Chapter 30
The exhaustion was hitting her in waves, each more insistent than the last. Her limbs were made of sand, useless and heavy as she was forced to climb the stairs of the spire.
“You need that conditioning regimen more than I expected.” Bohdan chuckled as he led the way, ascending the hundreds of stone stairs with ease.
Ksenia might have beaten him to the top by now if she hadn’t been completely spent after the punishing hours of sparring the night before and her late-night fight with Danika, which had left her unable to rest.
Her lungs burned with a sharp, acidic ache, but her mind traitorously trailed back to the feeling of his hand on her body, twined in her hair, forcing her to submit, and she found her face reddening for an entirely different reason.
The grayish, watery light of the morning sun punched through the lancet windows as they climbed ever higher, the spire’s tips piercing the clouds.
At the top balcony, the cloudscape rolled in endless waves, a silver-white ocean lined with a soft pink.
The Grastelian mountain ranges were a muted blue-gray in the distance, rising and falling like the spine of an ancient dragon.
The ranges formed a natural crescent barrier surrounding Kraal—hotly contested battlements for decades of war with Drenvar on the other side.
The mountains held mist and rain over Kraal, and Ksenia had never seen how high they soared before.
Bohdan rested his forearms on the slick stone balcony.
"Every peak you see, every valley you don't, matters." The wind whipped through his words as he pointed to different areas in the distance. "Grastel is a land of borders, but its mountains are the keys to the continent. Control them, you control the steel that keeps this kingdom alive."
"What about Drenvar?" She leaned against the stone beside him.
"Wants what Grastel has, as usual." His voice was even. "But they don't know what to do with the ore."
"Isn't that why Queen Ravenka and King Karsan were wed?" She spied a cloud drifting beneath the spire. "To stop the fighting?"
"Political marriages are instruments." He said it like he was describing the weather. "It didn't change what people needed. Just changed how they pursued it."
"So Drenvar still wants the ore."
"And Kraal still wants to keep it." He turned to face her, leaning his hip against the stone. "Which means it was always a matter of time before conflict arose again."
Ksenia let that settle. "And what does the Sevrant do with that matter of time?"
Bohdan's mouth twitched — the closest thing to approval she'd seen from him. "A good Sevrant plays the game. Accessing private conversations, secret promises, concessions made in hidden rooms. Seeing the actual architecture of power."
She folded her arms. "And a better one?"
He stepped closer until the cold, sharp scent of him filled her airways. "Forces others to play theirs."
The tenacity in his voice made Ksenia momentarily forget that he was the man who dragged her to the executioner's block, raided the homes of countless bondsmith families, and orchestrated the deaths of her twenty-nine fellow competitors to serve the butcher king.
Almost.
"This is why you need to understand your friends and enemies even better." His gaze locked her in place. "You'll learn to speak like a Grastelian miner, think like a Drenvar strategist. Their words and culture at your fingertips as naturally as you breathe."
Their descent down the spire was silent.
"Kindling is almost upon us. It will be a good benchmark of your espionage competency," he tossed over his shoulder as he led her through the stone corridors of Hearth.
Ksenia held in her groan but glared at his back anyway.
Kindling.
Just two weeks away, the kingdom-wide day of revelry to celebrate the “peace” between Kraal and Grastel would be upon them. The celebration for the wealthiest, who had never once needed to defend that so-called peace in their lives.
While wine flowed in ballrooms, the streets flowed with bondsmith blood.
And now, she was to attend the grand event.
“What choice do I have?” Sweet poison dripped from her voice.
“Few to none.” Bohdan smirked. “I’ve enlisted help.”
“Help.” She enunciated the word. “I thought the illustrious captain handled his own affairs.”
“My time is better spent elsewhere than repeating fundamentals.” He rolled his shoulders. “Perhaps you’ll understand the distinction once you have some.”
Ksenia’s fingers twitched against Caromir’s hilt.
As if reading her mind, he threw her a wink without breaking his stride.
He stopped at a set of iron double doors that were twice his height. Their surface was embossed with ancient texts and figures of scholars.
They groaned open to reveal a vaulted library, four stories high with towering bookcases. Wrought-iron spiral staircases and delicate balconies connected each floor.
