Page 124 of Hellbound

The study was a mess—rolled parchments overflowed from shelves, and books spilled onto every available surface. Leather-bound notebooks balanced on the windowsills, and loose sheafs drifted to the floor like autumn leaves.

A rich velvet-and-brocade rug was underfoot, along with strewn letter openers and a large sphere set in a brass housing that tracked celestial bodies in the sky.

And at the center sat Karsan, his marble-topped desk piled high with correspondence and missives as he dripped wax onto a letter before delicately pressing his signet ring to its surface.

As her leaden feet drew her closer, she could make out the circular impressions on the table left by wine goblets during late-night deliberations.

Bohdan moved forward, placing a thick file with a red wax seal on the king’s desk.

She tore her eyes from it, back to the butcher king, as she stopped at the foot of his desk.

She could see her yellow eyes reflected in his washed-out blue ones as he appraised her.

He leaned back in his leather chair, pulling the papers toward him and then sliding a map over another on his table.

“I have work for the two of you.”

Ksenia’s attention cut to Bohdan, who remained still as stone, a shade more severe than usual. His jaw was set, and his gaze fixed somewhere past his father’s shoulder.

“There’s talk spreading through Hearth about the recent murder on the grounds and rumors that the assassin is still among us.” Karsan’s tone was faintly irritated. “Bring the killer to me.”

He fluttered his hands as if swatting away a fly. “Use any means necessary, interview anyone, search anywhere you wish, dispose of anyone you wish.”

“Consider it done, Lord King.” Bohdan bowed deeply.

“Of course, Lord King,” she said, her voice stronger, steadier than she had given herself credit for. She stiffly dropped into a bow. “We’ll catch them.”

“Inform me immediately once you have a lead.” Karsan riffled through the papers.

You can’t compel me to do anything, butcher king. Her smile was insipid, bordering on wicked.

He fluttered his hand again, at her this time. He was done with her presence.

She turned on her heel to exit the study.

The door clicked shut behind her, and two sets of boots descended the tower steps.

“What’s wrong, Captain?” Her voice was playful, as was her sidelong glance. “Not excited to hunt the killer together?”

His tone was dry. “I prefer working without an audience.”

“An audience? Dear Captain, was it not you the other evening who said it was a great comfort to have me by your side?” she cooed, her fingers trailing the stone wall as she walked. “I shall be your ever-present partner in crime, as dedicated to this investigation as you.”

“Our killer wants to be caught.” Bohdan’s breath floated out in two misty puffs from his nostrils in the morgue.

He was somewhat right, but that reveal had to be perfectly timed, preferably when she had her dagger at his neck.

Ksenia peered over his shoulder, a curl at the corner of her lips. “A calling card.” She circled her finger around the brand that was puckering the corpse’s skin. “He’s keeping score.”

What if Bohdan caught her? What would he do about it?

He gave a cursory nod as he held a flame closer to the decapitated heads.

“Have you seen this symbol before?”

Ksenia kept her expression impassive. “Should I have?”

“Not a crude brand made for livestock.” His gaze flicked to her. “It’s finely drawn, maybe more for metalwork or jewelry.”