Bohdan sighs. “Probably for the best, since she might’ve held a grudge. Also”—he wrinkles his pert nose—“I’m not sure I could’ve gotten used to having a beast as a daughter. Though having her blood at our disposal would’ve been practical…”
One of the human soldiers looks up from the link of obsidian chain he’s looping around Isla’s chair. Is it me, or do his lips curl?
“A healer!” My sister’s raised voice hurries the two rebels.
The instant the padlock clicks into place, they stand and tread toward the door.
After they’ve shuffled past a perspiring Ksenia, she adds, “Mestyla would’ve remained tethered to that brutish Vance, so her blood wouldn’t have proven very useful.”
Bohdan walks up to her. “I’d have found a way to untether them. Every creature of the Cauldron has a mortal flaw.”
He touches her cheek.
“If you’re worried I’m angry with you, rest assured that I’m not, treasure. I understand you had no choice. The same way I hope you’ll come to understand thatIhad no choice.” He probes her stare with his.
“I know,” she ends up saying,
“Good.” He tries to kiss her, but she turns her face with a wince. “Where do you hurt?”
“My waist. The Crow managed to gouge me with her talons before the useless idiots pumped her with lead and obsidian.”
“Weren’t you wearing your armor?”
Ksenia must be in real pain, for she sags. “She melted it off me with her blood magic.”
She unscrews her face from Bohdan’s palm and totters toward me, hand digging into the growing bloodstain dampening her lavender gown.
“While I waited, I got him to sign over the deed to the kingdom. Granted, he had to use his mouth, but it’s still his signature.” Bohdan pats the pocket of the jacket he wears over his cuirass.
“What a brilliant strategist you are.” Her mocking tone is jarring. “I couldn’t get her to rescind her bargain, but at least I got a pretty ring.” As she lowers herself to her knees in front of me, she holds out her hand, taunting me. “Fits like a glove.”
The train jostles, rocking her, and she catches herself on my shoulders, causing me to shudder in both pain and disgust. When she glides one palm to my nape, smearing her blood over my soiled shirt, my disgust swells to such proportion that it eclipses the pain.
Bohdan takes a step toward her. “What are you doing?”
“I just want to look my brother in the eye when I tell him that he’s about to lose everything.” Her fingers glide down my spine, bumping over the first coil of chain.
I need to get her off me before her fingers journey any lower and she discovers my freed hand.
“I hope she was worth it.” Her murmur fans over my enflamed cheek.
I’m breathing so fast and furiously that every tug of air carries Isla’s scent deeper into my lungs.
Not Ksenia’s.
Isla’s.
I don’t know why this strikes me as improbable when I live and breathe for the Crow.
My sister cranes her neck and glowers at the Volkov standing nearest us. “Can you make yourself useful and go check on my healer?”
He starts at her brusque tone but then does as she asks and heads toward the cabin door. A moment later, he’s racing back and slapping the door shut, coughing.
“Fumes.” He spits out a glob of saliva, wobbles, and then slams into the bedframe and flops onto the floor.
“Is he dead?” Bohdan asks, not an ounce of emotion other than surprise coloring his tone, while Timo leaves his station to lunge toward to his son.
“Asleep.” Deep-rooted relief gusts out of Timo’s reedy lips.
