Page 75 of The Queens and the Kings (The Isles #2)

HENRIK

Henrik had never felt so nervous in his life.

Britt, not seeming to notice the shredded state of his mind, hummed as she sat on a child’s warped wooden swing, peering out on the sea.

Her hair tumbled onto her shoulders in recently-washed blonde locks, and the brightness of her smile illuminated Stenberg and the sky.

Denerfen, chirruping from beneath the piles of hair, completed her usual Kapurnickkian flair.

For the first time in many, many years the halcyon freshness of a new start perfused the island. Henrik closed his eyes, drank it in with the sunshine.

A mainland ship approached, white sails open. Selma rode on it, which explained Britt’s rapt attention, her singular focus. The way she stared and waited with a curiosity that went bone deep. He’d never felt so terrified in his life.

He needn’t have bothered. The moment the first rowboat departed the ship with Selma onboard, Britt leaped off her swing and jogged for the wharf. He didn’t have a chance to call after her before she was on the dock, waving for Selma.

He barely made it to the dock when Selma rushed out, the first one to disembark, and rushed right into Britt’s welcoming arms. The two women embraced, laughing, as if they’d always known each other. He could only stand there, staring.

Was this real?

Britt and Selma, locked in an embrace, gabbling and laughing, hooked their arms around each other and spun, headed for him.

Other sailors and islanders exited the rowboat, though far more warily.

They glanced around, as if waiting for something to break or explode. He couldn’t blame their hesitation.

Selma, seeing him, beamed.

She wrapped him in her arms on approaching, a mother’s embrace that he held onto for long after she released him. Her palm cupped his cheek. Tears filled her eyes.

“I’m so glad you’re all right.”

He pressed his hand to hers, and she dropped it away, turning her whole attention to Britt.

“Did you two know each other?” he asked.

Britt, laughing with her eyes, said, “No, not at all!”

Selma grabbed Britt’s hand with resolution. “I think I’ll need an escort around Stenberg. It’s been so long since I’ve been here. Though, obviously, the big things haven’t changed. I do hope they get rid of that ugly Temple.”

“Well,” Britt said with her usual bold confidence, and a suppressed giggle, “I can confirm that I am the last person you want to give you a tour around Stenberg, but let’s try anyway. It might be fun. Can you tell me all the embarrassing stories about Erik and Noah?”

Before Henrik could round out the nervous pit in his stomach, the two of them exited the dock and started up the cobblestone. Britt laughed at something Selma said as they headed away together.

He blinked.

What just happened?

“Well,” Einar said from just behind him. “That went well.”

“I think I was just nudged out of my own life.”

“Looks like it.”

Henrik turned to eye Einar. The vibrant tension thrumming inside Einar before the attack had faded.

The hard work of rebuilding Stenberg, creating safety, forging alliances with the sailors, and seeking funding to repair the damage inflicted—amidst attempting to fix relationships with the mainland—had begun with Arvid and Ingemar at the forefront.

All that restoring stability and freedom ensured that Einar simmered with restlessness again.

“Does it feel the way you thought?” Henrik asked. “Freedom?”

Einar took a long time answering, his gaze locked on the not-so-distant figure of Pedr’s ship.

“No.”

“What did you expect?”

“Once that bastid died, I thought I’d feel better.”

“You don’t?”

Quietly, he said, “It didn’t bring her to my arms. Yet,” he hastily added.

“I’m sorry, Einar.”

Einar accepted that with a nod, and shifted the topic. “Pedr sent us a message with Drake this morning. Said he’s been recovering, but I’m not sure from what. He asked both of us to return to his ship tonight. With Britt,” he added. “Sounds like our problems have just begun, and he needs our help.”

“The Arcanist of Souls?”

“Amongst other problems.”

Based on the stories about Wyvern Kings and hidden curses that Britt told—which also churned his stomach in a nervous frenzy—Henrik had already surmised as much. Which was why it had been so important for Selma and Britt to meet.

Who knew what lay ahead?

Selma would remain here to help knit Stenberg back together, and she would remain under Arvid’s immediate protection. The new government would destroy ritualistic cleansings and petty tyranny. His birth mother wanted to create a new future based on what she’d learned while living on the mainland.

She wanted to be home.

He couldn’t fathom a better place. The reassuring pulse of the waves sang in Henrik’s ears, a reminder that he was never far from home when he stood at the sea.

Einar squinted through the brilliant sun. “Are you willing to help Pedr?”

“Of course.”

Einar nodded, as if he’d expected as much, but appeared relieved all the same. They’d set themselves free. Time to do something with it.

Besides, he had questions for Britt.

Answers to seek.

Freedom to taste.

“I’ll settle Selma at my old house in the Quarters,” Henrik said. “Old Man and Timmer and Arvid and Ingemar promised to keep an eye on her. Then Britt and I will be ready to go.”

Einar clapped him on the shoulder. “Here’s to another adventure on the high seas, brother. At least we’re in it together.”