Page 26 of Hellbound

“I hope you’re motivated, because after my lunch, we’ll work on sparring.” A wild gleam settled in Varka’s eyes, and Ksenia’s stomach grumbled as she was shooed from the kitchen.

In her spare hour, Ksenia wandered the manor. Farther down the hall from the kitchens, there was an above-ground cellar, boasting countless bottles of wine and mead laid in wooden latticework holders. And just next to it, an inconspicuous door, wallpapered in a pattern that blended in seamlessly with its surroundings.

She sidled closer, pressing her ear against the cool surface, and heard nothing. With a turn of the knob, she let herself in.

The room was small and stuffy, but smelled like clean linens. As her eyes adjusted to the dim lights, she was greeted with rows and rows of spare uniforms and fabrics for the servants of the manor. This could help.

Ksenia heard heavy footsteps shuffling up to the linen room, and she scrambled, ducking into a half-full, laundry bin toward the back. The smell of blackberries greeted her nose as the door swung open to reveal the same portly man from before, with blackened purple stains on the front of his uniform. He cursed his clumsiness and clambered deeper into the room, close enough for Ksenia to hear his grunts as he stripped off the soiled apron, and she spotted the key once more.

She darted her hand out of the bin and grasped it as the apron string loosened, then hastily withdrew her hand. Surely, this key had to be of some use. He dumped the heavy apron onto the pile, squarely atop her head, and Ksenia stifled her breathing against the smell of his body odor mixed with the sugary jam.

She waited a couple of minutes after the man closed the door and retreated down the hall, stowing the key into her trouser pocket. A bell sounded from the distance; lunch had concluded.

Ksenia made her way back to the foyer where Varka was now waiting, a rapier in her dominant hand, a parrying stiletto dagger in the opposite. She nodded at Ksenia before moving toward a hallway opposite the dining room.

There, a sparring hall with walls of windows complemented a mirrored wall opposite, making the room appear to stretch endlessly. Long, latticed shadows stretched across the checkered floor of light and dark wood tiles that bore the scuffs of a thousand duels, worn smooth in some places and gouged in others. Rain pattered against the windows and raced down the glass.

The far wall was fitted with racks of weapons. Suits of armor stood at attention between them. A few training dummies—old tunics stuffed with hay, from the looks of it—were propped in the corner.

There was an iron-y grit in the air that Ksenia could taste, combined with the lingering scent of oiled leather, sweat, and chalk.

“With your stature and size, you never want to catch yourself on the floor.” Varka grasped the dull shaft of her rapier with her gloved hand, cranking back and forth, trying to straighten out a bend.

Ksenia grimaced as the bow in the rapier got worse with Varka’s efforts.

“But we will focus on what would happen in that situation, should we find ourselves empty-handed.”

There was the resonant twinge in Ksenia’s head, sharpening ever so slightly.

Funny how some mirrors don’t reflect quite right. As if they’re hiding something.

The pressure in her head was relieved the more she angled it to the left, and then a seam within the mirror winked at her.

Between the panes of glass, one mirror appeared to be different than the others, jutting out just slightly.

Varka laid the bent rapier down on the rack beside her and invited Ksenia to do the same. Ksenia’s stomach tightened. She wasn’t excited to be separated from Caromir again; it felt like a white-hot poker to the skull. But she resented her dependency on it and fought to control the pain.

She blew out a breath as she set the blade down slowly upon the rack, keeping her finger pressed to the weapon for as long as she possibly could, and then let go.

The burning sensation started behind her eyes, and Ksenia winced before forcing her breath in and out more steadily, attempting to weather the storm.

The deeper her breath, the more the pain began to ebb, and it didn’t feel like Caromir was tearing her mind to shreds.

Ksenia’s relieved smile confused Varka.

“You’ll get it back soon enough, Senka. Get into a ready stance.”

Ksenia wandered over to the center of the room, focusing on controlling her breath. The pain dulled into a throb at the back of her head—it was good enough.

“Today we will learn the art of falling.”

Ksenia hadn’t expected that. Surely it’d be something more useful.

“Why wouldn’t we focus on the recovery instead?” Ksenia raised one brow.

“Falling is the recovery,” Varka stressed. “It’s an essential technique you should build no matter what.”

She strode up to Ksenia and gave her a hard shove. Ksenia stumbled backward before falling on her ass with a sharp curse.