Page 132 of Hellbound

Ksenia’s arms tightened. Handing Petra off, to be carried away by guards, laid on cold stone in the bowels of the castle which had already robbed so much from her—

“I’ll take care of her.”

Bohdan looked at her for a long moment, then gave a single nod.

33

Deep into the night, the temperature had dropped drastically, and Ksenia pulled her all-black wax-wool outfit even tighter around her.

The cold penetrated her thick leather gloves and sank into her bones as she trailed the riverbank, moving between the alder trees that leaned into the water.

She favored the smooth river stones, perched dangerously close to the rushing water’s edge, where her footprints left no trace and little debris and thus no evidence of her visit.

Only an insane person would go back to the scene of the crime after being discharged from the infirmary. But she was no sane person, and she also could not withstand the pain from being separated from Caromir for this length of time.

And she could not afford for Bohdan to find it first.

Her head was in a vise grip, a vicious and pulsing throb synchronized with her heartbeat, agony drilling through her temple and behind her eyes.

She fought back the nausea as her vision fragmented at the edges, bursts of color erupting behind her eyelids as she pressed herself against a damp tree trunk.

She peeked out. A few dozen paces upriver, dots of warm light bobbed: lanterns held by Envorsen—by Bohdan—searching for Archbishop Serafin’s body and any evidence of the crime. She could hear every mud-sucked footstep, every held breath as the guards waded into knee-deep water, turning over driftwood, parting reeds at the banks.

The rush of river water grew louder in her ears, and she pressed her hands against her temples to try to soothe the noise.

Her concentration was fractured as she mindlessly let her pain lead her to the hellbound dagger.

As she drew closer, the mind-numbing pain began to recede. Her throat loosened a fraction, and she wiped the cold sweat from her brow.

Tall, spear-like stems clustered in the shallow water, swaying in the ravine-funneled wind.

There.

A shard of silver glinted in her eye as Ksenia waded into the shallow water to press aside the stalks. Caromir lay caught against fresh green growth, pierced through the previous season’s dead reeds, vibrant and shining against the mud and decay.

She grasped the blade and clutched it flat against her chest, the pressure in her head vanishing so completely that she became dizzy. Her eyes adjusted back to her pitch-black surroundings, the lantern light bobbing steadily closer. Shadow and light came back into focus without blurry auras.

Quickly, she picked a path up the riverbank and followed it to Hearth.

“What’s happening in the castle? There was so much commotion last night, I couldn’t fall asleep…” Danika rubbed at the circles beneath her eyes as Ksenia snuck through the service doors into the forge.

“Archbishop Serafin was assassinated.” Ksenia proffered her half of a sweet bun wrapped in wax paper from her pack.

She had already nibbled the edges but had saved the center, where most of the sugar and nuts had accumulated. Danika’s favorite.

“Assassinated? In Hearth?” Danika’s eyes widened, unwrapping the pastry. “Who do you think did it?”

Ksenia’s tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth. “We’re looking.”

Danika’s eyes narrowed a fraction as she chewed. “You can’t lie to me. Your jaw always squares a little when you lie, especially when it’s bad.” She surveyed Ksenia with her head tilted. “What’s happening?”

Ksenia blinked then sighed. She moved closer to Danika. “I’m carrying out a mission for the Bound Eye, and last night was the first step.”

She bit her tongue to keep from going further.

It was better that Danika didn’t know every aspect of their assassination plan.

“It was you?” Danika whispered, her face ashen.