Page 45 of The Queens and the Kings (The Isles #2)

brITT

Britt awoke with Denerfen’s wing sprawled over her face, brushing the tip of her nose. Chuckling, she plucked him off her cheek and rested him against her neck, where he tightened into a ball, snorted his displeasure, and fell into a wheezy sleep.

A coral and orange sunrise swirled against the eastern dome, while the torrents of an inky black storm rose from the western horizon.

The same storm circled like a dark heart.

It had grown farther north and south. The size sent her heart pattering long before the smell of Henrik stirred at her side.

By the tangy scent alone, she recognized him and a thrill rushed through her. She luxuriated in his heat, his closeness, as vague memories of falling asleep on the deck lazily surfaced.

Henrik’s body elongated as he stretched the muscles along his chest. His arms reached overhead. Darkness retreated to the edge of the sky, which meant they’d only have a few more minutes of privacy. Pedr emerged around sunrise, if he tucked into his berth at all.

She rolled onto her stomach, propping her elbows beneath her, and met Henrik’s sleepy eyes. With thoughts of Selma and questions of his late night return twirling in the back of her mind, she murmured, “Henrik?”

“Good morning.”

Grateful to see goodwill, and not something turbulent, she returned his smile. The intensity of his eyes could only be described as soulful. She set a hand on his arm. The skin tightened in reaction.

“How was Selma?”

Henrik glanced at her, rueful as ever, and sighed. “You waited up for me, didn’t you?”

Laughing, she said, “Not very successfully. I fell asleep.” Her lashes tapered. “And I have vague recollections of your return.”

He smiled. “Yes, we spoke but very briefly. How did you know to wait up?”

She smirked. “I’m an exceptional guesser.”

“Pedr?”

Sobering, she nodded. “He said that you received a message from Selma. I assumed that’s why you were gone.”

Henrik lifted his brow as if to concede the point, then used a hand to scrub the sleep off of his face.

“You were correct.”

His tone implied no further discussion, so Britt returned to her back, eager to watch the changing sky.

She reached for his hand, and he accepted.

His willingness to touch eased the frisson of insecurity that thrived between them.

When these life-shifting events stopped hitting them every day, the moment to define themselves would come.

That moment was not this moment, not with Selma at the tip of his tongue.

What would he need to feel safe enough to tell her?

Britt let the silence ride until she couldn’t. “My parents died when I was nine,” she whispered.

His hand squeezed hers.

“Nine?”

She licked her lips, all too aware that she hadn’t spoken about their death much beyond here or there when a rare soul happened to ask.

As a rule, General Helsing didn’t speak about her deceased brother, nor did she enjoy mention of him in memoriam.

Not out of bitterness, but the pain of lost love.

As much as General Helsing could love anyone, she loved her brother.

“I remember the moment Pedr returned to tell us. Malcolm and I were on the beach, waiting for them to return. My aunt was somewhere else. I can’t remember where.”

Memories swept her back to that day, the sand hot beneath her feet, the sun unbearable overhead.

Malcolm had been tense at her side, his fingers sweaty as he held onto hers.

Something foretold disaster in the swagger of Pedr’s legs as he thudded down the dock, the thrumming worry in Malcolm’s grip, and the way he sucked in a breath and held it when Pedr crouched in front of them.

From the deepest heart chambers, she heard him whisper again.

“I’m sorry, Britt.” Pedr had choked. “I did everything that I could.”

His young freckled face, wild hair, disappeared from her mental view. The memory stopped.

“They were on a ship when a hurricane blew in,” she continued more steadily now. “Their vessel wasn’t able to withstand the giant waves, and it went down. Pedr was . . . somewhere nearby, I guess.”

“How?”

She shook her head, jostling Denerfen. Her dragul slid to the side of her neck and settled on the deck, curled around her tresses.

“He’s never told us. He was different afterward. Quieter, which probably isn’t a stretch to believe.”

Henrik mulled it over. Britt pressed her free hand to the deck beneath them, seeking grounding, fascinated by the slow change of the sky to brittle orange. The light that came before the sun peeked above the horizon.

“Is that when he became . . .” Henrik swirled a hand around, indicating the ship.

Britt cocked her head. She hadn’t thought of it that way before .

. . the timeline was uncertain. She had been so young at the time.

Pedr hadn’t always been this stuck to his ship.

He hadn’t been so powerful, so brooding, so intense.

But he’d always been tied to the sea. Always obsessed with the arcane and motion.

“Maybe,” she whispered.

