Page 29 of The Queens and the Kings (The Isles #2)

PEDR

Pedr clenched both fists at his side, drew in a steady breath, and exhaled it. He congratulated himself on a modulated tone.

“What do you mean the wyverns saw you, Britt?”

Britt, filthy and exhausted, had the nerve to glare her defiance. She smelled like mud. Dirt marred her cheeks. Meanwhile, Denerfen perched on the edge of a fresh water bucket and drank as if his life depended on it.

She retorted with the penultimate little sister attitude. “I said that one of the wyverns glimpsed me before I left. I got away.” She gestured to herself. “Obviously. The Keepers didn’t know I was there.”

Pedr breathed hard and fast, indignation brimming. Didn’t she value her own life? Apparently not.

Henrik appeared none-too-pleased either. He stood with his legs braced, arms over his chest, brow melting into a glare. Pedr’s respect for the soldat elevated. A lour that deep deserved it.

Despite the late hour, Henrik refused to sleep until Britt returned. He’d been ready to throw the rowboat back into the water and return when she popped into sight, rowing herself.

“Look, I’m fine.” She rubbed a hand over her face. Dirt and dried sea salt dribbled to her shoulders. “I’m sorry I was late. It wasn’t intentional, but the wyverns were more difficult to see than I expected.”

Pedr exploded. “Late! Late? You said you’d return by dinner. It’s almost midnight.”

A flicker of uncertainty sabotaged her laissez-faire front. “It took me longer than I expected to get out of the caves.”

“You were lost?”

“Don’t insult Denerfen!” She held out a hand toward his perch on the bucket.

He still hadn’t straightened. “We weren’t lost!

He knew where we were . . . for the most part.

We just . . . had to find our way out. It was definitely easier on the way out.

Then, on the road, I had to hide a few times when?—”

On Pedr’s apoplectic expression, she wisely cut off, ending with a brief cry of, “Everything is fine!” before clamping her lips shut.

She attempted to slip by him, but Pedr grabbed her arm and jerked her in front of him.

Henrik stepped forward in a warning that looked as instinctual as it did surly.

Pedr scowled in return. He’d happily put a fist through Henrik’s teeth and send him overboard by an ankle.

Being an Arcanist had very few perks, and greater-than-normal strength was one of them.

Not that he wanted to hurt Henrik. Henrik was one of the few he could stand, mostly because he hardly said a word.

Henrik didn’t advance, but neither did he back down.

Pedr loosened his grip.

A little.

“Do you understand?—”

Britt wrenched her arm free, eyes sparking with her own ire. “Yes, I know that it was dangerous, but we had to know more. We can’t have another wyvern at Kapurnick, and I learned a few things.”

Curiosity spiked, allaying his second rush of irritation. She shouldn’t have taken such extreme action, and at a place where none of them could help her. Or perhaps he was mad he couldn’t have helped.

“What did you find out?”

She eyed him distrustfully. “There’s only one wyvern allowed to fly at a time. The others are restrained with chains. The Keepers said something about a mineral.” Her lips turned down as she folded her arms across her chest. “They said the mineral didn’t arrive last month and was late this month.”

Einar asked, “Mineral?”

Britt shrugged.

Henrik and Einar exchanged an unreadable look before Henrik asked, “Did they give the mineral a name?”

“No.”

“No description or?—”

“No. Nothing. There’s not much else to be said, except that wyverns are irritable beasts and fight constantly.”

Pedr asked, “Would you say they’re agitated?”

“Yes, of course.”

His heart raced as Himmel’s words replayed through his mind. You’d see increased agitation. Understanding. They’d be wanting to go west. They’d be plotting, trying to return to their former state.

“Can I eat now?” She hooked a thumb toward the galley. “I’m thirsty and starving.”

He held up a hand. “Give me two more minutes and I’ll let you go. Tell me more about the wyverns. How were they acting? Did they look at anything, face anywhere?”

“I don’t know how they normally act.” She chewed on her bottom lip, considering. “But they seemed agitated. This may have been a coincidence, but many of them stared to the west.”

“The west?”

She nodded.

His hope hit rock bottom. “Shite,” he muttered. The Siren Queens spun into his mind. Himmel. Wyvern Kings.

