Page 11 of The Queens and the Kings (The Isles #2)

HENRIK

The sea slapped the ship’s hull, spritzing Henrik in the face.

Leaning over the side, he drew in deep breaths.

Thanks to a potion from Pedr, his initial rush of seasickness passed faster than usual.

He hadn’t spent all that long on land in between trips, which helped.

His stomach still jolted with every sickening rise and fall, but he didn’t lose it as often. Within a day, this would pass.

He pressed his forehead to his arm and breathed deep salty sea spray. His thoughts meandered from the wyvern to the mainland to the threat of the Lordlady.

Lordlady .

Shite, but he had a lot to learn.

Henrik knew little of the mainland. Basic political structure, a few of the Generals’ names, but nothing of profound depth. The Lordlady was a leader of near-absolute power, but not usually regarded as a tyrant. At least, not this one. Others in the past, perhaps.

Disdain circled his mind with his impressions of the Lordlady. Henrik had never met the political figure, nor been near him. The Lordlady rarely ventured to The Isles, having too much landmass to travel to keep his lands in check.

Yet, His Glory barked insults at the Lordlady with little regard to who heard. Oliver gave disparaging remarks about the inefficacy of mainland leaders and hated the Lordlady because it was his job to do so.

The quiet that stole over Britt the moment General Helsing revealed her requirement was a familiar response. Britt acted like that in his home, when they first met. Cornered. Distrustful. Wary. The memories didn’t stir pride or warmth. He couldn’t fathom treating Britt so coldly ever again.

Britt, who stood alone before her powerful aunt, mired in the wish of familial connection. She found empty ground. It reminded him that they weren’t so different. Both orphaned. Both fighting commanding figures.

General Helsing alluded to a likelihood that she expected Henrik to also speak with the Lordlady, but this made no sense at all.

He didn’t seek an audience with the leader, only Selma.

Though he’d stand at Britt’s side through anything.

He hadn’t had much warmth for General Helsing at the beginning.

He’d experienced even less after her demands.

Another wrench of his stomach sent him doubled over the edge until the nausea cleared.

Thankfully, Agnes and Britt had linked arms at departure and vanished somewhere below, giggling.

It spared him the agony of her seeing him retch out last night’s food.

Einar, used to Henrik’s seasickness, leaned into the wind with his eyes closed.

He lingered near Pedr, who stood at the wheel, brooding over the slate carpet of gray clouds.

Waves flung foam into the air like angry devils.

“Since we’re avoiding Narpurra and cutting across regular shipping lanes,” Einar called as he blinked his eyes open, “that means it’ll be a ten- or twelve-day trip to the mainland, right?”

“No,” Pedr said.

“How long?”

“Five.”

“Half the time?” When Pedr ignored him, Einar whistled. “Not bad.”

Henrik swiped the back of his hand over his mouth and reached for a leather water flask. He didn’t have the energy to ask how Pedr cut the time in half, nor the desire to understand. Five days less on the water? He’d take it.

Einar joined Henrik, chuckling. “Pedr is something else, isn’t he?”

“Sure,” he muttered.

“No, I meant it. He’s something else.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Can you imagine a merchant ship sailing this fast? No. Have you ever heard of a Captain holding random arcane magic? No. He changes the currents in the sea to move us faster. Currents.” Einar shook his head, blinking. “It’s . . .”

“Odd?”

“Different.” He hummed. “It means something. Just not sure what yet.”

Einar’s lacking conclusion fell between them. Feeling marginally better with his mouth swished out, Henrik leaned against the railing. Einar hooked his hands around the edge and leaned back, elongating his arms, rounding his shoulders.

“How about that wyvern?” he asked. “Pretty wild, eh?”

“Doesn’t speak to anything good,” Henrik said, sketching a brief review of General Helsing’s requirements. Einar absorbed each fact.

“She knows something about the mainland that we don’t,” he concluded.

Henrik nodded, grim. “Agreed.”

Einar shook his head. “Shite.”

Henrik let his thoughts eddy, but Einar straightened, tilted his head to the side, and motioned with his thumb to the hatch leading to the holds below. A silent question filled his expression. Understanding exactly what Einar meant, but not wanting to answer, Henrik asked, “What?

Einar slugged him in the shoulder. “What’s going on with Britt?”

“Nothing.”

“You touched her. Willingly. I’ve never seen that before.”

Henrik scowled.

Einar laughed.

Henrik didn’t want to give details. Didn’t want to define the undefinable, or verbalize value where it existed.

Affection was unwise, inefficient, and counter to the existence of a soldat.

And yet . . . he wasn’t a soldat anymore.

Those steel-like threads had crumbled and no longer held his life together.

With every day that passed, the truth spoke a little louder.

But he wasn’t ready to talk about his affection toward Britt or what it meant.

When others knew, there was no going back. No safety for her.

“I like Britt,” Einar said. “She’s good to people. She seems to genuinely care about Agnes, and anyone that makes Agnes smile is worthwhile to me.”

