Chapter 20
Ksenia had spent days poring over the book of anti-venoms, cross-referencing what she could with the tomes in the library.
But at the end of the day, she was neither an apothecary nor a medical practitioner.
The words made her eyes glaze over, and she spent more time trying to understand the simplest of terms before she could learn about the ingredients the book referred to.
It was clearly a book meant for a trained professional, covering all manner of venoms on the continent.
But still, she had read it cover to cover. Then again. And once more for good measure.
Varka began making fun of her bookish habit at dinner, when Ksenia brought down pages of notes and inkwells to continue studying.
She wasn’t sure what it meant, but the pristine book had become worn and frayed with Ksenia’s repeated flipping.
She couldn’t afford to let the clue go to waste, not when she was still in the midst of the deadly Sevrant trials, and Danika was confirmed alive.
They both had a chance, and screwing up for lack of preparation was not an option.
In the sparring hall, the evening before the second trial was due to start, Varka was unable to disarm Ksenia a single time. Try as she might, Caromir remained lodged in Ksenia’s hand, as if tethered by an invisible force.
Ksenia decided to test her limits with Caromir; power was nothing without control, as she was beginning to learn. If Ksenia could avoid harming Varka and still best her, she would demonstrate her control over Caromir.
Her growing bloodlust had produced an equally growing web of anxiety. After killing the man who’d extorted Rinna, Ksenia had been itching for a fight. Had she not been stunned by Tivan, she might have sought to kill him right then and there.
She caught herself replaying sick fantasies about the murders. The way it’d feel to take their lives and be struck with a bolt of pure power that would invigorate her from head to toe.
It felt like a dangerous path to continue down, but she was becoming more eager with each step.
The pair reached stalemate after stalemate, Ksenia’s body screaming with exertion and Varka finally breaking a sweat. But a gleaming smile also graced the noblewoman’s face as they sat on the chalk-strewn floor, spent.
“You will be a champion to end all champions. I can see it now.” It was the highest praise Varka had ever deigned to bequeath upon her, and she felt a glow from within her chest. She had never depended on others for self-gratification, but this felt different. Sisterly.
She leaned in and whispered, “You will be a champion that ends the butcher king’s reign,” and Ksenia’s wicked grin was returned in kind.
Her grin was replaced with a furrowed brow when she entered the dungeon the following evening for the second trial.
Bohdan draped his elbow casually against a stone pedestal in the room. Behind him stood a set of floor-to-ceiling curtains. Ksenia could feel the weight of his gaze before it slid over the remaining eight candidates gathered on one side, awaiting instruction.
Tivan looked particularly smug, waving a bundle of dried lavender herb in Ksenia’s direction, who sent a smirk back. His expression faltered slightly, but returned with a false bravado as his former teammates clapped him on the shoulder.
“Welcome,” called Bohdan. “We began with thirty; now we are eight. Tonight’s challenge is called Survival.”
At the snap of his slender fingers, the curtains flew back, revealing a cadre of medical staff, armed with vialed liquids of varying colors and thick syringes.
And farther back, a series of desks and medicine cabinets arranged against each other.
Glass beakers, pipettes, mortar and pestles, and a lantern for cooking were neatly stacked on each table’s surface.
Ksenia sucked in a breath as she pieced it together.
“You will be injected with a mystery venom, for which you will need to concoct your own anti-venom.” Bohdan gestured at the medical staff. “Do it successfully, and you live and move on to the next trial. Fail and, well—you will not be assisted in any way.” He shrugged.
Tivan cursed, throwing the herbs to the floor and crushing them underfoot as the men around him grew pale.
Pavel donned a sheen of sweat but was busy reciting a passage from the anti-venom book.
Vuk thumped his chest with his book, undeterred.
Bohdan’s finger tapped softly against the stone pedestal, where a minuscule slip of parchment lay. “And whoever recovers fastest will win the clue for the next trial.”
Her eyes locked on the scrap of paper, no larger than her pinkie finger.
“Champions, step forward.”
Eight doctors approached eight champions, depositing their chosen venoms into their upper arms. Ksenia winced at the prick of metal at her shoulder and could feel a burning cold spread from the point.
She racked her brain over the symptoms as she raced over to a station and grabbed a rubber tourniquet.
