Page 21 of Hellbound

The main hall of the tavern had long, solid oak tables, polished by use and care. A massive stone fireplace dominated the back of the room, its mantel carved from dark mahogany and depicting a simple hunting scene. Mounted antlers and stuffed big-game heads adorned the shelf above the fire, their fur blackened with soot, and oil paintings were fixed to the wall.

The patrons spoke in measured tones—merchants and guild masters, if their elegant garments were any indication. This tavern looked like it had seen more clean business dealings than brawls, an environment that made Ksenia feel wholly out of place, and she leaned uncomfortably against the whitewashed wall.

In the far corner, a red-headed minstrel perched on a low stool, fingers idling at a lute.

A pleasant melody warbled from her mouth, and a few patrons tapped their feet.

‘The smiths had bound the steel with sin. King Karsan reined the devils in.’

‘Praise the king, praise the crown, who silenced the forge and kept us sound.’

The barmaid mouthed the chorus as she passed, her tray loaded with empty tankards.

Ksenia gritted her teeth and quickly followed Varka toward the staircase. The barmaid grimaced at her dirt-streaked attire on the way up.

On the second floor, Varka opened the door of a large dining room, where a veritable feast awaited them.

Ksenia shut the door. Through the floorboards, the tavern swelled with the next verse: ‘He took the sword his brother bore, and swore no smith would forge no more!’

She pried her grip from the handle.

A pang of hunger hit Ksenia, but she hung back warily, even as Varka sat at the head of the table and stuffed a chicken drumstick into her mouth.

“S’down! C’mon—I know y’don trust me yet, but starvin’ yourself is dumb as hell.” She wagged the chicken bone at Ksenia.

The woman had a point. She could eat a bit of chicken as well; it was less likely to be poisoned if Varka was digging in. She reached for a drumstick and sniffed it.

Varka was beside herself, heaping more food onto her plate and walking around the table, sampling whatever she desired with fork and finger.

Plopping back in her seat, Varka washed her mouthful down with a swig of black currant wine.

“To business, then? You’ve come all this way, and I haven’t divulged any details of the trials yet—aren’t you curious?”

Ksenia tore a hunk off the bone, grease slicking her fingers and mouth. Varka patiently waited for her to finish her bite.

“I’m listening.”

“Such a kind and captive audience you are. So I shall begin.” Varka uncorked a bottle of mead, seemingly bored with the wine.

“What do you know about the Sevrant?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. What is a Sevrant?” Ksenia reached for a slice of the roast, recognizing the scents of juniper and black garlic.

“The Sevrant is a rare, singular position: the hidden blade of the king.”

“Well, it sounds very close to servant, so you mean it’s his minion who does all his dirty work.”

The noblewoman brought her palm down on the table. “Exactly! The Sevrant trials are designed to find the crown’s next head of intelligence, testing their capabilities in infiltration, survival, escape, and fighting prowess.” She counted each one on her greasy fingers. “They’re deadly. We haven’t seen one appointed in the last few years, not since the last one died in the field. And the captain has been at his wits’ end finding a replacement.”

Ksenia paused mid-drink, a drop of wine escaping the corner of her mouth. She wiped it with her hand.

“—You mean Bohdan?”

“The very same.”

Ksenia slumped in her seat with a groan. She didn’t stand a chance in this competition if he was the one deciding the winner.

“Remind me why you’re suggesting I work with you again? You want me to be a lamb for slaughter?” Ksenia swallowed her bite thickly; the roast tasted bitter now. “Martyrdom isn’t exactly top of my agenda right now.”