Page 28 of The Queens and the Kings (The Isles #2)

Without breaking a stride, Alma blithely avoided the question by answering unstated ones. “It’s unlikely that you’ve heard of damma before. It’s mined, according to rumors, from the mountains to the east of Stenberg, near His Glory’s second residence.”

Only His Glory, the attendants that lived at his distant castle, and His Glory’s personal soldat team ever went to the second residence. If miners existed, it was not to his knowledge. That rock in his gut continued to sink.

“If you don’t know about damma, it’s because His Glory hasn’t wanted anyone to know about the export. I believe that not even his Captains know about it. Except, perhaps, the representative one.” The elongated tone the Ladylord used almost set Henrik’s fragile frustration on fire.

“Ingemar,” Henrik stated.

She nodded.

That His Glory should have trade secrets from the populace or the soldats was no grand surprise. That he should hide an export from his Captains meant he sought to avoid taxation on the export, and pocket whatever riches came from it himself.

Arvid would know more. Certainly, Ingemar would.

Henrik felt sick. The Ladylord revealed an entire undertone and motivation for His Glory that none of them knew existed. Yet another avenue for His Glory’s greed. If damma was truly only found on Stenberg, His Glory had likely been using it to control the relationship with the mainland for decades.

Why? Henrik didn’t willingly assign any charitable reason to His Glory. There had to be another reason. Nothing else added up.

“Why do you need arcane suppression?” he asked.

“Regardless of the reasons,” she continued, ignoring the question yet again, “we require that shipment. The erratic nature of the shipments this year has been aggravating, and the effects compounding. If a delivery ship does not land into port within the next three days, my General has orders to sail to Stenberg and rip the damma from His Glory’s own blood, if we must.”

Her livid tone, cold as slicing steel, sent a flicker of interest into Einar’s eyes.

“Tell us why you need it,” Henrik demanded.

“I won’t.”

“Why?”

“The damma is our problem, not yours, Henrik the former soldat.” Her acerbic tone promised no wavering.

“If you and Einar prove helpful, I’ll happily explain further.

At that point, you’ll need all the information you can get in order to find our shipment before the real problems begin.

As it stands, you’ve given me little reason to truly trust you. ”

No fear lingered in her eyes. Not yet. But a close approximation flickered in her narrow depths, coaxing Henrik’s anger farther from the cave it retreated. Britt hadn’t been certain she could trust Alma. Neither was he.

Yet, this was the inevitable path.

Alma sauntered closer, keeping plenty of space between them. Her focus shifted to the west-facing windows overlooking the sea.

“There’s a chance that His Glory sent the second shipment and it met ill weather, but I doubt it. The time for sea storms is not right now. Unless you look west, of course. Surely, you’ve noted the constant and building storm?”

He hadn’t, but had a feeling Pedr would know.

“There’s also a slight chance that the ship went off course,” she continued, “but twice in four months? The odds are too slim. My sea Captains haven’t seen any shipments, and my entire navy has their eyes out.

His Glory has given no response. If you have any loyalty to those left on Stenberg, decide quickly whether you will help our efforts. ”

“How quickly?” Einar asked.

“In three days, if no shipment is received, my generals and I will meet here to decide the final plan of attack. If you come to the meeting on time,” she added with a touch of frosty amusement, “then I shall tell you why we need damma as much as you need jord.”

Einar scoffed.

She added, “Oh, and one more thing? To answer your request: my scribes have located a person of very great interest. She will be available to meet you, should you wish to meet her, after your assistance.”

Henrik’s stomach clenched so hard it nearly knocked him sideways.

After all their attempts to set boundaries, Alma still had them by the balls.

Not entirely, though. She made a mistake in thinking there was only one way for them to find her motivation for an arcane suppressant. Let her have her illusion of control.

He said nothing, offering no reaction, and kept walking to the door.

“Three days,” she trilled to their backs, “I so look forward to our discussion.”

Water splashed Henrik’s ankles as he crossed a mellow beach, not far from the main wharf into the bay. New waves roused the briny scents of fish. Klipporno lacked freshness, unless a breeze swept in from the sea.

Everything here felt wrong.

Ships scattered the water in haphazard and dangerous cross hatches.

Angular cliffs jutted up against the water’s edge in a death trap, and signs of humanity clogged every available space.

Klipporno denizens scattered the view, speckling the sand with their wares, fish guts, and teeming imperfections.

He’d rather be on a reefer year again, visiting distant, forgotten islands. With this many people, the sea lost her wild. Even walking straight to the ocean and avoiding the cobblestone roads hadn’t staved the suffocation.

He hated Klipporno, the mainland, and everything about it. But mostly, he hated that he already knew he’d fight with the mainland. Not just for Selma, though she certainly motivated him. For Stenberg.

