Reluctantly, he trudged after her.
Chapter Sixty-Two
SUNNAVÍK
Ana’s charcoal eyes smiled at Saga from the parchment secured to her drawing board. She sighed, setting it down on the bench and strolling to the window. Dawn was still hours away, the blackness absolute. But as she stared, Saga’s heart squeezed in her chest.
A flare of light. A star streaking across the sky, then glimmering into darkness.
“Ana,” Saga whispered, sorrow and nausea battling for dominance.
Then, as it often had in the execution's aftermath, Saga’s last glimpse of Ana invaded her mind’s eye—head lolling to the side; part of her skull crushed; blood trailing from her Letting and countless other wounds.
Saga’s stomach twisted violently, and she rushed to the bathing chamber, reaching the chamber pot just in time. Over and over she retched, until acid stung her throat and there was nothing left but bile. Saga rose, hands trembling, as she picked up the jug of water on the wash station and poured herself a cup.
She leaned into the listless, fuzzy sensation from lack of food and sleep. It was better not to think too clearly; better to keep her mind from picking apart Signe’s expression after Ana’s execution. In this place, Saga could convince herself that making herself pliant and small would keep her from harm.
But Eisa.
But Eisa. It was a pesky rock in her slipper; it was a solitary hair on her oatcake. The name ruined it all. She could not give in. Could not let Signe harm her sister.
But Saga did not know how to fight the queen alone. Ana had been her anchor, her link to the Uppreisna. And now that she was gone, Saga was alone and exposed. And why? Because that cursed Zagadkian man had kicked her satchel under the bed. It was childish to blame him, but she needed somewhere to channel her anger.
She sighed. After rinsing her mouth, Saga made her way back into her chambers, nearly jumping out of her skin.
“Rurik?” she gasped. For a moment, Saga thought her sleeplessness had overcome her. She’d just thought of him, and now here he was—all broad shoulders and square jaw and those emerald green eyes.
“You are”—Rurik paused— “spouting?”
And with that, Saga knew he must be real. A confusing mix of irritation and embarrassment rose within her. Putting her hands on her hips, Saga sent him a hard look. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I disagree,” he said, studying her carefully. Weariness lined his face, yet his eyes shone with strange eagerness. “I needed to check on you.”
Saga’s gaze flicked to the balcony door—slightly ajar. “Did you…Rurik, did youclimbthe balcony?”
He shrugged.
“That’s fifteen feet of smooth pillar. How did you—it is not possible?—”
“Red troll man is outside your door. Impossible to come through doorway.” The intensity of his gaze sent a rush of heat to her stomach. “Tell me, Winterwing. Are you safe? Are you well?”
“Well,” repeated Saga, swaying on her feet.No!she wanted to scream. She would never be well again.
“Your friend,” continued Rurik, holding up her drawing board. Saga frowned. She hadn’t quite captured Ana’s true likeness. It was the smile—just a little too forced and decidedly somber. Saga took in a ragged breath, fighting with all her will not to crumble. She refused to cry. But her throat tightened, and her eyes stung. She would never see Ana’s real smile—would never have the chance to capture it.
Saga snatched the parchment from the drawing board, crumpling it and tossing it into the fireplace. It curled, then flaked into ash, joining dozens of its predecessors.
“I am sorry,” said Rurik, standing just behind her. Saga stared listlessly into the flames. “You did her a kind thing, did you not?”
She turned slowly. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said. But her stupid, insufferable voice betrayed her.
“You were taking her pain,” Rurikcontinued.
Saga forced her gaze over his shoulder, swallowing a lump in her throat. Her mind’s eye showed her Ana’s crushed skull, then shifted to the woman manacled to the bed, flesh carved from her arm. Which fate would be hers, should her Sense be exposed?
Rurik’s hands wrapped around hers, squeezing gently. “You can trust me, Saga. We keep secrets for one another, do we not?”
“Not this one,” she whispered.
