“In Zagadka, no one dares to tell meno,” drawled Rurik.
“Must be why you’re so arrogant,” retorted Saga. Gods, this man was impossible, infuriating. And yet his wild green eyes flashed with delight.
“They are knowing what happens when I feel disrespect.”
Saga’s eyes narrowed. He was so close she could feel the heat rolling off his body. He lifted a hand, ran it slowly down the column of her throat. Warmth pooled low in her stomach. “Shall I show you?” he asked.
“Stop trying to provoke me,” she muttered.
“But I like your fire, Saga.” Rurik laughed, low and deep. “Is a thing you show only to me. Another of our secrets.” He leaned so close his breath misted across her cheek. His gaze slid down, landing on the fluttering pulse at the base of her neck. “You are frightened. Your heart is fast like hummingbird’s wings.”
Saga took a shaky breath, trying to drag some sense back into her skull. “I’m not frightened, I’m irritated.”
He turned preternaturally still, his eyes like green flames that would blind her if she stared too long. “Tell me of this place. I must know if your information is worth such a bargain.”
Saga swallowed, trying to keep up. “A fortress of some sort, I believe. I discovered a list. Items to be shipped, including herbs, metals for a dungeon and —”
“Dungeon?” Rurik cut in.
She nodded.
His large hand wrapped around her shoulder in a firm grip. “You must tell me.”
“Midfjord,” she whispered, holding her breath. This had to work. It was all she had.
He muttered in Zagadkian under his breath, then met her eyes. “What is in Midfjord? How you are knowing it is safe?”
“Ana,” Saga whispered.
Understanding settled in Rurik’s eyes. A curt nod was his only acknowledgement.
“You agree then?” Saga pushed. “Midfjord?”
Letting out a long, low breath, Rurik gazed at the fireplace. “Is noton way. Rov will do much yelling.” Finally, his eyes met hers. “Very well, Saga. I will take you to Midfjord. And you will tell me on boat about this place.”
Saga nodded, relief flooding her. The boat. Then she would tell him of Rökksgarde. And then…Midfjord. Gods, but this was truly going to happen…
A slow smile curved his lips. “Good,” he said. His hand slid down her arm, slow and deliciously warm. “We leave morning after Printsessa’s feast. At the daymeal, drink large cup of your”—he paused—“róa. Will crush seeds and put in there.”
“How?”
Rurik cupped her jaw, his thumb sliding up her chin. “Do not worry about that, Winterwing. Do not worry of anything. Soon you will be away from this place. You will be safe.”
Open skies. New places. Hissafesounded an awful lot like danger.
His thumb skimmed her lower lip, and her eyelids fluttered. “Glaza boyatsya, a ruki delayut. Is Zagadkian saying that meansthe eyes are afraid, but the hands are doing. You understand, Saga?”
Numbly, she nodded. Fear was a thing to be felt, not obeyed.
Rurik smiled, all flashing teeth and predatory eyes. “Good. You are fighter. Long have I seen this. But Urkans, they are cunning. We must be careful and clever.”
Saga nodded again. This conversation had exhausted her. But there was a plan. A new purpose. “The morning after Yrsa’s birthday feast,” she repeated.
“Good,” said Rurik, guiding Saga to her bed. “Now restmalen’kaya ptichka4. Soon, you will be out of this place.” He smoothed the blanket over her.
And then he slid through her balcony door, leaving Saga in the quietude of her chambers. She stared up at her crimson canopy, letting his reassurances sink into her.
One way or another, she was getting out of this place.
