Chapter 23
Kovograd, Zagadka
Saga stared vacantly at the crowd before her, fingers tapping frantically on the wooden arms of her chair.
Her breaths came in rapid gasps, her heartbeat too quick, and she tried to focus on what was happening in the council chambers around her.
The high prince releasing a low, despairing sound.
Oleg spitting guttural curses in Kassandr’s direction.
The nobles and elders pulling at their hair, shouting to their four gods.
Through the mayhem, Saga’s fingers tapped.
Too late. She was too late to escape this place and draw Ivar’s ire with her. Now the Urkans were here, and King Ivar would take his anger out on Kassandr and the innocents of Zagadka.
“How is this possible?” bellowed Oleg. “The ocean gate! Where are the signal fires, warrior?”
The messenger who’d burst into the chambers shifted on his feet.
“W-we believe the guards were killed or captured before the beacon fire could be lit. There was no smoke for the watchtowers to see. Nothing seemed amiss. Everyone—” His voice broke.
“—they’re all dead or taken hostage. It was only when a merchant ship arrived that the slaughter was discovered and a falcon sent to Kovograd. ”
Oleg turned on Kassandr. “The blood of those men is on your hands, brother,” he snarled. The veins on his neck strained, and his eyes flickered that strange, lupine yellow.
“What orders have you, Sire?” asked the warrior, glancing nervously among the three Rurik men on the dais.
“Orders?” repeated the high prince dazedly. Kassandr’s gaze narrowed as his father stared blankly at the chaos unfolding before him.
Saga saw the moment something switched inside Kassandr. He stepped toward the messenger. “Does Posadnik Volk have eyes on the ships?”
The warrior nodded.
“Good. Where are the Urkans this minute?”
The warrior’s gaze darted to the high prince before settling back on Kassandr. “They’ve portaged the Crone’s Revenge.”
“That is so near!” exclaimed Oleg. “How are we hearing this only now?”
The messenger swallowed.
“He has answered this already, Oleg,” said Kassandr. “And we do not have time for useless questions. Have the men from the north arrived?” he asked the warrior.
“Which men from the north?” demanded Oleg.
“The two thousand warriors I mustered from the northern territories,” replied Kassandr smoothly. “As a precaution.”
Saga exhaled sharply as she felt the first glimmer of hope. Kassandr had mustered warriors. They had the defensive walls. They had her knowledge of the Urkans. Immediately, her senses began to sharpen, and she sifted through the information, seeking their advantage.
“How many ships of Urkans?” Saga asked in Zagadkian.
The messenger’s gaze hardened as he looked her way. No doubt this man—and the entire realm—blamed Saga for the Urkans’ arrival, and they wouldn’t be wrong. But despite the warrior’s clear dislike for her, he answered her question. “Almost one hundred.”
“Good,” said Saga.
“Good?” demanded Oleg. “How can you think this good?”
“It means,” replied Saga coolly, “that Ivar comes without boats from his father. From Norvaland.”
Oleg’s hands curled into fists. He whirled to face his father. “There is still time. We must send a delegation. Try for peace—”
“They’ve destroyed the ocean gate and taken hostages, you fool of a man!” exclaimed Kassandr. “Can you not read their purpose in that? They will never accept peace. We must gather provisions. Prepare for a siege—”
“Enough!” said the high prince in that strange, dominant voice. Immediately, both Kassandr and Oleg bowed their heads, like hounds with their tails tucked between their legs.
“What we will do is this,” continued the high prince, slowly, as though he intended for Saga to listen. “We will prepare a delegation to meet the Urkans. Bring to them our large tribute of ore and grain. Propose talks of peace.” He looked at the messenger. “Open the outer river gate.”
Kassandr’s gaze whipped to his father, anger and fear battling in his expression. “Father, that is a mistake—”
“Open the outer river gate,” repeated the high prince. “Not for centuries have we welcomed outsiders into our realm. They will see this as a sign of our goodwill.”
Saga’s stomach twisted into knots. She understood the high prince’s desire for peace, but how could he think such a thing would work?
Apparently in agreement, Kassandr rumbled, low in his chest. His eyes glowed that vibrant green, tattoos pulsing along the backs of his hands, and Saga wondered who, precisely, was in charge right now.
“I will go,” she said softly.
“You will not,” growled Kassandr. “I did not bring you here only to hand you over to your enemies at the first threat.” He turned to his father. “I will join the delegation.”
