Chapter 22
Petra had to have the memory of a steel trap to pick her way through the maze of corridors hidden throughout the castle. Much of it was covered in dust and cobwebs, but Petra traversed them with ease and confidence until they let out into the servant’s quarters.
Ksenia cleaned the blood from her skin and burned her blood-soaked clothing in the fireplace that heated the quarters.
Her eyes flicked to Petra. Checking that she was still there, in one piece.
Then she waited for the stillness. That glassy, faraway look she’d seen settle over bondsmith children Petra’s age when the running was over.
Ksenia dragged her fingers through her hair while Petra, her tiny co-conspirator, rummaged through a closet.
“You looked for me.” Petra’s deft fingers were sorting through spare servant uniforms, not looking at Ksenia. “No one usually does.”
Ksenia didn’t answer. She accepted the uniform outstretched towards her and checked the fit.
It was loose but wouldn’t draw attention.
“What about your parents?”
Her tiny hands kept rummaging. Refolding what she’d displaced. “It’s just me.” She shut the closet door.
Ksenia bit the inside of her cheek.
Petra wasn’t safe around her.
She lowered herself to Petra’s level. “We can’t keep running into each other, okay? It’s dangerous.”
Petra’s big brown eyes shone with equal parts defiance and light.
“But you’re my friend. And I don’t want you to die like the others did last year.” She sniffed.
A beat of silence.
Ksenia swallowed. “No. Friends don’t put friends in danger, all right?” She tucked a wild curl of blonde hair behind Petra’s ear, and Petra swatted her hand away, red coloring her cheeks.
“But I know this whole place! I can help.”
Ksenia rubbed her forehead. If Petra were hurt because of her, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself.
But part of what Petra said rang true. Ksenia was out of her element in Hearth, and she sensed that the violence of the competition was only just beginning.
“Maybe,” Ksenia relented, shaking her head while Petra beamed. “Off to bed with you.”
After the young girl was safely in her sleeping quarters, Ksenia doubled back, a sinister idea brewing in her mind.
She wove through the tunnels that Petra had revealed to her, finding her path back to the hedge maze.
Scarcely half an hour had passed, but her time was fleeting before the guards inevitably made their rounds. The tang of blood was fresh in the air, and for the first time in days, the night was without a single cloud in the sky.
With care, she beheaded the noblemen and brought their heads to the center of the maze, before the oak tree.
She staked the polearm to the ground. Then, one by one, she stacked each head on top of the other. A reverential smile slipped onto her face as she stepped back to admire her handiwork.
Then, as a final touch, she lit a match.
From her pocket, she retrieved her maker’s mark—a thin bar of metal scarcely thicker or longer than her pinkie.
She held the flame to the tempered stamp until the dull, gray metal took on a light tan tarnish.
And with it, she branded their skin.
The next morning, gray light streamed through the rose window of the great hall, bathing Karsan in a beam of light. Overhead, Ravenka’s reliquary shone with rays of green, red, and purple, shards of light ever moving across the stone walls.
A short distance behind him stood Bohdan, who appeared to be conferring with his lieutenants.
With predatory patience, the king waited for the lords and ladies of the court before him to silence themselves. Ksenia watched as a few dozen bloodshot eyes darted nervously and hands fidgeted with fine clothes as the vast hall echoed with a buzz of muttered rumors.
A small smile graced his face with detached curiosity at their panic.
A pallid man shuffled forward, licking his lips. “Lord King, there has been an increase in violent crime and murders. Last night—”
“I know about last night,” Karsan spoke evenly, as though silencing a child.
“Something hellish is happening in Kraal, my Liege. I beg of you to increase security.” Beads of sweat formed on his lip, and he shook like a leaf.
“Had Dmitri followed my guidance, he would not have suffered the fate he did. His death is regrettable, but unsurprising.” Karsan cupped one elbow with his hand, the other softly stroking his chin. “Pledge fealty to me once more, and I will guarantee your safety.”
The court wilted and paled. The first man who spoke looked up, his mouth falling open in surprise as he rubbed and twisted his gloves before quickly shutting his mouth after a sharp look from Karsan.
Chancellor Valdren rocked slightly on his heels, scratching at the skin of his hands till angry red welts formed. He glanced toward the exits, but he was held firm in the crowd like a school of fish with nowhere to turn.