Marbled gargoyles perched on the shelf-corners and in nooks, and a center atrium was left open for a glorious skylight to shine over long rows of desks and lanterns.
It smelled of old parchment, ink, and worn leather. Ksenia could faintly hear the sound of ladders rolling across brass tracks as attendants organized and retrieved books for the patrons below.
The tables were empty, save for a woman and two men.
The woman bore weathered, blue-stained hands with calloused palms, which she gently rested on the table before her.
Her sun-darkened skin creased around her eyes with a smattering of stone dust on her temple.
Her hair was dark, braided with metal charms. Her build was strong and compact, and she was dressed in earth-toned woolen garments.
“Brina is our expert from Grastel.”
A skittish man stood to her left, lean and pallid. His eyes darted around and darkened briefly when their eyes met. He was dressed in a plain brown wool tunic and trousers that matched his homely eyes.
“Tomek, from Drenvar.”
Ksenia recognized the last man immediately.
The grizzled old prisoner sat before her, donning a pair of half-moon spectacles.
His tightly coiled hair and beard was streaked with silver and white.
His deep brown skin was creased with lines from pulling his mouth into a wide smile.
He was still dressed in prison garb, with a shackle around his leg, chaining him to the heavy oak table.
The welts from the cuffs had healed on his wrists but were still raw and pink.
“Isn’t that man from—”
The prisoner unearthed a flask in front of himself. “You can call me Mirko. Bohdi and I go way back.” He took a hearty swig.
Ksenia cut a wide-eyed glance at the captain’s impassive expression.
“He doesn’t look like it, but Mirko was once our court physician.
He was imprisoned for selling contraband to both kingdoms during the war, and here we are now.
” Bohdan signaled two Envorsen over to the table with the crook of his fingers.
“He’s exceptionally gifted with poisons, venoms, and everything in between. ”
Ksenia met Mirko’s craggy, playful smile, noting his remaining fingers rapping against the tabletop, and a hefty, darkened steel signet ring on one of his digits. She hadn’t expected his story in the Maw to be the truth.
Why hadn’t he been killed already?
Bohdan plucked the question from her mind.
“His talents are immeasurable compared to our physicians today, so we keep him around. As such, he was offered a bargain to be a bonded servant, teaching you what he knows in exchange for a change in his environment.”
Ksenia gave an awkward, stilted bow to the trio.
She carefully slid onto the polished wooden bench before them, clasping her hands against the table.
Brina’s eyes were earthy and warm, just like her clothes. They crinkled deeper with her smile, showing prominent, strong teeth. She extended her forearm out in greeting, and Ksenia grasped it in return.
Good start.
Tomek fisted his hands within the edge of his tunic, ringing it nervously, and Ksenia retracted her hand in response.
Mirko had his hands full, so she bowed. Despite being in a library, he had produced a drumstick and was emptying his flask. He slammed it down, causing Tomek to jolt: “You have no idea how long I’ve been craving liquor like this.”
“I’ll leave you in their capable hands. Remember: you have till the Kindling to become proficient in those languages.” Bohdan turned on his heel, his footfall echoing through the library.
The double doors clanged shut behind him, and Ksenia loosened her breath.
Mirko cracked his neck and settled back in his seat. Silence hung between them as he merely stared at Ksenia, a slow smile crawling upon his face. His ring glinted dully in the light.
“You’re from Brannfels, aren’t you?”
Ksenia’s brow furrowed. “How did—”
“You bowed with an open palm against your chest. Typical of those from that region. People are full of information, and you don’t have to pull their teeth to get it—if you know where to look.” He waggled his unkempt eyebrows at her.
She hadn’t realized how much she was revealing about herself subconsciously, and she felt sheepish about what else people had been able to surmise.
“Your first lesson is with me; we’ll be studying the weak points of the human animal.” Mirko’s eyes took a playful gleam.
Ksenia’s brow quirked as she and Mirko left the expansive library for dingy and claustrophobic stairwells that led them down to the dungeons. A pair of Envorsen followed them, and Mirko gave them a half-hearted wave with his hands, which were now shackled.
“How are you faring then? New Sevrants are either seasoned killers or on their way to being one. Which are you?”
