Page 33 of The Queens and the Kings (The Isles #2)

HENRIK

General Nils, a wizened man with a pointed mustache and knowledgeable eyes, didn’t speak at all. Henrik, who never needed a reason to stay absolutely quiet, wondered if he’d met his match.

The Ladylord played her own game of power. Instead of just Nils, Alma had Carina escort Henrik and Einar into a room filled with a smattering of male and female military commanders. From across the room, Alma tipped them a salute with her wine glass and a saucy smile.

Touché.

They spoke in small groups, segregated into no more than four or five. None approached Henrik and Einar at the same time, and neither did Alma. At first, a lower General introduced himself, then swept them to two others.

After their first five minutes in the room, Alma vanished. Then again, she ruled all of the mainland. Surely, issues outside of Klipporno required her attention. Henrik would be an idiot to assume otherwise.

Einar readily carried conversations. With his bold, easygoing smile, he wheedled out information regarding the mainland leadership from every General. Answers flowed. If not detailed, at least not sparse.

The mainlanders tried to make a show of caring about the soldats, but it was painfully obvious that the Ladylord was the only person with interest in Stenberg.

Only General Nils, who said nothing for the first hour, showed shrewdness and longevity.

As the officers bled away, clearly having fulfilled their obligation to make small talk with the soldats at the Ladylord’s behest, only General Nils remained.

The moment the room emptied, Nils’ pretense dropped. He turned to them with an exaggerated, crisp turn.

“That’s finally out of the way,” he said brusquely, “now we can talk business. Do you, or do you not, want to be involved in our battle against His Glory? Attempt to convince me that anything less than a military attack will be required, if you like. It will be difficult.”

The edges of Einar’s lips lifted in amusement. “Good to officially meet you, General. How should we address you?” he asked.

“Nils is fine.”

The lack of formal diatribe, and the General’s requirement of it, was another point in his favor.

Einar inclined his head toward Henrik. “This is Henrik and I am Einar.”

The General gave a formal—if not annoyed—tilt of his head.

“We’re brothers,” Einar continued, “and we do everything together, but it would be more correct to say that I am the one most interested in a plot against His Glory, and to whatever extent you like.”

Einar sent Henrik a look, as if to say, your turn.

Henrik nodded. “I fight with Einar.”

Nils set an assessing eye on him, then back to Einar. “Why do you want to kill His Glory?” How refreshing, his straightforward approach.

“His Glory has taken enough from us,” Einar said with unflinching ice.

“We’re not interested in seeing him gain further.

We care about Stenberg,” he added. “The islanders are good, even if the leadership is not. We’re not willing to abandon the island.

We’d rather kill His Glory and allow good islanders to experience improved leadership. ”

“We share that, at least.” Nils glanced at Henrik. “You’re the one seeking his mother, right?”

Another nod.

Nils made a humph noise. “Well, the Ladylord will deal with that, but I thought it worth mentioning that there is a Selma from your island here. I remember her only because of her story.”

Henrik’s heart sped up, beating hard. He didn’t speak as Nils finished with, “She was cast out. Sent on a merchant vessel, actually. They made her work her way to the mainland and swore Stenberg would revolt if she ever returned.”

Revolt ?

That didn’t make sense.

“Thank you,” Henrik said.

“To the plan?” Nils inquired.

Einar nodded. “We have input into your plan, mostly based around geographic presence. The Ladylord let us read your written course of action the other day. A few of the officers discussed ideas you’re considering on your approach to Stenberg, and you have a few aspects wrong.

You can’t approach from the north. It’s too rocky.

No one approaches from the north. Or the east,” he added.

Nils smiled, and something diffident lived inside it. “That’s what they have told you. But the farther you venture into Elestra, the more you’ll realize that everything you understood to be true is a lie.”

Einar blinked once.

Twice.

Henrik snapped, “We don’t have time for vagueness or condescension. Get to the point.”

“Do you know that Stenberg can’t be broached from the north? Or is that something you’ve been told? Are you aware that there is a healthy and thriving port on the east in which ships dock and depart all the time?”

