Her insides turned light and fluffy, warmth suffusing all of herlimbs. Myrkur thundered within her, trying desperately to regain control. But Silla’s smile only widened. She had the upper hand. And as more jarls crossed the floor, she knew she’d keep it.
The rest of the jarls came forth. Hild and Eilif joined them, the stablehands, the refugees, and more. Atli stood, leaving his father to join the others. And soon, Hakon joined them as well. Hundreds of people, bending the knee. How many warriors would that mean for the heartwood? Silla could not say. It would have to be enough.
Tears of hope filled her eyes as she looked over the bowed heads. She’d done the impossible—had rid herself of the traitor in their midst, had united the jarldom, and had gained the swords needed for the battle of the heartwood—all while a shard of her enemy lived inside her. Myrkur snarled within her, but He was buried deep.
And she could not help but think it—if she could do all this, perhaps she could break the bargain, too.
Chapter 53
Kovograd, Zagadka
Saga’s fingertips skimmed the lace neckline of her wedding gown as she tried to quell the worry gathering in her stomach. She could hardly believe it was truly happening. Of course it was happening. She’d haddaysto put an end to the preparations, should she have chosen to do so.
Instead, she’d busied herself overseeing preparations to leave the isle. Given the abysmal state of the Zagadkian naval fleet, merchant and fishing ships had been commandeered for the voyage and fitted with stalls to carry one hundred winged horses. Word had arrived from the clansmother that the ore from the eastern mines had arrived and smelting was under way, with two hundred new swords expected to be forged before the ships sailed to Íseldur.
Aside from their continued morning language lessons, Saga had seen little of her betrothed during this time. Kassandr and Rov worked tirelessly to muster the best of their warriors to fight in Íseldur. Somehow, they’d convinced the high prince and Zagadkian elders to send two shiploads of grain along with them, a detail that had rendered Saga speechless. She knew the long winter in Íseldur would be dire, and that this grain would bring some much-needed hope.
In short, Saga’s hands and mind had been so busy, she’d scarcelyhad time to think of this day. But now, it was here, and there was no avoiding it.
Today, she would marry Kassandr Rurik.
A flutter low in her chest was quickly overshadowed by a twist in her gut. She didn’thaveto do this; Kass had told her as much. One word, and she’d be on a ship bound for Íseldur, Zagadkian warriors at her back. His offer to fight for her regardless of marriage had meant more to Saga than he’d ever know.
But the fact was, her decision to marry him was not solely for her kingdom. For thirteen years, Saga had been engaged to Bjorn, and her engagement to Magnus had felt even longer. She was no fool. She knew that the moment she returned to Íseldur, her hand in marriage would once more become a bargaining tool.
And Saga was done being used in such games.
But no matter how often she repeated her good, logical reasons for marrying Kassandr, there were also…intangible motivations. Saga could no longer deny the truth: Her husband-to-be was appallingly handsome, and the curl low in her belly whenever she saw him could no longer be ruled an illness.
Saga’s fingers went to her lips, still tingling with the remembered feel of Kassandr’s mouth. He’d kissed her in the tub with such reckless abandon, and she’d returned it with equal fervor. Her body awakened beneath his touch, as though she’d never truly been alive until she was in his arms.
The door groaned open, and Saga jumped in fright.
“It’s time,” said Alasa, stern and unsmiling.
Saga took one last look at her gown, then strode from the room.
She soon learned that the process of marriage in Zagadka was no simple affair. It began in the red room, with Elisava and her handmaidens burning birch sticks all around her.
“Birch,” Elisava explained, as the smoke drifted over Saga’s skin, “is sacred to the Spring Maiden…she who is goddess of love and fertility and patroness of marriage.”
Next, the women took up a song, flocking around Saga and gathering her hair into a single, long braid.
“Into your hair we braid good intentions that you will carry with you into your marriage,” said Elisava.
With the collective sound of their voices surrounding her—with the countless hands tending to her—Saga’s throat grew thick with emotion. Eisa should be here, on this of all days. If only she could reach her, if only she could talk to her…
Strand after strand of pearls were layered around Saga’s neck, and an ornate, beaded headdress set upon her brow. Bells dripping from each side of the headdress tinkled against yet more strands of pearls. Elisava painted Saga’s lips a bright red before handing her a bouquet of berry sprigs.
“Spring Maiden?” Saga queried, recognizing them as the berries that had once garnished her plate.
Elisava nodded, her green eyes shining as she examined Saga from head to toe. The noblewomen surrounded her, fastening a white fur cloak around Saga’s shoulders.
“Perfect,” announced Elisava with a decisive nod.
When Saga stepped out of Kovograd’s fortress, she blinked at the sight that met her eyes. The courtyard was still a mess of rubble, though crimson ribbons were now strung from the ruins, punctuated with sprigs of greenery and silver bells. Flames crackled in golden braziers, lighting a pathway cleared through the detritus and toward, Saga presumed, her husband.
Her feet faltered as the weight of this moment sank into her, and she took smooth, slow breaths, trying to quell her racing heart. Elisava and her ladies held the hem of Saga’s gown, trailing her down the steps. Shifting her bouquet to one hand, Saga tapped with the fingers of her other against her shoulder as she followed the path around the bend.