Mirko’s blunt question took Ksenia aback.
Her eyes shifted sideways to look at him, only to find the curious gleam of his eyes already watching her.
“Only what I’ve needed to do to survive.”
Mirko cooed, “Aren’t you just a little lamb?” His dark laughter rumbled up the staircase. “Saved from the slaughter and now doing the slaughtering.”
Their journey stopped before a modest, rust-stained iron door in the hallway, identical to the others that led to it and beyond.
One of the guards stepped forward and inserted a complex-looking key into the lock. Ksenia studied it briefly, but her attention quickly swung to the contents of the room.
A chill set in her bones.
Rows of bodies were laid out on tables.
Her breath puffed in the air. The room’s depth underground was frigid during the dead of winter. Perfect for keeping cadavers preserved for a short time.
Now, Ksenia knew where Bohdan was conducting part of his investigation.
Three of the bodies were headless—a result of her handiwork. The stump of their necks hacked, their respective heads neatly arranged beside them. On their foreheads, her maker’s mark was turning dark gray in their decaying skin.
“Very crude work. Our murderer isn’t exactly a surgeon.” Mirko chuckled, peering over each body in turn like a delighted child.
“Have you found any leads?” Ksenia followed him around the table.
“The captain has been tight-lipped, to say the least. But when he’s on to something, he’s really on to something, so I’ve been leaving him be.”
Ksenia chewed the inside of her cheek. It had been reckless killing out in the open, but she didn’t regret intervening and saving Petra.
It would only make her next kill more difficult, but she wasn’t about to stop now.
“Obviously, these men died from wounds to their necks and heads, and Viktor himself was disemboweled before death…but I’m here to show you more discreet ways of getting the job done.”
Oh? A cruel smile twisted her lips. Now she was interested.
Mirko guided her to a fourth body: Ulrik’s. He turned the corpse’s head to the side to press his fingers against the base of the skull. “Here. Where the base of the skull meets the spine, you could drive that dagger of yours through the gap for instant death with minimal bleeding.”
She cataloged his every word, watching with rapt interest.
“And here—” He tapped his fingers on Ulrik’s collarbone. “But you wouldn’t be so blunt as to go straight to the artery you’re aiming for.” Mirko’s eyes snapped to the freshly healed divot on Ksenia’s clavicle.
Ksenia had previously thought Tivan was hacking at her indiscriminately, but perhaps she had underestimated him.
“Instead, you go for a downward thrust, above the first rib.” He mimed the gesture against Ulrik’s pallid chest. “So your victim bleeds into their chest cavity—yet another way to leave things clean.” Next, Mirko ripped the soiled cloth from Ulrik’s body with flair, leaving him naked.
“Or, one of my personal favorites, the femoral artery.”
He directed her attention to Ulrik’s inner thigh, near his bare groin. “A small puncture wound will suffice, just a simple break in the skin. No need to use brute force. It can be easily hidden by clothing, but be prepared for the mess.” He clicked his tongue. “Now, you try.”
Her eyes snapped to his focused ones and she watched his gaze direct her to Ulrik’s corpse on the table.
Her gut squirmed as she took in the innocent victim she hadn’t been able to save in the hedge maze. The idea of desecrating his body made her feel sick. All of her victims had been wicked and vile people. In this case, Ulrik had tried to help Petra to safety before his attackers overpowered him.
She hesitated.
Mirko’s brow quirked.
No, she had to maintain the ruse. She couldn’t let her emotions show, as it might lead Bohdan or Mirko to question her resolve.
The quicker she did it, the sooner it would end.
She unsheathed Caromir with a pitchy whine. The torchlight glinted off its silvery, slender edge before she buried the blade deep into the base of Ulrik’s skull.
A sickening crunching sound, along with a wet noise, echoed through the room.
Mirko’s hum followed. “Good amount of force, clean entry, but not the right angle. You will still kill a man this way, but you’ll make a mess…”
Ksenia paced her shallow breath, forcing it evenly through her nostrils as their lessons continued.
She practiced poking, prodding, slicing, and stabbing to become familiar with various entry points for her weapons, along with their benefits and ideal situations for use.