She tied it around her shoulder, slowing the venom’s spread into the rest of her body. Half of the champions were at a loss for what to do and hastily mirrored her actions.
However, none of their activities and ingredients would have any bearing on one another.
Next to her, Vuk was becoming red as a lobster as he sweated profusely and flipped through the book. He gathered the delicate vials from the shelves in front of him and cursed when one slipped from his slick fingers, crashing onto the table into a powdery mess.
Ksenia mentally isolated potential venoms and concentrated on formulating a base solution that most anti-venoms began with.
She cracked open the book before her, but her vision alternated between narrowed and too wide, her head throbbing with pain.
She felt increasingly confident of her path, but less confident of her ability to execute.
With every passing second, she became more envenomed and unable to perform basic tasks.
A delicate pipette was poised between her thumb and forefinger. A spasm of pain sent extra droplets into her beaker than she intended.
Shit.
She couldn’t afford to stop. Her coherence was diminishing rapidly.
Tremors racked her body, her fingers dusting the table with her spoonful of blue powder, completely missing the beaker. Her opposite hand gripped the table till her knuckles turned ghostly, and she willed herself to find stability.
Vuk had long passed out and was now face down on his table, his body steaming.
On her other side, a man retched the contents of his lunch onto his own feet before collapsing.
Not good. The venom’s full effects were likely taking hold.
Ksenia couldn’t keep her head straight. Losing track of her thoughts, she struggled to remember whether the final ingredient had already made it in. Or was it yet to come?
Her mouth grew paper dry as the chill set into the muscles of her diaphragm and throat, restricting her ability to breathe. Her vision wavered like heat shimmering before a furnace, the edges blurring and doubling.
Without a second thought, she poured the mixture into the stopper of a syringe and drove it toward the soft flesh of her thigh.
The needle pricked her skin, a bead of blood rising to the surface.
She stopped, sweat dotting her lip.
Her heavy eyes snapped back into sharp, almost painful focus on a pair of green eyes staring back at her, and the chaos of the room slipped away, just out of her grasp.
Slowly, Bohdan raised his thumb and middle fingers.
His other index finger curved, then struck the nonexistent object in sharp, rhythmic flicks. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Each movement was precise despite having nothing to strike against.
What…what was—
Her eyes widened, and she mirrored his actions. She brought the shaking syringe upright and tapped her nail against it to release the air bubbles.
A wave of vertigo crashed through her skull, and her depth perception abandoned her entirely as she struggled to position the needle over her thigh once more.
With a tremor, she drove it into her flesh with a broken moan, pushing the plunger down before crashing to the floor.
Ksenia sucked in a shaky, ragged breath. Her lungs felt like ice shards had crystallized within, and each inhale came with stabbing pain. She doubled over with a wince.
An inquisitive face with worried brown eyes peered over her. Petra’s curly braid, dressed with a gray ribbon, fell over her slim shoulders and tickled Ksenia’s nose.
A small, damp cloth was pressed against Ksenia’s forehead. Petra held it there with both hands, her tiny brow furrowed.
“You were making scary sounds,” her voice hushed.
Ksenia stifled her cough, her voice hoarse. “That was just snoring.”
Petra’s lip wobbled between a pout and a smile, still holding the cloth.
The world felt disconnected from her body, fever-dreamy. Like she was watching herself wade through syrup as she pushed herself to sit up.
In the room, the eight competitors lay on tarps along the walls.
Four were being bagged.
Despite having the clue, her former teammates still succumbed to their mystery venoms: Vuk’s skin was blistered and raw, while Pavel was pallid with yellow froth on his lips.
A wave of nausea overtook her, and she retched into a can nearby.
Petra recoiled, then held out the cloth.
Ksenia wiped her mouth as she looked down at the ground, and she, too, lay on a tarp.
She glowered at Bohdan, standing in the corner, but had to admire his ruthless efficiency. She supposed, in his line of work, people often died.
If she succeeded, her line of work would also involve people dying.
“Forgetting something?” Bohdan called to her and casually shuffled some papers in his hands.
Realization slammed into her like a cold bucket of water.
The clue.
She clambered to her hands and knees only to meet the floor face-first, her cheek scraping the dirt. Every time she reached for solid ground, it tilted beneath her palms.