Page 109 of Hellbound

Humiliation branded itself deep in her stomach.

“Again.”

29

Morning had brought Ksenia to the forge—and to the most important reason she was here. Sparks skidded from the grinding wheel as Ksenia watched her sister press the edge of a blade against its roughened surface. A keening, pitchy whine emitted from the blade as she focused on the gleaming silver line it left behind.

Danika had a few visitors today, each waiting for her to service their weapons.

Scattered throughout the room, the dozen or so children were busying themselves polishing weapons. Their hands nimbly lifted the blades from the rack before setting them on the worktables.

Danika then rubbed the darkened soot from its surface before testing the sharpness, holding a piece of parchment loosely in her hand, the blade barely grazing the surface but splitting it cleanly. Satisfied, she gave it one last cursory polish before handing it back to the castle guard who stood before her.

Ksenia perched at the workbench with a small smile and a dulled short sword she had nicked from the sparring hall, brandishing a small cheesecloth full of pastries.

“You just need the edge back on, right?”

Danika quickly brushed the package beneath the table with a small smile and accepted the weapon with her opposite hand.

While Danika busied herself, Ksenia’s eyes wandered the forge and settled on a rack of a few nearly identical swords.

From them, Danika’s distinctive bound resonance radiated. No two blades were exactly alike, but all had a sound like a silver bell ringing in a cathedral, the notes clear yet shimmering.

Facing Danika, she mouthed, Are those his kingswords?

Danika’s eyes slid to their periphery at the rack before tucking a strand of hair over her left ear: affirmation.

The blades were prototypes of one another, and from left to right, Ksenia could tell the story of how the design had changed with time.

Starting as a greatsword, heavy and cleaving, but gradually shrinking until it closely resembled Radegast’s size and form.

After decades of wielding it, Ksenia surmised Karsan had become accustomed to its weight and size. The most recent version bore the most intricate details and finesse.

A slender common steel blade paired with a sculpted cruciform crossguard with elegant pointed curves, embedded with brass. A large bezel sat empty, waiting for a marquise-cut gem of some sort. The grip was wrapped in black leather, and the pommel was topped with another bezel.

The screeching grind of the whetstone stopped as Danika examined the short sword. She wiped it down with her polishing cloth before handing it back.

Ksenia gave her a grateful nod and a knowing smile before turning around.

The room fell silent.

Bohdan’s footsteps were measured and soft as he entered the room, and everyone swept into a collective bow at King Karsan’s arrival, a slight upturn at the corner of his lips. Ksenia dropped to one knee, head bent low as she held her breath.

Bohdan’s presence was a dark shadow to Karsan’s frigid presence. Pale blue eyes that bordered gray reminded Ksenia of a frozen lake, a solid icy veneer under which black currents still moved—deep, and patient.

“Rise, my friends,” he said graciously.

The guards stood and parted the way as Karsan approached Danika.

She proffered a second bow. “Lord King, your latest sword is ready for review.”

He gave an almost imperceptible nod in return as he moved toward the weapon rack himself.

Nearby, a young boy with messy black hair stared up at him, wide-eyed and unafraid.

Karsan’s expression softened. He ruffled the boy’s hair with practiced gentleness.

“You’ve been working hard, Milo.” His voice was warm. “I’m so proud of you.”