“No,” she blurted. She grabbed the man’s sleeve. Pulled him deeper down the aisle before she could think better.
“I apologize for my deceit,” she whispered. “I meant you no dishonor, Lord Rurik.”
He watched her, his mouth twisted up to one side, and she could tell he needed more convincing. Though she despised herself a little, Saga decided the damsel in distress might be warranted. She made her eyes wide. Looked up at him through her lashes. “Please, my lord, I beg for your discretion on this matter.”
But Rurik didn’t leap to play her rescuer. Instead, a sly smile crossed his lips. “Ah. A secret? And what you will give to me for holding your secret, Lady Saga?”
She gaped up at the man.
“Perhaps,” continued Rurik, “you will give us a tour of Askaborg.” At her scowl, his eyes flashed with glee. “After all, is best to learn from the one who lived here longest.”
Saga closed her eyes, swallowing. She had no choice; she’d have to do this. There was the fact that Signe had made it clear they needed the Zagadkian grain. But this man could now place her at the falconry tower, and Saga did not want this information to reach Signe’s ears.
“I’d be pleased to show you around,” she forced out.
“Again,” he said, smiling victoriously. “Will be second time now, will it not?”
Good gods, the man was delighting in her misery. “I suppose it is.”
Rurik’s eyes scoured her from her ash-covered slippers to the top of her head. Reaching forward, he plucked something from her hair.
Saga’s face heated as she looked up at him.
“You have cobweb in hair,” he said genially. He leaned closer, whispering in her ear, “is from reading of books, I suppose.”
The heat in her face rushed through her body in an angry torrent. Damn thisman. Entirely too perceptive. There was no choice but to get it over with. Pushing past Rurik, she made her way to the rest of the group.
“Pleasing news,” Kassandr told Ivar’s advisor. “Lady Saga will give to us the tour.” He repeated this to the group in a rapid flurry of Zagadkian.
“B-but,” sputtered the advisor, his face reddening.
“We are thanking you,” said Lord Rurik. “But you are”—he appeared to search for the right word—“dismissed.”
“Lord Rurik, surely Lady Saga is too busy. I have orders from His Majesty to?—”
“I am not liking to repeat myself, Oslo.” Lord Rurik waved his hand in a dismissive gesture that made Saga’s teeth grind.
“Oslak,” muttered the advisor, as he reluctantly shuffled toward the exit.
“Rude,” she muttered under her breath.
Rurik’s assessing look told her it had not been low enough. “Come,” he said, “I will introduce to you Druzhina.”
Numbly, Saga turned to the Zagadkian retinue. Her heart pounded like a cornered rabbit’s.The passageway in the hearth, she recited, trying to calm herself.The library’s main doors. The thrall’s door. The western door.
A tall man with warm-brown skin and a nose that appeared to have been broken more than once barked out rapid-fire Zagadkian, Rurik replying in an argumentative tone. Saga watched as Rurik gestured to her, then to the library’s door. After scrubbing a hand through his close-cropped hair, the other man turned to Saga with a broad smile.
“Lady Saga,” he said jovially. “Is good to be meeting you. I am Yuri Rovgolod. Lord like Kassandr, but better looks and manners.”
Rurik barked something in Zagadkian, Rovgolod’s smile only deepening.
Rovgolod offered his hand. “You can call me Rov.”
“Saga,” she said, sliding her hand into his, bracing herself as he shook it with shocking enthusiasm.
“Rest of Druzhina is not speaking the language,” continued Rov. “I am translating for them.”
“Druzhina?” Saga asked.
