“Teach me.”
“This does not have smart sound about it,” grumbled Rurik. “Queen’s letters is one matter, but this…what are you doing, Saga?” He ran a large hand through his hair, drawing her attention. Saga fought the urge to reach out and touch it.
She forced her gaze back to his shadowed face. “Tell me what you’re searching for, and I’ll reveal my secrets.”
His low chuckle in the darkness was somehowmorethan a mere sound…it was like a living thing, whispering along her skin. “Very well, Winterwing,” he rasped. “You keep your secrets, and I keep my own. But how do I trust you will not again deceive me? As I say, in Zagadka, this brings to you great punishment.”
“We are not in Zagadka, Rurik.”
“Kass,” he said in a low growl she felt all the way to her toes.
“We are not in Zagadka,Kass,” she said tartly. Saga blew out a long breath. “I will add two new tunnels to your map right now as a show of goodwill.” She gestured for the parchment crumpled in his fist. Rurik handed it to her, and Saga slid past him to the torch laying on the ground. After sinking down beside it and flattening the map out, she pulled her quill and inkwell out of her satchel.
Rurik hovered above her, studying every flick of her wrist. His presence made it difficult to think, and Saga had to rally all of her focus to place the tunnels correctly on the map. Within a few minutes, Saga had the one behind the berserker tapestry drawn, as well as the passageway hidden in the kitchen’s dry storage.
“Kitchens,” Rurik scoffed from behind her. “I should have guessed this,Árlaug.”
Pushing to her feet, Saga looked him in the eye. With the torch on the ground between them, his rough edges seemed only intensified, causing a tremor of exhilaration to rush through her.
“After you teach me to pick a lock,” she said, pulse fluttering, “I will complete the map.” Saga put a gloved hand on Rurik’s forearm, trying to convey trust. “I swear it to you, Kass.”
A muscle in his jaw flexed, his eyes intense as he stared at her hand. “Last time, we shook hands for it,” he said. “How can I trust in you now? Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“I could believe, perhaps, if you partake in Zagadkian tradition.” He paused, his lips curving up in a mischievous smile. “A kiss.”
Saga’s heart must have stopped dead in her chest. “Kiss?” she spluttered. “What has this to do with trust?”
He looked down at her through unfairly thick lashes. “Is…how do you call it…superstition.”
Saga made a sound—half laugh, half wheeze. “Don’t tell me you believe such things?”
“Of course. In Zagadka, we take such thingsveryseriously.”
Saga was not sure how true this statement was. But to her great surprise, she found she didn’t much care. Her heart was pounding with the same thrill she’d had while opening the scrolls with Ana. Anticipation. The delight of doingsomething she ought not to. Each small act of rebellion seemed to power her further. These were choicesshe’dmade, and Saga found herself craving more.
“Very well,” she said cautiously.
A sound came from deep in Rurik’s chest, his green eyes flashing with surprise. It seemed he hadn’t expected her acceptance.
“Good,” said Rurik, stepping around the torch. Even in the dim light, she could feel the intensity of his gaze roaming her face and settling on her lips.
Saga drew in a shaky breath. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t considered how those lips would feel against hers, how it might feel to be wrapped in his arms. But the man was so large, and Saga’s instincts had her stepping back, away from the torch and into the safety of the shadows. Once. Twice. Her back hit the wall.
“Your heart is beating very fast,” said Rurik, his voice a low whisper. He was nothing but an enormous silhouette, blocking out all light.
Darkness—its comfort wrapping around her like a blanket. Safe. Hidden. Exits all around.
“Do not be frightened.”
Saga’s breath caught as his fingertips landed on her waist, skimming around to the small of her back. Palm splayed wide, his hold became firm. Rurik’s boot edged against her own as his other hand grazed along her jaw.
Eyes falling shut, Saga submitted to the darkness. There were only the rhythmic beats of her heart, the herbal scent of him surrounding her. Only the feel of him, so large and unyielding, yet his hold so tender. He cradled her as though she was something precious—something cherished.
“Krasavitsa1,” he said, tilting her jaw up with gentle pressure. “Dolgo ya zhdal2.”
Rurik lowered his face to hers, his breath heating her skin. And then their lips brushed against one another. Saga was hot and cold all at once. And for one infinitesimal second, she was lost to this world.
