When at last her eyes ran dry, Saga was completely wrung out.
She lifted her head from her knees, surprised to find her panic had subsided for the time being. Blinking in the darkness, she tried to regain her bearings. Saga could make out the rugged outline of hedges before her, the tinkle of water just behind her.
And suddenly, Saga knew where she was. Slowly, she pushed to her feet. Turned on the pathway. Her gown was sodden, goosebumps prickling her skin. But as her gaze fell upon Sunnvald’s fountain, she felt nothing but warmth. Faint light from the upper floors of Askaborg caught the water bursting from Sunnvald’s palms, giving it a magical glow.
“Hello,” she murmured to the god of her ancestors—to this light she’d unknowingly stumbled upon in the darkness. Tucked away in the royal gardens, Signe had tried in vain to have this statue removed. Little did she know it was Galdra-made and unbreakable. Each stone mason who’d examined it—each warrior who’d tried to take it down with brute force—had eventually relented.
Tilting her head back, Saga closed her eyes and breathed in this moment. Cool rain landed on her face, sliding along her skin. It was the first time in five years she’d felt rain on her skin.
And it felt like freedom.
Holding her gloveless hands up to the skies, Saga smiled as the rain tickled her skin and collected in tiny pools in her palms.
Her heart rate accelerated, and she longed to retreat to the castle’s safety, but she rooted herself in place. Just a little longer. A few more moments of freedom, and then she’d relent.
Movement in her periphery caught her gaze, and she turned, her eyes meeting Rurik’s. “Beautiful,” he murmured, seeming surprised to find he’d said it aloud.
But the sight of that skull filled her mind’s eye, and Saga whirled away.Retreat,her insides begged.Get to your chambers.
“I did not drink from it,” he said, edging into her vision. “You must know I would never do this.” He raked a hand through his hair, sending water dropletsflying. Rurik had pulled on his tunic, the rain making it cling and highlighting every muscle. “You are outside,” he said wondrously.
You must find safety,came the intrusive thought. Saga flinched, trying to refocus. “Are you hurt?” she asked, searching Rurik’s face.
“Only this.” He tugged at the neck of his tunic, revealing a bandage wrapped around his shoulder. “And my ribs hate me rather much.”
A relieved breath rushed out of her. “I tried to be careful,” Saga whispered, hugging herself. “But I could not stay, not when they?—”
Flee!screamed her mind, preventing her from finishing the sentence.Get to safety!A dull ring sounded in her ears, her heart racing. The telltale signs of her panic were returning. Outside, she wasoutside, and this thing she carried could not be vanquished in one night. Her breaths grew fast and shallow as the ring grew louder.
“Breathe,” soothed Rurik, approaching slowly. “Is only us, Winterwing. Close your eyes if you must.”
But the tightness constricted, like a serpent squeezing the air from her lungs. One hand curved around her shoulder, the other sliding around her waist to her lower back. And then she was pulled against Rurik’s powerful body, his hand running up the bumps of her spine as he whispered Zagadkian into her hair. The rapid thump of his heart was so easy to focus on, the heat of his body easing the damp chill.
In a minute, she could breathe, but Saga did not let him go. Instead, she slid her arms around his waist, pressing herself tighter to him. Beneath her, his muscles clenched. “Why did you fight for Yrsa?” she asked dazedly. “Why did you not refuse?”
A sound from his throat rumbled through her sternum and settled in the deepest part of her stomach. “My mouth agreed before my mind was thinking,” he replied. “Is problem of mine. I have told you before.”
“Impulsive,” she murmured, turning her face into the wet wool of his tunic. Saga brushed her nose back and forth against the soft fabric, breathing the scent of him in—blood-tinged sweat and that fresh, herbal thing unique to him. A tremor ran through him, and Saga felt him grip her fur stole, as if trying to steady himself. “A brash man.”
“Sometimes, they are calling me worse,” he admitted. “Sometimes they call me achudovishche1.” His body was so rigid, his muscles straining beneath her touch.
Inside to safety, begged her mind. But Saga wasn’t ready for this to end. Tonight she’d found her freedom, and it was both empowering and drugging. She wanted more. Wanted to choose something for herself.
“I’m discovering lately I have a brash streak of my own,” Saga whispered, massaging the tense, corded muscles of his back. Relaxing against her, Rurik seemed almost to purr. “There are things I’ve been told I cannot have, but I want them all the same.” She lifted her face up to meet his gaze, studying each rain droplet clinging to his eyelashes.
“Saga,” said Rurik, and it seemed a cross between a plea and a warning.
Saga pressed onto the tips of her toes and brushed her lips against his. The touch sent a jolt through her, circling in an endless current. As he kissed her back, a sound came from deep inside him—a pleased noise that made Saga’s blood pump hotter. Rurik’s arms tightened, pulling her closer, but there was a feel of restrained tension in his body, as though he was holding himself back.
“Long have I craved more of your touch,” he said, drawing back. His green eyes had a wild look to them, the hand at fisting her wool dress trembling. But Rurik’s words sank into her skin, heating her until she melted against him. “That one, my heart told to me.I want that one.”
Saga’s lips parted as she stared at him.
“You are so rare.” Rurik’s nose dragged along her temple as he breathed her in. “With fierce fire.” His teeth scraped gently along her jaw. “And sharp wit.” His tongue laved the sensitive skin of her neck. “And so…exquisite.” He lifted his head, and she saw the hunger in his eyes. “Like you, I know how it feels to be wrongly understood.”
Saga’s brows furrowed as she pondered his words, but any questions dissolved into pure, shimmering heat as Rurik’s lips crashed into hers. This was no slow, restrained thing. This was hunger and need, unbridled passion.
One large hand cupped the nape of her neck, holding her firmly in place as his teeth and tongue clashed with hers. Any thoughts of fleeing the gardens were shattered by his touch. All memories of the feast were demolished by his taste. The kiss was so mind-numbingly hot, Saga imagined the cool rain was now steaming off her skin. His hold grew bruising, the five points of his fingers digging into her skin.
