Page 41 of Hellbound

The hook groaned, bending with her weight, but held.

She freed one foot and alternated underhand, twining her wrist and forearm with the rope as a failsafe.

Torchlight loomed overhead—if they discovered her and cut the rope, no braking mechanism would stop her from falling.

Her muscles shook with exertion and her arms were shredded from her death grip as she descended ever so slowly down the two-storied wall. Men shouted overhead, and her eyes widened.

A heavy dagger sliced cleanly through the rope, severing her tether.

Ksenia tumbled to her death on the forest floor below.

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She fell the remaining six feet, her shoulder breaking the impact. The hood of her cloak muffled her scream as she writhed on the ground. White spots floated behind her clenched eyelids as she willed the pain away. Primal panic set into her chest, mouth open, but no air found its way to her lungs.

What shallow breaths she could take were filled with the loamy scent of decomposing leaves, moss, and rich dirt as she rolled onto her front, pushing herself to stand.

The edge of the forest dropped into a deep gully, and beyond, a serviceable road on which a familiar carriage awaited.

Ksenia lurched through the brush and bramble, the sound of horses and hounds crashing through the nearby woods in hot pursuit. Wind whipped leaves and branches through her hair as she tore her way to the carriage door. Her fingers slipped on the handle as a slender hunting hound burst through the underbrush and leapt at her throat. She wrenched the door open with a scream, throwing herself within. The carriage lurched forward at a blistering pace, leaving the hunting party in the distance.

Ksenia dragged in thin, sharp breaths. Her legs trembled without control, the deep ache from climbing the aqueduct and well settling on her body, dull in some places, sharp and twinging in others. And beneath it all was a strange and anxious relief: she had survived.

Her stomach lurched. She hoped Petra had gone unseen. She had survived, but Bohdan had also caught her. Hearth would be on high alert, looking for a thief who fit her description. She groaned, resting her aching head into her hands. Even if she made it back to Beranek Manor, there would be an entire hunting party on her tail.

Bringing them to Varka seemed dangerous, but something about the noblewoman made Ksenia think she could handle the intrusion…

She straightened up, her mud-caked clothes smearing over the luxurious upholstered bench. The sword was dirty, but in good shape. She knew it’d take more than a fall to mar a blade as well-made as this one.

The scenery was a blur of drenched color as the carriage ferried her back to the manor.

A pale lavender palette painted the sky as the storm cleared, lingering whisps of white catching the first light of dawn with a bruised purple and peach-tinged gray as the carriage creaked to a halt in front of Beranek Manor.

Ksenia almost fell out of the carriage; a limp in her right hip from the fall made her falter. Servants opened the double doors unprompted, their noses wrinkling when she drew near.

Varka leaned against the circular table in the foyer, examining her nails, her eyes flicking up at Ksenia brightly.

“Well, well. You crazy, insane woman. You did it.”

A delirious smile cracked Ksenia’s lips as a laugh bubbled out. She had done it. Maybe she had a chance after all at the Sevrant trials if she had the guts to do what she did last night.

Varka met her halfway, striding firmly to embrace Ksenia in a tight hug. The air squeezed out of her lungs for a few precious seconds, and Ksenia shut her eyes, momentarily transported to her last embrace with Danika. Varka broke away, glassy-eyed herself.

“Now, let’s see your prize.”

Pride bloomed in her chest as she unearthed the blade from her muddy scarf.

Varka ran her calloused fingers over the fine hilt, caressing the emerald inset at the pommel. Her expression softened, as if years of longing had settled onto her face. A fragile half smile graced her lips, and her gaze clung to the magnificent sword in reverential wonder.

“Why is it important?” Ksenia murmured, her voice hoarse.

“Because it means a piece of my aunt is home again.”

“That blade belongs to the king; stealing it is a crime punishable by death.” The voice over her shoulder was precise, measured, and magnetic. Ksenia spun on her heel, and from the corner of her eye, saw Varka’s lips press into a firm line.

Standing in the manor’s threshold was Ksenia’s pursuer. The servants stiffened and averted their gazes.

Dawn light cast his sable hair golden where it fell in waves over his tawny brow. It softened his eyes, but they met hers once more with a darkly amused undertone in their crystalline green depths. Every line of his body was taut, precise. Power ready to be released with pinpoint control.