“Is name for retinue.”
Saga turned to the rest of the Druzhina, her legs numb. She tried for a smile, but it felt flimsy at best. “Welcome to Íseldur,” she said, feeling like a fool. Gods, they were doomed if acquiring Zagadkian grain depended on Saga’s social skills. Names flew her way as Rov introduced Saga to the rest of the Druzhina.
“We were to visit collection of tapestries and—” Rurik turned to Rov and spoke in a rapid burst of Zagadkian.
“Obsidian busts,” chirped Rov.
“Yes,” said Rurik. “This is right.”
Saga examined the group of warriors. “Surely you’d rather shoot something in the royal forest or try to out-drink Thorir the Giant.”
“Lady Saga, once more it seems you try to rid yourself of me,” said Rurik, watching her closely. Too closely.
“Is not first time someone tries such a thing,” Rov said wryly. “Man is like barnacle. Difficult to get rid of.”
Saga smothered a smile. “Very well, I shall show you the tapestries, if you’re certain you wish to see them.”
“Yes,” asserted Rurik.
“This way,” Saga said, reluctantly leading them to the library’s exit.
She would show them the artwork, then return to her chambers to consider her plans. Taking a stabilizing breath, she led them toward the rainbow corridor. They walked in awkward silence, Rurik beside her, Rov behind.
“How fare your meetings?” she asked, aiming for the breezy conversation Yrsa made look effortless. But her voice came out too harsh, too brisk.
“Some badly, some good,” said Rurik. Behind them, Rov made a sound of irritation.
Saga blinked at his candor. “What does that mean?”
“Is…games of reason.” Lord Rurik ran a hand through his hair, and Saga’s gaze lingered on his dark waves. “Negotiation on treaties is more stroking of the tender egos than doing something useful.”
Saga glanced at Rurik. His strides were fluid yet edged with silent power. “Your Íseldurian is quite good.”
“So it must be,” said Rov. “Kassandr prepared for full moon cycle before we sailed. Barely letting his poor teacher come out from his rooms,” Rov said conspiratorially. “I…I am poor teacher.”
The corners of Saga’s lips tugged up.
Rubbing her gloved hands, Saga led the Zagadkians into the hallway. The walls and pillars in the corridor were hewn from a pale volcanic stone, the perfect canvas for the rainbows projected through prismatic glass. “This is the rainbow corridor,” she said, a small smile on her lips. It was impossible not to smile with millions of rainbows dancing along the corridor’s white pillars.
She turned to find Kassandr Rurik watching her once more, the prisms casting rainbows on his sun-kissed skin. Her smile faltered. “The arches are made from fortified rhyolite, I believe, and the windows are made of special prismatic glass, creating the…uh…rainbows.” She tried to recall which king had commissioned this corridor, but with his eyes on her, she could scarcely remember her own name.
Rov and the rest of the Druzhina wandered along the corridor, but Rurik hung back.
“How it was made, this glass?” he asked, rapping a knuckle along the intricately assembled panes.
“Galdra,” Saga said in a hushed voice, glancing over her shoulder. “There are many Galdra-made structures left in the palace. Despite efforts to remove them,” she added in a flat tone.
“Galdra. Is your…magic people?” asked Rurik, running a large hand along the glass.
“They were,” she said, desperate to change the subject. “Where is your high prince?” Immediately, Saga cringed.
But Rurik was unfazed. “He is not liking boats,” he replied, his face an inch from the glass as he inspected it.
She choked on a laugh, taken aback once more by his candor. King Ivar would have a man’s tongue for sharing a weakness like that. “Truly?” she managed.
“It makes him sick.”
“And his famous heir?” Sunnvald Almighty, Saga was on a roll.
