Page 118 of Hellbound

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.