Chapter 26
Ksenia loathed to feel beneath anyone.
The dungeon she found herself in was more like a pit, with a wide atrium ringed at the second floor by a balcony bustling with spectators.
It took everything in her not to glare at Karsan where he lounged among them, awaiting the blood sport to commence.
But, she still had to convince him she would be a worthy and loyal weapon.
Grateful for the privilege.
For now. Vornaya’s voice made Ksenia’s lip curl.
The crown of her head prickled.
His cool gaze moved over her as if surveying a piece of weaponry, disinterested, certain of his ownership.
Servants buzzed at his sides, bearing fruit and wine in anticipation. Lords and ladies pressed upon each other to get his attention, leaning over the railing.
Draped over his shoulder and arm was a striking older woman, dark-haired and elegant.
Lady Milena, the king’s longest-standing consort following Queen Ravenka’s passing.
Karsan gestured to a courtier with his goblet, wine sloshing over the rim in a careless arc.
Ksenia pressed her fingernails into her palms as a drop hit her shoulder.
A velvet embossed banner unfurled over the wood railing, casting long, clawed shadows across the floor below, and she let it redirect her anger where it belonged.
Tivan and his jagged-toothed smile. The only thing left between her and victory.
She spotted a loose thread at her cuff, and her hand automatically reached for the empty space at her hip. A curse escaped her lips, and she was doubly reminded by the constant throb in her temples of Caromir’s absence.
She was dressed in Beranek green: a loose tunic paired with a matching vest, the house crest emblazoned upon her heart.
Her black trousers were loose and easy to move in, tucked into well-fitted leather boots.
She had plaited her hair tightly to her head that evening, pulling every strand into a condensed bun at her nape.
Bohdan stood at the center of the room with his hands clasped behind his back.
The shadows deepened on his face from the flickering torches.
He was dressed entirely in black, reminding Ksenia of that fateful night in the forest. His tunic featured an asymmetrical closure with decorative silvered clasps at the shoulder.
Embroidery ran down his chest, and she averted her eyes at the thought of him flush against her.
A wide belt cinched his hips with matching leather vambraces on his forearms, which were crossed over his solid chest now.
If she survived Tivan, she would have a much more formidable opponent to destroy next. She had gotten within a hair’s breadth of killing Bohdan, and yet he still bested her. She shook her head and refocused.
Bohdan beckoned them forward with a slender finger.
Ksenia’s walk was evenly paced as she approached, and his gaze dropped momentarily to a mark beneath her jawline, shamelessly on display. His handiwork from the other night, right before she tried to drive her dagger through his neck.
Tivan’s thumbs were tucked into his pants pockets as he strode forward with wide, confident steps. He wore a saffron-yellow ensemble this evening, giving a nod to a stern nobleman in the rafters. Ksenia took another brief look at the balconies and saw no eagle-eyed woman staring back.
“Welcome to the final challenge. A duel to the death—to settle who will become the Sevrant.” Bohdan’s eyes cut from Tivan and lingered a beat too long on Ksenia. “You’re permitted to use anything you find in this room.”
Find?
Ksenia’s gaze swept the space with renewed interest. The room was large and bare, its wooden-planked floor covered with a thin layer of dirt. Every surface was flecked with dried blood, including the walls. Above, a dizzying lattice of chains crisscrossed through pulleys and levers.
“Oh?” Tivan’s crooked smile sharpened. “So you don’t intend for me to choke her to death with my bare hands.”
Bohdan shrugged. “The winning conditions are your opponent’s head.”
Ksenia’s lip curled with disgust. Karsan’s tastes had always been foul.
Tivan slithered his tongue over his teeth. “More than fine by me.”
A bitter smell wafted into the room.
Archbishop Serafin stepped over the threshold, swinging an incensed thurible at his side.
Foul, spiced smoke wafted from the metal cutout, making people’s eyes water.
He wore a tall, stiff cap that blended in with his pallid skin, elongating his face.
His eyes were deep and sunken, covered by papery-thin eyelids, through which Ksenia could still see his pupils as he blinked slowly.
Long black robes dragged on the ground, lined in crimson. His bony fingers were like dead spiders, clutching obsidian beads and a medallion that he rolled over his knuckles as he circled the two combatants, bidding their souls to part in peace should they die.
