“I will ask my chieftains about this,” mused Kassandr, rubbing his chin once more. “You are clever in such things, Winterwing.”
His praise made her skin buzz…made her yearn to glance back at his chin. Gods, but there was something very wrong with her. Instead, she forced her gaze to the main gate of the fortress. Tall and thick, the studded double doors were topped with an enormous bell tower.
“You have considered what you will do after?” asked Kassandr in Íseldurian.
“After?”
“After you return to Íseldur. Find your sister.”
Saga felt Kassandr’s gaze on her face, and she was too weak—she gave up and stared at the groove in his chin before mapping the contours of his strong jaw. But as his words settled, an ache grew in Saga’s chest and she looked away.
“If she’s alive.” She probed inward for any sign of her sister, but as always, there was nothing to be found. “I do not know.” For so long, her life had been centered on simply surviving. How did she explain that she’d lived so long in the shadows of Signe and Ivar, that to conceive of a life of her own was too much?
“I see a queen in you, but more than that, I see a leader.”
A laugh sputtered from Saga.
“No?” he asked, drawing them to a stop. “You do not see it?”
Saga scowled up at him. “You’re mocking me, aren’t you?”
“I would not jest about such a thing.”
She pulled her collar tighter to ward against the chill. “My name might be Volsik, but it does not mean I am built for such things.”
Before Kassandr could form a reply, a male voice called out, and the Druzhina warriors tightened around them. Saga clutched Kassandr’s arm as she tried to see past the large men. But as Kassandr let out a low, deep growl, she had an inkling of who it was. Her shoulder wound throbbed, reminding her of how near this man had come to killing her.
“Dear brother,” drawled Oleg in slow, measured Zagadkian. “Call off your dogs. Unless you are feeling so insecure.”
Kassandr leaned down, his hot breath tickling Saga’s cold ear. “What do you wish for me to do?” he asked.
Saga tried to ignore the acceleration of her pulse, the shallowing of her breaths, but it was impossible. Oleg had tried to kill her, and seeing him now, so arrogantly unapologetic, made her blood simmer.
“Call down your men,” she said, forging steel into her voice and spine alike. Kassandr did as she bid him, and as Oleg’s smarmy face came into view, Saga refused to cower. She would show this preening turnip how little he’d affected her.
Oleg’s smirk was highly punchable. “Ahh,” he drawled in Zagadkian. “It is little pet of Ivar. Or should I say pet of Kassandr?”
“I am…my own,” Saga said darkly. Oleg’s startlement at her use of Zagadkian granted Saga a small victory. She wished she knew every Zagadkian insult so she could hurl them at him.
“She speaks,” he mused, watching her with predatory eyes.
“What do you want, demon?” growled Kassandr, the muscles of his forearm flexing and relaxing beneath Saga’s fingertips.
“I come from the armory,” said Oleg, slow enough for Saga to follow. “It seems they have set my commission aside in favor of large order of weapons. Do you know anything about this?”
“Forgive me, Oleg, for thinking our warriors might need sharp and durable blades in upcoming weeks,” said Kassandr.
Oleg’s brows dipped low, and he took a menacing step forward.“They will not,” he growled, “as we will avoid the need for it.” His gaze slid to Saga, and a chill spread down her neck.
“Is your skull truly so thick?” asked Kassandr. “Do you think ore and grains will buy peace?”
“No,” said Oleg. “Shewill buy peace.”
Another low growl came from deep within Kassandr’s chest, and as Saga looked down, she yelped in surprise. Inky black tattoos slid along his bared forearms and across the backs of his hands. And as she glanced at his eyes, they turned an inhuman green. The panic her anger had smothered quickly flared back to life, her heartbeat spiraling while Saga wheezed for breath.
As Kassandr glanced at her, he seemed to understand her inner turmoil. His fingertips found the crook of her elbow, and he tapped rhythmically while speaking to his brother.
“Understand this, Oleg. If your men come near her again, I will rip the limbs from your body and hang them for art on the walls.”
