She cut the thought off before it could grow roots. Suffice it to say, she was not ready for the mortification of seeing Rurik once more. But the map…she owed him the map, and after days spent touring the timber mills and bogs just south of Sunnavík, he was finally back in Askaborg.
Saga had been so busy poring through the Klaernar’s records, the days had flown past. After changing tactics, it hadn’t taken long to find the first suspect’s name. A year ago, a Reykfjord kommandor had been thrown from his horse, suffering a fatal head wound. A kaptein by the name of Thord had been quickly installed in his place. Saga had diligently recorded the man’s name as one to investigate.
In Midfjord, not three months later, Kommandor Bjarki replaced the old kommandor, who’d died in his sleep. A weak heart, the records noted. And thenthere was Svaldrin’s kommandor, who’d held his position for a decade and a half until he’d succumbed to an undisclosed illness. A man named Hilja had replaced him.
Saga now had three names, three kommandors who, at the very least, warranted investigation. She was dying to speak to Ana and had ventured to the falconry tower half a dozen times. But so far, there had been no sign of the white linen. It was good, Saga assured herself. No letters from the queen—or Alfson and Lady Geira—meant Signe had not yet discovered the results of Saga’s tampering. It meant Eisa had more time.
As her charcoal danced along the parchment, Saga became a clear, glassy pond on a calm day. Drawing always had this effect, allowing her to escape without the need to set foot outdoors.
Pausing, she examined her work in the guttering torchlight. Svalla Volsik stared up at her, but something was not quite right. Was it her nose—too narrow, or perhaps too pointed? But then, it struck Saga—the scar was missing. Pursing her lips, Saga made a charcoal slash along the base of her mother’s neck, then held her drawing board back in appraisal. Yes. Now it felt complete.
Stone ground against stone, the door grating open. And there he was. Crouching low to fit his large frame through the doorway, the torchlight cast shadows along the rugged lines of Kassandr Rurik’s jaw, and in the cleft of his chin. And with that, ripples shattered her waters.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, igniting a burn low in her stomach.
He’s looking at your drawing, featherhead.
Saga pushed to her feet, pulling the map from her pocket and thrusting it at him. Best to get this over with quickly.
Brows hitching up in amusement, Rurik took the parchment. “You were able to send letter?”
Saga managed a crisp nod. “You have your map. Now I must be on my way.” But the passageway was narrow, and Rurik didn’t seem inclined to budge.
She met the man’s gaze. His eyes were irritatingly bright despite the darkness.
“Again, you are striving to rid yourself of me?”
“Was I being so obvious?”
The man had the audacity tosmile. Light caught on the curve of his upper lip, the shallow grooves bracketing his mouth.
“And here I was thinking you liked my company in our last meeting,” he replied smoothly. “I thought we might even call one anotherfriends.”
Her hands curled into fists. Did friends refuse to help one another unless they got something in return?
“I can assure you, Lord Rurik, it was the tonic’s doing,” Saga replied, staring longingly at the door. “Though Ishouldthank you for your assistance and for…returning me to my chambers.” Gods, but she hated being in this man’s debt. Saga forced herself to soldier on. “And let me reassure you, I shan’tevertake such a tonic again.”
“Good,” said Rurik. “It was making you reckless.” The corner of his lip tipped up. “Is lucky I found you. Proved to be quite useful.” He waved the map.
“I’m so glad my misfortune wasusefulto you,” she snapped, then pressed her lips shut. But mortification wriggled through her at the thought. He knew she’d tampered with the queen’s mail. Knew of her ailment. Knew far too many things.
“And last days when I was gone”—the man’s voice had taken on a teasing and far too familiar tone—“were you missing my…show in sparring grounds?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, but her voice was too high. Too guilty.
“You liked what you saw, yes?”
Embarrassment flooded her, followed quickly by curiosity. How had he seen her through that crowd of bloodthirsty Klaernar? “I saw nothing to impress me.”
“Perhaps you are merely ashamed your countryman cannot best me.”
She huffed an irritated breath. “If they cannot see through your tricks, they don’t deserve to win.”
“Tricks?”
“You bait them. Wear them down with your relentless circling. Drive them to anger, which makes their attacks emotional and reckless.”
A large hand went to Rurik’s chin, stroking it in thought. “You are seeing much.”
