Chapter 10 #2
Kassandr offered his arm, but she shouldered past him and pushed the door open. His beast’s keen senses tracked the rapid beat of her heart and smelled the fear on her skin, yet Saga did not let her nerves slow her.
He followed her outdoors, breathing the crisp, early-winter air while trying to see it through her eyes.
The western wing of the fortress to their right, climbing three stories high.
The gardens to their left, encrusted with heavy frost. The cobblestone footpath beneath their feet, winding around the fortress toward the garden temple.
And the blue skies yawning wide above.
Kassandr’s muscles were primed and ready to catch her should his Saga stumble. Should she need the taps. He was not surprised when her feet faltered, her breaths coming in short, quick gasps. She needed a distraction. Luckily for her, Kassandr was an expert in stoking the flames of her anger.
He placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and casually asked, “I have heard it said women are less smarter than men, because of the smaller size of their heads. Do you think it true?”
His comment had the desired effect. Saga’s gaze swung toward him, her expression incredulous. “You’re certainly proof against this theory.”
Kass was delighted at her tart reply. Already, her breaths were more even, the redness of her face less pronounced.
“My darling Winterwing,” he drawled, patting his head, “what are you suggesting?”
“Only that your head is certainly not small, and yet I’ve questioned your wits rather often.
” Her lips quivered, then broke into a smile that made Kassandr’s beast wag its tail.
The moment she realized she was smiling, Saga turned to the pathway, not loosening her grip on his arm. “Where are you taking me?” she asked.
“To temple of seasonal gods.” He eased her along the trail, and they walked at a gentle pace. Kassandr could not fail to notice her eyes darting in all directions. “Stena,” he said, gesturing to the defensive wall. “Is word for ‘wall.’ As you can see, is built on earthen ramparts.”
Saga repeated the Zagadkian word, then pointed at a guard tower curiously.
“Bashnya,” said Kassandr. “ ‘Tower.’ In Kovograd, we have two defensive walls—one around the city proper, and one around the fortress.” Saga was silent, and so he continued. “The river—reka—flows through the city, and so there are four gates barring entry.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Saga asked with suspicion.
“Because,” said Kassandr, “King Ivar didn’t answer to your letters.”
The silence felt weighted, Saga’s hold on his arm tightening as they walked toward the temple.
“You know he won’t answer,” she finally said, slightly breathless.
“No,” agreed Kassandr, fingertips tapping on Saga’s forearm. “He will not.” He led her along the pathway, toward the frost-burnt gardens surrounding the temple. Red banners flapped from atop the temple tower, and the horned headdress of Brother Summer’s wooden idol came into view.
“What will he do, King Ivar?” he asked casually, wondering if she understood this game they played.
Saga’s breaths had slowed, her back more rigid, but when she spoke, her voice seemed far away. “Winter is coming, which will ice up the bay in Sunnavík. Ivar will need to act hastily to get his fleet safely out to sea.”
It was much as Kassandr had figured, but hearing it from her own lips strengthened his resolve. He gazed toward the temple, now able to make out the raven perched on the staff of Old Man Winter’s idol.
“But,” continued Saga, “there is always the chance he’ll call for his father’s fleet from Norvaland.”
His fingers ceased their tappings at that. “But surely this would take many long weeks. Do you think he would wait?”
A tremor ran through her, and his fingers resumed their rhythmic motions. “I do not imagine so,” she breathed. “Ivar hungered for Zagadkian blood when he learned of the gardens.”
His blood heated in remembrance of that night; the feel of her body was imprinted in his mind. And as Kassandr’s keen hearing picked up the acceleration of Saga’s heartbeat, he guessed she, too, thought of their kiss.
She cleared her throat. “I cannot imagine Ivar’s wrath if he believes you tried to kill him.” But the rapid beat of her heart did not ease; if anything, it grew ever faster. The panic she’d held at bay was wreaking havoc within her, and Kassandr held her steady as her knees buckled.
“Breathe, Saga. It is only us. You are safe.” Her pulse was now furious, a hammering like Kassandr himself had never felt.
“You’re dead,” whispered Saga, eyes squeezed shut. “You cannot hurt me.”
