Page 27 of The Queens and the Kings (The Isles #2)

Einar gave a lazy grin. “You know what?” he drawled, “I think we’ll stay. I haven’t had this much fun in weeks.”

An hour later, the Ladylord greeted them with a mildly irritated twitch of her lips. “Soldats,” she called. “What a pleasure to have you both here. Finally.”

Her tacked-on word did little to dispel the tension in her voice.

She greeted them from a flat surface outside of her home, near a cluster of rocks sunk into the ground.

Loose, linen pants billowed around her calves, flapping in a wild breeze off the ocean.

She stood tall, shoulders back, chin erect.

Einar and Henrik stopped fifteen steps away. Their soldier escort from the scribe office quickly evaporated. The Ladylord kept Henrik’s intense stare.

“Your point has been taken, soldat. You don’t like being out of control in a negotiation, and you don’t like leverage over you. I hear you.”

“I never said that.”

“And yet,” she sang, “I understand perfectly. At the end of our discussion, I will share the results of what my scribes have found. As requested.”

Henrik silently admitted she had, in fact, understood.

Einar folded his hands in front of him, a lazy insolence in his expression when he said, “Before we proceed, Ladylord, allow us to make a few things clear: First, we hate assumptions. Don’t make them.

Second, we recognize no leader to give us orders, certainly not you.

Third, we don’t formally recognize any negotiation of terms out of our purview. Is that something you understand?”

A flicker of genuine surprise appeared in her eyes, nearly negating the latent potency of Einar’s words.

“No leader at all?”

Einar shook his head.

“Not even His Glory?” Her eyelashes fluttered as she comprehended it. “Your rebellion must be as complete as rumors report.”

“We don’t abide by rumors either, Ladylord,” Henrik said. “To Einar’s first point on assumptions.”

“Had you accepted my invitation ,” she said with cool annoyance, “you would have met several high-ranking officers in the mainland navy, had a chat with them about Stenberg, and potentially planned an opportunity to attack His Glory with our aid.”

“Well, shite, Einar. Sounds like we missed our own party.”

Henrik’s flat tone inspired a fleeting amusement in her eyes.

“If you would like to join me, soldats, I’d be willing to speak with you in my office. We can discuss your purview there.”

They followed her onto the rocky path and up toward the house. Cool air flowed over Henrik as he stepped out of the sun, into shadow. She motioned toward several open chairs in silent invitation, but neither sat.

Einar stationed himself at the door, blocking the entrance, his eyes on the exterior garden they just left. Henrik planted himself in the middle.

The Ladylord—he mentally called her Alma—grasped the handle of an ornate water pitcher, tipping water into a glass below without spilling a drip. Something in the careful movement felt calculated and premonitory.

“Your split with His Glory must have created a tidal wave on your island.” Her musing observation required no response, so he waited for her to muse her way to the end of her thoughts.

“I imagine that other soldats have risen in rebellion, while others stayed. Knowing what I do of His Glory, the results must have been . . . unappreciated.”

Alma, glass in hand, regarded both of them, but the weight of her stare fixed on Henrik. Mention of His Glory brought Einar’s animosity to the forefront. It rolled off of him in thunderous waves.

“As I mentioned before, Henrik the soldat, we have a shared enemy. Against that shared enemy, we might be able to do grand things. The mainland would like to help you defeat him.”

“Why?”

Her jaw ticked as she regarded him. “He complicates things, reneges on promises, and makes everything more difficult than it needs to be.”

Intuition stirred in his gut. “I’m going to need more information than you’re giving if we’re to make an alliance.”

“Me too,” she replied.

Henrik nodded. Fair was fair. They both held their cards close. There was obviously another reason for her actions, but she wouldn’t reveal why without a concession from his side. He lifted his hand to his chest, then to Einar.

“What would you want from us?”

With a roll of her wrist, she conjured a paper folded into an intricate swan that perched pleasantly on her palm.

She lowered it onto the nearby table, where it rested like an ivory decoration.

A show of arcane such as this was no accident.

She knew one of the Arcanists or had access to one, and she wanted them to know it.

“These are plans from my general to attack Stenberg. I’d like the thoughts of two former soldats who want their own revenge on His Glory.

