Page 128 of Hellbound

If he knew how to decipher their codes and had intercepted a message meant for the Shepherd outlining where children were being held in the Brannfels safe house…

Heated pressure choked her throat and crept behind her eyes, clenching her jaw. She questioned the accuracy of the number of families Danika had reunited.

Her fingernails dug into her palms, sharp and severe at her sides as she replaced the damning evidence in the hidden compartment and slid the panel back.

She would ruin him and Karsan, and then she’d burn Hearth to the ground.

Her breath came in quick gasps, sending white puffs into the night.

Her pupils narrowed to tiny pinpricks as she frantically searched for the servant girl over the balcony edge.

Darkness stretched beneath her, and the white water of the falls crashed through the jagged cliffside and plunged into the empty void.

Without hesitation, she took a few steps back and then sprinted to dive over the edge.

One hour prior.

Her first mark.

When Archbishop Serafin called for pledges of loyalty, hundreds of churches across the kingdom responded in unison.

Destroying him would eliminate a passionate religious voice that spoke in favor of Karsan.

She had noted the flimsy iron latch pins on the church windows in an earlier patrol.

Someone had recently bent the one near the pulpit so it would catch at a specific angle. Completely secure-looking from the inside. But from the exterior, if you knew where to check, the right pressure to apply, and targeted the correct point with something thin, perhaps a blade—

Click.

Caromir shifted the pin out of the catch without force.

A thunderous sermon carried through the rafters and reverberated down the rows of pews, full to the brim of nobles and their families.

Ksenia snuck closer to the opening and slipped through to land softly on the ground. Her leather-soled shoes were a whisper compared to Serafin’s booming voice.

For someone so old and decrepit, he held a surprisingly deep timbre, and Ksenia found herself momentarily dazed as she adjusted to the ear-splitting volume.

It didn’t help that she was right next to the pulpit where he was passionately gesturing during his sermon.

Dust motes swirled in the colored light filtering through the stained glass overhead—crimson martyrs and golden gods watched her press herself against the cold stone wall in the shadowy alcove beneath the pulpit staircase.

He was ending his sermon with a foreboding warning. “The fires of hell await those who stray from Lord King Saranov’s law. The wicked shall know neither rest nor mercy…”

Ksenia could hear the creak of his joints as his hands grasped the edge of the pulpit, knuckles pale against the black marble. The bright metallic tang of blood lingered, mingling with the smell of aged tomes and stale air.

Her nose wrinkled. This was the smell of all churches in Kraal, pungent with bloodletting and lies.

“By blood and bone, we are bound,” Serafin concluded as he raised a brass goblet, the edge lined with needles—clearly not for drinking. The chalice was filled from the congregation.

The crowd rose with a rustle of fabric and shuffling of feet. As they filtered toward the exit, a small gray-clothed figure lingered, a cloak hanging loose on her narrow shoulders.

She approached Serafin with her yellow-blonde head bowed, hands twisted together.

“Your Eminence.” Petra’s voice was barely audible. “May I confess something?”

Archbishop Serafin descended from the pulpit, his black woolen robes sweeping the floor. “Speak, child.”

Her tiny hands beckoned him closer.