Chapter 8 #2
“Who are they?” she asked, stabbing a finger at the winged horsemen.
Elisava’s expression hardened at once, and she exchanged a wary glance with Rov. When she spoke, her voice had a solemn air to it.
“Clans beyond the river,” interpreted Rov. “This battle is many long years ago, when things in Zagadka were different.”
Saga puzzled over his words, trying to make sense of them. But she was quite certain Kassandr had never mentioned the clans. “What happened?”
Rov relayed her question, but Elisava took another long minute before replying. “Would you like to see one of these horses, Lady Saga?”
Saga blinked as her mind scattered everywhere. “You—what—” Somewhere deep down inside Saga, a small child squealed in delight. All thoughts of never leaving this room again quickly vacated her. She gripped the table, staring at Elisava. “Yes!”
But Rov looked far from enthused as he and Elisava exchanged exasperated words.
Elisava waved off Rov’s accusing finger, leaning forward on the table. A sly smile curved her lips. “Ty khochesh’ vstretit’ Havoc?[*1]”
Rov folded his arms over his chest, apparently refusing to translate. Elisava’s expressive brows arched, and she turned in her seat to send Rov a speaking glance. When he didn’t budge, she pushed to her feet, sauntering toward the chair he lay sprawled across.
“Uderzhi menya ot svoikh planov, zhenshchina,[*2]” he muttered, though Saga couldn’t help but notice that the warrior seemed unable to look away from Elisava.
Elisava’s elegant fingers slid around Rov’s neck as she leaned down so that her lips hovered next to his ear. As she straightened, Rov’s head fell back and he groaned at the rafters. With an exaggerated sigh, he unfolded his long limbs from the chair and straightened the front of his jacket.
Rov’s face was impassive, but his words seemed wrenched painfully from him. “I suppose is your…how do you say…good fortune, Lady Saga. Today you will meet the winged murderer they call Havoc.”
The scent of straw and manure was heavy in the air, but the screams of the horse before Saga made it hard to notice anything else.
Havoc was a majestic, yet terrifying stallion with a gleaming white coat.
Enormous wings of iridescent feathers stretched out as the stallion reared and released another wrathful scream.
Saga’s pulse had thundered as she’d left her chambers, but between Elisava’s casual chatter and Rov’s reassuring presence, she’d been able to gather the courage to continue.
Rov thankfully understood the nature of her condition and assured her there was an alternative route to the stables.
Rather than leading her outdoors, they’d navigated through a series of corridors before climbing down a spiral staircase—a back entrance.
Now she stared at the winged horse, torn between fear and wonder and outright anger. She glared at the manacle securing the creature’s rear ankles.
“Why is it caged away?”
“Is secured,” grumbled Rov, “so murderous beast does not kill another.”
Saga’s gaze slashed to Rov. “What?”
Elisava’s small, warm hand landed on Saga’s forearm, and she spoke gentle words, with Rov interpreting. “This horse is wild and dangerous,” she explained. “We keep it only because the oracle has told my father we must.”
Saga chewed her cheek, waiting for an explanation.
But Elisava only sighed, turning back to Havoc.
“Horse was…betrothal gift from clans beyond the river to high-prince-to-be,” said Rov, taking over.
“Was symbol of union of long arguing halves of Zagadka. But creature is dangerous and wild. Impossible to tame.” He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze growing distant.
“It kicked the high-prince-to-be, crushing his skull. The beast is cursed. Has robbed us of our heir and has brought discord.”
“Heir?” Saga tried to comprehend. Wasn’t Kassandr the heir?
Rov muttered something in Zagadkian before switching to íseldurian. “Kassandr’s older brother, Radomir.”
Saga swallowed. “Kassandr was not meant for the throne?”
Rov nodded. “Always, it was to be Radomir. He who was gifted in speech and in combat, loved by even the oldest of crones. Is…how do you say…rather large boots for Kassandr to step into.”
Saga was eager to hear more, but the horse minder appeared. After bantering with Rov in rolling Zagadkian, the minder entered the pen.
“We must be quiet while horse eats,” whispered Rov.
Saga watched the horse minder walk slowly toward Havoc, speaking in soft, low tones.
The horse’s white nostrils flared and he hoofed at the ground, but the stallion did not rear back as the minder approached.
The man set down a shallow bucket of grain, then began backing away from the horse.
But his heel caught on a rogue stone beneath the hay.
Fear clutched at Saga’s chest as the man fell onto his rear, and Havoc screamed.
