Page 20 of The Queens and the Kings (The Isles #2)

brITT

Henrik’s steady, unwavering expression carried them through the tightly-packed and winding streets of Klipporno.

Denerfen stayed with Pedr. If he’d come, he would have roamed across her shoulders with bottled excitement.

He loved the scents of the mainland, but the uncertainty was too much.

She couldn’t worry about his safety and what she faced in diplomatic negotiations.

Besides, he adored Pedr. She couldn’t fathom a safer place for him.

People filled the edges of the cobblestone road as they streamed past fish hawkers and bead sellers, the smell of body odor mixing with fresh bread.

Britt breezed past baskets imbued with specific stones, supposedly arcane-infused for different purposes.

Love necklaces. Protective bracelets. Conch shells decorated with glittering glass.

A tattoo shop with designs that purportedly contained the arcane and changed patterns after completion.

She scoffed. Hardly.

Nothing of great consequence, but that was the mainland.

Vast populations and opportunities and fathomless resources, but so little depth.

The coastal cities didn’t struggle through famines or scarcity, like The Isles.

The multitudinous farmland tripling behind them, and the wyvern hoard that skirted the shore, meant food and outside attack weren’t great concerns.

A cart filled with rotting pieces of wood rattled in front of Britt, cutting fast around a tight corner of stone-made buildings.

Henrik reached out a hand, fingers clutching her arm above her elbow.

His quick tug prevented a painful collision.

She snuck a glance at his face. His jaw worked, his nose twitched, his neck twisted in obvious discomfort.

Klipporno could be a bit . . . much.

“Thank you.”

He grunted.

Britt slipped her fingers over his and threaded them together, amused and concerned by his startled expression.

When he didn’t resist, she breathed into the win.

The air had been understandably tense on the ship since Agnes died.

Uncomfortably heavy. The fresh air and new crowd cleared it, making it easier to smile.

Keeping hold of him, Britt tugged them up a pitched road that wound toward the cliff tops.

The tour of Klipporno would provide Henrik a chance to get his bearings, at the very least, though he asked no questions.

With the ocean sprawling to their west, it wasn’t hard to orient.

Traffic clotted the thin footpaths cutting through a switchback, circumventing the longer roads.

She avoided those, keeping them in wide spaces with less jostling.

Henrik leaned into the wind that buffeted them at the top of the cliffs.

The sea rippled like a quilt with lines cut through, distant speckled white waves, and an evanescent horizon.

Pedr’s ship, immediately distinguishable by the lack of boats anywhere near it and the pink mainsails, caught Britt’s eye.

A wyvern cut overhead in the distance, fishing in the northern waters farther from the port. The sight of it sent a shudder through her. A bold reminder as to why she was here.

For Kapurnick.

“What do you think of Klipporno so far?” she asked.

“Busy.”

“That’s it?”

“So far,” he said evenly. “How often have you come here?”

“After my parents died? I came every year with General Helsing. Sometimes twice, depending on what trade and negotiations Kapurnick required. She has navigated many issues with the mainland since she took custody of me.”

“That makes you a ready agent for Kapurnick.”

Uncomfortable with the thought, she simply said, “Maybe. Are you hungry?”

“No.”

With a quirk of her head, she asked, “Soldats don’t experience hunger, eh?”

He sent her a sidelong glance.

She laughed. “The Ladylord might feed us. Depending on whether she offers, it would have been an insult not to eat, which is why Pedr didn’t offer breakfast. The food here is good.

Come. The Ladylord lives only a few more minutes away, along the top cliff edge on the outer ring of Klipporno. From there, we can see everything.”

A giant barnacle sat on Britt’s ribs as they closed in on the Ladylord’s residence. It pressed, pressed, pressed, squelching her breath and courage. She pasted on her smile as servants passed, watching closely for her friends, Carina and Alma. No sign of them appeared.

She didn’t want them to be here to witness her embarrassment as an ill-prepared agent of Kapurnick, out of her depth.

Her heartbeat roared in her ears, her throat tightened. For the sake of Kapurnick and her draguls, she had no choice. Henrik hovered close, releasing her hand to stand on her other side, toward the flow of people walking.

