The roof of the royal forge was collapsed in on her right, but the blacksmith and his apprentices had gathered outside in fine crimson tunics. They held candles in their hands, their baritone voices singing a low song.
As the path curved, a group of fortress servants came into view. Alasa stood at the front of the group, but Saga recognized many others as members of her fire brigade. Like the blacksmiths, they were dressed in their finest, clutching candles as their voices twined into the song. She sniffled but managed to send a watery smile their way.
On they walked, passing soldiers and kitchen workers and the townspeople of Kovograd. It was not lost on Saga that the pathway she walked was the same she and Kassandr had taken during their language lessons. Her heart raced as the temple’s red flag and the wooden icons rose before her eyes. The singing grew louder, coming from the direction of the temple, and as the throng of elders and nobles came into view, Saga’s breathing shallowed.
She spotted the clansmother and Khiva, surrounded by horsemaidens, and the high prince, who’d donned ceremonial robes. An arch had been erected before the temple tower, grasses and winter berries woven through it, and beneath it was placed a vibrant rug. And then she saw her future husband.
The blight upon her life.
And the man who’d shown her what heights she could truly reach.
Kassandr Rurik would look dashing wearing a sack, but seeing him clad in a Zagadkian kaftan that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and brought out the green in his eyes, Saga was so distracted she nearly tripped on her own feet. His gaze raked from her head to her toes, as though he could not decide where it should land. But as it returned to her face, his eyes gleamed with new intensity. There was possessiveness in that gaze, so sharp she felt it on her bare skin.
Next to Kassandr stood Oleg, looking as though he were in physical pain. It was clear he’d rather be anywhere but here. Saga stifled a smile.
The song suddenly shifted, growing somehow more beautiful. Saga could not catch the words, and yet she felt the meaning—ablessing from all those gathered to the new couple. Saga handed her bouquet to Elisava and stepped onto the ceremonial rug. As Kassandr took her hands, his eyes burned like emerald fires.
“Krasavitsa,[*]” he murmured.
“I can understand you now,” she said softly in reply.
“Good.” Kassandr brought the scarred flesh on the back of Saga’s hand to his lips. For a moment, she was transported back in time to the gardens in Askaborg where he’d first seen those scars. From the very start, this man had never looked away from her—not even when she’d tried her best to hide.
Elisava and her women arranged Saga’s skirts and veil behind her, then stepped back. The high prince led them through a prayer, then instructed them to bow to the statues of each Zagadkian god—north for Father Winter, south for Brother Summer, east for the Spring Maiden, and west for the Autumn Crone. Then Saga Volsik and Kassandr Rurik stood before each other repeating words fed to them by the high prince. Saga’s heart beat so ferociously, she scarcely knew what she said.
Finally, Kassandr stepped forward, and Saga’s stomach began to dip and twirl. This man, whose face looked to have been carved by the gods, would be herhusband.His fingertips skimmed along her cheek as he leaned down toward her. Saga lifted onto the tips of her toes, eager to meet him halfway, and then their lips met, and it felt as though pure, molten gold flowed through her veins.
Saga’s eyes fell shut, his touch making the ground beneath her feet seem to tilt. But he was pulling back. The crowd was quietly clapping. It was over.
Dazed, Saga turned to the crowd, who called out blessings to the couple. The high prince presented them with a loaf of salted bread—much to Saga’s confusion—which Kassandr accepted proudly before handing it to Oleg. Kassandr slid his hand into hers, sending Saga’s heart skittering. His hand was warm and rough with calluses,but as he squeezed hers gently, Saga’s nerves eased just a touch. With the widest grin she’d ever seen, Kassandr lifted their joined hands into the air, and the crowd cheered.
And with that, Saga was married.
The marriage feast lasted long into the night, with countless boisterous toasts. Yuri Rovgolod praised Kassandr’s virtue—lies, Saga knew without a doubt—and hoped they were blessed with “one hundred children.” Elisava recounted with glee Kassandr’s first failed proposal, when Saga’s response had been to stab him in the shoulder. According to Elisava, this was the day she’d known Saga would make an excellent sister.
The high prince looked remarkably pleased with himself, and made more than one speech praising his new daughter for “saving the city” and “taming my unruly heir.” Saga’s constant inclusion as a part of this grand family made something catch in her chest. Logic told her to remain wary—that Oleg had tried to kill her, and the high prince would have handed her to the Urkans. Yet still, it was a lovely feeling to be enfolded into a family when, for most of her life, she’d been kept at arm’s length.
Or perhaps she’d merely consumed too muchmedovukha,the Zagadkian mead, which flowed a little too freely.
Elisava, at some point, planted herself on Rov’s lap. The battle, Elisava had explained, had put things into perspective, and Saga couldn’t help but smile as she watched the pair flaunt their burgeoning love.
Khiva and her horsemaidens had eagerly joined the feasting celebrations. As themedovukhaflowed, the uncertainty between the horsemaidens and the nobles softened before Saga’s eyes. She spotted one horsemaiden teaching a noblewoman their war cry, while another tried to drink the woman’s husband under the table. And to Saga’s great pleasure, the clansmother sat to the high prince’s right, their heads frequently bowed in quiet conversation.
So far, the wedding had been a surprisingly pleasant experience,though she wished she’d had just a little time with her new husband. Aside from the ritual where they’d fed pieces of the ceremonial loaf to each other, she’d interacted with him very little. Each time Kassandr returned to her, he was soon entrapped by some old friend, an elder, a relative. But this did not keep his heated glances from reaching her, setting her insides aflame. Saga tried to quell her nerves as she conversed with numerous guests, glad for her growing Zagadkian vocabulary.
Gradually, the candles burned low and Saga’s ladies gathered around her, ushering her from her husband’s side and out of the feasting hall.
“We must prepare your marriage bed,” Elisava whispered conspiratorially.
Saga’s heart once again found its rapid rhythm. The thought of sharing a bed with Bjorn had been abhorrent. With Magnus? Terrifying. But with Kassandr…altogether new feelings stirred inside her. She was flustered and nervous and intrigued all at once.
The women led her to Kassandr’s chambers, anointing the room with birch smoke. But it wasn’t until Elisava produced a garment made just for Saga’s wedding night that her nerves began to fray. The gown was stunning—white as snow and embellished with seed pearls. It was also transparent, leaving very little to the imagination.
With soft, tinkling laughs, Elisava and her ladies departed, leaving Saga all alone in the room.
Skip Notes
*Beautiful.
