Page 30 of Hellbound

Ksenia pivoted and blocked, but only just. Varka’s arm swung from different angles, but she couldn’t tell which strike was coming until the blade was already close.

Her back hit the cold glass as she forced herself to listen.

Footfall—nearing from her right.

Ksenia spun, blade ready, but found only her reflection staring back. Wild-eyed and panting.

Varka appeared, real and solid, her blade driving toward her ribs.

Ksenia dropped into a crouch and lunged forward with her own jab. Their blades met with a satisfying resistance.

The dance continued—thrust, parry, retreat.

Suddenly, Varka slammed the pommel of her blade into a pane. The mirror shattered, and a cascade of glass followed the crack, splitting the air. Ksenia threw up her arm as the shards rained down, slicing across her forearm and over her cheek.

Through the mayhem, Varka’s blade glanced Ksenia’s shoulder, heat and pain blossoming from the contact.

If Varka wasn’t precious about the mirrors, then neither would she be.

Glass exploded, glittering and deadly, as Ksenia broke them with wild abandon, putting distance between her and the noblewoman. Ksenia backed out of the sparring hall as Varka nimbly leaped and navigated the deadly and slippery obstacle.

Ksenia didn’t wait for her to catch up. She turned and ran into the foyer before sprinting for the corridor that lay behind the grand staircase.

“Running is smart—make it count.”

The soles of Ksenia’s borrowed leather boots slapped against the marble, announcing her position with every step.

She flew around a corner and nearly tripped over a hair-thin wire, leaping over it at the last second. Varka’s low chuckle came behind her.

“Good.”

Her next step sank with a soft click.

Shit.

She froze.

A whistling sound filled the air, and a sandbag swung from the ceiling, heaving and arcing through the corridor like pendulums. The nearest one missed her head by inches, and as she fell forward, its companion caught her shoulder, sending her sprawling to the cold marble floor.

“Get up,” Varka called from the doorway, watching Ksenia scramble.

The tip of her blade slammed into the floor, an inch away from Ksenia’s temple, and she screamed as she rolled beneath a sandbag and came up running.

There was a pattern with the bags, and if she timed it right—

She darted between the gaps and burst out of the far door. The scent of old books and parchment made her nose scrunch: the library. She tossed a glance over her shoulder. Varka’s footsteps were sure and even, those eagle eyes trained on her as she took a straight path through the gauntlet without breaking a sweat.

Ksenia’s mind raced. She couldn’t outrun Varka forever; this was her house, and she knew every trap, every shortcut.

Shortcut.

There had been a peephole within the library, and if she could find that, she’d be able to hide in the passageways. The library stretched before her in the dim light of scattered oil lamps. She ducked behind one of the bookshelves, peering in the space between the tomes and scrolls, looking at the walls for anything familiar to orient herself.

She spotted an arched alcove, tucked between two towering shelves. Within it, a portrait of a scholar, his eyes focused on Ksenia with such intensity that he looked whole and real in the space.

Beneath it, a runner rug featured pomegranates, flowering vines, and birds tucked between the branches—she had seen that before.

She darted across to the alcove and pried her fingers under the gilt frame.