Very few mainland generals or high-ranking leadership have ever made it to Stenberg’s shores.

Which is a mistake we will not make in the future,” she added in a pinched mutter.

Einar stepped forward, plucked the paper off the table, and unfolded it. Silence ripped through the room when he handed it to Henrik, then returned to his position in front of the door.

The details were sparse, but thorough. Her General leveraged the northern Stenberg shore as the basis for an attack, which was a foolish approach for several reasons.

Taken with their minimal experience, however, it made sense.

Their understanding of Stenberg’s interior was thwarted as well.

Too few buildings, no clear designation of the Compendium.

He skimmed it twice, then returned it to her.

The Ladylord, watching him with abject curiosity, said nothing.

“It’s a poor plan,” he stated.

Her lips curved with a hint of feminine coyness. “I know it’s a poor plan, Henrik. That’s why I’ve inquired after your assistance.”

The rock in his gut gained ballast, percolating a haunting question that refused him peace.

Did he truly want to embed himself in mainland affairs?

He wanted to go quietly into the night, find Selma, convince Britt that he was worth keeping around, and never, ever think of Stenberg again.

This revelation into his own desires was not entirely new, but some facets surprised him.

Since when did his future mental plans involve Britt?

Since now.

This moment.

The realization bathed him in painful prickles. Battle pulled him inexorably forward, and how was that fair to her? What he wanted didn’t matter. It never had. Outside forces controlled and worked his world, jostling him toward an undesired and ever present fight.

Peace was not his.

Only war.

And this was why he couldn’t give Britt what she deserved. Time. Affection. Promises for more. The bitterness of his life led to this moment every time. He knew war. Death. Destruction. Safety for others, not himself. No matter how he tried to ignore it.

The current chose the path.

The moment Einar shifted his weight, angling closer to Henrik, Henrik knew what would happen next. Einar didn’t disappoint.

“We’ll help,” Einar declared. His voice was rock hard, deciding the moment. Henrik felt no irritation. He was not their leader. Einar was his brother, his equal. He could decide as much as Henrik.

But Henrik felt uncertain. They could not retract from this step forward, so now he had to stuff Britt into his inner, hidden box of beloved treasures. Later, he’d discuss it with Britt, and he’d break her heart. A tale as old as time for soldats.

The Ladylord drew up, her expression unabashed with surprise. Her brow rose, lips parted.

“You’ll help?”

“Only,” Einar continued with a level stare, “if preparations are made to protect innocent Stenberg citizens, and if we are guaranteed responsibility for His Glory’s demise.”

“And,” Henrik added, “if we understand what you really want. There’s more here at play, as you’ve intimated.”

Alma’s fragile fingers flashed a wide, silver ring as she pressed her palms together. “Acceptable. We aren’t interested in wholesale slaughter, only to remove a lying fool from a position of power that has had far reaching effects for us.”

Henrik frowned. “How?”

The Ladylord paused, as if taking his measure for the first time. The hair on the back of Henrik’s neck rose.

“For the past one hundred years,” she picked up the swan and began to refold it, “the leader of Stenberg and the leader of the mainland have abided by a treaty formed beyond current memory. Stenberg provides the mainland with quarterly shipments of a mineral called damma. It’s difficult to find.

We used to receive regular shipments from the far eastern citadels, but they were toppled in a civil war, and who wants to deal with them?

Stenberg has this rare mineral, so they offered to sell it to us. ”

Einar glanced at Henrik, who shrugged.

“You may know it by a different name,” she said with exaggerated politeness. “I believe Stenberg locals call it sealstone. We haven’t received a shipment in more than four months, soon to be five.”

She gestured to a map on the wall, decorated with strings that showed shipping lanes between mainland cities along the coast, and very few between the Isles and the mainland. A pale brown string stretched from the tiny island nation of Stenberg to the brown dot of Klipporno.

Several realizations hit Henrik all at once.

His Glory had a hidden export market that no one knew about, except perhaps a very small ring of wealthy Stenberg citizens.

The powder that smelled like sealstone on abandoned frigate number thirteen may have been this very export.

To make tenuous matters worse, the mainland wanted to go to war over this export.

“Bastid piece of shite,” Einar hissed.

“What is damma for?” Henrik asked.

“Arcane suppression.”

“Of what?”