Page 37 of Hellbound

Ten. It would be a steep fall if she lost focus now. She squinted her eyes shut, steadying her breath, and continued until the opening was within her grasp.

Ksenia held her breath and gripped her fingers over the well’s lip, hauling herself up—

Thock…thock…thock… Heavy boots striking cobbles with the steady precision of a metronome. There was a faint clink and jostle of chainmail with each step.

The sounds of guards swelled as they turned the corner.

Ksenia sank back into the well, her breath tight in her chest. There was no way she could climb back down without making noise. She prayed to Vornaya that they didn’t practice peering down the well as part of their vigil.

Against the nearest wall, long shadows grew closer.

Shit.

They wouldn’t even need to kill her; throwing her back into the well would solve their issue just fine.

Ksenia cursed herself for her harebrained plan. She gritted her teeth and braced for the inevitable.

At her feet, she spotted the corner of a stone threatening to break off into the depths of the well, and she froze. The well reverberated every little noise, and she couldn’t afford a single breath, let alone a pebble tumbling to its depths.

Sweat pricked the back of her neck.

A guard’s head and shoulders came into view, his stance casual as he leaned against the well. If he looked left, he would see her in plain view.

“Leof! Your shift’s next, isn’t it?” called a distant, gruff voice.

“By my oath!” He pushed off the stone with a grunt and straightened to a salute, marching away.

Her heart hammered in her rib cage and her hands were slick with sweat underneath the gloves. She dared to loosen her breath after another minute passed of relative quiet, then pressed up to peer at her surroundings.

Alcoved walls featuring stone statues of soldiers lined every few feet. Iron sconces held torches, their flames gleaming against the cold, damp walls. The floor was worn smooth by countless guard rotations, and its polished dark granite was cracked in the corners. It was impossible to tell exactly where she was before she heard the rotation beginning again.

Their rhythmic steps ricocheted down the corridor.

Ksenia ducked into the alcove, tucking herself against the back of a nearby statue, and held her breath as they passed.

She could hear the low scrape of metal on rugged leather—a sword bumping within its scabbard and a jostle of keys. Sure, she had nicked a skeleton key off a baker, but this was nothing like that. These were trained guards she planned to steal from.

You could always kill them.

Ksenia jolted and held back her curse. The soldiers stopped.

One sneezed, then they continued their rotation, eager to keep pace with the rest.

She spotted an iron-banded door with a rounded top in one alcove. She carefully unfurled the missive from her tunic. The schematic had blurred, dampened from her sweaty climb and the moist cistern. She turned it back and forth in her hands, trying to make heads or tails of the bled ink.

She only had a couple of minutes before the next group of guards would be upon her. Sweat broke upon her brow as she contemplated which way to turn, and she settled on entering the room in front of her.

She darted to the door to examine the lock and stifled her laugh.

It was crude and cheap, made with cravensteel and iron slag commonly found in the scrap bin. Her jaw ground; any smith worth their salt knew not to combine those two.

She blew against it, revealing fine cracks by the hinge where the alloys refused to bond.

She rested the point of her pick against the hinge and, with measured ease and practice, split it in two.

A devilish smile graced her face. Karsan had nearly eviscerated bondsmiths from Kraal, and here was the product to show for it.

She froze, her pulse ratcheting, hand sweaty on the door handle.