Page 22 of The Queens and the Kings (The Isles #2)
HENRIK
When the Ladylord appeared, Britt’s nervous babbling immediately stopped.
She whirled around, yanked her shoulders back, lifted her chin, and broadened her fake smile.
Henrik positioned himself behind her, but not too close.
He sent away the urge to step in front of her.
She’d need a powerful position, facing the leader of the mainland.
As a pair of narrow shoulders appeared in the doorway, Britt’s tension shifted into surprise. Her brow rose. Breath caught.
“Alma?”
Alma, mother of Carina, and Britt’s friend .
Unexpected twist.
The Ladylord granted a dazzling smile. “Britt of Kapurnick, what a pleasure.”
Britt blinked, then dropped to one knee. She murmured, “Ladylord,” with her eyes fixed on the leader, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.
Henrik didn’t bother with blatant convention. The Ladylord ruled the mainland, not the seas, so he had no political compunction for obeisance. Britt, as an agent of Kapurnick, had reason to appeal to the Ladylord’s powerful side.
Not him.
No, thanks.
A woman with curious brown eyes, short-cropped hair, and a placid expression greeted Britt. Her thin arms gave way to an equally wiry body. She advanced a few steps, loose linen pants swirling around strong strides.
“Dear girl,” she murmured with deep affection. “Welcome back to the mainland. It has been too long since your previous visit.” Her gaze elevated to Henrik. A hint of a smile lingered in her twitching lips. “Henrik, the soldat. Your reputation precedes you. I thank you for coming, also.”
He nodded.
Dear girl, she’d said. That must account for the dazed expression on Britt’s face. She appeared to surface from her shock, blinking fast.
“But . . .”
“The time for the story of my ascension to Ladylord is later,” she said with a bright, though pained, smile. “It is in the history books, Britt. You can find it there. I have set aside the next hour for you and many, many questions.”
Britt’s ruffled brow cleared. “Thank you, Al— Ladylord,” she said in a clear voice. “The Isles are grateful to borrow some of your time.”
“Come into my real office, please. Trusted friends receive the special treatment.”
Trusted friends.
The Ladylord led them through the hidden door. Henrik stepped over a door jamb along the bottom, as high as his shins. The new office appeared far more lived-in, with normal dishabille. It reminded him of Captain Arvid’s desk on Stenberg, before all the . . . upheaval.
Many books, papers, and fountain pens on the desk created a busy ambiance. Nodding flowers and hints of greenery lingered outside three round windows, set at the exact same height and distance along the wall. Braided rugs softened the floor of shiny and sleek polished stone.
No sailors, no guards. No sign of physical protection for the most powerful ruler in the known world, though Britt hinted at arcane. Odd.
The Ladylord, with her billowing amethyst pants, stepped behind her desk barefoot.
She had sparkling eyes, a moderately youthful face, and solid confidence.
“Take a chair, please.” Despite the polite words, a hint of command lingered.
“Carina will return in a moment with food and drinks. Was your voyage eventful?”
“Very,” Britt said as she lowered into a chair. Her fingers braided together on her lap, tap, tap, tapping a rhythm. She pressed her teeth into her bottom lip, then stopped.
The Ladylord lowered into a chair cobbled together from driftwood. Stained, polished, and sculpted into an intricate filigree on the edges, it matched the desk behind which it perched. Her voice elevated.
“Oh?”
“There is much to update you on, Ladylord. I won’t ask how you came into power, but, if I may ask . . . ?”
Her trailing question left a hint of mystery.
The Ladylord smiled.
“You may ask.”
A palm upturned, Britt inquired, “When?”
The Ladylord flickered a curious gaze over to Henrik, her lips pulling upward in a half smile. “Henrik, what do you know of our mainland ways?”
“Nothing, Ladylord.”
“Well, now. That can’t be entirely true. Soldats are, by reputation, some of the most educated members of Stenberg society, are you not?”
He kept his face impassive.
The Ladylord ignored his lacking response, and that meant something. With the same vague, impervious sense of knowing all, she returned her attention to Britt.
“My predecessor fell sick several months ago, Britt. I accepted the position five weeks after he passed.”
“So recent! That’s why I didn’t hear.”
To Henrik, the Ladylord said, “The Ladylord of the mainland is a sacred responsibility, but we do not believe it is bestowed upon us by the god of the sea.” Cold, hard ferocity entered her tone. “In summary, I saw an opportunity and I took it.”
Britt’s mouth dropped open.
“You took it? But . . .”
With a gauzy wave, the Ladylord cut her off, “It’s in the books, my dear.
