Page 86 of Hellbound

She tremored and loathed that he was there to feel it.

They descended a stairwell, and the riotous noise of the prisoners fell away, but it returned with less fervor on the next floor, and the next, and the next.

After five flights, she was immersed in complete silence, save for the footfalls of Bohdan and his men escorting the other competitors.

He set her down on the cold, hard floor and lifted the bag from her head.

The octagonal room was low and dark, with eight cells lining the walls. Across from her were four prisoners that Ksenia didn’t recognize, and by her side were her compatriots.

The prisoner in the farthest left cell was a young man with a bandaged arm and cuts on his face. He hunched in the corner, rocking back and forth, muttering prayers with an unfocused gaze. He flinched at the sound of the shackles that clicked around the competitors’ wrists and ankles.

The cold iron bit Ksenia’s skin as Bohdan fastened her restraints.

In the second cell was a grizzled, older man with a few missing fingers. He was seated upright, his gray eyes sharp and gleaming as the Envorsen walked past.

The third cell contained a malnourished man, crying softly. His hands were delicate and frail as they clutched the bars.

The last cell contained a man with several deep wounds on his bandaged torso. He lay prostrate on his threadbare cot, arm draped over his eyes.

Bohdan’s hand grasped her shackled ones, and he took his time lifting her wrists overhead to affix the chains to the wall.

“Enjoying that a bit much, aren’t you?” she spat.

“I’ll send Varka your regards,” he tossed over his shoulder as he locked her cell with a resounding click.

Damn it, if she wouldn’t live to crack that perfect mask. To dig underneath his skin and drive him insane.

He walked to the center of the room and addressed the competitors.

“Welcome, candidates, to the third trial: Molehunt. You now find yourselves in the Maw.”

An infamous, beast’s mouth of a high-security prison that swallowed dissenters, treasoners, and other convicts of the highest crimes. The justice system didn’t apply to anyone who found themselves here. The king played judge, jury, and executioner.

Quite literally.

“Across from you are traitors of Kraal. Except, there is a spy from Drenvar mixed in. Your task is simple. Identify him.” Bohdan’s steps were calm and even as he paced before their prison cells. “If you guess right, you are free to go, and the spy is executed. If you guess wrong, you’ll be bodily harmed for your answer and left to rot here.”

Ksenia’s mind disconnected from her body at his words. The color drained from her cheeks, her brows drawn tight.

Her fellow competitors pulled back, eyes darting between Bohdan and each other, searching for the punchline of this cruel joke.

This competition was designed to imprison them for life, one way or another.

“You have twenty-four hours.” Bohdan smiled wryly, pivoting on his foot to leave.

His men fell in line behind him as they exited the floor.

The last prisoner cracked an eye open, earning a glower or two back.

An eerie silence fell over the cluster of cells—competitor and prisoner held in a long stare.

The grizzled older man’s face creased with lines as he horked up spit and launched it through the bars to hit the ground of Tivan’s cell.

Tivan sneered. “Disgusting bastard. I bet you’re the Drenvar spy, aren’t you?” He leaned away from the wet splatter. “Someone as old as you has to be keeping secrets.”

“Your generation is a cowardly, spineless breed. What’s the matter? Need to torture unarmed men to feel strong?” The older man leaned forward, his coiled hair wild and unkempt, his gray eyes taking on a delighted gleam.

A grin tilted his wide mouth as he continued. “That’s right, I’m the spy. Been selling medical goods to both sides for decades—that’s how I survived so long. Karsan’s gold is as good as Radmila’s.”