Silla’s brows furrowed. “Oh, no. I’m certain I fell asleep. How embarrassing.” She offered a smile, but it fell as she took in whatever was revealed on Hekla’s face. “What is it, Hekla?”
“I’m not sure,” Hekla answered honestly. She searched her friend’s face for any hint of the presence that had lurked behind her eyes, but there was nothing to be found. Hekla shook her head. A cautious smile spread across her lips as she helped Silla to her feet. “I think,” said Hekla, “I need a bath and a very long nap.”
Silla yawned in agreement.
Chapter 4
Kovograd, Zagadka
Kassandr Rurik braced against the whip’s stinging lash. Wildfire raced across his bared back, and he jerked against his leather restraints. Within him, his beast snarled and lunged, desperate to be let free. But that’s what his father wanted, and Kassandr would not give him the satisfaction of losing control.
His father and half brother had gathered in the red room, a smaller, more intimate setting than the grandiose great hall, to witness this special punishment. As its name would suggest, the room was red, from the hand-painted walls to the carved, arched roof. Between the flickering light from the hearth and the dozens of candles lit about the space, the room seemed to glow. But Kassandr could think of nothing but blood.
A dais was located on the west side of the room, where his father, the high prince of Zagadka, sat with Kassandr’s half brother Oleg. While the high prince watched Kassandr’s whipping with stern displeasure, Oleg seemed to revel in it, drinking wine from a jeweled goblet, and snacking on grapes imported from the Southern Continent.
Avoiding his father’s disapproving eyes, Kassandr focused his gaze on the three arched windows behind the man. Their frames were carved with red swirls and botanical patterns, reminding him he was back in Zagadka. Kassandr used this comfort to keep hismind from the fact that he was clad in naught but his breeches, his wrists cuffed to twin posts.
But it was impossible to forget Kresimir with the whip at the ready, pacing restlessly. The whip dragged across the floorboards, and Kassandr decided that anticipation of the next lash was a punishment all of its own.
As he gazed out the window, a russet leaf drifted by. The Autumn Crone’s reign was ending, with Father Winter’s stirrings felt in the timber flooring beneath Kassandr’s bare feet and in the dank, chill air. Despite this, Kassandr’s back was aflame. He shifted, trying to relieve some of the pressure from his wrists, but no position brought him comfort. That was the point of this, after all.
Again, Kassandr’s beast yowled, urging him to burrow down within himself, away from the pain. But he couldn’t go there now, not without handing control to the raging beast inside him. And that would mean they won.
“Tell me again, son, why you think yourself wiser than me?” The fury in his father’s voice had been a slow-building storm throughout this ordeal, and now it neared its crescendo.
“They took Nostislav.”
Kassandr’s throat was so scratched from bellowing that he scarcely sounded like himself. It was maddening, this game they must play. Did his father truly think Kassandr’s answers would change? No matter how many strips of flesh Kresimir’s whip tore from his back, they would remain the same.
While Kassandr described Nostislav as “like a brother,” the truth was far more complicated. The love Kassandr held in his heart for the man was far from brotherly. And though Nostislav had never shown any inkling of returning his affection, Kass had never given up hope that one day, that might change. But no matter how one-sided Kassandr’s longings might have been, when Nostislav was taken, it hadn’t been a question. Kassandr would do whatever it took to get him back.
To return from Íseldur without Nostislav was the worst sort of pain. At the very least, he had answers. Nostislav was buried in theplace called Svaldrin, Magnus had told him. It was little consolation that Kassandr had torn the vile man’s throat out a few minutes later. It was too easy a fate for those who’d killed Nostislav.
And yet Kassandr hadn’t returned from Íseldur empty-handed. He’d returned with a chilling understanding of precisely what fate Zagadka would suffer should they remain complacent. After the time he’d spent in Íseldur, Kassandr understood—Zagadka needed allies; it needed to ready itself for the inevitable. Sooner or later, King Ivar would come for them.
But more than all that, he’d broughther.
The brush of air against his blazing back had Kassandr bracing against the whip’s brutal onslaught. His roar of pain echoed off the red walls as his vision bloomed white. Heaving for breath, Kassandr fought back his beast as it lunged and snarled within him.
Kill,it growled.Kill. Kill!
“Do you know”—the high prince’s voice pierced through pain’s veil—“we have received a letter from Íseldur. From King Ivar himself.”
His beast faltered at that, and Kassandr’s brows drew together.
“He accuses us of treachery. Of playing at diplomacy while plotting his death. Did you know that, my son?” The fury in his father’s voice broke free in the last few words.
“We did nothing of the sor—” Kass’s breath seized in his lungs as Kresimir’s whip tore across his back. The beast inside him raged, clawing at its cage. But Kassandr allowed the pain to engulf him, unwilling to grant them victory.
“We must send the girl back,” came Oleg’s nasal voice. Kassandr longed to sink fangs into his half brother’s flesh. Of course Oleg would side with their father—he’d made no secret of just how unsuited he thought Kassandr as the heir.
It was not supposed to be like this. The throne was meant for Kass’s older brother, Radomir. In truth, Kass would have abdicated were it not for Oleg, who shared his father’s belief that Zagadka could remain safe by keeping to the old ways. They had no interest in modernizing, nor in gaining allies. But Oleg did not know whatKassandr did with new, frightening certainty—there was no hiding from these Urkans. They would come, and the only question was, would the Zagadkians stand and fight, or would they flee?
“We will not send Saga back—” The whip cracked against his back, cutting through Kassandr’s words as easily as his flesh. Pain screamed through him, becoming his world, and his beast shoved with increasing desperation. How much longer could he keep it at bay?
Sucking in a breath, he forced out, “We must do what is right.”
“When have you ever done what is right, Kassandr?” Oleg, again, the spite so evident in his voice. “You do only what pleases you. You see a pretty thing and you take it for yourself, with no concern for the safety of your people.”
