Page 38 of The Queens and the Kings (The Isles #2)

brITT

A warm breeze whispered off the ocean, trailing Britt’s hair behind her shoulders.

She leaned her arms on a metal gate that encircled Alma’s garden, thriving with the colorful, bobbing heads of wildflowers.

Plump green matto vegetables and a deep blue vine, edible when cooked, wound around trellises jutting out of the soil.

Rich soil, too. Gathered by wind and time and the myriad of fields stretching into eternity beyond them.

At her side, Alma said, “Henrik is quite an enigma.”

“Is he?”

“Don’t you agree?”

Britt hesitated. Giving any details about Henrik felt wrong without him present, but she also didn’t know what to do with this Alma. There was a distance in her eyes. An edge. This wasn’t the maternal figure she visited once or twice a year through most of her adolescence.

“This has to be hard for him,” Britt said, because it felt like the only thing she could.

The sincerity must have revealed her reservations, because Alma quietly said, “Give them time.”

“It’s good to see you again, Alma. I . . . I had no idea you wanted this position.”

A semblance of familiarity wrinkled Alma’s eyes. She raised her thin hands to hold onto the fence. The casual stance gave her an unusual normality, as if she didn’t hold the fate of hundreds of thousands of lives in her hands.

“Not many did. A few knew. Nils, in particular,” Alma added as an aside, “but I have long wanted to make the mainland a better and more stable place.”

Britt returned her gaze to the sea. A dozen questions surfaced and few of them had anything to do with Henrik. How did you take over from the Lordlady? What does Carina think? The invasive queries would never leave her tongue, but they swirled.

“Thank you, Alma. You didn’t have to do this.”

“Don’t pretend that I haven’t made the situation mutually beneficial,” Alma said lightly, but with an undercurrent that set Britt’s hair on edge.

“You know me as Alma, but I am more than her. I am now the Ladylord. I understand that there is always a time for mercy and compassion. A time to give instead of take. But as the Ladylord, there must be an integration. Henrik is helping us deal with a growing problem, which is why I am willing to help him.”

The issue of the wyvern at Kapurnick occupied the back of Britt’s mind. She hadn’t forgotten about the damma and the problems His Glory posed. Only General Helsing’s insistence that she not mention the wyvern at Kapurnick kept her lips sealed.

That and Alma’s . . . difference.

What if Alma had sent that wyvern to Kapurnick?

Did they attempt to transport the beasts in order to attack the Isles?

That didn’t explain the otherworldly force that clashed on the open sea.

West and east currents. Winds. Gales. With so much she didn’t know, she had no ground to ask wise questions.

Time to change the direction of this conversation.

“How do you keep it all straight?” Britt asked. “All the quarrels and the needs and the information about the mainland? Feels overwhelming.”

A flattered smile split her lips. “This is my life, dear Britt. When it is all you live and breathe, like your draguls, it is simply part of you. There is no keeping it all straight. It simply is.”

The calm pronouncement, and quick glance at Denerfen, who snuggled into Britt’s shoulder, his tail twitching under her dress strap, deepened Britt’s astonishment. She cast a glance at the house.

“How certain are you that she’s the right Selma?”

“According to my scribes, in the last thirty years, there’s only been one woman from Stenberg banished to the mainland for embarrassing her family.

The former Lordlady took pity on her and gave her a job because her story was so sad.

It was . . . quite a deal over here. Another reason to hate Stenbergians, though lubbers don’t require much. ”

“Did the Lordlady get information about His Glory from her?”

“Undoubtedly,” Alma quickly replied. “At least, to some degree. He wasn’t without mercy either. It is part of our role. We stay in the midline. We represent all walks of life—the wealthy and prosperous, the poor and needy. Justice and mercy reside on the same coin.”

“Banished for embarrassing her family,” Britt murmured, running the words, the horrid concept through the shocked filters in her mind.

How could it be?

“She’s lived a steady, lovely life here on the mainland,” Alma continued. “Minus a few small issues, of course. The same that we all have.”

Britt couldn’t imagine what a few small issues might actually represent.

With any luck, she’d one day ask Selma herself.

A distant figure in the sky, dark wings unfurled, caught her gaze.

Her breath almost caught at the sight of the flying wyvern, too far away to tell if it was the same wyvern from days ago.

What a perfect opportunity.

“Do you often see the wyverns?” she asked, making a point to stare right at it.

An unreadable expression overcame Alma’s face as she caught wind of the creature. Twisted with concern, perhaps. A flash of fear.

“Often.”

“I’ve only ever seen one wyvern flying,” Britt continued. “How many are there?”

“Many.”

“Do they all fly?”

“One would presume.”

The abysmal responses nudged Britt’s suspicion closer.

As she tried to dredge up a question Alma might answer, the wyvern swirled to the west. Within minutes, if it kept up that pace, it would soar out of sight. It couldn’t go far, though. According to history, the wyverns’ stamina wasn’t great.

Or was it?

Did they know anything about the creatures except assumption, or what the mainland said? What she observed on the ocean cast all truths into doubt. Not to mention the phrase Wyvern Kings .

“They didn’t used to fly so far away,” Alma added in a musing undertone. “It’s impressive, and terrifying, to see their strength increasing.”

“Why would it increase?”

Alma turned to face Britt fully. Her calm eyes, a slate ocean without wind, peered into her. “Is Henrik truly dedicated to getting rid of His Glory, Britt?”

The question left her breathless. She answered honestly.

“I believe so.”