“So you know what it’s like to lose your parents as a child,” he said with a quiet voice. She couldn’t decide if it was wonder or hurt that tinted his words.

“I do.”

“Why didn’t you mention it sooner? There are very few people that could understand such an event.”

“Because it’s still very different from what you experienced. So entirely, utterly different.”

His face scrunched, as if he didn’t quite agree.

Britt pressed a hand to her chest. “I may have lost my parents, but I still had my brothers, my island, my family. I wasn’t torn out of their arms in a parting so wretched that I still haven’t forgotten it decades later.

There was no reason for me to take the focus off of your search for Selma.

Besides, I didn’t know where our friendship would go.

Growing up, I had Malcolm and Pedr and, for better or worse, my aunt. ”

“Have you always called her General Helsing?”

“Yes, though I think the name Gertrude is lovely.”

“It suits her.”

Britt laughed. “Yes, it does. General Helsing also suits her personality very well. She’s uncomfortable with the intimacy that comes with first names.”

As hoped, he spoke. But not after a long, contemplative silence. “I understand.”

Greater questions and vulnerabilities built in her throat, but she couldn’t make herself say them. He spared her the agony by finally breaking his silence. “It was definitely Selma.”

She burst out, “You’re certain?”

He nodded, breathing a soft raspberry. “Having time to think and meet with Selma alone, without Alma hovering nearby or outside, made it easier.”

She rolled onto her side to face him again, bending her arm underneath her head as a pillow. Rushed and breathless, she demanded, “What are your impressions of Selma? What did you think? Tell me everything!”

To her utter delight, he continued to speak. His explanations, recounting, rolled out as if he spoke this much everyday, but she’d never heard so many words come from his mouth in one sitting. She breathed carefully, lest she move too much and break the spell that had stolen over him.

“When I left, I promised her I would see her again,” he concluded. “I stayed there for hours, and it seemed . . . natural enough.”

“When will that be?”

His head shook. “I don’t know, but I hope soon.”

Awed, she whispered, “I can’t believe she remembered Einar.” Britt giggled. “I mean, Noah. And that his name is Noah . You’ve not only found your family, but his, too. What a treasure. You have answers . ”

Henrik smiled. A rich, full smile she’d never seen before. It changed the energy of his face, illuminating his rich eyes. The rising emotion gave his profile a dark shadow, highlighting the joy in his expression with golden lines.

“Yes,” he drawled. “I can’t wait to tell him that he was also a bastid as a child, always getting me into trouble.”

Laughing, she said, “Some things never change! Einar doesn’t know about the meeting?”

“He knew I left, but he was asleep when I returned.” Henrik’s gaze tapered into an astute assessment. Rising instinct predicted what he was about to mention.

“You were gone most of the day, too, Britt.”

With a wry smile, she said, “Yes. Pedr sent me on an errand.” Eager to recount, she asked, “Can I tell you?”

Henrik smiled again. If he kept this up, she wouldn’t be able to keep her lips to herself.

“Yes, please.”

The Teller was a poor recounting after the emotional highs and lows of Henrik meeting Selma, but the opportunity to share her theories and thoughts was welcome, all the same. Henrik’s instinctive calculation and quick mind didn’t disappoint.

“So the Wyvern Kings are, supposedly, awakening from a thousand year banishment bestowed by the equally powerful Siren Queens?”

“Yes.”

“Whom you think,” he continued with a steady thoroughness, as if he put each clue together one at a time, “put some kind of curse on Pedr that prevents him speaking about them?”

“Yes.”

“Hmmm.”

Britt could only wait one minute, watching the cogitation behind his lovely eyes, before she demanded, “Well? What do you think?”

Henrik placed his hands over his eyes and groaned. “I think this is insane. Wyvern Kings? Siren Queens? It was easier when His Glory was our only problem.”

“But it has to be real, right? Pedr is an Arcanist. There are wyverns attempting to escape the mainland, and some force attempting to keep them from flying west.”

“Well . . . yes. But we still don’t know what threat the Siren Queens pose against us. They fear the Wyvern Kings, but what does it mean for humans? For islanders? Nothing good, clearly. But what ?”

“No idea,” she agreed reluctantly.

“Pedr can’t tell us?”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“What does war between the Wyvern Kings and the Siren Queens matter to us?” he asked, but without diffidence. True curiosity lurked in the corners of his eyes. “Would the Siren Queens, if defeated, come here? Or is it the Westlands that they fight over? That’s what Jordaire mentioned, right?”