The explosion.
A low, animalistic sound wrenched free from her. Saga’s chest tightened with the stirrings of an imminent crisis.
“Winterwing,” said the voice, a figure approaching.
“Kass,” she whispered, her breaths shallowing as her chest constricted tighter, tighter.Not safe, chanted her mind.Where are the exits? Must escape…
“Breathe, Saga,” said Rurik, his voice low and soothing. “May I touch you?”
She nodded, her gaze focusing at last on those green eyes as she fought forbreath—the eyes she’d sought for days. But they hadn’t been there.Hehadn’t been there…
But he was here now.
As his large hand slid over her shoulder, and his fingers tapped on her back, three words ran through Saga’s mind on an endless loop. “Didn’t leave me,” she gasped. “Didn’t leave me.”
His taps stalled, then resumed. “Of course I did not leave you.” Rurik muttered something in Zagadkian. “You were thinking…”
The panic she’d held at bay burst free, inundating Saga. Her throat burned with each choking breath, the room spinning in a dizzying rush. She was gathered against a warm, sturdy body. “Breathe, Saga,” he whispered into her hair, barely discernible above the punishing strikes of her heartbeat. “Safe. You are safe now.”
Not safe, countered her mind, her body primed to flee.Danger. Escape. Exits.Time grew hazy, but his warmth was constant. The tap of his fingers and his nonsensical Zagadkian wove together, creating a new sensation—safe.
She was safe.
Because he’d come back for her.
He hadn’t left her.
Gradually her breaths eased, and her pulse softened. At last, Saga straightened, looking up at Rurik. Dazed, her fingertips brushed his cheek. “You’re real.” Her voice was reedy and thin. “Everyone leaves. But you didn’t.”
Darkness gathered in his eyes, a low growl rumbling through his chest. Rurik pulled her against him. “You will not worry about this any longer, Winterwing.” His fingertips dug tightly into her hip, but he eased his hold on a slow exhale. “You now are under my protection.”
She let herself breathe in the smell of him—juniper and sage, fresh and herbal. Real. This was real. She was safe. But this space, this new place filled with unknowns, made Saga feel vulnerable. “Tell me about the room,” she whispered, closing her eyes.
Rurik’s heartbeat seemed oddly erratic beneath her ear, and for a moment, Saga wondered if something was wrong. But when he spoke, his voice was calm. “Is nicest room on ship. One bed, one door, one window with lovely view of nothing.”
“And the people? Will they see me?”
“No one is coming in to see you, Winterwing, only myself. But there is Rovgolod on deck with Druzhina and crew. Sadly, he has not yet jumped overboard.”
Slowly, she opened her eyes and surveyed her surroundings. As he’d said, itwas a small space, with a single bed, a small side table and chair wedged against the wall. She was too tired for humor. Too exhausted for anything but honesty. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For never making me feel like a burden.”
Rurik huffed, the arm wrapped around her tightening. “Is a word I loathe, Saga.Burden.I wish never to hear you speak it again.”
As his muscles tensed and released beneath her, Saga drew back, studying his face. Smudges beneath his eyes and a pallid complexion spoke of a less collected version of Kassandr Rurik. Much like the night of Yrsa’s birthday feast, Rurik’s eyes seemed too bright, his demeaner strangely restless.
“Are you well?” she found herself asking. Her fingers slid along the coarse beginnings of a beard, but she drew them back. Soon, she’d be in Midfjord, and he’d be in Zagadka, and their garden kiss would be naught but a memory.
Rurik rolled his neck. “Before long, I will be on Zagadka’s soil, and all will be fine.”
Did that mean he was not, in fact, fine right now? Questions gathered on Saga’s tongue, but she swallowed them back. Instead, she asked, “What happened in Sunnavík? How am I here?”
Rurik ran a hand through his hair, leaving it askew. “Rov forced our leaving, but I”—he paused—“convincedhim to hide boat and return. I could not get message to you, Saga. They were laying many traps. And we set traps of our own for night of feasting. But explosion demanded change of plans.” Rurik stared down at her with an intensity that sent shivers all through her. “What happened, Winterwing?”
Saga swallowed, her pulse picking up. Safe. She was safe in this unknown space, safe withhim. She took a deep breath, then told him everything which had transpired since Yrsa’s birthday feast—her broken betrothal to Bjorn, how she’d nearly jumped from her balcony, Mind-Eisa, and the explosion at the feast.
As she spoke, Rurik’s palm slid up and down her spine, a spasm jostling him at the mention of her betrothal to Magnus and Saga’s near jump.
Tentatively, Saga probed inwardly in search of thatthing, but could detect no trace of it. She questioned how her darkest, most vile wants had been pulled to the surface—to wreak havoc and destruction. To kill and avenge. If this was her galdur, Saga wanted nothing to do with it.