Kassandr’s beast snarled in rage, and he wanted to kill Magnus Hansson all over again. Wanted to make it slower and far more painful. As he sensed Saga’s panic fully grip her, Kassandr eased them both to the ground, his tapping fingers now also working to calm his own anger.
Together, they sat, surrounded by the frost-laced plants of the gardens as Saga’s breaths puffed frantically out of her, pluming into the sky.
The cobbled path beneath them was frozen, but the defensive walls surrounding the fortress broke the bitter wind, and the winter sun kissing their cheeks made it bearable.
Saga’s crisis passed in a matter of minutes, and as Kassandr helped her to her feet, he felt her exhaustion.
Perhaps it was too much, too soon, to be out here.
Beside him, Saga gasped, and Kassandr braced himself for another attack. But she only bent low to pick something off the ground. As she lifted it to the sky, the corners of Kassandr’s lips tilted up.
An iridescent black feather, most likely a raven’s.
He watched her beautiful face as she examined the feather. Did his Saga think this a sign from the gods? A reminder that her cage was now open, and she could fly free? Kassandr could be certain of nothing except that Saga snatched his arm, and she now led him toward the temple.
“Tell me of the clans beyond the river,” she said, fingertips digging into his skin. “What happened?”
Kassandr’s brows lifted—now he was the one to be surprised. “Many things happened,” he answered carefully. “Some small, some large. Long have there been arguments, but then…” He swallowed back his pain. “Then the oracle made a mess of things.”
Saga’s attention swung toward him, her blue eyes wide. “The oracle. The same one your father has gone to consult?”
He nodded. “It was her prophecy that we must unite with clans beyond river to keep our isle safe.
And after a meeting, it was decided—my brother Radomir would wed a horsemaiden, uniting the two sides of the river.
We sent to them great amounts of ore, only accessible from deposits in the east. And they sent to us the greatest winged horse to be born in a century.
“Oaths were sworn between my father and the clansmother, and it felt much like a fresh start. We were promised fertile lands in the west for some of our people to settle and farm. And clans beyond river were promised access to metal ore deposits in the east.
“Then oracle came to my father, unbidden. She told to him she’d seen another vision. That the white stallion must be kept safe no matter what. She saw that one day a great warrior would climb atop its back and usher in a new era of prosperity.”
Kass shook his head with remembered sorrow.
“Radomir—the fool—was certain he was great warrior she spoke of. He climbed onto horse and was thrown, and murderous stallion crushed his skull. Some believe it was planned by the clans. That they wished to rid us of our heir. Rebels slipped across river in dead of night and burned down one of clans’ camps.
After that, I fear, there was no peace to be found. ”
He sighed. “Oracle can see only small parts of the future, which means the coming to it is unclear. My father, though, he holds on to her word. Even after his heir’s death, he believes that one day, the horse they call Havoc will accept a warrior.
Is only reason foul horse has not been slaughtered. ”
“Have you tried?”
Kass scowled, his beast releasing a low, warning snarl against his rib cage.
“Once I tried to mount insolent creature. Would not let me near. Not with my—” He thumped his chest. “—Not with beast.” Kassandr blinked as he realized they’d come to a stop before the temple.
Glancing at Saga, he found her staring at the four enormous idols of the seasonal gods.
Surrounded by tall, frozen grasses glinting in the sunlight, and clad in Zagadkian brocade, Saga looked like she belonged in this place.
Like she’d been destined to come here all along.
Kassandr forgot how to breathe. For a moment, he simply stared.
“Osennyaya Starukha,[*2]” Saga said, pointing to the Autumn Crone.
“Khram.[*3]” She pointed at the temple building.
“Sbiten.” She pointed at the offerings plate, where cups of sbiten had been left in offering to Old Man Winter.
“Khrabraya,[*4]” he murmured, watching her. “Umnaya.[*5] Prekrasnaya serdtsem i razumom.[*6]”
Saga squinted at him. “I do not know these words.”
A raven cawed overhead, and Saga flinched. Kassandr’s enhanced hearing noted the acceleration of her heartbeat, and he steered them away from the temple. “Come, Winterwing, it is much for one day. Let us return to fortress, and I will tell to you the meaning of these words.”
Skip Notes
*1 Beautiful.
*2 Autumn Crone.
*3 Temple.
*4 Brave.
*5 Clever.
*6 Beautiful in heart and mind.