“Would you like my cup, Your Highness?” asked Saga, offering her goblet to the king. She was unused to sitting so near to him and found herself missing Bjorn’s dull tales and odd observations. But as her father figure, tradition dictated Ivar sit to her left at wedding celebrations.
All night, she’d fought with herself—to tell the king of Signe’s schemes or not. Spilling to the king without proof seemed more likely to incense him further. But now she held the king’s ear. Perhaps there were other opportunities to be found here.
Ivar waved away Saga’s offered goblet, surveying the crowd. “The hour grows late, and Magnus is normally punctual.”
Saga swirled her cup, scowling at the Zagadkian-gifted wine. As far as she was concerned, the later her betrothed arrived, the better. Sipping deeply, she let the rich flavors wash over her tongue.
“I must apologize, Your Highness,” said Saga, gathering her courage. “I did not intend to shame the family.”
Ivar surveyed her with dark eyes, stroking his blond beard with a large, battle-scarred hand. “I suppose it is in your blood to make poor decisions,” he said with a sigh.
Saga gritted her teeth with the effort to keep her face impassive. Slowly, she took a long sip of wine. Gods, but she’d need all the liquid courage she could get to weather this evening.
“I suppose you are blameless for being so easily misled,” continued the king. “But as you well know, power is a thing that must always be displayed. My son cannot be seen as a predator while sympathizing with prey.”
The cupbearer returned and filled the king’s goblet. “So, you understand why you cannot marry Bjorn. You’d make him look forgiving. Weak.”
Saga’s heart palpitated wildly in her chest, restlessness gathering in her. “Iunderstand.” She collected every lingering scrap of her courage. “But, by that logic, would I not also make Magnus look weak?”
Ivar watched her with hard, assessing eyes. “Unlike Bjorn, Magnus is seasoned, and has already made a name for himself. I cannot think of a single person who does not know and fear the Heart Eater.” His eyes landed on her hands—gloved, to appease Signe. “And I think we both know Magnus is hardly the forgiving type.”
Saga’s knee began bouncing beneath the table.
…Ursir’s damnation. Where is Magnus? I don’t want this spectacle to go on longer than needed. I have that blonde serving thrall to see to…
Saga straightened, casting a sidelong glance at King Ivar. Her mental barricades must have slipped loose. Focusing on her goblet, she reached for her barriers to pull them back into place. But each time she tried to tug them, they slipped through her fingers like silk.
…the girl is getting what she deserves…
…I heard the Zagadkians couldn’t cast off fast enough…
…I wonder when Prince Bjorn will select a new bride…
The discordant jumble of thoughts built slowly in volume. Taking short sips of air, Saga tried again to pull up her barriers, only to discover great frayed holes, widening with each passing heartbeat. A sudden onslaught of sound caused her body to tense, and her grip tightened around her goblet.
What was happening? Never before had she lost control of her Sense; never had she been unable to pull up her barriers. Her world became chaos, a roar of thoughts and boisterous conversations, the volume growing unbearable. Hands clapping over her ears, Saga slammed her eyes shut. She gasped for breath, trying to ease her racing heart.
“Saga, I did not know.” Yrsa’s voice.
Saga forced her eyes open. Took in her foster sister. Yrsa stood before her, with wide, earnest eyes.
“Please understand, I did not know.”
…I only wanted Lord Rurik to myself. I never meant for this to happen…
Saga’s lips parted, but the deluge of sound made it impossible to think, let alone speak.
“Magnus hurt you, didn’t he?” Yrsa’s thumb rubbed against the back of Saga’s gloved hand. “That’s why you looked terrified at the daymeal.”
…they call him the Heart Eater. By Ursir’s Paw, I would take it back if I could…
Saga caught movement down the table. As she turned her head, her eyeslocked onto a pale face. White-blonde hair. Eyes of glacial blue. Signe’s lips curved up.
…Saga, darling,wafted the queen’s thoughts, as though she were directing them straight to her.It seems you’ve been keeping secrets from me.
Chapter Eighty-One
SVANGORMR PASS
