Read Online Hellbound Hearts by Marie O'Regan, Paul Kane - Free Book Online Page B

improvement on his tiny room at the back of the bakery, but the luxuriously sewn silk bed coverings and the roaring fire in the grate failed to impress Arkady. The fire was not that different from the warmth of the bread ovens, and a bed was simply a bed. That was the truth of it. Sometimes, as he pulled the puzzle box free from beneath his soft pillow and emptied the pieces out, seeking distraction from the sounds in the room next door, he wondered if maybe he saw the truth of too many things. The Boyar himself was one such example.
    Did the old man even know that his depravities had slowly become more extreme since Arkady had been in his employ? Probably not. But Arkady, despite his youth, could see it clearly and also the way the fat lord would look at him when he came in to clean up. He would feel those piggy eyes bore into him, seeking out some kind of reaction. It was simple. The Boyar wanted to shock Arkady. Despite enjoying the freedom from guilt the boy’s indifference gave him, his need to feel powerful made him want Arkady to be affected by his deeds. And that was the truth of it.
    It was only in the delicately carved tiles that the truth evaded him. They remained simply a wonder; a vague promise of hope, of change, of some kind of new life.
    He was absorbed in them on the evening that the Boyar burst into his small room, his robes covered with blood, the glint of relieved madness fading from him as the monster left and the man returned.
    â€œArkady, I fear that you may need assistance . . .” He paused, hiseyes snagging on the box and its contents as Arkady tried to hide them away.
    â€œGive that to me.” The Boyar held out his bloody hand and Arkady found himself passing over his treasured box.
    The Boyar stared at it, and then frowned before sitting slowly down on the edge of Arkady’s bed. “Ekaterina.” His finger did as Arkady’s childish ones had so many years before, and traced out the shape of the word. “The beautiful Ekaterina.”
    He looked up, as if seeing Arkady for the first time. “I remember her. She was different from the rest.” One hand waved dismissively toward the door of his bedchamber and the bloody remains of whoever had been unlucky enough to find themselves called in for company that night. “She was . . . special.”
    He opened the box, tipping its contents onto the bedclothes, turning each tile over in his fat hands and almost absently placing it next to the one before. “Was she your mother, Arkady?” He didn’t look up. “Of course she was. I should have known. A boy with no tongue from the villages. It had to be you.” He shook his head, a soft smile stretching his bloated, too-red cheeks. “Why I did not think about it, I do not know. Too easily distracted, I suppose.”
    The Boyar let out a long sigh and looked toward the small window. Despite its being covered with heavy drapes, he seemed to stare out to the stars beyond, the puzzle pieces forgotten.
    â€œYour mother distracted me . . .” He started softly. “She was exquisite. They had washed the blood from her mouth when she was brought to me, but I could smell it on her.”
    Somewhere in the distance, Arkady heard the low peal of a church bell ringing out. The lamp against the wall flickered as if a gust of wind had caught it unawares and threatened its existence. For a moment his entire being stilled. Unlike the Boyar, Arkady had not forgotten the puzzle. This was it. The final confession. Something pounded in his chest and he realized that at last, his heart was alive.
    â€œShe enjoyed the pain,” the Boyar continued, as if he couldn’t hear the terrible chimes that were calling to them both. “Almost asmuch as I enjoyed hurting her.” He frowned. “She had no limits. Until her, my tastes had been base,
ordinary
, but she forced me to new levels.”
    Arkady wasn’t listening. Something was happening with