“That can’t be true,” Einar immediately countered. The certainty fled his voice.

Nils chuckled. “Have you personally been to that shore?”

“No,” Einar whispered.

Nils lifted his brow. “Are you certain that what I say can’t be true?”

A furious, “I’m not,” followed.

“We’ll consider what you just said,” Henrik said to buy Einar a moment to recover, “but it doesn’t change what we know for certain on the island itself, which is definitely more than you.”

Nils nodded. “I agree. We need an insider's knowledge on the city layout and schematics, including where to find His Glory.”

“You don’t find His Glory,” Einar cut in. “His Glory is ours. You can help us get to the island, but we,” he jerked a thumb between them, “get His Glory.”

“I don’t agree.”

“Those are our terms.”

Einar and Nils stared hard. Both resembled bottled lightning, spiked with bristling intensity, until Nils said, “I will listen to your plan for removing His Glory, but will abide by no commitment yet. In the end, we want him gone and someone amenable to our terms put into place, if it’s not too late. ”

If it’s not too late .

Britt had helped them tentatively link damma to the wyverns, but the mainland’s requirement for damma still didn’t make sense. Nils and the Ladylord shared a high motivation to figure this damma problem out, which steepened the cost on their side.

Nils cranked a thumb behind him. “Shall we discuss what you know, and what I know, so that we might plan together? As long as our objectives are met, I’m content we’ll come to an agreement. I have time right now, if you’re amenable, and to spare you another trip from your ship.”

“Now is fine,” Einar said.

Henrik agreed.

Nils swept his hand toward the two chairs. “Have a seat. Carina will bring refreshments, and we can get into nitty-gritty planning for our takedown of His Glory. I look forward to hearing your ideas.”

“Where’s the ship?” Einar growled.

They stood at the edge of the dock, staring at sparkling waters. The sun lowered toward a bank of clouds stretching all the way from north to west. Lighting cracked the western bulwark, visible in tiny flashes.

“No idea, but that storm wasn’t there earlier,” Henrik said.

“No, it wasn’t.”

“I guess we'll wait here until Pedr returns?”

Einar plucked a rock off of a nearby post and flung it into the water. It skipped across the top, plunging into a wash of waves.

“Unless you want to row into the bay and wait there during the storm?” he suggested.

Henrik’s nose wrinkled. Too many fools had ships and didn’t pay attention. Waiting in the bay, in a rowboat, asked for problems. Not to mention the incoming storm. The waves would swamp their little rowboat, and then they’d really be in trouble.

“I’ll pass.”

“I liked Nils,” Einar said, lounging back. “He’s to the point, and his military strategy is solid. He’s made more assumptions than I’d be comfortable acting on, but he didn’t balk when we made changes.” After a pause, he added, “Sometimes, you have to act on assumption.”

Did Einar speak about General Nils, or himself?

“I hate not having a plan,” Henrik muttered.

“Me, too. But we have one. It’ll be fine.”

The meeting with Nils alone had gone better than expected, mostly because it was short, succinct, particularly compared to the milling crowd before. Henrik admired Nils. Nils didn’t care about their ideas as much as he cared about the mission, which was ideal for the mainland’s military leader.

Realizing that Einar wanted a deeper reply, Henrik said, “Nils was fine.”

“His plan was more sound than I expected.”

“It had holes.”

Einar snorted, chucking another rock into the froth. “One can hardly blame them for holes. It’s a mainland strategy. Overwhelming an island like Stenberg with numbers and sheer force is a privilege that comes from a bigger navy.”

“It’s a bad strategy.”

“From their perspective, not really.”

“The challenge in overcoming His Glory revolves around cohesiveness,” Henrik countered. “The new leadership, our attack, the approach. We can’t decide this without Arvid present.”

“True. Otherwise, we risk the mainland choosing the next leader or killing innocents.”

“Success depends wholly on us getting a hold of Arvid in time. We still don’t know if there are enough people on our side to justify a full rebellion or not. We’re at the mainland making our own assumptions, aren’t we? We’re all bastids, in the end.”

