There was no going back from it, so Saga soldiered forward. “He has a room beneath his study, with Galdra chained to beds. He is cutting the flesh from their arms and feeding it to…others.” Magnus was silent, waiting for her to continue. “He uses something called Míkrób to steal their galdur for his own use.”
Kul bustled into the room with a pot of róa and silver cups upon a tray. Saga forced deep, calming breaths as Kul poured steaming liquid into two cups.
“Leave us,” said Magnus coldly, and the thrall scurried out.
Magnus reached for his cup, blowing steam while staring out the window. Saga held her breath. The fire’s crackle was the only reprieve from the agonizing silence stretching between them.
“Alfson is harvesting galdur,” she said desperately. “There are scrolls and a manuscript. The king should know?—”
“Stop,” said Magnus, setting down his cup of róa. He leveled her with a stare that shredded through her. “You dare spew suchliesto me?” Magnus’s nostrils flared. “The king and his family have been more than patient with you. Far more forgiving than I would be, I might add.” He sent her a knowing look.
No,she thought, her gloved hands clasping tightly together.
“We all know you’ve been unwell these years, Pet. ’Tis a shame how you’ve hidden away when you’re such a thing to look at.” His oily gaze slid over her. “You’re having delusions—dreaming on your feet. ’Tis the only reasonable explanation.”
Taking a sip of róa, Magnus gazed thoughtfully out the window. “I might have a reputation for brutality, but it’s not for lacking a heart.” He chuckled darkly. “I shall grant you a favor.”
A tremor started low in her body, radiating outward.
“I shall keep this conversation between us.” He leaned on the desk, a chilling smirk spreading. “Asecret, Pet. Should word of these accusations spread, I’m certain it would be unpleasant for you.”
Saga stared at him numbly, gripping her chair’s arms.
…if Signe would only allow me, I’d set the girl straight…
Saga inhaled. Her mental walls must have frayed through in her agitation. Gods above, she could not survive the mind of this depraved, vile man.
…I would take my time with her. I would mark every inch of her skin…
Saga felt her icy exterior beginning to crack as her rising panic hindered attempts to weave her barriers. She pushed to her feet, gulping in a breath. “You are most generous, Magnus. If you’ll excuse me, I feel a touch unwell. I shall go lay down.”
…I suppose we don’t need the hounds to scent the satchel now…
Saga stumbled as she rushed out the door.
Satchel.
Satchel?
Satchel.
Pieces slid into place, one after the other, until a horrible picture formed before her eyes. Rurik had kicked her satchel and the torch beneath the bed before they’d hidden. And in their rush to leave, she’d forgotten all about them. Clearly, they had been discovered.
And Magnus knew about them.
“No,” whispered Saga. “No. No. No. No. No.”
Realization slithered through her veins. Saga had been so distracted by the idea that Jarl Skotha could be the Black Cloak, she hadn’t seen things clearly. Who had access to both the queen and the Klaernar? Who traveled freely through the kingdom? Who hungered for power? For violence. For vengeance.
Magnus Hansson was the Black Cloak.
And she’d just told him everything she knew.
Chapter Forty-Seven
KALASGARDE
In the aftermath of Ketill’s attack, Silla spent three nights at Gyda’s farmstead, while Rey and Vig tried to trap a serpent. But it seemed the creature, who’d been remarkably punctual, had suddenly grown shy. For days, Runný and their neighbors kept vigil around their cluster of farms, never so much as venturing to the privy without a hound as company. Meanwhile, Vig and Rey kept watch over the trap. But day seven from the last serpent attack passed, then eight and nine, with no sign of it.