Ksenia knew better than to think a little smoke would make the vengeful dead pass quietly.
“Nervous, Kitten?” Tivan’s oily smile and greasy hair complemented his shiny, balding head. His eyes were dancing over her form. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it quick and merciful.”
“Go fuck yourself,” she spat back.
The cheering and hollering from the rafters above grew deafening as Ksenia and Tivan were herded to opposite ends of the room.
Bohdan’s gaze lingered on her again as he followed Serafin to the exit.
Ksenia felt blood prickling hot beneath her skin.
The doors sealed with a hush.
For one moment, neither combatant moved.
There, urged Vornaya when Ksenia’s gaze caught a slight depression in the floor.
Her heel sank against the seam barely visible beneath the silt.
Overhead, chains whirred.
The wall cracked open on her right, revealing a broadsword… directly in front of Tivan.
Fuck.
He tossed it from hand to hand with a broad grin. “I guess I’ll be drawing first blood.”
Then, he came at her with the fluidity of a whip.
The wooden railing above groaned under the weight of spectators leaning and jeering.
He forced her backward with wide slashing cuts, a crazed gleam in his eye.
The wall behind you.
Ksenia ducked, his blade crashing against the stone wall where she’d stood.
Hard enough to depress the trigger.
A small dagger fell and spun to the center as the chains shifted again.
Ksenia dove to catch it, grimacing at her luck.
“A dagger?” Tivan cooed, stalking closer. “How cute! Frail and little, just like you.”
His words meant nothing to her. All that mattered was finding a more substantial weapon.
Flinty blade before her, Ksenia kept him at bay, backing away slowly while her eyes scanned the surroundings.
She paused.
Something hollow was underfoot.
Interesting find.
A twisted, wicked thought formed in her head.
His sword pierced the air by her neck as she spun away on her heel. She darted back in, slicing at his chest, and he leaped back, his broadsword flailing against a torch.
A slim longsword revealed itself in the far corner, and Ksenia sprinted to it.
It felt satisfying in her grip, and she whirled to face Tivan’s onslaught with raw strength.
Her parry sent a tremor through their arms, and his eyes widened a beat.
Wiry and quick, he swept his feet under her.
But she was faster. She sensed the takedown and jumped, a smile on her face.
Planting her foot against his chest, she sent him skidding back to the center of the room.
She would never grow tired of watching him gasp for air, and the thought crossed her mind of strangling him to death.
The heel of her boot sent grit into his face with a hiss, and he barely blocked her blow, sword slashing down overhead, the flat of his broadsword trembling.
Swords crossed in intimate embrace, they bared their teeth at one another.
“Come on, Kitten, is that all you’ve got?” she threw back at him.
Shoving hard, he beat her back, his greasy hair falling in his face.
He maneuvered around her crossguard for the killing blow, and she flicked her wrist upward, diverting the angle from her chest. A deep cut opened along her forearm instead, a slice of cold followed by a blossoming heat.
“Spoke too soon, hmm?” Gasps and shrieks filled the air as Tivan flourished his blade with a grin.
The gallery’s bloodlust spiked as they pounded their hands upon the railing, urging Tivan on.
The sword wavered in her bloodied grip, her sleeve falling away to her elbow in tatters.
“What’s next? Begging the captain to intervene?” Tivan simpered.
“Funny you say that, when you’ve been second to a woman nearly every step of this competition.” Ksenia cracked her neck and threw down her sword.
His tilted grin morphed into a snarl.
With lightning quickness, she ducked behind him and opened a wide gash across his back. Their blood dressed the floors with fresh red splatters.
His howl of pain was drowned out by the balcony and rafters swaying above as people stomped their feet and jeered.
A slow smile crawled to her face, her pupils blown wide.
More.
She flicked his blood off the dagger and into his face. “Sloppy, are we?”
He let out a primal scream, his lunge more like an enraged animal than an armed fighter.
Ducking, she rolled out of the way as he landed where she once stood.
“I almost feel sorry for you.” His lip was wet with spittle. “Almost. You really thought you could win.”
His sword came overhead, and Ksenia caught the blow at his wrist, taking advantage of his forward momentum to disarm him.
How she wished Varka had been here to see it.
