Chapter 25
The next morning, Ksenia woke in her bed at the manor with the low hum of blood still rushing beneath her skin, dark and intoxicating. She extricated herself from the tangled bedsheets to splash water on her face in the bathroom.
The biting cold did little to soothe the deep pull in her chest, every sound pulsing in her head. And she wasn’t sure if it was from the bloodlust or something else.
She could smell Bohdan on her clothes, feel the imprint of his body pressed against hers.
Unwelcome but irresistible fantasies dripped down the walls of her mind—of tearing him to shreds and him tearing into her with equal measure. She gripped the lip of the sink.
He was proving to be a difficult problem to solve.
She had to get underneath his skin. But the closer she got, the closer he would get to finding out the truth.
The biting hunger in her stomach led her to the kitchen where a baker was kneading dough, folding in fresh herbs and spices as she went.
She was far from Brannfels, but she still recalled the tastes of her neighborhood.
She and Danika were fond of the sugary twists of bread, with ribbons of salty crushed nuts mixed in.
She glanced at the baker now. “Can you make sugar twists?”
The baker clapped her hands, a puff of flour escaping her palms.
“I can make anything. I didn’t take you for a sweet tooth though.”
“Common trait I share with my sister,” Ksenia said softly, the dust trailing through the air disturbed by her sigh.
With her freshly baked pastry bundled in her pack, she ventured to Hearth. There was only one day left before the final challenge, but she had other pressing matters to attend to.
With a wound like the one she’d witnessed, Danika would have to return to the medical wing eventually to change her bandages and check the healing progress.
Ksenia stuffed a pastry in her mouth and waited for her mark from the balustrade above.
Before long, a telltale flash of flaxen blonde caught her eye. Danika’s arm was in better shape, less soiled than when she’d last seen her.
She took her time, winding down the stone corridor and staircase that led to the medical wing’s entrance, keeping her distance while Danika and the nurse made idle small talk to distract from the pain of changing the dressing.
Danika finally took her leave, walking down the rows of beds toward the entrance, where Ksenia stood in the hallway.
She regarded Ksenia’s rust-orange dress, its edges trimmed in gold, and the soft slippers she wore.
“You’re not who you’re pretending to be.” Danika’s healthy hand clenched.
Ksenia proffered no argument and began digging in her pack. She produced a sugar twist, wrapped in wax paper, and offered it to her wary sister. “You’re right.”
Danika’s eyes brightened, and she reached out before faltering. “What is this for?”
“It’s your favorite. I couldn’t go back to Brannfels, but this is the closest I could do.”
Danika cautiously accepted it, head tilted. “How do you know that?”
Ksenia opened her palm.
In it was a small wooden box. Danika’s eyes widened, her jaw slack.
Wordlessly, she reached for it, caressing the top before popping it open to reveal an old button collection from their late mother’s sewing box.
As a child, she’d become obsessed with finding new and lost ones to add to it.
Instead of spending her meager allowance on sweets, she’d opt for unique buttons instead.
“This too.” A dark blue leather-bound notebook appeared in Ksenia’s hands, its pages worn and dog-eared with Danika’s entries over the years.
Danika’s hands shook as she gathered her diary. “I—I don’t understand what’s happening. How did you know that hand signal—why did you ask me to lie? Why are you following me—” Her questions stoppered in her throat.
She blinked, her eyes glassy, and swallowed hard. Ksenia’s fierce gaze held her, as long as she would allow it.
Don’t you recognize me? Ksenia couldn’t bring the words to her lips. She needed to be seen by her sister to bring back any shred of her humanity.
A beat passed.
Two.
Danika’s eyes rimmed with tears, creasing upward with her pained smile. “Gods. That fucking look in your eyes is unmistakable.”
Ksenia’s laugh punched out of her lungs, and a tear trickled from her eye. “Since when do you curse?”
“Since always. You just don’t notice because you’re worse.” Danika rushed forward, sweeping her into a fierce hug and crushing the twist between them. Ksenia barely caught the box of buttons and diary before they clattered to the floor.
Every day. Every day since her resurrection, she had been forced to perform with a different face, body, and name. And now, finally, the most important person to her recognized her and validated that she had existed before, existed now, and was still the same person.
Her death meant something, and her life meant something.
Ksenia buried her face into Danika’s shoulder, savoring the feeling of being known.
“How. What—?” Danika’s hands came to Ksenia’s face, turning it every which way.
“Later.” Her eyes darted down the hallway at an approaching castle guard, his metal armor plates clinking. “It’s not safe here.”
Danika nodded, smoothing the bandana on her head with her fingers.
“Let’s meet elsewhere.”
“The armory?” Danika suggested. “I have weapons to transfer tonight.”
Ksenia nodded quickly.
“Stay sharp.” Ksenia gave Danika’s hand a comforting, tight squeeze.
“Stay safe.” Danika’s eyes glistened.
Back in the manor, a sparring session was underway.
