“He has answered this already, Oleg,” said Kassandr. “And we do not have time for useless questions. Have the men from the north arrived?” he asked the warrior.
“Which men from the north?” demanded Oleg.
“The two thousand warriors I mustered from the northern territories,” replied Kassandr smoothly. “As a precaution.”
Saga exhaled sharply as she felt the first glimmer of hope. Kassandr had mustered warriors. They had the defensive walls. They had her knowledge of the Urkans. Immediately, her senses began to sharpen, and she sifted through the information, seeking their advantage.
“How many ships of Urkans?” Saga asked in Zagadkian.
The messenger’s gaze hardened as he looked her way. No doubt this man—and the entire realm—blamed Saga for the Urkans’ arrival, and they wouldn’t be wrong. But despite the warrior’s clear dislike for her, he answered her question. “Almost one hundred.”
“Good,” said Saga.
“Good?” demanded Oleg. “How can you think thisgood?”
“It means,” replied Saga coolly, “that Ivar comes without boats from his father. From Norvaland.”
Oleg’s hands curled into fists. He whirled to face his father. “There is still time. We must send a delegation. Try for peace—”
“They’ve destroyed the ocean gate and taken hostages, you fool of a man!” exclaimed Kassandr. “Can you not read their purpose in that? They will never accept peace. We must gather provisions. Prepare for a siege—”
“Enough!” said the high prince in that strange, dominant voice. Immediately, both Kassandr and Oleg bowed their heads, like hounds with their tails tucked between their legs.
“What we will do is this,” continued the high prince, slowly, as though he intended for Saga to listen. “We will prepare a delegation to meet the Urkans. Bring to them our large tribute of ore and grain. Propose talks of peace.” He looked at the messenger. “Open the outer river gate.”
Kassandr’s gaze whipped to his father, anger and fear battling in his expression. “Father, that is a mistake—”
“Open the outer river gate,” repeated the high prince. “Not for centuries have we welcomed outsiders into our realm. They will see this as a sign of our goodwill.”
Saga’s stomach twisted into knots. She understood the high prince’s desire for peace, but how could he think such a thing would work? Apparently in agreement, Kassandr rumbled, low in his chest. His eyes glowed that vibrant green, tattoos pulsing along the backs of his hands, and Saga wondered who, precisely, was in charge right now.
“I will go,” she said softly.
“You will not,” growled Kassandr. “I did not bring you here only to hand you over to your enemies at the first threat.” He turned to his father. “Iwill join the delegation.”
Anger and irritation battled within Saga. Again, he stole her choice. Again, he imposed his own will upon her.
The high prince turned to his eldest son. “You will not, Kassandr.” His voice turned cold and cutting. “You are my heir, and I cannot lose another. Besides, it isyouwho got us into this mess. You have done enough.”
A low whine came from deep in Kassandr’s chest, and Saga felt a fleeting moment of pity. But she swallowed it back and stepped forward. “Let me talk to King Ivar. Let me tell him face-to-face what happened in that hall.”
The high prince surveyed her with cold detachment. “I would not hesitate to send you,” he said in slow Zagadkian. “But our opening of the gates is a show of goodwill, and we must keep some leverage to trade for hostages.”
The high prince gestured to someone on the floor, and an elder approached. His fussy ceremonial robes fluttered as he climbed the dais steps, then bowed uncertainly before the Zagadkian royals.
“Elder Bogdan,” said the high prince, “I wish for you to entreat with the king of Íseldur.”
A tremulous breath escaped the old man, but he stood and met the high prince’s eyes with remarkable steadiness. “It will be my great honor, Sire.”
“Good,” said the high prince. “You will offer them grains and ore to depart our lands. And once all the hostages have been released and all but one of their ships have left Zagadkian waters, then we will deliver Lady Saga to them.”
Elder Bogdan nodded, and the high prince continued his instructions in Zagadkian too rapid for Saga to follow. Numbness crept through her, and she moved to the windows to look out over the strange, beautiful city of Kovograd. Hundreds of turfed roofs peeked up from within the city’s defensive walls. How many people went about their day, unaware of what was coming? How many lives would be irrevocably changed today? Soon the Kovosk River would be dotted with a hundred prowed ships. Soon the air would fill with the hammer of drumbeats and the bellow of war horns.
Soon, there would be bloodshed. Saga could feel it in her bones.
Kassandr Rurik stood upon the fortress gate tower, staring out at the Kovosk River. Men scurried about atop the outer rivergates, readying them to open. His beast snarled beneath his rib cage. How could his fool of a father have ordered the outer river gates opened to the Urkans? It was like welcoming a predator right into their nest. Kassandr took comfort in the fact that his father had not ordered Saga handed over—yet.
It was also small comfort that the inner river gates remained sealed. As thick as a man is tall and ten times as high, the inner gates linked to the formidable defensive walls surrounding the city. Yet still there were vulnerable people outside their protection—the pier and fish market and the farmlands surrounding the city.
