Page 14 of The Queens and the Kings (The Isles #2)

brITT

Britt emerged from Pedr’s cabin, one eye on the deck.

Henrik sat on the edge of a barrel, one leg propped on a crate, and stared at the sea.

He’d barely moved all day. Sunset burned a brilliant palette, washing the sky in a tempest of colors.

It had been a lazy afternoon, lounging and napping.

Henrik sipped broth, avoided Britt, and brooded in silence.

As she headed toward Henrik, Denerfen zipped off her arm, flew to Pedr, and settled on his bare right shoulder. Drake stirred from his perch not far away, settling back to sleep. Pedr lifted a finger to Denerfen’s belly and frowned at the west.

Britt sidled over to Henrik’s side.

“Mind if I sit?”

He motioned to the barrel next to him. They sat, shoulders touching, until he asked in a murmur, “How are you today?”

“Better than you, I think.”

He chuckled. “Your brother gave me a Kapurnickkian potion that’s greatly helped my stomach.”

“Hellsgate?”

“Tasted like it.”

Britt laughed. “Must be, then. It calms a sour tummy, or else the taste would make it worse.”

He grimaced, running his tongue through his teeth. “Awful, but it worked. I feel human again.”

“I’m glad.”

Henrik cast her a sidelong glance. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Is Britt your real name?”

“Britta. After my mother.”

“Oh?”

She nodded, lips pressed together. “She was, as Pedr tells it, a devil of a woman. ”

Henrik revealed a lazy, subdued smile that grew slowly. On the rare occasion he offered such a full-bodied response, his eyes sparkled a little.

“A devil of a woman?”

She lifted both hands. “Apparently. I’ve heard stories about her wild ways all my life . Mostly from General Helsing, mind you. Dear Aunt Gertrude and Mama didn’t get along, as you might imagine.”

Laughing, he said, “Britt fits you very nicely. Strong, but light.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you remember your mother?”

“Barely. What few recollections I have are brief, and might be my own imagination. Malcolm remembers more than I do, and Pedr more than him. Pedr knew them the longest.”

Henrik mulled that over, then canted his body to face her. “Listen, I’m not always great at casual or deep conversation. I don’t . . . I don’t talk about emotional stuff all that much, so I’m just going to ask you what’s on my mind without trying to be . . . soft.”

Curiosity drove her brow higher. Suppressing a smile, she said, “Please.”

“Your aunt is cold, harsh, and not very nice. That . . . probably wasn’t great as a kid and I doubt it feels good as an adult.

I’d rather have no parents at all than a parental figure like her.

After she pulled this . . . demand . . .

on you, how do you . . . ” He cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

“Feel?” she ventured.

“I guess?”

His haphazard attempt to empathize warmed her like malt whiskey. Her lips twitched as she tried to hide a smile.

“I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I thought that same thing several times while growing up.

Better to have no one than someone so unfeeling and rigid, I suppose.

In hindsight, I am grateful for her. Part of me did need some structure, at least a little.

She provided it in spades. When my father died, she took it hard.

In some ways, I don’t think she’s ever recovered.

He was her little brother. They were close.

Regardless, General Helsing is . . . well .

. . she is who she is. There’s no changing her. ”

He snorted an agreement.

“I’ve learned to accept what I receive and not expect more. That doesn’t change the sting, but it removes the pressure of not getting what I want. Anyway, it’s not easy.”

Britt’s heart hammered in her throat as she took a chance and lay her hand on his forearm. The corded muscles beneath her fingertips twitched, but didn’t buck her off.

“Thank you for asking.”

His fingers curled under his own palm, sealing him off. His wry smile made her chuckle. “I’m not good at it, Britt, but I’m willing to be bad until I improve.”

“You’re not bad at conversation,” she countered.

“You’re to the point. I think anyone can appreciate that.

For what it’s worth, I’m not great at asking the right questions either.

For the most part, Pedr and Malcolm raised me, and Agnes is the first real girlfriend I’ve had.

Living in the undermountain meant I know a lot of people, have a lot of friends, but none of them very close. ”

“Really?”

She nodded.

Henrik leaned back, one eye narrowed, as if he didn’t believe her. “You strike me as the heart of a party. The lifeblood. The energy. I may have been grappling at the time, but I watched you the night I won the title from Captain Oliver. You had no problem in that crowd.”

“A ruse,” she said easily, then hastily added, “not a lie, necessarily. It’s just that most of the time I don’t know what I’m doing. The sociality and bubbly exterior is partly an act. It hides a woman who would rather be sailing than chatting.”

Henrik laughed. “I’ve never liked you more than right now.”

Me either, she wanted to say, but her courage fled.

This conversation was proof of progress, and she didn’t want to mess it up.

She let her hand fall away from his arm and rest in the fold of her dress.

She missed his warmth once it was gone. Wind flapped against her pant legs, howling a lonely, low tune through the ropes.

“Do you think we can do it, Britt?”

The raw question in his voice cut through her. Sorrow like that could have cracked bones.

“We’ll find Selma, Henrik.”

“It’s not just Selma. It’s . . .”

“Everything else?”

He looked at his hands. “Yeah. If I find Selma, great. But then what? If I don’t, which I expect, when do I stop searching? What if she’s dead? What if she’s alive but doesn’t want to meet? Doesn’t remember? What if?—”

“What if you stopped worrying over possibilities and focused on what you control right now?”

Henrik blurted out, “You sound like Arvid,” and a hint of color deepened his cheeks.

Britt dissolved into a giggle. “Thank you. I consider him a man of sound enough understanding, based on what Agnes says.”

He stewed, lips tucked haphazardly to one side. “What about the Ladylord? I don’t know what to expect from her, or the mainland. I’ve never been. There are a lot of unknowns around your safety while I’m there.”

“ My safety? What about you? You’re the one that His Glory has a ransom out for. Einar, too.”

“I’m not worried about myself.”

She pressed a palm to her chest. “Neither am I.”

He growled, a grizzled irritation crossing his features. “You should be.”

“Not with you there,” she retorted.

He relaxed, muttering, “Good,” and left the topic. Well, that meant something, too. She couldn’t fathom what, with the cryptic way he leaned close, yet avoided intentional touch.

Considering the curl of his fingers before, she almost didn’t touch him again.

But she sensed a pull, an uncovering desperation for the kindness of a friend.

If she could never be more, she’d give this.

She set her palm on top of his hand, folding her fingers over his. He sucked in a breath, studied them.

“It’s going to be fine, Henrik. I’m here with you until the end. Whether Selma is alive, or dead. Interested, or not. Whether the Ladylord wants you on her side, or is aligned with His Glory and wants to kill you to prove an alliance. We’ll do it together. I’m your friend.”

His fingers trembled as she gave him one last squeeze. He released a trapped breath, blinking in a daze as she withdrew, leaving him to his empty, lost pursuit of ghosts on the sea.