Varka’s blade traced smooth, perfect arcs through the air, stressing Ksenia’s defenses.
She punished her with precise, measured strikes, making it clear that Ksenia’s stance was too broad and open. Her weight leaned on her back foot, and soon, she found herself parrying Varka’s blade, backed into a corner.
Ksenia struck back with raw aggression, cutting savage lines with no form or finesse. Her sword crashed upon Varka’s with bone-jarring force that sent shockwaves through both their bodies.
Slowly, they circled one another. Varka read Ksenia’s tell, sidestepping her wild swing with a surgical counter.
But her parries had become less effective on Ksenia now. Every time Varka’s blade met Ksenia’s, it was as if she were trying to stop a sledgehammer. She stumbled backward, her perfect form momentarily shattered by sheer force.
Ksenia’s boot dusted chalk into Varka’s face, and she shielded her eyes from the cheap trick. Lunging forward, Ksenia drove her shoulder into the noblewoman’s gut, tackling her to the ground.
Varka rolled away, springing to her feet, her brow drawn tight.
Ksenia fought like a feral animal, trapped and snared.
“Your form is going. We’ll stop here for tonight—”
Ksenia locked their blades in a shaking embrace. Fierce yellow eyes leveled with disbelieving hazel ones. “No. I can keep going.”
“No, Senka. We are done for the evening until you can find your form again. What you’re doing is reckless and not what we practiced.” Varka shoved hard.
“Fuck the form. I need whatever is going to help me survive out there, and so far, they haven’t been sanctioned duels with referees!” Ksenia clipped, then regretted it.
Varka’s brow shot upward, her mouth agape. Color rose in her cheeks.
And when she finally spoke, her voice was frigid.
“Our sparring ends here then. You can find someone else to give you that brute survivalist technique you’re looking for.”
Ksenia wiped the chalk dust that stuck to her sweat from her face as Varka retired.
Ksenia loathed to admit she might be right. Something in her had obviously changed, and she wasn’t sure how much of her original self remained at the end of the day.
Monsters at least survive long enough to be criticized, Vornaya lilted.
But there was an irrefutable fact that kept Ksenia grounded. Regardless of whether she fought with technique, one challenge remained. And she would do anything and everything to succeed.
Her hands and feet were on pins and needles as she anxiously awaited Danika’s arrival that evening in the armory.
She paced up and down the racks of shining weapons and armor, ears straining for any deviation in the guard rotation.
Soon, the clinking of metal and skittering of light footfall broke the monotony of the guard rounds: Danika.
“Whoa!” Danika laughed as Ksenia popped her head around the corner, beaming at her sister. “I’m not sure what’s more frightening, you jumping out at me or you dressed like that.”
Ksenia huffed, dusting her hands on the tightly corseted black dress she had chosen for the evening. It was modest with a higher neck than usual but wouldn’t raise any eyebrows as she wandered through Hearth on her path to the armory.
“No need to remind me.”
Danika unhooked a sword from her hip, in a handsome leather scabbard. Ksenia ran her finger along the thick, even stitching that held the seams together. Danika always had superior craftsmanship compared to her.
A guard rotation passed by, earning her a cursory glance from the castle soldier as Ksenia pretended to admire herself in a shield hung upon the wall as Danika placed the weapon onto a rack.
“I only have a few minutes before the Envorsen come looking.” Danika’s eyes darted to the door.
Ksenia explained to her, as quickly as possible, what had happened: how she had been lured to the forest and murdered by Karsan, then given a second chance by a mysterious god. More importantly, how their grandfather’s kingsword was now the key to their freedom.
Danika’s grip tightened on Ksenia’s hands to the point of breaking and she felt her bones shifting around. Then, she burst, unable to hold her breath or her tears any longer.
Her trembling fingers gently caressed her baby sister’s face, brushing strands of hair behind Ksenia’s ears.
“I never should have let you go alone that night.” Her eyes were rimmed with red and her bandage had darkened from the effort. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re not the monster in this story. The king is.” Ksenia’s eyes fixated on the blood seeping through the pure white gauze. “It’s not right for us to be enslaved or murdered for who we were born as. I didn’t choose this, nor did you.”
Choked with tears, Danika pulled her in once, hard, and Ksenia pressed her face into her elder sister’s strong shoulder for as long as they could afford until the footsteps of another guard rotation sounded in the hallway.
Danika stepped back and cupped Ksenia’s face in her roughened hands, memorizing while she still could. The fierce look in her yellow eyes, her long dark lashes, her warm skin—different, but still her sister.
“Go,” Ksenia said, and gazed at her sister a beat longer than she should have as she disappeared down the hallway.
Ksenia’s heart was in her throat with the unwelcome thought that it may have been the last time they saw each other.
The next night would be the final challenge, and Ksenia couldn’t bring herself to tell Danika about the harrowing trials they had endured to that point.
That she had survived, and twenty-eight others had not.
But she only had to kill one more to be crowned Sevrant.