“A tunnel,” Rurik said, a look of keen interest spreading across his face.
“Torch,” was Saga’s only reply. Rurik snatched one off the wall, and she yanked him through the doorway. With a quick shove, Rurik had the door shut, entombing them between the ancient stone walls.
“Now we shan’t be seen,” Saga murmured, leaning her swaying body against the wall. “This path leads beneath the castle keep and up to the western wing.”
Rurik muttered something in Zagadkian, surveying the crumbling stone walls. The tonic’s grip seemed to grow ever tighter with each passing heartbeat, pulling Saga down toward sleep. Thankfully, Rurik slipped a stabilizing arm around her waist, drawing her into the corridor.
As they made their way down a set of spiral stairs, the press of his fingers filled her mind with curious thoughts—like burying her face in his chest and drawing deep pulls of his scent, or plunging her fingers into his hair to discover if it was as silky as it looked.
The air chilled and grew heavier with each passing step, yet Saga found it more a comfort than anything. In these tunnels, she was safe. Her secret, protective space.
Not secret, a part of her chastised. Saga blinked in the dim torchlight, the realization beginning to dawn. She’d shared this tunnel withhim, which meant one less place of safety for her.
Eisa,she countered. Nothing mattered except intercepting that letter.
“Tell to me a story while we walk,” said Rurik, thankfully diverting Saga from her inner turmoil. “To keep you from sleep.” Looking up, she blinked.Those mountain cat eyes were assessing her, learning how she moved, how fast she might run. A shiver rolled down her spine.
“Tell to me why always you are wearing bird,” Rurik tried.
Saga glanced down at her gloves, examining the delicately embroidered birds along the cuffs. “My mother,” she murmured.
“Why?”
“She had a flock of winterwing birds.”
Rurik held the torch aloft, helping Saga down the last of the steps. They were now in the bowels of Askaborg, deeper than the crypt and dungeons. The air was so cool their breaths clouded.
Saga found herself continuing, “They were housed in a gilded cage large enough to fit even you, Rurik. But they made my mother sad. She thought they deserved better than a cage, and so we decided to set them free. We opened the cage door together.”
Saga frowned. She hated this part.
“What happened?” urged Rurik.
“They…” The words resisted her, but she pushed them out. “The birds wouldn’t leave. They were too frightened to leave their cage.”
Rurik was silent behind her, and Saga tried to remember the end of the story—the good part. “We left breadcrumbs for them. Slowly, the birds grew braver.” Saga swallowed as the memory flashed before her eyes. She and her mother, hiding in the bushes of the solarium, waiting for the birds to realize they were free.
“Did they leave?” asked Rurik.
Saga nodded. “It took some time, but eventually they did. I shall never forget the sight of those birds, wings stretched wide. Free at last.”
“I am thinking,” said Rurik, “perhaps you and birds have much in common.” Silence for a beat, and then, “I know it was not blood loss that had you falling, Lady Saga. How long is it since you’ve stepped outdoors?”
Saga wrung her gloved hands. She’d said too much—had exposed things which were best left hidden away. Thankfully, right now, the tonic had her floating like a cloud. “You’re too pershep…perceptive,” Saga said with a yawn. The tonic was pulling at her, dragging her down into its murky depths.
At long last, they reached the spiral staircase leading up to the western wing of Askaborg. After several minutes of climbing, they reached the hidden exit. Saga leaned against the stone wall as Rurik searched for the hidden latch of the door. “Do you recall the bust of Harald the Hard?Unsmiling manas you called him?” Rurik nodded. “The doorway lets out there. A short walk to the falconry tower,” she mumbled, forcing her drooping eyelids to lift.
Rurik turned, holding the torchlight between them, and as Saga studied the hard and soft contrasts on the man’s face, she decided she wanted to draw him.
“What is your business?” he asked, nodding to the sealed doorway. “What have you planned?”
Saga shoved her hand artlessly down her bodice, retrieving the wax sealer and holding it up like a prize. “I shall interkept…intercept the letter.” Her body swayed, and Rurik placed a steadying hand on her hip.Yes, her body seemed to say, leaning into his touch.
He was speaking Zagadkian, those sharp and soft sounds blending together. Her eyes fell shut, and she felt the words rolling over her skin like the gentlest caress. “No, Lady Saga,” urged Rurik, giving her a shake. “You are not in health for intercepting letters.”
Rurik took the wax sealer from her grasp, examining it while Saga used every ounce of her energy to stay upright. “Is queen’s sigil.”
Saga’s knees buckled, and Rurik eased her to the ground. “Just need to find Alfson’s adherent,” Saga mumbled. “Perhaps his thrall. Get the letter. Change some things. And she’ll be safe.”
