Page 5 of The Queens and the Kings (The Isles #2)

brITT

After walking alongside General Helsing toward the outer edge of the undermountain, a wave of solace swept through Britt. Any portion of Dragul Mountain would always be home, which meant she had finally arrived, and fully survived.

Denerfen and Tesserdress, too.

Blessed relief.

A veranda opened up to the sea, cut into the rock to allow fresh air. Rain slicked the porous floor, tinkling from splattering water. She trailed her fingers in the dropping waterfalls as they passed, grinning.

As they veered away from the veranda, they entered a hallway protected by the undermountain interior.

Only a few steps away, General Helsing pushed open two doors and stepped into her office.

Another, separate veranda opened the other side of the room, but retractable windows protected her interior from the weather.

The familiar space brought a second wave of relief. The driftwood desk, the mossy overlook that led to an open view of the ocean, and the smell of growing things. Usually, she loathed standing in this space. Today, it felt restorative. A piece of home that still existed.

She’d changed.

Home hadn’t.

The short-lived comfort ended quickly. Malcolm and Tesserdress also survived, but Britt brought a host of other problems to solve, answers to provide, a budding war between islands to avoid, and most important of all .

. . a trip to the mainland. They could only do that with General Helsing’s support.

Namely, supplies.

Pedr would take them anywhere Britt asked because he’d be eager to leave General Helsing’s vicinity, and it had been years since she’d sailed with him.

Whether Pedr would admit it or not, he grew lonely on the wide seas and constantly attempted to persuade her to join.

But in order to leave, they’d have to re-outfit the ship with food, fresh water, and other necessities.

The week-long passage to the mainland required more than Pedr stocked for himself.

Britt owned nothing very special beyond dresses, a few trinkets passed down from her parents, a sculpture from Pedr, and some books.

Except for Denerfen, she led a simple island life.

Malcolm could offer a piddling amount compared to their aunt.

And certainly not if General Helsing outlawed Malcolm’s assistance, which she had done in the past. General Helsing’s continual irritation with Pedr made such outlawing rather realistic.

Denerfen twirled off Britt’s shoulder and soared through a window, canted open, landing in the middle of the rain-soaked veranda.

Britt chuckled as he flapped around, dodging from puddle to puddle, cooing as he rubbed his wings against Kapurnickkian moss, where he often curled up to sleep in his dark, rocky, lazy mountains.

He chirruped.

“Let me reassure you that we won’t be home for long,” Britt said before General Helsing could level her fierce stare. “I’m not sure what Malcolm told you about events in Stenberg and the Unseen Island.”

General Helsing rounded her desk, pivoting with militaristic exactness even when no one but Britt would observe the formality. That was her aunt. Her father’s sister. A woman as rigid as the Stenbergian sea god Norr.

Her aunt stopped behind her pristine desk and took Britt’s full measure again.

The probing stare was commonplace, but unnerving.

Every wrinkle in Britt’s brow and fold of her skirt earned analysis.

She fought the urge to shuffle her weight from foot to foot.

When General Helsing smelled a weakness, she made it known.

Out of a weird sort of protective instinct.

“Why won’t you be here long?” General Helsing asked as if the twenty seconds of silent interrogation hadn’t occurred. “You just returned, and your dragul who certainly needs to rest.”

Britt cast a sidelong glance to Denerfen, who flopped into a puddle and cooed, eyes closed.

“He’s fine,” she said.

“Why?”

“I made a promise to Henrik that I intend to keep.”

The duration of General Helsing’s silence made it clear this was news. She didn’t waste time with known information.

So.

Malcolm hadn’t told General Helsing everything in his long and detailed missives.

Granted, most of their voyage passed with Britt and Malcolm struggling to recover.

Malcolm from his broken, lacerated arm, and Britt from the reopening of the whip wounds that Captain Oliver bestowed on Stenberg. Her wounds had healed to healthy scars.

Her aunt pressed her fingertips to her desk and leaned on them. “What promise was that?”

“We believe Henrik’s mother lives on the mainland, or she did. I promised him that I would help find her.”

And I won’t abandon him now, s he silently added.

Too much happened at the Unseen Island for her to discard this purpose. Emotions stirred up, and those emotions flapped around like heart draguls.

General Helsing released a noisy breath through her nose. “Why does his mother matter?”

“Every mother matters, Aunt.”

“You will address me as General Helsing like everyone else,” she snapped, and something withered inside of Britt. “Henrik is a soldat by his own admission,” she continued with heartless brutality. “Does he have a mother?”

