Chapter 17 #3
Ksenia shot her a glare as she flipped through church blueprint after blueprint. “It’s a small annoyance compared to this trial.”
“There’s no muscling past the Envorsen.” She hugged her knee to her chest as she seated herself on the edge of the desk in the manor’s library, watching Ksenia pore over the architectural books.
“This is an impossible task. None of the blueprints and accounts of the vault match.” Ksenia cradled her face in her hands, the points of her elbows digging into the table.
“Well, of course. The vault was an elaborate build, constructed over many decades. It endured multiple architects and security specialists.” Varka swirled a goblet of wine in her free hand, lifting it to inhale the aroma.
“Has anyone ever successfully breached it?”
Varka tapped her lip, eyes focused in the distance. “No.”
Ksenia groaned. “I’ve looked at so many of these I can taste the ink through my fingers.” She needed a break from technical drawings.
She leaned back in her chair, her gaze falling on a stack of historical volumes on Drenvar royals that had been sitting untouched.
She thumbed the spine of one before absentmindedly flipping it open to Ravenka’s biography.
She sat upright a few minutes later. “I need to go to the forge.”
“What?” Varka looked up, fingertips pausing on her goblet.
Ksenia was already pushing back from the table. “I’ll tell you later, but if I’m right…” She trailed off, mind racing.
“Wait—”
Ksenia was already out the door, leaving behind the scattered papers and half-open books. She had never attempted to forge something this delicate before—she needed to work with her hands to know if it was even possible.
The sharp nip of evening air was replaced with the blazing warmth of the furnace. She carefully inserted the melting pot with small metal bars into the roaring flame, where the metal bars turned into glowing white beads. Her mind quieted as she began to work with the metal.
With her hammer and tongs, she flattened and pulled it into the finest strands of gold she’d ever spun. Typically, her work was brute and crass, hammering the metal into submission, but only the finest touch would do tonight.
After many hours at the worktable, the watery gray light of dawn greeted her as she put the final touches on her piece.
On the evening of the third night, only eight competitors returned to the debriefing dungeon where Bohdan sat at his desk in front of the fireplace, leisurely sipping a steaming cup of coffee. A whole team was missing, and one team had only partially returned.
Ksenia picked at the ribbon trim that adorned her billowing sleeves. Her corseted bodice featured a deep V-neckline in silvery-gray fabric that caught the light. At Varka’s behest, Ksenia was forced to play her character as dutifully as possible.
Tivan stood closest to the front, his arms crossed over his puffed chest as he smirked at the weary crowd.
“Rough night?” He chortled at the man next to him, a bloodied bandage covering most of his torso.
“Present your findings, and we’ll determine the winners and losers.” Bohdan beckoned with a gloved hand.
Tivan hung his thumbs in his belt loops, sauntering forward with his two teammates. Within his hand, a ruby earring dangled.
“It’s really too bad for the rest of you. You came all this way to lose this competition to me.” The triumph in his face made Ksenia’s stomach turn.
“Next? Let’s see what you’ve brought.” Bohdan swung his finger at the next team.
They looked at one another before settling on a representative—a man with burn marks on his velvet doublet, his beard and hair singed.
In his fist dangled a hefty choker of black pearls, each looped upon one other with obsidian teardrops.
Tivan’s team burst into laughter and shared jeering nudges, which made the man’s shoulders slump further.
“And finally?” Bohdan’s steely eyes found Ksenia’s.
She came forth.
The room was conversing amongst themselves, commiserating their losses, while Tivan’s team leaned against a wall, basking in their glory.
A topaz earring dangled from between her thumb and forefinger. The yellow cabochon stud glowed like a cat’s eye, with a teardrop pendant that shone like the sun beneath it.
The competitors murmured and craned their necks to look at Ksenia’s spoils.
Tivan erupted into laughter, as did the rest of the room.
“The least you could’ve done was find a matching earring! How stupid could you be!” He doubled over, clutching his sides as his cronies joined in.
Ksenia paid them no mind. Bohdan’s eyes widened imperceptibly, blinked, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. His eyes met hers in confirmation. And there, behind that look, was a gleam of something else. The bastard prince was…impressed.
“Presenting your winners of the Infiltration and Extraction trial.” He tipped his chin toward Ksenia, Pavel, and Vuk.
A deathly silence engulfed the room.
“You mean me. I—we won the trial. I have the earring!” Tivan’s voice was low before rising in volume and pitch. He brandished the ruby earring in front of Bohdan’s face.
“Try that again, and I’ll break your fingers,” Bohdan said, his voice low.
Tivan shrank back, his greasy brow pinched. “But—how?”
“Queen Ravenka had eccentric tastes and routinely commissioned mismatched jewelry.” Ksenia dropped the precious earring into Bohdan’s outstretched palm.
“So, did you enjoy my handiwork?” Ksenia’s eyes darted to the ruby counterfeit in Tivan’s hand. His face mottled with purple as he drew closer to her. His cloyingly sweet aftershave made her gag, but she couldn’t pass up the chance at gloating.
Tivan glared at Pavel, who shrugged. “You were so eager to pick it off me, I was happy to let you have it.”
The night before…
Ksenia donned all-black attire and was uncomfortably strapped into a makeshift leather harness to which a carabiner and a heavy rope were attached.
Vuk coiled the remaining rope over his shoulder, and Pavel brought up the rear as the trio canvassed the stone balcony that ringed one of the spired points of Hearth flanking the great hall.
“Are you sure this harness will hold?”
“Woman,” Vuk warned, “if you question me one more time, my entire family line of stone masons will rise from the grave to murder me.”
Ksenia pulled at the buckles strapped across her waist and chest, experimentally crisscrossing them. “If you were going to be suspended from a rope hundreds of feet above the ground, I’m sure you’d ask the same fucking thing.”