Page 51 of Hellbound

The weaselly man yawned, sauntering forward to Bohdan with a greasy smile before plunking his gold token into the chest.

“My name’s Tivan, the only one you’ll need to remember.”

Bohdan’s lack of amusement was palpable, and the crowd snickered.

Tivan harrumphed and brushed back his greasy hair. “Laugh all you want. I’m glad the rules are as they are. It’s a waste of my energy to weed out you lot anyway.”

Tivan had broken the seal, and before long, more competitors lined up to toss in their tokens of entry. Ksenia found herself rooted to the spot, turning hers over in her palm, the Beranek crest blinking at her.

Several people threaded their way to the back of the room and up the stairs to leave. Maybe that was a better idea.

Ksenia rubbed the back of her neck before settling her jittery hands at her sides when she noticed someone assessing her from head to toe. This was a kill-or-be-killed competition, and everyone was a threat.

It was now or never. She had already died once, and she couldn’t afford to squander her second chance.

Heat flushed the tips of her ears as she strode forward in line to deposit the coin. When she reached the front, Bohdan’s gaze sharpened on her.

He studied her reddened face nonchalantly, his expression smooth like stone.

Her token flipped and tumbled in the air before clinking into the chest to join the growing pile. One eyebrow rose on his handsome face, his mouth curving cruelly.

This was risky. Potentially brilliant. Probably suicidal.

The collective laughter started up again, and heat crept up her cheeks. She shook it off and pivoted on her heel, retaking her spot at the back of the room.

Bohdan’s slender fingers stacked the coins on the tabletop, noting each noble house that had submitted a champion. Many houses were represented, some more than once.

Thirty champions. One winner.

With a beckon of his hand, three crimson-clothed Envorsen entered the room, shutting the iron-framed double doors.

“Shall we get started?” His voice broke the silence, like coals splintering in a hearth.

“What do you mean?” came a man’s voice, pitched high as he looked at the Envorsen and back to Bohdan.

“The trials have officially started.”

“Hold on now—my sponsor assured me it wouldn’t start for another few days,” Tivan snarled, swinging his arms up at his sides, trying to rile up the crowd. He succeeded, and others joined in his show of protest.

A mound of dread weighed on Ksenia as Bohdan’s gaze locked on her face.

Shit.

This was as good as over.

“Done complaining?” Bohdan turned on his heel and strode up a back set of stairs into the cool, night air.

Eyes darted back and forth, toward each other and then toward the Envorsen behind them. Tivan spat on the ground before slinking out. Emboldened, several others followed him until the crowd found its feet.

Outside, they gathered around Bohdan, who sat within a marble gazebo on a raised dais. He gestured behind himself to a large statuary the size of Beranek Manor, filled with hundreds of black stone–carved figures, ranging from larger-than-life to true-to-scale. They stretched beyond what her eye could follow, despite the rare clear night.

Heroes, scholars, politicians, dignitaries, preceptors, and, of course, long-dead royals took shape in intimidating reliefs and poses.

“This exercise is called Catch and Kill,” declared Bohdan, drawing their attention back to the impressive marble structure. “Three Envorsen against thirty combatants. Five weapons have been placed within the statuary. Those who escape will move on.”

“Doesn’t seem that hard,” a man whispered behind Ksenia, and she couldn’t help but nod her agreement. The Envorsen were fearsome, but these odds weren’t terrible.

“But first, you’ll be relieved of your weapons.” A chill raked across Ksenia’s neck, and the hollow of her stomach grew deeper. The man behind her cursed softly.