A slow shiver rolled down Saga’s spine. “I suppose you liken me to the white mouse.” She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Does that make you the brown mouse, then?”
Signe’s laugh was like tinkling glass. “No, darling. I am the cat. I devour curious little creatures.” The queen set her goblet down, staring at Saga with intensity.
And here it was. This game of pretenses finally put to an end.
“We both know this hasn’t a thing to do with Rurik,” hissed Saga.
Signe let out a delicate huff. “Darling, you’ve made the mostelementary of mistakes.” The queen leveled Saga with a long, hard look. “You let the passions of your heart take control. And in doing so, you lost the only thing protecting you. Virtue is so very coveted by the Urkans.”
“I-it was only a kiss,” Saga stammered.
…beauty is a weapon,thought Signe,one that Zagadkian man wielded quite expertly…
“It is enough,” said the queen, “to bring shame upon my Bjorn.”
…and enough, thought Signe,to rid us of this meddlesome little creature…
Saga’s desperation reached a boiling point. Clearly, appealing to the queen’s sympathies would get her nowhere. She took a deep breath, then let the words flow. “I know you’ve been toying with galdur, right under the king’s nose. I know you’ve been stealing Galdra and harvesting their magic by the most vile means.”
…at last, her backbone shows, thought Signe. But the queen’s face was maddeningly calm, silent as though urging Saga to continue.
“I know you had Ana executed to send me a message.” Saga’s hand curled into a fist as she thought of the woman strung up on the pillar. “I willneverforgive you.”
“Darling, do you think I need your forgiveness?” Signe watched her impassively. “I don’t need you at all.”
…this wedding cannot come soon enough, thought Signe.
“I’ll tell the king,” blurted Saga, anger rising in her. “I know about Alfson and Lekka. I know about Rökksgarde.”
Signe sighed. “You won’t tell Ivar. There is no proof of anything. And why would he believeyou, Saga? You, who have just proven yourself dishonest? Your word had little value to start. But now, it is worthless.”
The telltale sting of tears burned through her skull, but Saga forced them back. Signe wouldneverhave her tears.
“It is a shame, darling, that it has come to this,” said Signe. “I have been in your shoes, and I tried to help you because of it. A pity you did not heed my warnings. You could have had power—you could have beenqueen. Instead, you will face the consequences of your own actions.”
Saga leaped to her feet, the goblet toppling. A crimson stain spread across the white marble table, dripping onto the floor.
“I cannot recall much of my birth mother,” she said, the words coming from deep within. “You’re the only mother I’ve ever truly known. And one day, I shall repay all the kindness you’ve shown me.”
And with that, Saga left the room.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
NORTH OF SVANGORMR PASS
Silla stared at the braids spilling down Runný’s back as they rode silently along the trail. The mountains looming before them were thick with freshly fallen snow, the cold more penetrative than in Kalasgarde’s guarded valley. A river rushed beside them, the top not yet frozen over. As she’d done a dozen other times this hour, Silla probed inwardly, searching for any hint of Saga’s presence.
Nothing.
Sighing, she fixed her attention on Dawn. The horse’s emerging winter coat gave her a shaggy, unkempt look, but Silla had braided her black mane to match her own hair. When last they’d passed through this valley—on their way to Kalasgarde—Dawn’s neck had drooped, a lead tied to Horse necessary to prompt her forward. Now there was pride in each step. Dawn had relented to Silla’s brushing and braiding—now ate from Silla’s palm while maintaining eye contact. She’d even bestowed several affectionate nudges upon Silla.
“You’ve come a long way, girl,” said Silla, rubbing Dawn’s neck in appreciation. And so, Silla supposed, had she.
They rode on for hours, through valleys and up foothills, Silla searching constantly for any hint of Saga’s well-being. By the time they reached the first true mountain pass, Silla’s insides were twisted into at least a dozen knots.
“How do you feel?” asked Rey, sidling Horse up beside Dawn, who nickered ingreeting.
“My thighs ache,” Silla said absently, then burst into laughter. “Thoughnotin the good way.”