“I am winning.” Shoulders pulled back, she beckoned him forth with the crook of her finger. His face was mottled red, his nostrils flared.
He lunged for his broadsword, placing himself exactly where Ksenia wanted him.
Above you. A braided rope stood out amongst the chains overhead.
Ksenia launched her dagger with pinpoint accuracy.
Shrrrrrik!
All of the threads severed, except for one.
Shit. Her eyes cut to the broadsword.
She rushed forth and slammed her fist into his jaw before he could grasp it, making his teeth click.
Tivan staggered back before barreling toward her, his shoulder colliding with her stomach. Wood creaked beneath her, threatening to give way.
He flattened her on her back before she could recover and rained blow after blow upon her, which she caught mostly on her forearms.
Forcing her hands aside, he closed his hands on her windpipe. White spots appeared behind her eyelids as she clawed at his wrists.
From her prone position, she saw that the thread was poised to snap, the last few fibers unraveling above her.
“You little bitch, just let it happen. You never deserved to make it this far!” He was frothing at the mouth, stringy hair falling in his face.
He knew nothing about what she deserved. She had come back from the dead with a vengeance, defying the laws of life and death and crossing the space between. And gods damn it, she wouldn’t let him win.
Her eyes flashed open, hips bucking violently to send him careening forward, enough for her to wrench her knees to her chest.
She kicked hard against his sinewy body with every ounce of strength she had, sending him sprawling backward with a satisfying wheeze.
Ksenia crawled to the dropped dagger. A scream tore from her throat as he dragged her back to him. Standing over her, he kicked her in the stomach. She doubled over in pain, black edging her vision.
He retrieved her dagger.
It sang overhead, and she had enough strength to shift away, the tip missing her heart—but not enough.
A blood-curdling scream tore from her lungs as the cold metal speared into her shoulder, cleaving against her clavicle bone.
Tivan’s crooked smile was giddy as he began to twist. The gallery screamed for her blood.
Snap! Whrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!
The final thread broke.
The severed rope whipped through the pulleys.
Wooden planks fell into darkness, as did Tivan.
His scream was cut short by the wet sound of spikes traveling through his body.
A shriek left her lips as half of her body dangled over the edge of a spike pit—her only savior being the dagger that staked her to the floor.
Tivan was a bloody heap, pinned like a bug on display.
It was nonsensical to her, how one eye looked toward her, twitching—the other lolled in a different direction, impaled by a spike close enough to touch.
The silence lasted exactly one heartbeat.
Then the gallery exploded into cheers, not for Tivan—he was dead. But for her, as if they had no apparent memory of ever wanting otherwise.
Fair-weather loyalty like that almost made her understand Karsan.
She fisted a trembling hand around the hilt of the dagger.
The light contact caused pain that blacked out her mind. She swallowed the cry before it could leave her throat.
One motion. Don’t think about it, Vornaya cooed.
Ksenia chuckled darkly. Don’t think about it.
She wrenched the blade free.
Something feral and involuntary left her mouth, and she hated herself the moment it escaped. Blood pulsed hot over her tunic, spreading from her shoulder and down her side to seep into the floor below.
Her eyes clenched shut as heaving and ragged breaths spilled from her lungs. Yet no amount of air could tame the pain.
She rolled away from the edge, propping herself up on three limbs. Spit dripped from her mouth as nausea rose in slow waves.
Bloodlust and blood loss were one and the same.
She retrieved Tivan’s broadsword with tingling fingers.
At the edge of the spike pit, she stopped. Her shadow fell over his corpse. One eye stared up at her, and she studied him.
Thirty competitors had entered the trials.
Twenty-nine had succumbed.
Only she had survived.
Steel met flesh.
She hacked, chipping the blade against the iron spikes, until there was a stump and a head separate from it.
She straightened. It was heavier than she expected, or perhaps she was unused to the weight of victory.
Karsan leaned over the wooden railing with the bright, avid expression of a child peering into a fishpond—delighted and waiting to see what his new weapon would do next.
Beside him, a distinctive pair of green eyes sharpened on hers—a predator finally recognizing the threat there all along. His lips parted slightly before pressing flat, and he lifted his chin.
She smiled at him—all teeth.
The room erupted as she raised Tivan’s slack-jawed head up to the rafters.
A new Sevrant was born.