Page 47 of Hellbound

She needed air.

The moment she stood from the table, they descended.

“My dear, what an exquisite gown,” a lady said, her graying hair piled high atop her crown.

Another woman materialized at her elbow, wineglass in hand, cataloging every detail. “That embroidery—is it from Sturmhol? No, too fine. Maybe more east, like Kamnridge?”

Ksenia stammered.

“And the coordination!” The pair dragged her out to the center of the ballroom. “How delightful that you and Captain Saranov complement each other so well.”

“Was it intentional?”

Ksenia’s mouth opened and closed like a fish.

“Oh, it was absolutely intentional.” A younger woman leaned into the conversation. “How long have you two been…acquainted?”

Years. She had been evading the bastard prince’s grasp for years. But she couldn’t say that now. “We’re not—”

“Don’t pester the girl!” A man bristled, and Ksenia gave him an appreciative smile. “Though I must confess, my dear. I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure. I’ve never seen you at Hearth—I’d remember a face like yours.”

“You’ll have to be careful of Kovar’s wandering hands.” Tittering laughter rippled through the group. “Although you needn’t worry, Captain Saranov would cut them off before they got too far.” More laughter.

“Please excuse me a moment.” The words tumbled from her lips as Ksenia detached their clawing hands from her arm and sleeve with a quick bow.

She waded through the thick crowd for the door, feeling Bohdan’s gaze burning the back of her head as she left the room.

14

Seeking solitude, Ksenia slunk into the library and pulled her half-read tomes and journals from where she’d left them on the shelves. Spines cracked, pages marked.

At the very back, an impressive tapestry was displayed against the stone wall. Stitched upon thick green wool, was a silver- and gold-embroidered tree with names unfurling from top to bottom.

Ksenia drew closer.

The names were listed in a variety of styles and fonts, and appeared to be from different embroiderers over the years. The golden vein among family members represented the dominant one, and Ksenia noted that Beranek followed the daughters rather than the sons. She traced her index finger down to eye-level with the latest entrants.

Iskra Beranek, Vezna Beranek

Varka Beranek

No mention of Bohdan. A bitter satisfaction curled in her chest. Apparently, the royal Saranov blood meant nothing here. The family was clearly run by the matriarchs, with Varka holding the reins now that Iskra and Vezna were gone. No matter how royal he was, or how many soldiers he commanded, Bohdan belonged nowhere.

Not on the throne, not in this home.

Served him right.

Ksenia scratched her neck as she steered away from the tapestry, depositing the books upon a lacquered desk before striding down a line of shelves.

Overhead, lanterns were strung from chains at varying heights, making them look like floating orbs of light in the darkness. Metal had been infused into the tallow of the candles, which burned with different shades of blue. They cast long shadows over her face, and when she caught her reflection in the fogged windows, she noted her cheeks appeared sullen and gaunt.

She had become well familiar with the library, choosing to spend the nights previous to pass the sleepless hours. Hallucinations were easier to deal with when she was awake, and she was pressing the question of how she could minimize her sleep without becoming dysfunctional.

She ran her finger down a row of books on the greater pantheon and mythology, searching for the God of the Crossroads.

The religious texts listed the church’s accepted pantheon, starting with the oldest. Mother of Hours, Green Throat, Hollow King—affectionately called Old Hollow by smiths… On and on, each one with a detailed depiction of their visages, feast days, proper offerings, and more.

But no God of Crossroads. No mention of Vornaya at all.