“Is not permitted. You wish to meet him?” Rurik turned from the windows, assessing her with unabashed curiosity.
“No,” she blurted. “I mean, yes, of course. It would be good to foster…relationships, but…” She was unsure how, exactly, to climb out from the hole she’d just dug herself.
“But…” urged Rurik.
“Perhaps it’s best he stayed behind.”
Rurik turned to her, the rainbows cast upon his face doing nothing to soften the intensity in his eyes. “Tell to me what you have heard.”
Saga swallowed. This was precisely why she was the wrong woman to tour the Zagadkians—it had taken bare minutes for her to stick her foot in her mouth. And yet…her mouth was still moving.
“Only that he has a beastly temper and a penchant for tearing out throats.” Saga cringed, gloved palms rubbing nervously together.
“Is true,” said Rurik, watching her intently. “In Zagadka, our customs are different. A ruler must show strength. Must show the kingdom what happens to deceivers.”
Deceivers. Saga swallowed.She’ddeceived Rurik only two days ago.
Rurik chuckled softly, as though reading her thoughts. “Do not worry. High prince has forbidden his heir to come. Is not good man for…diplomacy.”
He turned away, and Saga exhaled.Get through this, she told herself. One tour and she could put a safe distance between herself and Lord Rurik.
Saga led the Zagadkians through the corridor, down a flight of stairs and into the eastern wing of the palace. At last, they entered the gallery. Hewn from the same granite as the rest of Askaborg Castle, the gallery had high ceilings and plenty of natural light flowing in from tall, glass-paned windows. The walls were crowded with fading tapestries, sculptures, weathered shields, and chipped weapons.
“Well,” Saga sighed. “Tapestries. Obsidian busts.”
The Druzhina scattered throughout the room, examining the artwork on display. Rurik examined a wooden carving depicting Ursir in his Sacred Forest. “Is all Urkan here?”
“Mostly. There may be a few Íseldurian relics lingering about, but most of them were considered blasphemous and destroyed.”
Saga’s gaze bounced around the room. She hadn’t been here in years—possibly a decade. To think of what once had been here, what had been destroyed…Saga’s feet itched to leave, but she held herself in place.Focus. Appease the man’s ego. Smooth any feathers she’d ruffled. She must finish the tour and leave on good terms.
“Is pity,” said Rurik, wandering down the gallery.
One of the Druzhina pushed his shoulder against a door midway along the wall, causing Rov to unleash a flurry of Zagadkian. Sheepishly, the man withdrew and continued perusing the art.
“’Tis merely a storage room, if I recall,” Saga told Rov.
“Tell to me about this, my lady,” said Rurik. He now stood before a large tapestry of blacks and fiery orange.
“Please, my lord, just Saga.”
“Very well. Tell to me,Just Saga.” Gods, but she hated how much she enjoyed the man’s accent. She wanted to ask him to say bog-blossom or flying fairy caps and close her eyes to let the sound roll over her skin. But instead, she said, “This one is Íseldurian. It is a rendition of the Sleeping Dragons.”
“Why volcanoes are called this?”
“It’s a name derived from an old tale.”
“Tell me,” he urged.
Saga glanced around the room. Satisfied that Signe could not have any mice listening in, she continued. “It involves our old gods. Legend tells that long ago,the Íseldurian god of chaos tried to destroy the world.” Saga’s vision grew unfocused as she tried to remember the tale.
“The great dragon Kraugeir awoke, and with him the volcanoes, spewing ash and fire and opening the gateway to Myrkur’s underworld. With great effort, Sunnvald was able to defeat Myrkur and banish him back below.”
“The fire and death? We have this thing, too.”
Saga stared at the tapestry, frowning. Eisa was in the north. Would she have passed the Sleeping Dragons? Where had she gone? What if the Wolf Feeders found her before Saga could put her plan into motion?
“Where did you go, Saga?”
