Page 114 of Hellbound

Ksenia’s jaw tightened. “Caromir is not Radegast.”

“Not yet.”

Danika stepped closer, her voice low and soft. “Every hellbound blade has something waiting inside it. You don’t get to choose what it becomes—and by the time you find out, you’re too far gone.”

“I couldn’t survive without killing.” Ksenia gritted.

“Then why don’t you get rid of it now that the trials are over?”

“I can’t!” Ksenia’s hands were sharp by her sides. “This is my survival, and that didn’t go away when I became Sevrant. It won’t change until I can deal with the king and make a change for the better.”

“Since when is becoming a cold-blooded killer making a change for the better?” Danika scoffed.

“What—You’re working for one right now!” Ksenia barked a short laugh. “You’re not above me. I saw you selling people out that night in the Vein.” She closed the distance until they were face-to-face. “You could’ve lied, but you didn’t.”

Danika reared back like she’d been slapped in the face.

“I should have never left you to go alone that night, Senna. I’m not blaming you, but these blades are a poison, don’t you see?” Danika whispered.

A pang of guilt hollowed the rage from Ksenia’s heart, and she forced herself to breathe.

“Niks, I know you want to help. But believe me when I say the only way out for me, for you, for everyone is through his blood.”

The broken rays of dawn began to filter through the sparse, narrow slitted windows.

Danika’s haggard eyes met Ksenia’s hard ones. “I think you should go. Now.”

“This isn’t over.”

Danika’s jaw tightened.

“I meant about this.” Ksenia’s finger jabbed at the blue-gray billet of metal between them. “You know he’s going to expect more, and more.” Ksenia jammed her hand into her pack and tossed her sister a flask, a little harder than usual. “I’ll be back for the next one.” She slung the pack on her shoulder. “And yes—the other thing too.”

The next morning, Ksenia was wading through a thick syrupy haze when she got ready for her ceremony.

It’s just for show. It means nothing, she told herself.

Petra and two more servant women had brought an outfit she was to wear, along with a tray of food.

A gown made of oxblood velvet and silk with a neckline that sloped from shoulder to shoulder. The sleeves were split at the top of her shoulder point, draping to brush the floor with their velvet folds. The inner sleeves were spun from a fine, shimmering fabric that matched the sinuous fabric draped across her chest, forming the bodice and skirt of her empire-waist dress.

Compared to her wardrobe as a courtesan, this was subdued but so finely woven and textured that it was almost sacred.

A rectangular, velvet-embossed box lay tucked beneath a plate of pastries.

Ksenia’s hand paused over it before passing the sweets to Petra, who had been eyeing the confections since they arrived and had already stolen two.

“I only had one—I swear,” Petra said, her cheeks full, sugar dusting her lips.

Ksenia’s brow and lip quirked before picking up the box.

She turned it over and shook it.

Tink. The gentle sound of metal and perhaps glass.

She lifted the lid, revealing a glittering ruby diadem, nestled in a cushion of silk. A note fluttered out. The message and corners were inked with a gold-embossed design.

Lady Senka,