“His confidence isn’t as certain as Einar, nor his hunger for revenge.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Nils and I have no qualms about Einar. I can see in Einar’s eyes that his bloodlust is strong enough for me to work with, but Henrik has not yet convinced me.”

“That’s why you found Selma?”

A slight head nod. “Yes, and Henrik did show up to the meeting with Nils, made a plan, and showed some motivation toward our mutual enemy. It was all I sought, so I was willing. And it was the right thing to do,” Alma added with a touch of humanity that reassured Britt she wasn’t entirely lost.

Britt’s thoughts raced. “I would never presume to speak for him. As his friend, I can say that Henrik is . . . experiencing a lot. He lost his . . .”

She wavered over the word home . Henrik had never claimed to have a home. Nor a family, except Einar, and Einar was at his side.

“Certainty,” she concluded. “He lost his certainty.”

Alma made a sound deep in her throat. Britt opened her mouth to speak again, hoping to press into why the wyverns would be flying so far and so singularly, but a noise stopped her. The door opened, then closed. Henrik, striding fast, disappeared out of the yard in three strides.

Britt straightened. Denerfen stirred, calling out as Henrik vanished from sight, his expression anguished. Denerfen leaped off her shoulder, flying for the garden gate.

“Go,” Alma said, low. “He needs a friend. We can speak later.”

Britt jogged to keep up as Henrik wound the thin cobblestone roads that led to the sea, zigzagging across the cliffs, through pedestrian traffic. He concealed himself well to passersby. His steady focus and single-minded determination were no different than usual, but his eyes hid the turmoil.

Whether by intention or instinct, he led them to the wharf. There would be no getting information out of him there, so she set a hand on his arm and tugged. He paused, drawing up short.

“Here,” she whispered.

She pulled him into a park, set with green grass, smooth rocks that children tumbled around, and a quiet ring of trees that separated it from the rest of Klipporno.

The oasis against the bustling city was a welcome relief.

By some miracle, no lubbers lingered in the verdant square.

Once inside, Henrik drew in a deep breath that broadened already wide shoulders.

“Do you want to talk about it, Henrik?”

His lips clenched. “Not really, but I owe you more than silence.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“It was her.”

Her breath caught. Of course it was her. That had been obvious from the moment they stepped into the room. Whether Henrik saw it or not—she doubted he knew his own face well enough—he was definitely Selma’s son. The chin. The angle of his cheeks.

She faltered over a response. What could she offer?

Congratulations? Sympathy? Silence? The confounding emotions were confusing and deeply rooted.

Henrik chased this particular dream all his life.

She imagined the brutal, starving nights as a child, traumatically ripped from Selma’s arms. The dream of a loving mother must have sustained him through the dark. Her heart ached for him.

Henrik shook his head, drawing her back to the present. “I couldn’t stay.”

“That’s understandable.”

His sharp gaze cut to hers, lined with fury. “Is it?” he snapped. “Is it understandable? I finally met my birth mother and I left her crying in that room. The things I wanted to say?—”

He cut himself short.

“Yes,” she said with stoic calm. “Yes, that is understandable, Henrik. Both of you must have been overwhelmed and frightened. Meeting your mother after so many years was never going to be easy.”

He unwound. He dropped her gaze, fingers tightening into a fist at his side. “I . . . I don’t know how I feel.”

“That’s fair.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Also fair.”

Henrik spun to face the exit, but hesitated. His gaze darted to the thick-leafed canopy overhead. A stark, naked question tipped out of his lips.

“Why didn’t she fight harder?”

By sheer force of will, Britt maintained her equilibrium. She didn’t allow the agony of such a question to show on her face.

“Maybe she fought as hard as she could.”

“Not enough.”

“Alma said that Selma is the only woman that has been banished from Stenberg in the last thirty years. There’s a story about her being sent away for embarrassing herself and her family. When you’re ready for it, I’d wager Selma would be willing to share.”

He seemed to mull that over, like a soldat strategizing his next battle.

Perhaps that’s how this felt. Wasn’t everything a fight to the soldats?

An experience against misery, while leaning into tolerance of near abuse?

Minutes passed. The bottled, roiling emotions calmed, like a grim storm easing over the sea.

Henrik stood and offered her his hand, palm up. “It feels better when we’re holding hands.”

The vulnerable statement shattered her already quivering heart. She braided her fingers through his. “Yes,” she whispered. “It does.”

“Will the Ladylord hang this over my head?”

“What do you mean?”

“She did something for me, so I must?—”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’d be a fool to assume otherwise,” he countered, leading them out of the idyllic garden that, if she had her way, she’d never leave. His return to strategy and tactics was a welcome escape from the burn of sitting in that pain with him.

Intentional, certainly.

Unable to call her the Ladylord, Britt said, “Alma admitted that she isn’t sure what she thinks of you. She mentioned Einar, and understood his motivations, but not yours. She’s concerned you’re not committed to defying His Glory.”

Henrik snorted. “Good.”

“Why is that good?”

“I don’t want her to understand me.”

Britt’s jaw dropped. “You’ve acted that way on purpose?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Just in case.”

“Do you do everything just in case?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

He shrugged. “I let you stay in my cottage just in case you could get into the Archives.”

Britt laughed. “Well, sometimes it works in your favor.”

As they stepped into the road and the bustling sounds of Klipporno, he drew her closer. Her arm brushed his side. Their fingers tightened into a reassuring knot that, like Selma, was all he could do. His attention darted from left to right, taking in the ever-changing situation.

“Let’s go back to the ship.” She let out a fast breath. “I think you need some space to breathe.”