Ksenia watched the proceedings from a darkened hallway, her sharp eyes and ears absorbing the court’s tangible anxiety. Their faces were becoming paler than the fresh apple she was peeling with Caromir’s sharpened edge.
Slowly, the court dragged its feet to form a shifty line in front of Karsan. A soft glow of light haloed his head, but the glimmer of his eye was sinister as he unsheathed Radegast from his hip and presented the gleaming edge to his court.
A guard stepped forth with a dagger as well.
Radegast’s dark, organ-like resonance bounced off every stone-cold surface, closing in on Ksenia’s head like a fist. Her nails dug into the fresh apple as she winced, but she fought to keep her eyes trained on the blade.
Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, made more harrowing by the low-cut brocade-silk corset that cinched her waist tightly. A dark burgundy chemise with translucent fabric grazed over her arms and plumed with heavy, matching red silk from her waist to skim the floor.
One by one, the court pledged fealty, cutting their flesh on common steel before letting their blood drip upon his sacred blade.
Even letting his inner court touch Radegast would be sacrilegious.
By blood and bone, I am bound to serve the crown.
Soon, all that could be heard was a pitter-patter of liquid on the floor.
Karsan looked over the crowd.
“My dear friends, if you know who killed Dmitri Stoyan last night, you should feel comfortable telling me.”
But the crowd proffered nothing; they only looked up at him with smiling, upturned faces, some bouncing on their heels.
Across the room, the crunch of Ksenia’s apple caught Bohdan’s attention. His green eyes snapped to where she slinked in the darkness. And she returned an arched brow, the corner of her mouth tugging as she wiped away a stray drop of juice.
The king exited, followed by a flank of generals and noblemen.
Bohdan’s attention was magnifying and unforgiving in the way only truly disciplined people could dole out.
She stuffed the apple in her mouth as he moved to her with a liquid smoothness and settled against a marble pillar opposite her, his posture loose but ready.
Ah, the accomplice in your murder here in a darkened hallway within striking distance, Vornaya needled.
Ksenia suppressed her warring thoughts, caught between bloodlust and a strange, sick desire.
Bohdan’s presence both threatened and thrilled her.
“Something amusing?” His voice was the most cunning weapon of all. It drew her in, then cut her. The more quietly he spoke, the more dangerous he became.
“Not at all. Nothing amusing about a noble boy being held accountable for his actions.” Her brows pulled together as she wagged her finger at him.
“What’s more troubling is a killer is still on the loose, and they thought it’d be funny to skewer their heads on a halberd.”
“A killer may be on the loose, but it sounded to me like those three deserved it.” Ksenia tossed the apple core behind her, wiping the crazed smile from her face. It rolled a distance away with a thud.
His gaze swung to it, then back to her. Tempted to make her clean up her mess.
He took a step closer. She could feel the heat of his body.
His scent mixed with the tartness of the apple. Sage: clean, sharp, almost silvery in tone. And the undercut of something complex, like spiced wine.
The bare skin of her chest grew heated, and she changed the topic. “I noticed you didn’t pledge fealty to the king.”
His head tilted, analyzing her. “He doesn’t question my loyalty.” From the corner of her eye, Chancellor Valdren had spotted the pair and was shuffling his way over.
“No.” She lifted her slender hand to trace a finger lightly down his crimson vest. “I imagine he wouldn’t.”
Valdren’s face turned dark and sullen, and he strode away.
Bohdan caught the tip of his tongue between his teeth, not giving in to her trap. She wanted to make him squirm, to lose control, to manipulate him.
Every movement was slow, like a predator winding up for the kill as he leaned down, deliciously close. Her hand splayed wide against his chest, but she had half a mind to push him away and the other half to pull him closer.
His warm breath ghosted upon her ear, and her skin broke out in gooseflesh.
“Treason isn’t a good look on you, Senka.”
Her hand pressed flat against his chest. “Don’t you have a murderer to catch? Wouldn’t want him to strike again.”
A low hum rumbled from his throat. “Don’t worry, I’m closer than they think.” His smirk grew as her blush did.
It set her teeth on edge.
The third trial was another week away, but without Tivan’s clue, she had no idea what awaited her. At least the night’s previous hunt had satisfied Vornaya’s hunger and cleared her mind.
Till then, she had to keep her head down and stay out of the captain’s sight.