For Einar.

Because what else would he do? Live happily with Britt on a lesser-known island? Not while his brother fought. Einar’s experience with Agnes sent Henrik reeling away from that possibility. That’s what came of plans for a soldat.

Einar trailed him, ankle-deep, arms moving at his side.

His stony-face silence spoke for him. They splashed through an incoming wave, closing in on the wharf.

They didn’t speak as they returned to the rowboat, nodded to the young boy watching their oars, and climbed inside.

The lad scampered over, carrying the heavy oars he’d removed to keep the rowboat safe.

Henrik tossed him an extra coin, and the lad grinned with all his teeth.

Next to their rowboat waited an exact replica.

Britt’s.

Henrik would have preferred to go with her. Her message was clear.

I got this.

He let her go. Whatever situation she approached here at Klipporno, she probably was more prepared to deal with it than him. He trusted her, but it didn’t mean he liked it.

Einar grabbed the oars, sending Henrik a challenging glare that dared him to argue.

Henrik held up two hands in surrender, and stood to shove them off the dock.

Oars in the black waters, Einar expertly managed them into the bay.

Salt water splashed the hull, Henrik’s thighs.

The hot sun warmed his skin. Not soon enough, the close proximity of rowboats and the music of the dock ebbed into raw ocean.

Henrik asked, “Thoughts?”

“Are you going to tell the Ladylord about the ship where Agnes went below the water?” Einar immediately retorted, pulling hard on the oars. He spoke the words with a hard, punctuated ferocity. Agnes went below the water, because he wouldn’t say that Agnes had died.

“Britt already did.”

Einar scowled. “Well, shite. That drops us a bargaining point. Seems odd she didn’t mention it today. Did you know anything about damma?”

Henrik shook his head. “Never heard of it. You?”

“No.”

“Arvid might.”

Einar nodded, sucking on his front teeth as he leaned harder into each row.

Henrik ran a hand through his hair. “When we return to the ship, I’ll send another messenger drake to Arvid. I sent him one yesterday, too. We might get a response before meeting with their generals. Whatever damma is, it might be the powder we ran into.”

Trouble filled Einar’s eyes as he heaved on the oars again, skipping them across the agitated bay.

“For sure it is,” he countered. “Which means two things: His Glory did send a shipment, which negates their war, and it’s a deadly nightmare that he’s doling out.

The question is what they’re trying to suppress? ”

“We’ll find out.” Henrik pointed to the left. “Pedr’s over there.”

Einar leaned on one oar, canting them in a more direct route. “That powder,” Einar murmured. “It was . . .”

“Trouble.”

“It created onded.”

“Yes.”

“What if the mainland is using it for that?”

“She never indicated.”

“Of course she wouldn’t. We’d be equal fools to give her the opportunity to create an army of onded, should that be their aim.” Einar’s teeth clenched. “Not to mention the Ladylord might be just as responsible for Agnes’s death.”

Henrik eyed him. “Does that change anything?”

“Not yet,” he muttered. “His Glory sent it, so His Glory will own it. I’ll decide later what role the Ladylord played. Besides, I want His Glory gone for more reasons than one. If we can protect innocent Stenbergians by helping the mainland, it would be worth it to bring that bastid down.”

At least his animalistic wrath contained far more life than his previous depression. Revenge shone bright through his livid words.

Henrik rubbed a hand over his eyes. He didn’t want to even think about the possibility that Einar would take on the mainland and Stenberg. Responsibility rested in His Glory’s lap as much as the mainland. That option they could focus on.

He asked, “Do you think the Ladylord is worth helping?”

“I don’t trust anybody except Pedr. He’s growing on me. He hates me, I’m pretty sure, but I trust him.”

Henrik chortled. “I think he hates anyone that isn’t Britt or Malcolm.”

Einar agreed with a tilt of his head. A contemplative expression crossed his face. “If the Ladylord needs damma, and she’s so interested in getting rid of His Glory, the mainland has an interest in controlling Stenberg. Which is exactly why I agreed to help.”

“I thought so.”

Einar smiled, brief as it lasted. He faded back into solemnity as he said, “She found Selma, it sounds like.”

“She found someone .”

Einar eyed him. “You’re going to meet her, aren’t you?”

“It seems foolish not to.”

“The Ladylord is probably a bigger piece of shite than His Glory, but I don’t think you should turn your opportunity down.”

It seemed far too simple, and hopeful, for both outcomes to happen. Helping innocent Stenbergians and getting rid of His Glory. Not to mention throwing Selma into the mix. Life didn’t smooth into place that way.

“We’ll receive more information from Arvid with the messenger drake, and ask Pedr what he knows,” Henrik concluded.

Einar, leaning into the rowing rhythm, grunted with each stroke, letting his frenzy fade into the release of exertion.