Page 51 of The Queens and the Kings (The Isles #2)

“I fear it’s too late,” she admitted, hands folded in front of her.

With her loose linen pants and erect chin, she had a regal, if not weary, profile.

“The Wyvern Kings’ agitation is increasing.

Their appetite, their irascibility, their obsession with the west is compounding without the damma.

A stable amount must be in their blood in order for them to remain wyverns.

Once that total amount has decreased . . .”

Her stark observation trailed into the ether.

“You’re sending wyverns to the Westlands, aren’t you?”

“We’re trying.”

“To assist them home?”

“To . . . cooperate.” Her hands spread to the side in a helpless gesture. “We have been suppressing the wyverns for hundreds of years. When they fully awaken, their righteous anger will be downright treacherous. If we haven’t attempted to make some amends, to help ?”

She sighed, rubbing a hand over her eyes.

“It was the Teller’s suggestion to allay the Wyvern Kings’ inevitable upset with their early rising.

But not all wyverns are awake enough. There is one that seems to understand everything, and others that seem to understand something.

Most of them appear confused. The damma isn’t out of their system enough for it to have been successful, and with ten years left, we aren’t sure what this might look like. ”

Which didn’t speak to the problem of the Siren Queens. Would the Siren Queens retaliate if they learned of the Ladylord’s help to the Wyvern Kings? No matter how Alma managed this situation, the mainland had two supposedly powerful enemies to allay.

Henrik had utterly no grasp on these compounding problems, nor what sort of war the Siren Queens might wage, but he understood the fear in Alma’s eyes.

Ideas kicked to life. Observations. Questions. Strategies to lessen the impact. He forced those to slow so he could focus on the matter at hand. He closed the distance between them with a few steps, speaking to the urgency in her eyes.

“Did you speak directly to His Glory when he stopped sending shipments?”

“Not me.”

“Who?”

“The former Lordlady had different opinions about this issue. One might say that my compounding concern over the mainland motivated my ascent to power.”

He nodded, understanding the undertone a little too readily.

“What if there’s enough damma powder to get you through until we can increase production again?”

With a sad smile, she said, “While I appreciate your fervor and willingness, it’s too late, Henrik. Surely, you know this. The wyverns are growing violent. Insistent to return west. The storm grows.”

They turned to face the broiling western horizon, the farthest reach stained inky black in a thin line. Though it lingered out of touch, the slow expansion promised that it wouldn’t forever.

In a whisper, she concluded, “The Siren Queens know, too.”

Henrik ran a hand over his head, thinking fast. “When they return to their original form, how powerful are the Wyvern Kings?” he asked. “Do you know?”

“No.”

“Does anyone?”

“Only the Teller. He says that the Wyvern Kings will be livid. Mercy and compassion will not be a priority after being trapped by the mainland.”

Unfortunately, he understood the feeling.

“According to legends” she continued, “the Wyvern Kings and Siren Queens are individually more powerful than all four Arcanists combined. Arcane originated within them, somehow, or they first harnessed it.”

Henrik cast about for something to say. He had a hunch this history was tied up into the stories Pedr couldn’t tell. Did Pedr know about this? Probably. Britt didn’t know this much, or she would have told him.

“Who else knows the full extent?”

“Me, you, and Nils. The Teller,” she added, “and perhaps Britt. I haven’t spoken with her lately. I don’t know what the Teller told her, only that she visited him. My other military leaders are aware that greater issues arise from losing the damma, but they aren’t yet aware of the extent.”

“Shite,” he muttered.

Her chin lifted. “This isn’t just about His Glory and Stenberg, Henrik. We need to do more than get rid of His Glory. We need to find who His Glory is working with to bring about the downfall of every innocent life in The Isles and on the mainland.”

“Is this why you’re heading east?”

She flung him an irritated glance. “The Teller believes that we’re going to need as much help as we can rally. I’m going to see whom I can provide.”

Henrik took his time absorbing the we in her sentence. All these braids wound into a greater whole. He liked none of it. If what she said was true, and all evidence pointed to a yes, they needed to load up Stenberg’s residents and flee.

Then they had to empty Kapurnick.

Narpurra.

What of the outer isles? So many small islands on the Chain . . .

“Henrik?”

He shook his head to extract.

“What?”

“There are many implications and plans to make, but His Glory comes first. We must know who he’s working for. All the better if you can destroy His Glory in the meantime, and who better than two of his former soldats?”

Ah.

This was a full circle. The reason the Ladylord so warmly invited him and Einar into her personal residence on his arrival. She had it right, at least.

“We’ll do it,” he said.

Her weakened breath surprised him.

“Thank you, Henrik. Truly. Tell Arvid and Einar, but not in front of my military command. I’ll brief them later, to prevent panic.

” She leaned closer, eyes bright, “You know this responsibility belongs to you. It’s yours to make right.

It’s you who have lost so much. After thirty years of separation, you held onto the dream of your mother and found her, which means you are worthy of leading a mission of hope.

Don’t tell me, soldat, that hope hasn’t been the siren song for most of your life. ”

The sound of running feet filled Henrik’s ears. His neck prickled as he twisted to glance over his shoulder and paused.

Einar.

He ran outright, legs flying. With impressive speed and skill, Einar leaped a fence, slipped around a boulder, and headed right for them. Cheeks puffing and flushed, Einar skidded to a stop in front of them.

“His Glory is here,” he panted. “There was a ship behind us, but it wasn’t a soldat. It was that bastid coming to surprise everyone.”

“How did you know?”

“Spotted at the wharf.” He looked to the Ladylord. “Twenty minutes away from reaching your office.”

The Ladylord spun on her heels, as crisp as an autumn day. “Then we must return before he arrives,” she concluded briskly, and with a sharp eye on Henrik. “Remember, Henrik. There might be such a thing as killing him too early.”