Page 47 of The Queens and the Kings (The Isles #2)

Arvid’s hesitation elongated the air, heavy and dark. “I believe that’s correct, yes. I think His Glory is going to send an official refusal of trade and potentially ignite a war.”

Henrik’s lips twitched. “No matter what we do, His Glory will start a war with the mainland.”

“Correct.”

“He’s a fool. What could he do without the soldats? And why start a war he’s unlikely to win?”

“That’s the question,” Arvid countered with surprising ease. “He wouldn’t send a message guarded by a soldat without knowing what result it will have, nor would he get into a war with the mainland without an express purpose.”

“Has he lost his mind?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

Einar thumped a fist into the table. “Arvid, this is our chance! We tell the Ladylord your plans tonight, then the three of us take one of their lightest ships and leave. If Pedr’s willing to help us get there faster than normal, we could take a southerly route to avoid the messenger soldat, arrive ahead of time, and strike.

The Ladylord would delay the returning soldat messenger a little bit to buy us time. It’s perfect!”

Arvid, seeming to have the same conclusion in mind, looked at Henrik. His silent question gave Henrik more power than she would have expected from a Stenberg Captain.

Britt held her breath.

Did Henrik want this power?

“Assuming,” Henrik said carefully, “that the message does start a war, yes. Einar is correct that we have a narrow window of opportunity. Although, you’re still betting on speculation and assumption.

His Glory has no reason that we know of to begin a war, so there’s a reasonable chance the message might be something else. ”

“What?” Arvid asked.

Henrik shrugged, but trouble shadowed his eyes, “I don’t know, but it would be foolish to make assumptions when war is at stake.”

Einar sent him a hard glare. “Henrik, this is an opportunity to stop any war from happening and stop His Glory. It doesn’t matter what his motivation is. I will kill him regardless.”

“Maybe,” Henrik said.

“You think there are too many assumptions?”

“Yes.”

Pacing, Einar ran a hand through his hair. He expelled a sharp, frustrated breath. “His Glory is hoping for the message to buy him time to prepare for battle, with so few soldats remaining. That’s all.”

“But what battle?” Henrik pressed. “With what army? There must be something else.”

Weakly, Einar admitted, “I don’t know.”

Pedr, his tongue running over his teeth, spun to stare outside. After a moment’s contemplation, he tapped on the window pane and asked Britt, “See that?”

Her breath caught when the shadow emerged again, this time less nebulous.

Based on the contours alone, it was definitely a wyvern.

The flying figure cut through clouds to the north.

If she had to hazard a guess, the wyvern soared west. They were too far away from the mainland for it to fly over the sea alone.

The mainland must have another ship of the line with the wyvern.

“I see it.”

“Why,” Pedr quietly sang, “would a wyvern be this far out after what happened last time? Why again ?”

“No good reason.”

“Or a very good reason we don’t agree with,” he murmured, one hand curled around his lips.

“It must be with another ship of the line, no?”

“Or it has built up significant strength. The question is this,” he murmured with a blaze of curiosity. “If the wyvern is on a ship, why is the mainland risking another ship of the line and her crew? Didn’t go so well last time.”

“I don’t know.”

Behind them, the consensus finalized. Each soldat grasped hands in agreement. Whatever Henrik’s mysterious, unreadable gaze meant, he’d clearly promised a final fight against His Glory. Einar appeared far too pleased for anything less. Her chest flushed at the thought.

Would this take Henrik away from her permanently?

Or free him for good?

She sensed that his hesitation had everything to do with the weight of His Glory hanging in the distance. This was either the end, or the beginning.

“I don’t care what the soldats do,” Pedr said, “it has nothing to do with Kapurnickkians or dragul Keepers. The Stenberg soldats need to fix Stenberg. Stay with me, Britt. We have a ship to catch and our own mystery to figure out. Remember, you’re here for Kapurnick, not for Henrik.”

With those firm words she couldn’t rebut, Britt stroked her hand down Denerfen’s wings, enjoying his sleepy coo.

Pedr left, leaving Britt to scour the now-empty sky.

The soldats packed their belongings within ten minutes. Einar wrapped Britt in a brotherly hug, nodded to Pedr with far too much promise beneath, and happily hopped onto a rowboat that Pedr offered.

“It knows what to do,” was all Pedr promised.