Anger and irritation battled within Saga. Again, he stole her choice. Again, he imposed his own will upon her.
The high prince turned to his eldest son. “You will not, Kassandr.” His voice turned cold and cutting. “You are my heir, and I cannot lose another. Besides, it is you who got us into this mess. You have done enough.”
A low whine came from deep in Kassandr’s chest, and Saga felt a fleeting moment of pity. But she swallowed it back and stepped forward. “Let me talk to King Ivar. Let me tell him face-to-face what happened in that hall.”
The high prince surveyed her with cold detachment. “I would not hesitate to send you,” he said in slow Zagadkian. “But our opening of the gates is a show of goodwill, and we must keep some leverage to trade for hostages.”
The high prince gestured to someone on the floor, and an elder approached. His fussy ceremonial robes fluttered as he climbed the dais steps, then bowed uncertainly before the Zagadkian royals.
“Elder Bogdan,” said the high prince, “I wish for you to entreat with the king of íseldur.”
A tremulous breath escaped the old man, but he stood and met the high prince’s eyes with remarkable steadiness. “It will be my great honor, Sire.”
“Good,” said the high prince. “You will offer them grains and ore to depart our lands. And once all the hostages have been released and all but one of their ships have left Zagadkian waters, then we will deliver Lady Saga to them.”
Elder Bogdan nodded, and the high prince continued his instructions in Zagadkian too rapid for Saga to follow.
Numbness crept through her, and she moved to the windows to look out over the strange, beautiful city of Kovograd.
Hundreds of turfed roofs peeked up from within the city’s defensive walls.
How many people went about their day, unaware of what was coming?
How many lives would be irrevocably changed today?
Soon the Kovosk River would be dotted with a hundred prowed ships.
Soon the air would fill with the hammer of drumbeats and the bellow of war horns.
Soon, there would be bloodshed. Saga could feel it in her bones.
Kassandr Rurik stood upon the fortress gate tower, staring out at the Kovosk River.
Men scurried about atop the outer river gates, readying them to open.
His beast snarled beneath his rib cage. How could his fool of a father have ordered the outer river gates opened to the Urkans?
It was like welcoming a predator right into their nest. Kassandr took comfort in the fact that his father had not ordered Saga handed over—yet.
It was also small comfort that the inner river gates remained sealed.
As thick as a man is tall and ten times as high, the inner gates linked to the formidable defensive walls surrounding the city.
Yet still there were vulnerable people outside their protection—the pier and fish market and the farmlands surrounding the city.
“Kovograd’s walls have never fallen,” said Oleg from beside him, as though reading Kass’s thoughts.
“They have never faced a foe like the Urkans,” Kassandr muttered in reply.
His gaze landed on the ships being readied at the pier.
He scowled at the pleasure barge most frequently used by Oleg and Elisava for lazy days on the river.
Today it would hold twenty finely dressed Zagadkians, headed by Elder Bogdan.
Inwardly, Kassandr cringed. The barge was showy and ornate when what they needed was a show of strength.
“It should be you on that ship,” muttered Oleg, following his gaze. “Handing back the whore. Begging for their forgiveness.”
Kassandr’s beast growled, the tattoos pulsing along the backs of his hands. “She is better than you will ever be, Oleg,” he snarled, snatching his half brother by the collar.
“Your quarreling shames me,” said their father, approaching from behind. Still clad in his ceremonial robes, the man looked entirely unprepared for war. “Our kingdom faces great strife. We must unite against it.”
“Much like Lady Saga has said,” replied Kassandr, turning her unexpected words over in his mind.
You must make peace with clans beyond the river.
But she did not understand the bad blood between their two peoples. And with Urkan war horns now sounding on the wind, time was clearly not on the Zagadkians’ side. Kassandr cast a sidelong look at his father, whose pale-green eyes gazed out to the river. “What did the oracle tell you, Father?”
“It does not matter what she said.”
Kassandr turned to face him head-on. “I think it does.”
The high prince sighed, refusing to meet his son’s eye. “My heart demands I do everything in my power to foster peace. It is my sworn duty to keep my people safe.”
“And what the oracle said—” Kassandr didn’t need to finish his question. It was obvious whatever the oracle had told his father further endangered the people of Zagadka.
Kassandr felt a moment of guilt. This was all happening because he’d gone against his father’s orders and joined the delegation on the voyage to íseldur—because he’d stolen Saga away from the Urkans. His impulsive choice had lost him Saga’s trust and might cost his kingdom everything.