Chapter 10
Kovograd, Zagadka
Kassandr Rurik flipped his dagger in the air and caught the hilt with ease.
A smile curved his lips, his mood so jovial he began to whistle.
He’d returned from his pilgrimage to the golden oak in four days—shattering his brother Oleg’s record—only to discover that the high prince had taken leave to consult with the oracle, sparing him from further punishment.
But the best part of his return was Rovgolod, informing him of all that had transpired while he was gone.
Not only had no harm befallen Saga in his absence, she’d requested Rov give her Zagadkian language lessons.
And when Rov had reported she now took daily trips onto her balcony, Kassandr had been overcome.
He’d leaped from his chair and kissed his friend, leaving Rov complaining and wiping his mouth.
But Kass did not care. He could not contain his joy.
During his journey, Kass had dwelled on the disappointing outcome of the high prince and Saga Volsik’s first meeting.
He’d hoped she could persuade his father to act against the Urkans, but on further reflection, he realized he’d expected too much of her.
His father and the Zagadkian elders were stubborn in their beliefs.
It would take more than one meeting to convince them to raise arms against the Urkans.
But hearing that she spent daily time outdoors on her balcony reminded Kassandr of all that she faced.
His Saga was fighting. Her fire was banked, not extinguished, and each day it would only grow hotter…
brighter. He would bend low, would blow on those embers.
Encourage their growth. Yes. It would work.
Now he strolled to Saga’s room, flipping his dagger while whistling a jaunty song. Today, he would make her an offer she could not refuse.
As he reached her door, he nodded at the men of his Druzhina who guarded it.
Though she might not know it, and certainly would not like it, Saga’s door was guarded night and day.
Her food was tasted before it was delivered.
Trackers watched her balcony, surveying the yards and towers beyond for any sign of an assassin.
When it came to her safety, Kass would not take chances.
After unlocking Saga’s door, he pushed it open and sauntered in with a smile.
She leaped from the bench nearest to the fire, her drawing pad tumbling to the ground. But Kass could only look at her, resplendent in a blue Zagadkian brocade gown.
“Krasavitsa,[*1]” he murmured.
“Do you not know how to knock?” she demanded, much to his delight. “What if I had been unclothed?”
He closed the door, enshrouding them in privacy, then smiled. “It would have been to my great fortune.”
A pink flush ran down her pretty neck, and Kass could not decide if she was angry or scandalized—perhaps both. He approached the hearth, bending low to retrieve her fallen drawing pad.
“That’s mine,” she snapped, lunging for it.
He let her grab it back, but not before he caught sight of his own likeness etched in charcoal. Inwardly, his beast gave a low, contented purr. “You were missing me?”
“Not in the slightest.” Saga stormed to the wall, securing the vellum onto a nail.
Kass watched, intrigued, as she returned to the hearth, shoved her hand down her bodice, and retrieved the all-too-familiar dining knife.
She drew her wrist back, then flung the knife at Kassandr’s portrait.
It landed in the left side of his forehead.
Kassandr’s beast launched to his feet and howled in delight.
He sauntered to the drawing and pulled the knife free. “Impressive,” he murmured, examining the blade. “But you are needing knives much sharper than this.”
An incredulous sound came from behind him, and Kassandr turned toward his Saga. “Do you not recall that I stabbed you with that knife?”
“I recall that you missed.” He flipped the knife and handed the hilt to her.
“Shall I try again?” she demanded incredulously.
Kass’s smile was lazy and unconcerned. “Let me show to you a better way.” He strolled behind her, pleased when she did not move away. The scent of her skin drove his beast into a near frenzy, and it took all of Kass’s will to keep focused on his task.
“Lift elbow like so.”
His hand slid along the back of her arm.
“And turn like this.”
He twisted her wrist.
“Try again.”
Against his beast’s every wish, Kassandr stepped away. Though her back was to him, Kass could feel the intensity radiating from Saga as she focused on the drawing. She drew in a quick breath, then let the knife fly. It landed with a thunk, right between the eyes of his likeness.
Laughter boomed from Kassandr, and he clapped his hands loudly.
But Saga whirled on him, hands on her hips. “Why are you here, Kassandr?”
It pleased him beyond measure that she’d taken to calling him by his true name. Though he supposed she was now surrounded by many with the byname Rurik. It only made sense.
