Rökksgarde…it sounded like Rökksgarde was where they moved this horrid galdur-harvesting practice after Svaldrin. Saga took a steadying breath. She ought to copy these scrolls. But as her gaze fell on the bottom shelf of the cabinet—on the stack of parchment, bound with twine—the hairs on her neck stood on end.
A strange sense of recognition settled in her, a sense of something more ancient than the castle itself. She found herself reaching out, power brushing along her fingers as they swept over the top page. Tucking her index finger under the twine, Saga lifted the bundle and placed it gently on the floor in front of her.
A breath of air caressed her cheek, sending Saga’s heart skittering. But it vanished so quickly, she wondered if she’d imagined it.
Saga examined the stack. Binding tracks peppered the long edge of each parchment, suggesting at one point, these pages had been bound in a book. The cover and title pages were missing, and as she flipped through the manuscript, Saga found many portions water-damaged and illegible—page numbers skipped in sizable bunches as if entire portions of the book were absent.
At last, she came to a page with portions of legible text. Eagerly, Saga devoured all the words she could read.
…from the deepest roots of the woods, made from Sunnvald’s own heart, light will not destroy it, only a thing made of the same darkness…
She flipped the page, eager to read more, but found only an illustration that made her blood run cold. Creatures she knew, and yet, she did not. There were strange, mutated grimwolves with maws stretched too wide; ravens with enlarged talons and shredded wings; fanged bears with elongated limbs.
She continued to search through the book, paging past curious charred sections, as though someone had tried, and failed, to set it alight. Saga’s fingers paused as she reached a page titledKraugeir. Frowning, she stared at the name. She’d told Rurik about Kraugeir all those weeks ago—the dragon of legends who’d once awoken to burn the world. As she gazed upon it, Saga felt a strange stirring in her chest, like the faintest ruffling of wings and long, dark limbs stretching out.
Cold prickles climbed across her neck. It was wrong, this book, yet so very familiar. So very seductive. She must have this book, must drink up all of its knowledge, must?—
Someone coughed from beyond the door.
The sensation retracted in an instant, leaving an aching hollowness in its wake. A strange longing filled her. Saga blinked, forcing logic into her mind. There was something wrong with this manuscript—she needed to get away from it. With shaky hands, Saga stacked the parchment and tied the twine in place.
The bolt rattled.
Lightning-quick, Saga shoved the scrolls back into the cabinet, sliding the padlock back in place.
A key slid into the lock.
Panicked, Saga yanked her satchel from the ground, and threw herself into the shadowy back corner of the office. Her heart raced, breathing shallowing.
Metal grated against wood as the bolt slid to the side.
Oh, gods, oh gods!In a heartbeat, someone would step into the room, and she’d be caught. She was trapped…no exits...
Saga pressed herself further against the wall, wishing it could swallow her up. A stone dug sharply into the small of her back, but suddenly, it retracted. The entire portion of wall swung inward.
A door. Alfson had a hidden door in his study.
Scrambling through the doorway, Saga found herself in a dark alcove. There was no time to think, no time to do anything but shove herself against the door. It rasped shut, enveloping Saga in inky blackness and damp, musty air.
Safe. She sagged against the wall, her pulse calming. She was safe in the darkness.
Beyond the door, there was movement within the study. Whoever it was, their thoughts were muffled by the stone, but Saga guessed it had to be Maester Alfson. Would he know someone had been in his study? Did he know of this doorway?
Her brow furrowed.Shedid not know of this doorway. And as someone who hoarded Askaborg’s secrets the way Signe did ivory gowns, it was unsettling to discover there were things she did not know.
Turning, Saga felt her way around the space, thankful she was not afraid of the dark. Was it merely a closet? But as she toed around the dark landing, she found the edge of a stair. Cautiously, she descended the first step, and began what she soon discovered was a long climb downward.
Disoriented, she relied on her sense of touch as she fumbled through the blackness. After a curving set of stairs and a long corridor, she rounded a corner, and her heart swelled at the faint bloom of light. As she neared, she could make out a torch mounted on crumbling stone walls at the juncture of three doors. Reaching this juncture, Saga paused, her ears primed and Sense stretching out. Nothing but silence.
She steeled herself, her hand wrapping around the iron ring of the door to her right and pushing it open.
Saga stared down yet another corridor, this one lit by wall-mounted torches. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light. There was a heavy feeling to the air,an unpleasantness she could not name. Gripping her satchel tightly, Saga forced herself to walk.
The guttering torchlight illuminated a prison cell on her right, a rusted red stain in the middle of the stone floor. She passed more cells, all empty, but heavy with the scent of iron and urine.
With each step further down the hall, the ominous feeling grew. She reached the doorway at the end of the hall. Hand poised on the ring, a premonitory shiver ran down her spine.
With a deep breath, Saga pushed it open and stepped inside.