“He’ll reply,” Einar said. “Soon.”

Henrik hoped so.

The dream of revenge cankered Einar’s smile. “Assuming, of course, that there are enough willing citizens to justify a rebellion. I can’t fathom a world where there wouldn’t be. Our plan will work. His Glory will die and we’ll?—”

He cut off.

Live the life we’ve always wanted, hung in the air between them.

Einar lowered to the dock, legs over the edge, one hand on his knife hilt near his side. A handful of people loitered near the dock, awaiting runners before they returned to their ships in the bay, anticipating the incoming storm. Most fled into their homes and battened down windows and doors.

Yet the storm didn’t approach.

Not really. It skirted the western edge, consuming sky.

Henrik remained standing. He didn’t like the thought of sitting in a crowded place, rife with unpredictable and instant drama. Einar’s devil-may-care approach to life didn’t surprise him. Not with Agnes gone.

Einar squinted up at Henrik. “Are you upset you didn’t meet Selma today?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I had no real expectation of it being today. I assumed we’d have to prove worthwhile before she released the dangling carrot.”

Einar growled in his throat. “The Ladylord left.”

“I noticed.”

“She’s stringing you along. She’s trying to act dicey, I think.”

“Doesn’t make sense.”

“We ticked her off the other day! We challenged her power. ”

Henrik shrugged.

Einar snorted. “Well, she can get used to it.”

Henrik ran his tongue over his teeth. Of course he wanted to see Selma, but . . . not yet. Not after a day dealing with the constant security risk that the mainland posed, and Nils. Everything about the bustling city with too many eyes inspired exhaustion.

Einar leaned back on his palms. “Where do you think Pedr went? The ship has always been right out there, in the bay.”

“No idea.”

Soon enough, the sun would sink beneath the storm, casting an early darkness.

Einar smirked. “You’ve always been a man of few words, Henrik, but today is something else entirely.”

“Shut up.”

Einar laughed. The momentary richness inspired a sense of hope. Amidst all the grief, Einar existed. Hope for revenge propped him up. After a long time without speaking, Einar broke the silence.

“I’m going to chase down the Arcanist of Souls.”

The firm pronouncement didn’t surprise Henrik. If any margin of confidence existed that Agnes might be alive, Einar would chase it to his own detriment. But the inscrutability of whether the desired outcome was possible concerned Henrik.

“You don’t know if that promise is real.”

“Pedr is an Arcanist.”

“That has nothing to do with Agnes.”

“He said that?—”

“Pedr didn’t guarantee it, according to the last time we spoke. Pedr being an Arcanist doesn’t mean the Arcanist of Souls can bring Agnes to life again.”

“You don’t know that,” Einar shot back.

“You don’t either.”

Grumbling, Einar muttered, “I know, but if there’s any hope, I have to chase it.

I have to. Pedr and his power is real enough, which means the other Arcanists must exist too.

” Einar’s jaw worked as he fell into silence.

“Pedr has no reason to lie to me. He hates most of us, except Denerfen and Britt. If he is full of shite . . .”

He trailed off.

Henrik didn’t want him to finish that sentence. “Then we’ll figure it out,” he said.

Einar grunted into the sullen silence. Henrik resisted the urge to clap a hand on Einar’s shoulder and say, She’s gone .

No one will bring her back. Einar wouldn’t listen.

His ears wouldn’t hear logic yet. The best Henrik could do was buy time.

The passage of days and hours until Einar was ready for reality.

“I’m here,” he said.

Einar nodded.

After an hour of simmering quiet, the sun glided below the horizon. The crackling, distant tempest illuminated the world with spiny lightning flashes.

Einar stood, stretching his arms over his head. He pointed at a familiar, burning pink sail gliding into the bay. “The bastid sails like he owns the place.”

“He sort of does.”

Relief flooded Henrik, all the same. Not only from his desire to leave the mainland, but to fix his eyes on Britt again. Speaking of His Glory and the slimy things that followed made his skin itch. Once he spoke with Britt, he’d feel better.

Everything felt better with Britt.