathedral ceiling.
Gold covered the busts and reliefs of their likenesses, tucked beneath intricately carved alcoves built directly into the numerous pillars that supported the building.
From the outside, the stained glass set into the lancet windows was dark and dreary.
But within, they were awash with color—depictions of the pantheon and their ascension stories from mortals to gods.
A tier beneath them were macabre reliquaries of royal families, rumored to become minor deities upon death.
Set in crystalline orbs embedded within the pillars were their bleached-white skulls, peering down upon the masses, and the layer beneath that featured statues of priests, devout followers, nobles, and others deemed supportive of their royal lieges’ paths to godhood.
And supposedly, generation after generation, their statues and reliquaries were shifted upward, closer to the heavens and the gods.
Everything in Kraal was about gaining power. Ksenia couldn’t imagine why anyone would wish to ascend, only to have their power and existence hinge on having enough followers and prayers.
She mused that perhaps this was all Karsan knew—doing what was necessary to gain power, and never letting go. Perhaps he knew if he didn’t continue, he would be subject to the horrible things he had done to others and the squalor he forced them into.
The amount of detail was nauseating; every inch was adorned with intricate stonework, sculpture, and ornamentation.
Above all, the place of honor was in front of the trefoiled rose window at the end of the great hall, where the most recently deceased royal would be displayed.
Ksenia looked upon the skull suspended in the crystal orb and could imagine Ravenka’s finely drawn features.
It was dwarfed and surrounded by massive, spinning concentric gold rings, rimmed with spiked amethysts, another ring of rubies, and the last ring of emeralds, shifting within an ever-turning armillary sphere.