Saga’s shock held her immobilized, and Elisava cried out in fear.
But Rov, thank the gods, leaped over the fence and into the pen.
Hands hooking under the man’s armpits, Rov hauled him back.
It was done without a heartbeat to spare—Havoc’s hooves slammed down where the man had just lain, gouging the packed-earth floor.
The horse whinnied, shaking his head, and his dark, malevolent eyes glared at the humans watching him.
Elisava backed away, murmuring in distress, while Rov went to comfort her. But Saga only stared into the pen at the beautiful, caged creature. She felt a strange sort of kinship with the horse.
The horse minder retched into the straw to her left while Elisava directed a torrent of angry words at Havoc, no doubt cursing it for trampling her brother and trying to do the same to this innocent horse minder.
But something fluttered deep in Saga’s chest. In that moment, she couldn’t help but remember the girl who’d locked herself away. Hadn’t she wanted to fly from her cage? A new sense of purpose burned deep inside her. The balcony door she’d ignored for days was now at the forefront of her mind.
Saga turned away and, after a word with Rov, returned to her chambers.
Saga’s heart beat riotously as her hand rested on the iron latch of her balcony door.
The red-and-gold patterns painted on the door grew unfocused as she tried to slow her breathing, but it was impossible to forget what lay beyond it.
Her balcony. Open skies. Her pulse leaped, but she reassured herself—it was only a few steps.
She would leave the door open—an easy exit from the balcony.
Punished, rang Magnus Hansson’s voice in her skull. You deserve to be punished. The screaming bears branded into the backs of Saga’s hands throbbed, the smell of charred flesh vivid in her memories.
“You’re dead,” she spat. Magnus’s screams and wet gurgles rang in her ears, and Saga latched onto that sound. Pulled it to her. “You’re dead,” she repeated, the tightness in her chest loosening just a touch. “You don’t control me anymore.”
She forced her thoughts to that night in Askaborg’s gardens, when she’d felt rain on her skin for the first time in five years. For a moment, she’d felt hope. Saga would not lose the progress she’d made. Would not let her affliction rule her as it once had.
Before she could second-guess it, Saga lifted the latch. Pushed the door open. And stepped onto the balcony.
Her pulse was out of control, and she gasped for breath, but Saga reminded herself that she was safe. That Magnus was dead. That never again would she find herself trapped like she had that day in the stables when he’d branded her flesh.
She took another step forward. Breathed in the crisp wintery air. Saga stepped forward again. And then she was gripping the wooden banister, closing her eyes, and tilting her face to the sky. Saga drew in a deep breath. Paused at the warmth kissing her cheeks.
The sun.
Her eyes flew open, but she slammed them shut against the intense light.
But Saga laughed, incredulous, fingertips skimming along her cheeks in disbelief.
The feel of the sun filtering through a window did not compare to the raw warmth of it bathing her skin.
Saga cracked one eye open at a time, then squinted until she’d adjusted to the brightness.
Bathed in Sunnvald’s light, she took in the sights before her.
Saga’s balcony looked over the fortress grounds.
She saw frosted gardens stretching toward a curious-looking temple with tall wooden statues.
She saw fur-capped workers bustling about and warriors patrolling the defensive walls.
Beyond the walls of the fortress, the Kovosk River cut through the city of Kovograd.
Saga gazed at the sprawl of peaked roofs and cobbled streets, all dusted with snow.
But a cloud drifted across the sun, and a raven called out, stirring memories of that day.
The screams wrenching from her throat. The ravens screeching from beyond the stables. The inferno of pain as the brand seared the backs of her hands. “Punished,” rang Magnus’s voice, and no matter how many times Saga told herself he was dead, she could not drive him from her mind.
Her heartbeats were now too quick to count, every muscle in her body urging her to return to her chambers.
“Just a little longer,” she pleaded, fingers tapping rhythmically on her shoulder.
But the mystery of Zagadka, the strange beauty of Kovograd, could not make up for her air-starved lungs. Lights dotted her vision, and at last, Saga released her grip on the banister and stumbled back to her chambers.
After closing the door, she sagged against the wall and gasped for breath. Her entire body trembled, her heart racing as though her life were in danger. But a smile spread across her lips as she touched her sun-warmed cheeks.
The sun. She’d felt the sun on her skin. Had looked upon the great wooden city surrounding her. Saga had gone outdoors.
It felt like the first step toward something great.
Skip Notes
*1 Would you like to meet Havoc?
*2 Keep me from your plans, woman.