Henrik, lubbers, as Britt loves to call us, believe that any citizen with the ability to see all sides of an issue, to stand for all persons like and unlike them, can be the next best candidate for leader of the mainland.
Youthful ideas, steady wisdom, and the ability to stand in the middle is what we value the most.”
“Your ascension is guaranteed by death?” he asked.
Hints of that hard edge reappeared. “Yes.” The Ladylord swept her hand down her body. “Thus, I have taken over as the next Ladylord.”
You worked for the former leader, understood all he did, then murdered him while in a weakened state, he thought. Got it.
“ The leader of the mainland is the symbol of equality,” she continued.
“Able to blend in with the largest crowd, interact with the smallest child, and live a life of simple means, like most citizens. I have the wealth of the wealthiest, yet I routinely subject myself to the deprivations of the poorest. I defy even His Glory, son of the supposed sea god, to state the same.” She cut Britt a wry smile.
“In a former life, you might have called me Alma. Now, I am the Ladylord.”
When her deep brown eyes bore into Henrik, monitoring his reaction, he said, “Thank you for explaining.”
The Ladylord returned her attention to Britt. “Please, tell me of your eventful voyage.”
Britt cleared her throat. “We discovered an abandoned Stenberg vessel, Ladylord. It was . . . unexpectedly dangerous.”
“Oh?”
“It delayed us a little bit.”
“I would imagine.” She tilted her head. “How long had it been abandoned, do you think?”
“Ah . . . no idea. Henrik?”
He said, “Weeks, at least.”
The Ladylord listened attentively while Britt recounted the powder, the onded, Agnes’s death. Henrik’s blood heated when she finished with a quiet, “We could not save Agnes. Henrik’s brother-in-arms is . . . devastated.”
The Ladylord turned to Henrik. “I thought soldats weren’t allowed to have emotional attachments?”
No malice revealed in her voice, only naive curiosity. Henrik didn’t bother answering her, inciting a greater curiosity. Her plain wooden chair squeaked when she leaned forward, chin propped on her fist.
“Tell me, soldat, about your life.”
Henrik frowned. “You first. Ladylord,” he tacked on.
“Mmm.” Her lips twitched with a suppressed smile. “Soldats. Such . . . bold . . . islanders. You dedicated your whole life to the sea god, and what did he give you in return? Suffering and death. I can’t fathom how there hasn’t been an insurrection before now.”
He expected pandering, but detected none.
“You don’t speak much?” she asked.
“Not unless there’s something to say.”
“Why not?”
“You haven’t asked questions worth a response.”
She burst out laughing. He avoided looking at Britt.
“Well done, soldat!” The Ladylord dabbed at the corner of her eyes with a bent knuckle.
“Well done, indeed. You have done the improbable by building my curiosity and amusement. I confess, I have been curious about soldats for many years. You don’t pander.
” Her eyes flashed with appreciation. “I like that.”
Britt sat with her hands in her lap, her fingers loose. She appeared at ease, but that same veneer had been in place since before they stepped on the mainland. He couldn’t trust it.
The Ladylord whipped to the side, effectively dismissing the topic yet again.
“Britt.”
“Yes, Ladylord?”
“You have come as Kapurnick’s agent on behalf of General Helsing, which is something that surprised me. I’m also quite proud of you. Well done.”
Britt beamed. “Thank you, Ladylord. General Helsing wanted me to bring her regards and appreciation for continued relationships while we were visiting the mainland. I had no idea it was you or I would have sailed sooner.”
The Ladylord hummed under her breath, fingers tapping near a delicate, pointed chin.
“General Helsing has always been a welcome ally, and that continues with my entrance into this position. You may reaffirm my stance on the relationship with Kapurnick and the mainland.”
“Thank you.”
The Ladylord swiveled to Henrik again. “This returns us to you, Henrik.”
The looping cadence of this conversation was inefficient and maddening, but he had a feeling it was supposed to be. Eventually, he assumed she’d gather impressions on him, then expertly narrow it toward a singular direction that suited her unique purpose. At least, that’s what he’d do.
“Is it true that His Glory doesn’t allow you to sail to the mainland?”
“Yes.”
“What about the Lesser Island Chains?”
“I’ve been to many Chain islands.”
“Is this your first time on the mainland?”
“Yes.”
“Your friend, Einar?”
He nodded.
“He is free from the soldats, also?”
“Yes, Ladylord.”
“What are your feelings about His Glory?”
“It depends.”
She gave a narrow smile. “I know the feeling. And Einar?”
“He will speak for himself.”
“Two soldats set adrift,” she murmured, eyes tapered to slashes. “There are others, I presume. How very interesting. The life of a soldat is a rather narrow existence. You agreed to such servitude?”