Page 19 of Hellbound

Ksenia pushed past her to glare up at Hearth’s imposing spires over the railing.

Varka joined her and settled her olive-skinned arms to rest against the stone wall.

“Ah, trying to get into Hearth? Past the walls, the traps, the castle guard, the Envorsen, past Bohdan, and into Hearth?” Varka leaned into Ksenia’s space and whispered low. “Let me tell you of another way in—where you can bypass all that by being a part of the court as the king’s hidden blade.”

Ksenia’s scowl deepened. “His blade.”

Varka nodded. “If you continue on this path, you won’t even reach Hearth’s threshold.” She flicked a loose rock off the ledge before brushing off her hands. “You need an in. I need a fighter to sponsor who can bide their time, then be brave enough to take on the darkness within. Lucky for us, I have an option.”

Ksenia furrowed her brow. “You have a vendetta.”

Against the king? How?

“I have many vendettas.” Varka’s expression was unreadable. “But we’re not discussing this here.” Her eyes bounced toward the merchant square below, at the guards still trying to restore order.

“Half of the guard is looking for whoever started the mess below, and the Envorsen that spotted you are wondering why Bohdan just let some unknown woman walk away after she attempted to gut him.”

Ksenia’s grip on Caromir tensed. “And how do I know this isn’t a trap?”

“You don’t.” Varka’s smile was conniving. “I can leave you here to fight all the guards. I have no doubt you’ll try, but ultimately fail.”

Varka shifted so her back was to the courtyard, one elbow propped behind her. She leveled her scrutinizing gaze on Ksenia’s profile. “And if I wanted you dead or captured, I’d have let Bohdan finish the job. Or done it myself when you provoked me.”

Her casual delivery chilled Ksenia to the bone. She had walked into a den of vipers with a single dagger and hoped to assassinate the most feared king in the lands. She was ill-equipped to save Danika, let alone herself.

Varka was already making for the stairs. “Let’s go. There’s a tavern near here—the Golden Stag. I have a private room where we can talk without an audience.”

She disappeared down the stairwell, leaving Ksenia with the sinking feeling that she had little other choice than to follow.

6

The garments Varka wore screamed of luxury, and she’d heard enough about the Beranek family to know she was moneyed, but Ksenia couldn’t help but gawk at the carriage that met them at the gates. Lacquered black wood gleamed with bruised shades of purple and amber as the setting sun bled through the gaps in the impending rain clouds. Their edges had turned molten where the rays broke through, a blend of copper and rust against deeper grays.

The carriage’s panes were joined with lead framing to form a noble house crest: a gilded longsword pointing downward against a background of greenery.

“Ahem, shall we?” Varka opened the carriage with an exaggerated bow, waving away her footman who protested before swinging back onto the velvet driver’s seat.

He wore emerald colors, as did the impressive pair of black stallions.

Varka shut the door firmly behind them before she settled into the cushioned seat opposite Ksenia.

She spread her legs out, leaving little room for her guest. “I admit, our friendship got off to an interesting start. You know who I am, evidently. But who are you?”

Ksenia scoffed at the generous term for what they were and bit her lip. She had mulled it over on her way to Hearth. She couldn’t use her old name without raising a few brows at the Drazan link, so she adopted something different.

“Senka.” Shadow. Fitting, considering she was a shade of her former self.

“Senka.” Varka hummed, turning over the syllables on her tongue.

Satisfied, Varka let her eyes fall closed as she leaned her head back. Had Ksenia not already tried and failed to attack her, she would’ve perceived Varka as an easy target.

She kept wary eyes on the noblewoman dozing off in front of her for several minutes, then dared to ease back in her seat, one hand still braced on Caromir.

The carriage took them from the bustling streets of Hearth toward the nearby quieter and more opulent town of Rothaven. Perched at the kingdom’s edge, it sat on a precipice that overlooked a vast black lake, so still that it reflected the sky like polished obsidian.

Ksenia had never ventured to affluent towns like Rothaven; Brannfels had been a working town with its tightly coupled houses, soot-stained walls, and crumbling plaster. Rothaven’s architecture spoke a different language. Stone buildings were laid out horizontally rather than vertically, with impressive stained-glass windows and slate roofs. Carved lintels, intricate ironwork, and fountains served no purpose other than beauty.

“This is a good place to talk. No prying ears.”