“Rov tells to me you wish to learn Zagadkian.”
Her scowl was adorable. “That was not meant for your ears.”
“Ah, my dear Winterwing,” he said, settling down in a fur-draped armchair. “Everything you do in this place is meant for my ears.”
“Do not bother yourself with my well-being,” she seethed.
“I will teach to you,” he said with a casual shrug. “But you must do something for me.”
Saga laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “You owe me, Kassandr. You stole my freedom. Have kept me locked in this room for days!”
His beast’s fur riled in indignation. “Saga,” he said, low and deadly serious, “we both are knowing how badly things would turn if I had not taken you from that hall in Sunnavík. You would have been tortured. Executed in most vile of ways.”
“But Midfjord—”
Kassandr leaned forward. Braced his elbows on his knees. “What about Midfjord, Saga? Who were you to meet? Where were you to go?” Her lips pressed into a thin line, and he knew he was right. “You know not a soul in Midfjord. You know only the name of the city—”
“At least it would be my choice!” Saga shouted, her face turning red. “You tricked me into thinking I would be free.” Her voice broke on the last word, and something cracked inside Kassandr’s chest along with it. “I will never forgive you for taking my choice away.”
His beast let out a low, plaintive howl.
“You may hate me for what I have done,” Kassandr gritted out, “but I will never apologize for bringing you to safety.” He was quiet for a long moment, allowing her to regain her composure.
“My proposal is this: You will take daymeal with me each morning,” he said, “and I will teach to you Zagadkian language.”
Saga’s hands clenched into fists, and Kassandr’s beast whimpered in sympathy. It pained him that his reasons for bringing her here had not lessened her fury. Yet perhaps her anger could be useful if he directed it toward more productive things.
Kassandr’s beast paced restless circles inside him as Saga remained silent for far too long. At last she released a long, deep breath.
“Fine,” said Saga. She looked miserable at her choice, yet despite it, he saw the gleam of determination in her eyes.
“Good.” Kass knew his smile was like salt in her wound, but he could not keep it hidden away.
Relieved to have this first obstacle out of the way, he called for Alasa. The door slid open and Alasa glided in carrying a tray with enough dishes to feed two. Saga glared at him, no doubt rankled that he’d guessed how she’d answer.
He moved to a chair at the table and gestured for her to join him. “First, we eat. Then lessons shall start.”
The next several days proceeded much like the last. Kassandr took the daymeal with Saga, after which they spent several hours in Zagadkian lessons. In íseldur, Saga had told him she had an aptitude for languages, but to see it with his own eyes—to hear it with his own ears—was truly astounding.
Though Kassandr knew that it was not merely luck. Alasa and Rov reported that Saga studied her notes long into the night; that she peppered them with questions about pronunciation and word choice. It seemed his Saga was quite motivated to learn the Zagadkian language.
What Kassandr hadn’t anticipated was just how torturous those sessions would be for him.
Enclosed in Saga’s chambers, her scent was so potent it had his beast snarling to be near her…
to feed and care for her. But he knew this was unwelcome, and it took every ounce of Kassandr’s restraint to keep his beast’s emotions at bay.
It was hard when every small thing she did had taken an erotic turn.
The slow slide of the spoon between those lips.
Her scowl when she forgot a Zagadkian term.
The fire in her eyes and the sharpness of her tongue when Kassandr’s teasing went too far.
Which was how he now found himself leaning against the wall in the fortress’s western wing. He could not take another day in her chambers, bathed in her scent while his beast went mad. Today, he would take her for a stroll in the fortress courtyard.
Saga had been hesitant when he’d first proposed it, but Kass had reminded her of the calming taps; that he would be there should she have a crisis.
And perhaps she’d thought of that rainy night in Askaborg’s gardens, when he had been there to help her through her panic, because eventually she’d agreed.
Alasa entered the landing, then curtsied before holding the door open.
Saga scowled as she entered the space, but Kassandr forgot to breathe for a moment.
Today, she wore a fur-trimmed jacket over heavy purple skirts, an ornamental belt of silver and gold medallions cinching it tight.
His beast lifted its head and howled to the skies.
His Saga looked like Zagadkian nobility.
She also looked ready to commit murder.
“You are”—radiant, astonishing, like a goddess reborn—“ready?”
Saga tugged at her elongated sleeves while glancing at the door. “Let us do this.”