Page 65 of The Queens and the Kings (The Isles #2)

HENRIK

Stenberg appeared in a dark mist, silhouetted against a spray of clotted stars, three days later.

The land was thin, spread out, like clay against a flat rock.

Henrik had seen it appearing from the horizon hundreds of times in the past, but it never looked this gaunt.

Stenberg had been his home, for all intents and purposes.

Not anymore, and maybe never again.

He regarded the approaching island with a low curl of purpose that underlay so many of his confrontations. Their voyage had passed in record time thanks to good winds and steady speed, or maybe thanks to Pedr.

Could an Arcanist wield his authority from a distance? If so, Arvid should have also arrived well in advance. If Arvid hadn’t, they’d all likely die.

Einar clapped him on the shoulder. “Get your pack. The Captain is anchoring here, and the fleet is spreading out around the island. In an hour, you, me, and Nils are packing into the rowboat and heading for Stenberg.”

Henrik nodded once. His pack, ready at his feet, provided a steady weight against the uncertainties ahead. When nothing else had been in his control, he almost always had his pack.

After Einar strode away, Selma materialized at Henrik’s side with her usual calm smile.

With several days tucked behind them, she’d proven to be a quiet, inquisitive person, content to listen and absorb information.

He admired her pluck, and had the distinct feeling she understood beyond what she pretended.

Even by starlight and a thin, crescent moon, the anxiety in her features lay blatant. “You will be careful?”

“Of course.”

A hint of relief softened the tense corners of her mouth, tucked in near her cheeks. She whispered, “I’ll be waiting here for you when you return,” and squeezed his wrist.

He steeled himself for the most important battle of his life.

Night cloaked Henrik, Einar, and Nils as their rowboat approached the northern edge of Stenberg, surrounding the island with her dainty cloak, shielding them from His Glory’s searching eye.

Somewhere beyond immediate sight, other mainland vessels spread like seeping blood, tightening around the island.

Stoic Nils, with his lips drooping in an impressive frown, gripped the oars and tugged. For a wizened old man, he had sinewy shoulders that testified to a life of hard work. Einar removed a knife from his hip, slid it into a sheath on the inside of his boot, and returned his focus ahead.

The moment the prow hit sand, Henrik unsheathed his knife and leaped out. Water surged around his ankles as he advanced in front of the rowboat. Two cloaked figures approached from the vaporous mist like roaming shadows. Henrik crouched.

A familiar voice growled, “Stay quiet, you stupid bastid. Otherwise, you’ll call His Glory to your side for a snuggle.”

Henrik grinned, sheathing his knife.

Old Man.

“All is well?” asked a calm voice. Arvid. Henrik nodded as Einar leaped out. Nils nimbly hopped over the side of the boat and into a low wave. Pedr’s rowboat beached itself with the scrape of sand on the hull.

“When did you arrive?” Henrik asked.

Arvid put a hand on Henrik’s shoulder. Moonlight illuminated his gaze, casting a bright glow. “Within a day.”

Einar’s mouth dropped. “So fast?”

“Harrowing, but successful. I never want to do it again.” Tension tightened Arvid’s eyes. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in the intervening days. That he survived such a journey at all was a miracle. “Since I arrived, Ingemar and I have been hard at work.”

“Are you ready for us?” Nils asked.

The coded question meant far more than the surface query. If Arvid wasn’t ready, their entire operation was at jeopardy and all the mainland ships who surrounded them with it.

Arvid grinned.

“You bet we are.” He clasped hands with Nils.

“Remaining families have lined up, waiting. Some are hidden, the rest are prepared to leave at a moment’s notice in their homes.

There are runners, volunteers. The whole thing has been quietly orchestrated.

Children first, then women, then men. Those who desire to leave, who are not loyal to His Glory, are ready to escape.

Those we can trust. The others will have to fend for themselves. The rest of the fleet is ready.”

Nils nodded. “We stand prepared to receive your citizens, and defend them in case of attack, whether arcane or sailor. Refugees will be taken to the stocked galleons along the rear of the fleet. Sloops and frigates are available with sailors and cannons at the forward fleet positions, should you need them.”

Arvid nodded. “Thank you.” He reached into his vest, extracting a pile of curled papers. He handed it to Nils, who accepted. “Orders and observations to help you and your ships remain safe.”

Nils studied the pages, hesitated, then dipped his chin once. His fingers curled around them, tucking them into a pocket.

