Page 30 of The Queens and the Kings (The Isles #2)

brITT

Drake flapped into the night, a message for Arvid tied to his back leg. Lightning streaked the distant, western horizon in a flash of brilliant purple, illuminating the winged dragon with a hiccup. Denerfen’s wings fluttered, as if he wanted to join Drake.

Britt held his tail.

“You’re staying with me.”

He succumbed to her gentle touch, rubbed his head against her jaw, then flew for Pedr’s berth, where Pedr kept small peppermint drops hidden in a drawer. Einar shoved away from the railing with a yawn.

“Night, Britt.”

“Ta.”

Britt stayed, alone, watching Drake meld into sky. The momentary lull helped her feel the extent of her fatigue. Sunrise hinted at the distant edge of the sky, and exhaustion tugged at her sore, tired muscles. Not even food had helped her feel better.

Pedr haunted her too thoroughly.

Unable to bear another moment alone, she spun on her heels, dropped through the hatch, and slipped down the dark hall. A vague glow illuminated a strip along the floor. She drew closer to it. After a light rap of her knuckles on his door, Henrik called, “Come in.”

He stood near an open porthole in his claustrophobically small cabin.

His packed bag sat in a corner off to the side.

Always ready. What a representative symbol of Henrik.

With his expression low, arms tight across his chest, and a ponderous line across his brow, he looked like the picture of a soldat prepared to flee at a moment’s notice.

Britt paused.

“Are you leaving?”

His head snapped up. “Leaving? No. Why?”

“You’re all packed.”

“I’m always packed.”

“But . . . why?”

Henrik shrugged. “Just in case.”

In case of what ? she longed to ask, but what was the point? In case of anything, probably. Britt closed the door behind her and exhaled. “Pedr still won’t let me into his quarters to check on him, but Denerfen gets in. That’s . . . something.”

“Do you need somewhere to sleep?”

“No. I can’t sleep while I’m worried about him, even if I’ve been up all night.”

“He needs some space. I’m sure you’ll work this out.”

Brow wrinkled, she admitted, “I was hard on him.”

Henrik shot her a half smile.

“You think?”

She pushed away from the door to join him at the porthole. A silky caress of fresh air slid over her cheeks. She closed her eyes, leaning into it. The stuffy ship collected air and humidity through the day, providing a stark contrast to the cool breeze.

“Is Denerfen with Pedr now?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Henrik chuckled, a rumbly sound that resonated through his chest. “He likes Pedr.”

“Pedr feeds him peppermints.”

“That’s the secret?”

She smiled. “I guess so.”

Exhaustion weighed on her. She wanted to slide into the folds of sleep and forget the whole day, but she couldn’t. Not with concern for Pedr interrupting every other thought. Not to mention wyverns and unknown minerals, amongst many perils. Like the Ladylord.

The Ladylord!

Her eyes flew open. Henrik and Einar had met the Ladylord on their own today. Before her harried questions escaped, she studied Henrik’s subdued expression. Subdued was relative to Henrik. He had the visually emotive power of a plant.

But something was off.

Very off.

“How was your day in Klipporno with Einar?”

“Fine.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“ Will you talk about it?”

He sent her a long suffering expression that, despite her fatigue, made her smile. After a long pause, during which she considered leaving and trying later, he said, “Einar and I met with her yesterday. Eventually. At the end, we agreed to meet with the Ladylord’s General, but that’s it.”

Her brow wrinkled. “But I thought?—”

“It didn’t work out that way,” he quickly said. A story lurked in what he didn’t say.

“Oh.”

He brushed it off. “We’re going to help them advance on Stenberg, if only to make sure they aren’t hurting innocent citizens.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Alma mentioned a mineral called damma, also known as sealstone. Have you heard of it?”

Her curiosity prickled.

“Mineral, you say?”

He nodded, running a tongue over his teeth. Moonlight canted through the porthole, lining his taut features.

“Mineral,” he confirmed.

“Like. . . the mineral the Keepers spoke about?”

“No idea, but it seems rather likely.”

“Damma?”

He nodded.

Despite searching for mental memories, she recalled nothing. “No, I can’t say that I have.”

“Supposedly, it’s an export from Stenberg. His Glory hasn’t been keeping up with promised shipments, and she’s willing to go to war over it.”

Blinking, she murmured, “They must be the same, right? The Keepers spoke about a missing mineral that hadn’t arrived and Alma?—”

“I think so.”

“What’s damma for?”

“She wouldn’t say. Only said magical suppression .”