If her loose-hanging, long hair didn’t give her away as an islander—lubbers had a habit towards short-cropped tresses—then the pants under her skirt would.

Didn’t matter. The Ladylord expected her, and it wouldn’t be wise to appear insecure with the new leader, even if the lubbers' open stares unnerved her.

The Ladylord’s residence was a simple affair.

A handful of catacomb rooms set into cliffs towering over the spit of land separating the rock wall from the sea.

In eras past, little land existed between the cliffs and the ocean.

Time had widened the beach. Slowly. During storm surges and high tides, homes washed away occasionally.

If the house pieces survived, the lubbers reset them and continued on with their lives.

The rock into which the city was set had a porous appearance from afar, but felt smooth.

Round circles dominated the view as they closed in.

Circular door, circular windows, circular everything.

The only variation was a sparkling portrait of a flying wyvern set into an oval window pane.

Riderless, of course. No one mounted a wyvern.

When she paused on the threshold, hesitating before stepping on a thin, woven mat, Henrik touched the back of her elbow. He met her gaze in the window reflection. With all that happened to Agnes and Einar, she hadn’t considered the fact that Henrik could meet his mother soon.

Her lips pressed together as she considered how to prepare him, decided there was no way without being overheard, and tugged on a bell-pull next to the door. Might as well get it over with. Tinny, sweet bells jangled on the other side of the door.

“This is the Ladylord’s residence,” she said under her breath, and without allowing her smile to waver. “There are a lot of ears, and a lot of invisible, protective arcane. The previous Lordlady was friends with the Arcanist of Land, or so Pedr said.”

He released her arm.

She took it as a sign of understanding.

The door swung open, revealing a teenage girl with a black apron, a white dress, hair shorn to her jaw. Short-formed curls spiraled around her ears, bouncing as she smiled wide.

“Welcome, Britt of Kapurnick.”

“Carina!” she cried, hands outstretched. “How wonderful to see you still here. I didn’t know if you’d continue to work here with the change of leadership.”

Carina, whom Britt hadn’t seen in over a year, flashed a smile. She extended her hands, squeezing Britt’s ready fingers.

“It is good to see you again, Miss Britt.” She stood on tiptoe, peering over her shoulder with a frown. “The General isn’t with you?”

“Not this time.”

“Too bad.”

“What?” Britt quipped with a smile. “Do you miss her affable jokes?”

Carina giggled.

For more than ten years, Alma, Carina’s mother, had cared for the Lordlady’s household and business.

While he met with General Helsing, Alma fed her snacks, told her stories, allowed her to play in the catacombs with Carina or help with projects in the household.

Carina, a full ten years younger than Britt, had always been a droll and delightful young girl.

When not working, Carina had a giggly, youthful side that didn’t receive enough attention.

“You’re a young woman now, Carina. Are you still working here?”

“Yes. Mother requires it.”

“Does she?”

Carina’s lips tightened with an uncertain smile, then a nod. Years before, when Carina was a baby, Alma and Carina had been abandoned to the streets of Klipporno when Alma’s husband died during a sailing accident. The former Lordlady gave Alma residence and a profession.

Carina opened her mouth to ask something, hesitated when she glimpsed Henrik, and instead widened the door. Whatever she meant to betray, it remained in the air. Her professional smile returned.

“Soldat, you are also expected and welcome.” A slight dip of her head. “The Ladylord is pleased to have both of you. She will attend to you in just a moment. Please, follow me.”

Carina led them into an antechamber lined with white tile, positioned between two round doorways, one on either side of the room.

The doorway on the left was closed; the one on the right canted open.

A modest office waited on the other side.

Carina touched the left door. It breezed open, revealing two plush chairs on the other side of a mahogany desk.

Matching spherical windows filled the wall.

They had no glass, and admitted an outpouring of fresh air.

Historically, the leader of the mainland strove for a deep simplicity in their everyday life and reign.

An utter disregard for material gain was a continuing facet in each consecutive leader.

Comparatively, the islands were considered a cancerous freckle upon the nose of the mainland.

The mainland kept their metaphorical nose in the air over the types of people, motivated by greed and power and lust, that led the bulk of the world, for even a cancerous freckle could spread.