Britt stood near Pedr’s quarters, watching while Henrik heaved his bag up onto the deck. He followed with spry steps up the final rungs. The grace with which he moved never ceased to amaze her. With a kick of his boot, the hatch closed at his back.

He hesitated in front of her. They stood two steps apart. He touched her cheek with his thumb, palming her cheek in his hand in the most intimate caress he’d given. She held onto his wrist, leaned into his touch. Wind swept her blonde hair over her shoulder, whipping it like banners.

Henrik didn’t quite meet her eyes. “We’re taking Arvid right to General Nils so we can firm up our plan with the mainland. If we set sail before His Glory’s soldat arrives, we have a chance to stop a war before it begins. If that’s what His Glory is doing.”

“Be as safe as you can.”

He tucked a strand out of her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” She gave a quick smile. “Being a selfless hero? Doing what you are called to do? Rushing off to save those who need you?”

His frown deepened. He shook his head. “I don’t know who I am or what I’m sorry for, just that I am. I . . . I don’t want to go.”

She leaned closer to whisper, “I know who you are, Henrik.” Her hand rose, pressed to his chest. The thud of his heart rapped steadily.

“No matter what your mind tells you, a heart as powerful and compassionate as yours wouldn’t stand off to the side.

Nor do I expect you to stay behind and comfort me. ”

His haunted gaze locked with hers.

“I have to do this.”

“You do.”

“Until I release myself from His Glory, from Stenberg, I’ll never belong to myself. By extension . . . to you.”

It was the firmest explanation he’d given.

“I trust you, Henrik. But,” she squeezed his fingers, “I do expect you to be safe. Pedr and I have our own mysteries to solve, anyway. I’ll be busy saving Kapurnick while you’re off saving Stenberg. It fits.”

She forced a lighthearted tone that lied. The wrenching separation created an awful chasm. Unstoppable, unavoidable.

“Return to me,” he commanded. Not a question, not a plea, and certainly not a request.

“I will. Same to you.”

Henrik wrapped a hand around her neck, pulled her close, and kissed her deeply.

She melted into him. His arms wrapped her back, held her close.

Every bone turned to liquid, every thought to fire, until she clung to him to stay upright.

Henrik was all softness and warmth. Tenderness turned corporeal.

When she tilted her head to deepen the kiss, his tongue invading the seam of her lips, he turned her inside out.

Breath taken, she clung to his shoulders. He tightened his arms around her waist. Pressed against his hard chest, her lips tingling at his touch, a chorus of wolf whistles and taunts shouted from Einar. She ignored him, grinning, as Henrik reluctantly pulled away from the too-short kiss.

“A promise for later,” he growled.

Foreheads pressed together, she smiled. “Take care of yourself, soldat. There’s more waiting for you where that came from.”

He pressed their lips together in a savage promise, tore out of her arms, threw the pack onto his back, and stalked across the ship.

Britt watched him go, breathless. Every muscle in her body wanted to follow him, but Denerfen’s stirring presence on her shoulder drew her thoughts to her responsibilities.

Eyelashes fluttering, she made herself take a deep breath.

She had promises to her old life, just like Henrik. Kapurnick needed answers. There were Wyvern Kings and Siren Queens and curses and other questions at play.

Pedr whistled once, twice. Light activated as he plucked ropes, shifting sails, moving canvas, altering their heading.

Ropes retracted, snaking away from the rowboat as the two broke apart.

Pink flames burst from Rosenvatten’s canvas sails.

Heatless, they wreaked no havoc, but as Pedr stood at the helm, the flames snapping, his beard burning with the same rosy fire, she couldn’t deny that he painted a terrible figure.

Britt lurched with the ship, holding onto the gunwale, as water boiled between them.

“You find me!” Henrik commanded from where he stood in the rowboat. “You find me, Britt, or I will find you. This is not goodbye.”

Her heart flopped in her throat. She nodded.

Pedr aimed Rosenvatten toward the wyvern who vanished into the clouds. Instinct told her that they headed toward an equally dangerous foe. Henrik faded, lost to wind and waves as she committed herself to her island again.

Denerfen nibbled on her ear. She stroked his scales.

“You and me, Den,” she murmured. “We’ll tell Henrik all about our adventures when he’s defeated His Glory.”