Britt glared, refusing to give such a horrid statement a response.

General Helsing, too wrapped up in her own surprise to notice Britt’s lacking rebuttal, murmured, “The mainland, you say?”

Britt ventured a hesitant, “Why do you ask?”

“No reason. Why must you go with him?”

Britt hardened her resolve, leaving irritation to bleed into her response. “I fulfill my vows, General Helsing .”

“You have draguls to take care of. What of that vow?”

“They have Rolf. He’s been a Keeper far longer than me.”

“There are other women that can accompany Henrik, if that’s what he needs.”

“It’s me he needs.”

“The soldat can’t cross the sea without you?”

Britt gritted her teeth.

“You have been gone,” General Helsing continued heartlessly. “It’s hardly fair to expect the other Keepers to pick up your slack.”

Britt swallowed the words, I was saving the draguls, not going on holiday.

“I’ll speak with the other Keepers first, if that would make you feel better.”

“That’s beside the point. You have a habit of making vows that you can’t always uphold, Britt. Given the opportunity, I think you’d make a vow with a mussel, should it serve your own flippant desire for freedom.”

The caustic words didn’t sting the way they might have years ago, but they did stoke an ever-burning rage. The bellows of Britt’s long and delicate fury toward her aunt roared to life, and she remembered why the pleasure of escaping Kapurnick to save Malcolm had been so tempting.

“I wasn’t asking permission, Aunt.”

“You should be,” General Helsing immediately replied, and without a hint of inflection. “You have a responsibility to our island. Several responsibilities, if you’d like me to list all the draguls under your care. You may be bonded with Denerfen, but that doesn’t negate the lives of all the rest.”

Britt’s fingers tightened. “Negate? I just spent the last two months saving our draguls. Tesserdress wouldn’t have made it without Malcolm, and she’s our best hope for our dying dragul race.”

“So you say. Others may have been just as capable of finding Malcolm as you.”

“You think I’m lying?” Britt thundered. “I never insinuated?—”

General Helsing held up a fist, stopping her short.

“You’re twenty four years old, Britt. Five years past the age of adulthood and accountability.

I hold no hope of speaking sense into you, and I appreciate that there is no control I exert over you, but you may never speak that way to me again if you want to remain a Keeper on Dragul Mountain. ”

Britt sucked in a breath to keep herself from speaking. If they didn’t require supplies so desperately, she wouldn’t hold her words in her throat, where they swelled until they hurt.

It’s not fair .

Of course it wasn’t fair. Nothing with her aunt had ever been fair.

General Helsing tightened her jaw, the muscles flexing, as she waited for Britt to counter. When Britt didn’t rise to the occasion, General Helsing calmed. In the quiet, Britt saw her only chance.

Her impossible chance.

“Henrik saved me, Malcolm, Denerfen, and Tesserdress. As such, we have an honor-bound obligation to help him.”

Displeasure seeped from her aunt.

“Did he?”

“In pursuit of honoring his help,” Britt said carefully, “I came to ask if we might outfit Pedr’s vessel for a voyage to the mainland to search for Henrik’s mother. Not for myself, but for Henrik. Without him, we would not have returned. Kapurnick owes him gratitude. For the draguls,” she added.

General Helsing licked her lips.

Britt fidgeted in the quiet. Her dowager aunt would never acquiesce for two reasons. One, she wouldn’t outfit Pedr. Two, she wouldn’t support what she’d deem as a frivolous mission, even if the vague notion of honor had been invoked. General Helsing was too efficient for matters of the heart.

The rain slowed on the veranda. Crashing moisture and cracking thunder gave way to rolls and purrs. The lightning swept onward. Day would grow into evening, and night would pass without the sunset. Disappointment was palpable. Britt missed the wash of colors on Kapurnick’s emerald water palette.

“A ship like Pedr’s requires many resources,” General Helsing stated.

“He doesn’t need a full stock, just enough for a run to the mainland. I’ll . . .” Britt cast about for a response. “. . . figure it out from there.”

The pinched disapproval on General Helsing’s face expressed her opinion of that plan.

“Rolf sent me updates and reports on the other draguls while I was convalescing on the ship,” Britt hurried to say. Their time diminished, and she wanted out of here. “The draguls have been fine without me and Denerfen. Getterbett bonded with?—”

“ Convalescing on the ship?” General Helsing asked sharply.