Britt’s gaze tapered to a slash.

“Pedr?”

“What?”

“What are you thinking? You have that look in your eye.”

He opened his mouth, but the curse prematurely tightened his throat. That couldn’t be right. He’d spoken about the Wyvern Kings earlier and it hadn’t restricted him. But this time, the words the Wyvern Kings want to go west to fight the Siren Queens stalled inside.

He shoved the Siren Queens out of his mind, thought only of the Wyvern Kings, but the precaution remained. He couldn’t say their name.

Pedr turned his back.

No.

No .

This wasn’t right. The curse couldn’t change, could it? Britt stomped around in front of him.

“Pedr?”

“Leave me alone,” he growled. The restriction returned as soon as his thoughts slipped to the wyverns a third time. It meant something.

The Siren Queen’s curse prevented him from many things—leaving his ship, speaking about or bringing harm to the Siren Queens, say Mila’s name or details of her imprisonment—but it hadn’t restricted him from conversation around the wyverns.

Unless something had changed.

If the wily Wyvern Kings created plans against the Siren Queens, wouldn’t the arcane protect the Siren Queens by restricting his conversation about Wyvern Kings? That meant Himmel’s concern was correct—the Wyvern Kings were waking and actively planning against the Siren Queens.

This was subtle but clear confirmation: the end of the one thousand year banishment had come about.

His heart bucked. Shite, but they weren’t ready for this. No one was prepared. He spun to ask Britt another question, but the curse stopped him. She drew up short, managing not to collide with his chest, Henrik and Einar hard on her heels.

Pedr attempted to push through the confines of the curse again, but without luck.

The Wyvern Kings, he wanted to say. The muscles along the back of his neck tightened to the point of pain. When he fought it, he couldn’t angle his neck down. It controlled his musculature, forcing him to stare out.

Britt appeared tortured, the way her brows crashed, her heartfelt gaze searching for something more from him. He had no more to give.

He couldn’t fight the Siren Queens.

“Pedr?”

Pedr growled, attempting to force the phrase out of his clenched lips.

“The . . . the Wy?—”

Another stop.

Sweat broke out on his forehead. His arms contracted, bent at the elbow. Attempts to straighten them were pointless. He’d felt this agonizing contraction before, years ago, when he still fought the inevitable.

Pedr left Britt’s side, frantic. His heart pounded, he couldn’t hear.

The world became a tunnel as he realized what this advancing curse meant: He couldn’t tell Britt what was going on.

Couldn’t mention the Wyvern Kings, their behavior, none of it.

All these other horrible things built in the background and no one knew.

Britt launched herself around a rope, vaulting toward him in a few leaps. Her legs, much shorter than his, required twice as many steps to catch up with him.

“What’s happening?” she demanded. “You’re pale, breathing fast. Why are you holding your arms to your chest?”

His shoulders curled down. He couldn’t straighten. “No,” he snapped, even though it didn’t make sense. The curse wouldn’t let him say anything else.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

Britt threw herself in front of him, blocking his path. He spun out of her way before they crashed into each other. He charged hard for his cabin.

“Leave me alone!”

His toes curled underneath his foot. Soon, his feet would turn inside. He wouldn’t be able to walk.

Britt insisted, hurried behind him. “Answer me! You look awful. Sweaty and shaky and nervous, like something terrible happened.”

He stopped, a breath from her face, and wrenched out, “None. Of. Your. Business.”

“But—”

“Go away!”

Pedr shoved his shoulder into his cabin door. Britt followed with dogged persistence that would, at some point, wear him into utter madness. He whirled around, startling her. She drew up, a breath away from slamming into his chest yet again. His shoulders heaved, his throat burned.

He barely managed to say, “Britt . . . I can’t . . . I can’t tell you,” before he choked.

Her eyes widened. “Why? What can’t you tell me? What’s happening?”

His golden eyes bore into hers. He hooked his foot around the door as his ankle canted to the side. Until it straightened, he’d limp painfully or not be able to walk. Too much more of this questioning, and his other foot would do the same.

“I can’t ,” he whispered.

The door slammed shut behind him.