Kassandr woke to the telltale throb in his skull that told him he’d given too much to his beast—had stayed too long in that form. His muscles ached, his body wrung out, but the scent in his nose had him alert at once. Looking up, he confirmed that his current pillow was, in fact, Saga Volsik’s lap.
Everything rushed back.
His Saga had faced him down when his bloodlust was at its worst. She had used the taps and stroked his fur; had eased his pain and discomfort. In the past, the only way to calm him from such a state had involved entrapping him in a bathhouse with sedative herbsapplied to the hot rocks. Hours, it sometimes took, before the tranquilizing steam took hold. How had she done it?
His beast stretched in contentment as Kassandr stared up at her face. In sleep, his Saga looked so peaceful. But the ash and dirt coating her face told of long, trying days, as did her gray and torn dress. And yet she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Slumped against the headboard, Saga held her neck at an uncomfortable angle. Kassandr lifted his head from her lap and, as gently as he could manage, eased her onto the bed beside him. Her eyelids fluttered, unintelligible mutterings coming from her lips, but his Saga soon settled.
Kassandr placed his bare chest to her back and curled himself around her. One arm draped over her hip, his hand clasped around her wrist. Gods, he could snap this wrist with barely a thought—could have easily killed her last night. She’d been so brave to face him.
Her hair tickled his nose, her scent not quite overpowered by smoke. Inwardly, his beast purred contentedly at her nearness.Mine,it said.
Ours,Kass corrected, but paused. Something about that word didn’t feel right.
As Saga’s rhythmic breathing filled the room, Kassandr probed this strange unease. He pulled a lock of ash-stained hair between his fingers, examining the singed tips. Rov had reported that Saga had exhausted their supplies making fire flasks. She’d tasked Elisava with setting up a healer’s station, while she herself had rallied a fire brigade. And apparently, she’d run into the burning stables to free the murderous winged horse. His beast’s purrs halted at that, a low snarl rumbling through him.
Kassandr had taken her from Íseldur to keep her safe. But Saga had been in danger for days now—would bein danger so long as she remained on the isle of Zagadka.
His unease grew and spread, and his beast released a soft whimper. What was this strangeness? It was a nervous feeling, as thoughhe could not relax. But then the word crystallized in his mind, and Kassandr couldn’t shake it.
Regret.
Did he…regrettaking Saga from Íseldur? Immediately, Kassandr rejected the notion. Always, he’d lived his life by intuition—he chose swiftly and decisively, and did not waste time on trifling emotions like regret. There was only forward. Only the future.
Saga rolled over, and reluctantly Kass relented his grip. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she stared at him for a single, sleep-addled moment.
“Dobroye utro, moya koroleva,[*]” he said softly.
Saga’s blond brows drew together as she pondered the Zagadkian meaning, and it took every shred of his will not to take her into his arms—not to kiss her as he had in those gardens in Sunnavík. She’d done a selfless thing for him last night, and he did not want to frighten her off.
“You are…well?” she said in stunted Zagadkian.
He nodded.
She looked at him, a question in her eyes. “It has happened before? Creature…troubles?”
With a resigned sigh, Kassandr nodded again. He switched to Íseldurian. “You might notice my animal form differs from others. Not a wolf, but something…other. Is rare affliction falling once in generation. And I am lucky recipient.” He hoped his sarcasm was obvious.
Saga seemed to ponder his words, her teeth sinking into her soft lower lip. Gods, she was adorable like this, all sleep-mussed and docile. “But you lose control,” she said after a minute.
Kassandr’s gaze roamed her face. “Aye. My beast is strong. Has great power. But with this strength comes problems. He is…difficult to control. But you, Saga, tamed my beast, and for that I am grateful.”
Her gaze had settled on his chin, and Kassandr wondered what she was thinking. Did she understand now, how he knew of the taps? Did she now see that he, too, was prisoner to his body’s response? Kassandr watched curiously as the black of her eyes spread.
“I can do it again.” Saga’s gaze snapped up to his. “If you wish it, I mean.”
His beast gave an appreciative howl, a smile spreading wide on Kassandr’s lips. “I wish it.”
The moment was broken by a harsh knock at the door which had Kassandr and Saga jolting up. Rovgolod did not wait for permission to enter—the irritating man barged right into the room. Rov’s dark eyes jumped from Saga to Kassandr, his brows raising a hair’s breadth.
“What is it?” demanded Kassandr, his beast growling in displeasure.
“Siege tower,” barked Rov. “The Urkans, they— Behind the sail, they have constructed a siege tower unlike anything I have ever seen. As tall as five men stacked high and covered with iron plates. Battering rams and catapults and cover for a hundred archers.”
Kassandr was silent for several long moments, his mind racing in search of a plan. There was a weakness to every weapon. He needed merely to find it. But as he sorted through all the ways they might best an enormous, iron-plated siege tower, he was forced to reckon with an unsettling truth.
They were woefully unprepared for a weapon like this.