Henrik studied his brother, so boldly his opposite. How did he care about Agnes so fully and without fear?

“You take it up, Einar.” Henrik said. Take it up . A colloquial Stenberg saying that meant his care for Agnes ran high. Serious. Some might even call it love. The statement held no question.

Einar met his gaze and laughed. “I love her, you bastid. I took it up a long time before you returned.”

Henrik schooled his surprise. Einar’s affection wasn’t a surprise. Nor his bold statement. Any fool with eyes had seen them together. But the speed in which Agnes came to mean so much was a surprise.

“What’s your plan?” Henrik asked.

“We’re going to legalize our relationship on the mainland.”

Henrik’s eyes snapped to his again. His stomach dropped, but it had nothing to do with the sea.

“What?”

Einar set his jaw. “That’s why we came with you instead of Arvid. If we legalize on the mainland, Stenberg will have no way to break us apart. The power on the mainland is greater than His Glory’s. Just in case,” he tacked on.

He blinked, shocked. Einar had cared for Agnes for months, sure. He loved her, and all that. But to legalize?

“I thought?—”

“I know I said that I wouldn’t put Agnes through the legalization and what it might mean for her, but that doesn’t matter anymore.

Not now!” Einar whooped, arms to the sky.

“We’re free bastids, Henrik. Free. Choice has been denied us all this time, but not anymore.

I’m going to use it. Freedom is the path.

Wide open. Everything out. We’re going to do whatever the hell we want .

. . after I help Arvid with the rebellion. ”

Henrik felt a surge of pride, then jealousy. Einar didn’t hesitate over rebellion, expectations, ties that bound them to Stenberg. Henrik hadn’t stepped foot on Stenberg in weeks, but His Glory still held a rope around his neck. They had broken the physical ties. Not the invisible ones, though.

How did you break the hidden bonds? lingered at the tip of his tongue. Henrik kept them.

“Good for you, Einar.” Henrik clapped his hand on Einar’s shoulder. “I’m glad for you.”

Einar grinned, toothy and saucy, a little boy bound up in a rascal. “After the mainland, we’re going to Narpurra. We want to see what Old Man finds out after news circulates about the Unseen Island. If an overthrow makes sense, we’ll help Arvid for as long as we can.”

“Then?”

“There’s an island in the Lesser Chain called Lunaris. I’ve been on it briefly, and Agnes has heard of it. Have you?”

“Heard of it, haven’t visited.”

Images of frond-built houses, sapphire blue waters, and fishing boats conjured in his head.

Associations built over years of hearing descriptions from Captains and sailors, but nothing concrete.

It wasn’t a subsidiary of Stenberg nor an allied government willing to resupply, so he hadn’t visited during his reefer year.

“It’s named after the moon, because the arcane there makes the moon shine a brilliant purple when it’s rising and setting.

Pointless, but breathtaking, I hear.” Einar nodded toward the sea, but Henrik didn’t glance down.

“Because of the arcane, there’s also fish.

It calls fish to the beaches in waves, at different times of year, for spawning.

As such, it’s a place to live. Families live there.

It’s close to a shipping lane and has regular merchant stops.

It’s safe, but not far from the mainland.

Agnes and I want to raise a family there and never think of the soldats again. ”

The idyllic picture left a metallic taste on Henrik’s tongue, as strange as freedom. Could broken glass reseal?

“It sounds . . .”

“Like a dream?”

“Yeah. A dream.”

Einar slammed his palms against the railing. “We deserve it, Henrik! We deserve the dream. The happiness. Those bastids tried to take it from us, but we’re taking it back. It’s all about freedom. You get it? We choose. That’s the whole point. I choose Agnes.”

A high-pitched cry broke the air. Pedr’s messenger drake rose off his perch near the wheel and into the air, intercepting another drake. After a short, spiraling dance, Drake allowed the messenger access to the boat, but he landed protectively on Pedr’s shoulders with a hiss and a snarl.

The weary, incoming drake lowered onto the deck near Pedr, who approached it without hesitation.

When Pedr held out his other arm, the messenger drake spiraled toward his proffered wrist. The webbed wings, pulled taut over powerful bones, drew wide as it descended in lazy spirals.

Thick claws angling for his arm was a sight to behold.

Pedr’s arm bowed a little when the drake landed, wings furling.

“Good,” Pedr crooned, then spoke unintelligibly. Drake preened when Pedr clucked to the new messenger. A paper fluttered around its claw. After removing the message, Pedr lowered the drake onto a standing rod nearby, meant for this purpose.

When Pedr clapped five times, in a specific rhythm, something red popped into the air. A husk of meat. The drake snapped it with a screech, side-eyeing Drake, who proudly acted as if the messenger didn’t exist.

What was it with this family and their flying pets?

Pedr skimmed the paper once, then twice. He lifted his head to find Einar and Henrik staring at him.

“News from Arvid,” he called. “Better tell the ladies. They’ll want to hear this, too.”