Dots connected one at a time, from the abandoned Stenberg frigate, to the powder, to the inability of Pedr’s ship to obey his command until they left the frigate behind. Pedr had been mumbling under his breath about it ever since it happened. Her thoughts stalled, pooling in surprise.

“The mineral that the wyvern Keepers wanted, and the powdery stuff on frigate number thirteen.”

He jerked his head toward the porthole. “Einar sent a message to see if Arvid knows anything about it, just in case.”

The conversation fell into a contemplative lull. The words, Did she mention your mother? failed. He looked so uncomfortable, so nervous. Closed. She didn’t have the heart to ask something heavy and emotional.

Wasn’t that the problem? It never felt like a good time to ask emotional things of Henrik. She’d never be able to define what she felt for him when she hesitated over asking a simple question.

With soldats, nothing emotional was ever simple. So she deferred to the only way he’d responded positively in the past.

She touched his forearm.

“Henrik, are you all right? You seem . . . off.”

His arm twitched, but he didn’t pull away. “I don’t know.” She let the admission hang there. He added, “Alma said that a woman of great interest to me would be available after we assisted them.”

“Selma?”

“I am assuming so, but she didn’t confirm.”

Henrik met Britt’s curious gaze. He turned, lifted a hand. The back of his knuckles caressed her cheek, sending fire that roared all the way to her toes. He rarely touched her in a way that wasn’t justified by safety, or need.

So raw those eyes, staring at her with a blackened, scarred heart.

“I can’t give you what you deserve, Britt.”

Whispering, she asked, “What do I deserve?”

“Stability. Love. Time. Safety. I’m a soldat. You deserve better.”

She immediately replied, “That’s up to me, not you.”

“I have no say at all?”

The poignant question felt like an arrow through her heart. “What are you trying to say, Henrik?”

“I’m a soldat. A man of war. No matter how much I want away from this life, it follows me. With it comes danger, and I won’t put you in danger. I won’t.”

“Again,” she said slowly, “that isn’t your decision to make.”

His nostrils flared as he drew in a steady breath.

“I think it is.”

Britt captured his hand in hers, squeezing his fingers. “I’m not a fool, Henrik. I care about you, and it’s only getting worse.”

Color rose to his cheeks. He chuckled. She giggled softly with him, holding his cool fingertips even tighter.

“This is real for me.”

He met her gaze again. “It’s real for me too, Britt, but it’s not about reality.”

“It’s about safety.”

Relief filled his eyes. “Yes. You understand.”

She retorted with a smile. “Good! I’m safest when I’m with you, aren’t I? All the more reason for us to be together!”

Too solemn, he asked, “Is that what you want?”

Her heart slammed in her throat. “Yes! Do you?”

Blinking, he whispered, “I think so,” very slowly.

He growled, “But the logic isn’t the same.

Yes, I will always protect you, but that doesn’t mean you’re safe with me.

” His eyes dropped to her breastbone. He put a gentle fist on top, over her thudding heart.

“This, Britt. I don’t know enough about this . ”

She leaned closer, foreheads pressed.

“What you know is enough for me, Henrik.”

He closed his eyes, breathed deeply. His hands came to her arms, holding them tight. The nearness entranced her. She was spellbound, flying. So close to his lips she could almost taste the emotions at the back of her throat.

“I want it to be the same, Britt, but I don’t know. Something is pulling me back to Stenberg. I need to fix it first. I need to close that out completely—make it so I don’t have to think about it again—in order to belong to you. I’ll never be free while His Glory wreaks havoc on the island.”

Honorable to a fault. Henrik did everything right, but gave himself no credit for it. How well she understood that drive, that need to close the fearful loops. The same impetus pressed her to save Malcolm and Tesserdress.

She breathed, “I understand.”

“There’s no guarantee that I’ll come back from any fight. However, and whenever, I face His Glory, it isn’t going to be easy.”

“I trust you.”

Irritation tightened his jaw when he said, “Shite, Britt, but it’s not about trust. It’s about facts! Soldats are more likely to die than most. I’ve been lucky so far but that luck will run out one day.”

“You’re good at what you do, Henrik. That counts for something.”

“I don’t control this,” he said, his voice sharp.

“I know.”

“I don’t want you suffering like Einar.”

Britt shuffled closer. Their chests pressed together, hearts bouncing off each other. She whispered, “That’s not your problem,” and almost smiled when his fury doubled.

“If it’s protecting you, yes it is my problem! It’s not fair of me to ask anything of you before I face His Glory.” He paused, the cadence slowing as he opened his fingers, loosening his tight grip. “But I want to.”