Page 40 of The Queens and the Kings (The Isles #2)
PEDR
Long after Henrik returned to his berth, Pedr studied the sparkling stars and scooping waves. The cards of fate often shuffled into a strange array. He’d only been Arcanist of the Sea for fifteen years, yet he understood fate’s misshapen timing very well.
Very strange timing.
Almost poignant.
Intentional.
What were the odds that the Wyvern Kings’ sojourn on the mainland ended just as upheaval hit the Isles? Was it mere coincidence? A tweak of fate?
Pedr mapped out what few tidbits Britt understood about his situation—that the Wyvern Kings were real, that Pedr couldn’t speak about them, that a curse locked his tongue, and something was wrong—against what she didn’t.
She had no idea that the Siren Queens existed, nor that they were the true nemesis.
In other words, Britt held a grain of sand against a desert.
Rebellion stirred in his blood all the same.
Fifteen years ago, the Siren Queens bound his tongue and lashed him to his ship.
They took Mila from him and cursed him to five hundred years of fruitless fighting for her, never knowing what tortures they would happily inflict on her in the meantime.
Britt knew none of that.
He couldn’t attempt to give Britt these details without it being a liability. If he continued to bind himself by his rebellion, he wouldn’t be able to sail the ship. They needed him to chase wyverns, or His Glory. Which meant he’d have to help Britt in other ways.
Sneaky ways.
The Siren Queens weren’t the only foes worth contending.
Wind blasted the portholes in Pedr’s quarters when he slipped inside several hours later. The smell of sausages and pan bread thickened the air, but it did nothing to stoke an appetite. He missed the enjoyment of food, so he felt no motivation for it.
Britt, perched on a chair, peered at him from the top of her latest book.
“Ta.”
He dropped to a seat in front of her, shoved a paper her way, folded his hands, and stared hard. She glanced at it, then at him, then back at the paper. With the tips of her fingers, she pulled it closer.
She read it once.
Again.
Britt lifted her gaze, head tilting to the side in silent question. “You want me to go see the Teller? But . . .”
He nodded once, shoved out of the chair, and headed for the door. They had one more day before Pedr’s new current would bring Arvid to the ship, which gave Britt just enough time to do her own research and connect the dots.
“Pardon me,” he called over his shoulder. “I need to return us to the bay so you can visit your friend.”
Understanding flooded Britt’s face as she stared at his retreating form. Good. She’d always been too intelligent to waste on Kapurnick. If they played it just right, the dots of this sordid mystery would connect in a rather important fashion.
Pedr shoved into the sunshine.
Time to come about.