“Thank you.”

“Our silent evacuation has been waiting for you and the fleet to arrive,” Arvid added, brow high.

“We’ll begin immediately.” He paused, then added to Henrik, “You and Einar have become the quiet figureheads of the rebellion after Old Man and I spread the news of what happened on the Unseen Island. I apologize if that results in unwanted attention, but—” he shrugged, “it is what it is.”

Einar chuckled darkly. “If it helps us destroy His Glory, I couldn’t care less.”

“It’s a droll celebrity you’ve earned,” Old Man added as an aside, “that’s for certain.”

Arvid spoke to Henrik and Einar in a hushed tone tightened by tension.

“As the residents of Stenberg evacuate, the four of us will work our way inland. Head toward the Compendium, where our soldats report His Glory is in residence right now.” Before Henrik could ask, he added, “They’re our soldats.

Only a few have remained loyal to His Glory, and they traveled with him. ”

“What arcane does he have?” Henrik asked.

“We’re not sure. There’s been no reports of it here.”

“What about the navy?” Einar pressed. “Do they know anything?”

A searching look to Old Man prompted Arvid to reply with, “Not that we can ascertain, but we haven’t had a lot of time to look.” He added in a grumble, “We’ve been preparing the people to go, which meant we had to avoid the navy. They might have something, we just haven’t seen it.”

Henrik rubbed a hand across his face, soaking it in with tireless speed.

Nils had mentioned a bustling port on the eastern edge of the island.

Did His Glory hide his own cannon power there?

Sailors? His own armada, perhaps? There was so much to puzzle together, so many risks to run through his mind, mitigate, and face square on.

Yet, no time.

While Henrik was out there finding his mother, fate plotted her own course. Wasn’t that the lesson?

One could only run from inevitability so far.

“While I leave to alert the rebels and citizens, you four will steal your way into the Compendium. We need at least an hour to get the evacuation started and flowing, perhaps two. There are bound to be some problems, but we’ll minimize as best we can.

” Old Man nodded to Arvid. “After you kill His Glory, Arvid will take command from there. Once I set the evacuation in motion, I’ll find you. ”

Henrik’s mind raced with counter points and details they hadn’t discussed.

Sailors, for one. Would they put up an opposition?

If His Glory had arcane powerful enough to shield and move him, what else could he do?

Henrik’s frustration that they hadn’t been able to speak to Pedr about the arcane and its abilities was a distraction, but a heady one.

A mere drake to the Arcanist had been sufficient for their swift currents, but not enough overall.

“Simple enough,” Einar said to Arvid. “We wait for an hour or two while the evacuation begins, then steal onto the island and kill His Glory.” He brushed his palms together, grinning wildly. “I can’t wait.”

Arvid drew in a long breath. “Simple, but not easy. Let’s go. The evacuation needs to begin. Old Man, Henrik, and Einar, come with me. We’ll notify our soldats to start the evacuation, then get into position without being seen. Nils, best of luck.”

One by one, evacuation boats spiderwebbed out from the land.

They sped away from the southeastern shore and His Glory’s controlling eye and vanished with little more than hiccups of sound and the quiet slap of water.

People milled, screened by brush and trees before they dashed into the boats provided by Stenberg and the fleet.

The crescent moon, so unobtrusive, gave little away. On the other side of the island, at the main dock and within the confines of his office, the port authority snored. Extra strong wine and a Kapurnickkian sleeping potion assisted his repose.

Henrik watched with his heart in his throat as innocent people sought their freedom.

This was his place. He could have held his freedom and done whatever he wanted with it, but this was better.

His only consolation as he faced yet another battle and potential to die was knowing that Pedr kept Britt far away from Stenberg.

Probably wreaking her own havoc with wyverns, but at least not here .

“How does it feel to get to know Selma?” Einar asked, so quietly Henrik strained to hear. He took his chance.

“Strange.”

“I like her. She’s quiet, but kind. A good listener.”

Henrik nodded. “Yes, she is.”

Einar thought that over, jaw tensing. “If one more person we care about dies because of this bastid, I will personally tear His Glory apart with my own whip. Mark my words.”

The sentiment was fair.

How cruel could fate be? To give him a hint of a life with a woman like Britt. To spark affection and realness and caring. To deliver his birth mother and the most powerful dream of his life, only to rip it all away in a final surge against His Glory?

He wouldn’t let that be true.