Surely, the Ladylord had not lost sight of this belief, upon which General Helsing had been reliant for her entire military career. If the mainland considered the islands a potential problem, then they wouldn’t forget the islands existed.

The Isles needed remembrance.

The former Lordlady had a far more masculine feel to the office, with very little to show. This Ladylord added a few touches of femininity. A jar of bright blue flowers, a yellow pillow on each chair, which were lined with a burgundy velvet so rich it almost appeared black.

“How long has the Ladylord been in Klipporno?” she asked.

Carina, standing by the door, tilted her head. Her hair surged to the side, away from an ear decorated with sparkling rhinestones.

“A month, Miss Britt.”

“Will she be in residence much longer?”

“She hopes so.”

A vague, but appropriate response. Britt smiled. “We do as well.”

Carina bobbed another quick nod, curls bouncing with vigor. “I will let her know you’re here.” She hesitated, then tacked on with fervor, “It was so good to see you, Britt. I hope we can visit more. Later.”

Britt’s broad smile sent scuttling Carina out the door with a shy grin. She closed it with a graceful little thunk .

Henrik took up a position behind the door.

With his back to the wall, he skimmed the room with an erudite eye.

Britt expected increasing signs of discomfort in a new and closed place, but he revealed none.

Surely, he’d experienced far more physically stressful situations than the Ladylord as a soldat.

All of them had been on edge, and the distinct feeling that revenge drove Henrik into the mainland on Einar’s behalf hadn’t allowed Britt a moment’s rest. What would Henrik or Einar do to achieve said revenge?

She’d seen them square off against Oliver, fierce in protection of each other and their own freedom for the first time. With a soldat rebellion and potential overthrow of His Glory on the horizon, the stakes loomed ever higher.

A shaft of sunlight tangled in her eyelashes, drawing her out of her reveries.

She trailed her finger along the edge of a chiseled shelf filled with stone sculptures.

Their ribald poses struck a familiar, feminine theme.

Robust women of varying thickness, lengths, and nudity displayed proudly.

Ten of them, slick, glazed, lovely. Ten others, earthy, textured, rough.

“These rooms,” she said conversationally, because she couldn’t stand the resounding silence, “are the beginning of deep tunnels and catacombs that build all the way into the mountains. Eventually, they connect outside, to where the wyverns live hours and hours away. They say it’s a full day’s trip one way through the dark spaces, as it requires mud, climbing, and risk.

The last Lordlady collapsed many of the tunnels that led to the wyverns, and wisely so, I would imagine.

When the mainland had more arcane use, torches would light the way.

That was, of course, hundreds of years ago. ”

Carina had wandered with Britt into the catacombs one time, when Carina was only eight or so, and still young enough to find a thrill in sordid, dangerous spaces. It had been a revelation of complexity. No matter how broad the mainland appeared, it honed into an intricate detail and nuance.

“How long have the wyverns been on the mainland?” he asked.

“Who knows? Hundreds of years, at least. Did you learn much about the mainland as a soldat?”

“Only history and sailing. Skirmishes, battles, that sort of thing.”

Britt studied the sculptures more closely. Sometimes, though not often, hidden entrances or doorways lurked in the Ladylord’s frequently visited places. She saw no sign of hidden seams along the shelf, but then, the mainland had arcane just like other places.

Except Stenberg.

“The wyverns are separated from the thicker population centers, like Klipporno,” she continued, listening in the beats of silence for the Ladylord’s approach. “The wyverns have been here for generations, and have still never accepted a rider.”

Henrik didn’t respond, but she didn’t mind.

She needed to prattle her nervousness out before the Ladylord arrived.

She’d never spoken to the leader of the mainland on her own.

General Helsing had borne the brunt of the Lordlady’s stern intensity.

His broad facial features, wrinkled nose, condemnation not-so-carefully hidden.

Such never bothered General Helsing. In fact, she found a sort of relief and refuge in honesty.

Britt’s palms began to sweat when a shuffle of feet sounded on the other side of the door. This is where she rose or fell in General Helsing’s eyes. Where she served her isles, her draguls, herself, or she failed.

Heart in her throat, Britt whirled around as the door opened.

The Ladylord appeared.