The broad-shouldered man stepped forward. His drooping mustache bore an uncanny resemblance to the walrus tusks the warrior sported when he shifted into his animal form. “We’ve fifteenboatloads of seaweed, as you requested, Sire. My warriors have been busy threading it into the nets, and many are ready to be strung from the walls.”
“Good,” replied Kass, watching Saga from the corner of his eye.
“You—” She shook her head in disbelief. “Ocean plants…You listened?”
“Of course I listened,” he shot back. “It is as I have said. Who better to learn about our enemies from than the one who lived with them?”
Her blue eyes searched his face. He wanted to grab her shoulders and give her a good shake—when would the woman realize how clever she was? Instead, he turned to his next posadnik. “And the hides, Volk?”
The man who stepped forward was tall and lean, his eyes an amber yellow, which he maintained when shifting into his wolf form.
“The pelts have been gathered, Sire. They’ve been soaked and draped over the armory, the fortress, and the walkway roofs nearest to the river.”
“Clever,” murmured Saga. “Skins also will provide excellent protection from fire.” If Kassandr wasn’t mistaken, he heard a note of admiration in her voice.
Kassandr moved to the next man, whose hair tufted around his ears much like his mountain cat’s. “Grigorii, tell me of the sand.”
“The barge arrived from the coast last night, Sire. My warriors have worked tirelessly to portion it into barrels and distribute them throughout the city. Buckets have been hauled to the stockade walls; great barrels to the courtyard.”
“Sand for extinguishing fires?” Saga guessed.
Kassandr nodded. “As you have noted, the Urkans favor their firepots filled with oil and pitch. Sand is the only antidote.”
Her disbelief and wonderment shifted to determination before his very eyes, and Kassandr had the maddening realization that no one had ever shown this woman how great her potential was.
“Is there fiery pots here? For Zagadka?” asked Saga.
The corners of his lips tugged down. “Some. I fear not enough.” He could see her beautiful mind at work, yet he still was not prepared for the words she spoke in Zagadkian.
“I will finish. Maybe I can find helper.” Those blue eyes fell upon him, and the tongue of his beast lolled to the side. “Do you have additional—” She paused in search of the Zagadkian word, then shifted to Íseldurian. “Pitch, or oil, or even wax.”
“What have you in mind, Winterwing?” he asked in her language.
A beautiful blush suffused her cheeks. “Boil it. And when the berserkers set their ladders in place, cast it down upon them.”
His beast howled in agreement. She thirsted for their blood, hungered for their misery, just like him. “What else?” urged Kassandr. He wanted to absorb each violent thought in her head. To set upon these Urkans with the vengeance wrought from her beautiful mind.
“Is there time to open the land gates? Grant the city’s protection to those who live beyond?”
“It is done,” Rov called out, sauntering into the room. A thin sheen of sweat misted his brow, but otherwise, the man held his trademark casual demeanor.
“The firepots you mentioned,” Saga said, “how many do you need?”
Kass shook his head in delight. “My wicked little bird wishes to give to the Urkans a taste of their own ale.”
“A taste of their ownmedicine.”
Kass waved a hand and switched to Zagadkian. “Grigorii and Rov will show you the room where they are made and how this is done.”
“Elisava,” said Saga, in stunted Zagadkian. “Tell to her bring women to…help with fiery pots.”
Each minute her confidence grew greater, and with it, Kassandr’s hope. The Urkans were coming, but they expected to find an unprepared nation and frightened woman.
Kassandr sent Volk to fetch Elisava. He turned to Saga, who readied to leave the room with Grigorii and Rov. But she paused.Looked up at him. With his enhanced hearing, it was impossible not to hear the blood rushing through her veins; the irregular beat of her heart. It took every ounce of Kassandr’s will not to gather her in his arms, not to kiss her like he had in Askaborg’s gardens. But that would not win back her trust. Only patience could do that. Only time.
“Be safe,” she said softly.
“And you,” he replied.
