“Go,” ordered Alfson. “Get out.”
After the sounds of the man and hound had vanished entirely, Gorm said cautiously, “They’re dosed, Maester. What should I?—”
“With me, Gorm,” came the maester’s even voice. “We must speed our plans for relocation. In my study,now.”
The men retreated from the room, and Rurik rolled on top of her, bracing himself on his elbows. Saga’s heart spun and twisted as he lifted the edge of the fur and peered out.
“They are gone,” he said, throwing the covers back and looking down at her. “You should not be in this place.”
Saga pushed Rurik off her with a huff. “Nor should you.” She swung her feet off the bed, assessing the room. The screaming woman lay utterly still.
“We must help them,” she whispered.
“Is no place of rest. Is place of death,” muttered Rurik.
Glancing at the door, she stepped toward the woman. “They’ve been taken against their will. We must help them?—”
Rurik cursed in Zagadkian, his hand wrapping around her shoulder and stopping her. “You cannot, Saga. You must go back to your chambers and pretend you never saw such things.”
“But these people?—”
“They cannot be helped!” he snapped. “They are altered in ways that cannot be undone.”
She was silent, recalling the feral look in the woman’s eyes, the froth at hermouth. “Have you no mercy?” she asked. “We cannot let them suffer. Let them have a good death, at the very least.”
“Winterwing,” Rurik said softly. “I should never have shown you how to pick the locks. Is a curse on me for letting you find such troubles.” She felt herself being turned around, rough fingers sliding beneath her chin and tilting it up. “Promise to me, Saga, you won’t come back here. It will bring danger to you.”
Clamping down on her back molars, she did not reply. With a soft growl, Rurik’s hand wrapped around her upper arm. “Your fire is strong, Winterwing, but caution is needed to keep the flame burning.” After a silent moment, he dragged her to the door and pressed his ear against it. “Is clear through this way now.”
“How do you?—”
“I have excellent hearing.”
Saga swallowed. Pushing the door open, Rurik tugged her into the hallway lined with cells. “I am taking you to your chambers, Saga, and then I will be watching. You will not go back to that room.”
“Excuseme?”
They paused at the juncture of three doors, Rurik turning to look down at her. “You are brave, Winterwing, but your soft heart will get you killed. Your plans are written on your face.”
“I must help them,” she said, stomach twisting.
“I am sorry,” he said, with surprising sincerity. “But those in foul room are lost already. You gain nothing by rushing into danger. If you wish to help them, you must be smart and quiet.” Rurik pulled her straight through the juncture of doors, rather than left toward Alfson’s study. Cautiously, they climbed a set of torch-lit stairs.
“You are right,” whispered Saga, as they paused at a landing. “I must think more rationally.” She scowled. “As doyou. Bjorn told me the hounds have linked the arsonist to the person who sacked the garrison hall?—”
“I thank you for your concern, Lady Saga, but hounds do not concern me.”
Her scowl deepened. “How can you be so unbothered?”
The man’s flippant shrug made her teeth clench down. She forced in a calming breath and whispered, “Did you find what you’ve been seeking?”
Rurik pulled a pin from his pocket, picking the lock with a few deft twists of his hand. “No.”
“I’m sorry.” Saga bit her lip as he pressed his ear to the door, then pushed it open. “If you tell me what it is?—”
“I cannot.”
“I see,” said Saga, rebuked.
