Page 8 of The Queens and the Kings (The Isles #2)

HENRIK

After Pedr returned the ship to moor in the bay, Henrik and Britt returned to the main island.

No opportunity for discussion with Britt presented itself.

Henrik braced himself for patience. Britt kept tabs on him, touching his forearm when she wanted him to follow, but they exchanged little more than necessities as she navigated them under the mountain.

Agnes and Einar remained on the ship, the name of which Pedr continued to refuse sharing.

A maze of unknown faces, questioning glances, and garbled information flowed free. Fresh moonlight brightened the drizzly darkness, highlighting the lowering sound of water gushing off the mountain side. Chaos had calmed.

The more Henrik considered this unexpected event, the more his understanding clarified into an ugly picture.

A wyvern flew over the Kapurnikkian Isles.

Not great. As they navigated through crowds, Kapurnickkians loudly discussed reports from outlying chains.

More poured in, but no injuries mentioned.

Whatever intent the wyvern or the mainland held, it hadn’t been nefarious.

Yet.

After twenty minutes searching for Malcolm, Britt ran a hand through her hair and huffed, “Pedr can send a drake to Malcolm himself. I’m not his messenger.

” She set her hand on Henrik’s wrist again and asked, “Follow me? I want to introduce you to the draguls. We can find General Helsing after the pandemonium dies down. We’ll never get a chance to speak with her in this mess. ”

Henrik accepted with a nod, sensing an undercurrent in the offer. They climbed through spiraling corridors, passed verdant curtains, and spilled into an outdoor stairwell contained by narrow rock walls. The fragrant aroma of too many tropical flowers in a close space curled around them.

“They’re stone steps,” she cautioned. “Tread carefully. They might light up soon.”

“Light?”

Britt sent him a brilliant smile and placed her foot on top of the next step. The ground illuminated beneath her toes. “Oh!” she cried. “Brilliant. That stone hasn’t illuminated in months. I wonder why it’s brightening now?”

“Is it arcane?”

She nodded. “Yes, but like all unbound arcane, it does what it wants, when it wants.”

Her energy altered dramatically as they ascended.

She became near effervescent, living on the edge of a giggle.

He followed her, lost in the unexpected brightening of each stone as it flared to life.

Occasionally, they illuminated several ahead, then blinked off.

It reminded him of falling dominoes. Others did nothing.

For the most part, the lighted rocks steered them around cracks, loose rocks, and gushing rivulets.

Arcane.

Again.

Unpredictable but . . . a definite asset.

Charming , he imagined Britt saying. Britt breathed without strain.

A smile infused her face as she chattered about draguls, the history of Dragul Mountain, and a surly Keeper named Rolf.

After weeks on a ship, the steady movement woke dormant muscles he enjoyed using again.

After climbing for many minutes, they emerged at the top of Dragul Mountain.

Lightning sparked in the retreating bulkhead, far enough he didn’t hear the answering thunder.

Rain sprinkled final drops, thrust from open sky.

Soupy clouds barreled away and the moon rose, leaving space and caverns and wild to comprehend.

Britt turned to face him. The moonlight carved an enchanting silhouette. “I want you to meet the draguls.”

He resisted the urge to push tendrils of hair out of her face. “This is important to you, isn’t it?”

A flash of vulnerability betrayed her when she nodded.

He motioned to the mountain with a smile. “Take me to the draguls.”

She canted her head to one side, taking his measure. “Would you sleep on top of Dragul Mountain for the night?”

He pointed to the staircase landing.

“Here?”

A ghost of a smile flittered over her lips. “Not here . There’s a cave. It’s comfortable, and warm. Not very big, but . . . I owe it to the draguls to stay the night with them. I’ve been gone. They’ll feel better if they could smell me, especially after the wyvern.”

“Sure.”

She beamed.

They wound across a ridge, following a dirt trail she must know by memory. Not far from the stairs, something stirred. Wings. They fluttered ahead, accompanied by a familiar squawk. Denerfen’s form alighted on Britt’s shoulder.

“Ta, Den.” She spirited a finger along Denerfen’s belly. It bulged, no doubt after a sizable dinner. A sleepy yawn confirmed his exhaustion. They’d woken him.

Similar shadows swamped her, chirruping their excited chatter. Two draguls landed on her extended right arm. One was slightly bigger than Denerfen, and the other smaller. A familiar dragul with dark purple wings soared around Britt’s head, then snuggled on top of her hair with a coo. Tesserdress.

Britt laughed, but didn’t wave them off. “At least let us into the cave, will you? You’re not doing a good job of impressing Henrik.”

Britt was doing a thorough job of charming him herself, with her loose smile, relaxed posture, and genuinely deep joy. He’d never seen her so carefree.

Happy .

Truly, to the bones, happy.

Had he met anyone like this before?

Not once.

Britt led him to the closest rock wall and peeled back a curtain of tightly-wound leaves. Darkness lurked beneath. Draguls squalled, fighting for a position on her neck. Denerfen fought and bested all of them, despite her breezy laugh and demand he share the space.

I get it, Henrik wanted to say to the dragul. Hold your ground. Keep her close.

As Britt passed within, the cave sprang to life.

Golden light crawled from one wall to the next.

Henrik leaned inside, studying the fragments of shining, golden metal embedded into the stone.

The middle of the cave stood three hand spans above the crown of his head.

He nudged aside dry grasses to find the ground also illuminated. Like walking inside a lit coal.

“It’s just like your undermountain.”

“Yes! Same rocks.”

“Is it gold or arcane?”

“Similar to gold, and infused with arcane.” Draguls cradled in the crook of her elbow, one of them electric pink. It blinked lazily at him. If draguls could smile, it would have.

“What’s it called?”

“Gyllene.”

“More arcane,” he whispered as the golden hues faded to low silver, then rose.

Britt’s head tilted all the way back, forcing Tesserdress to fly off her head. She studied the glimmering ceiling. “Arcane, yes. It’s been the most consistent lighting we’ve had, though. You were lucky to see the interior illuminated earlier today.”

Norr’s breath, was that only today? It felt like years had passed.

She ran her fingers along a particularly bright line. “For the most part, it works. Sometimes, it goes dark. We don’t know why. The Arcanist who put the arcane into the walls to illuminate the gyllene did it so long ago no one remembers who they were. We can’t fix it, so we live with it.”

“Interesting,” he murmured.

Studying his facade, she asked, “You really never knew about the arcane?”

He touched his thumb pad to a chunk of rock in the middle of a gyllene swirl. “I heard about it. Eventually. When I was fifteen or sixteen, in my classes. I didn’t see it until I started to do soldat missions. It’s . . . odd.”

“Very odd.”

Two draguls settled on her shoulders, where her water-drenched hair hung limp.

Moisture darkened her dress and pants. Thankfully, the vapid air held more heat than cold.

A bed poked out of the wall, covered with a wisp of a mattress similar to his in Stenberg.

Rectangular windows peered out on the other side of the mountain.

Sunrise would bring a glorious overlook of the ocean.

“It’s cozy,” he said.

She scoffed. “Occasionally stinky, too. Rolf must have scraped the jord before the storm. We preserve every ounce of it.”

“You sleep here often?”

“Yes. When I don’t, Rolf does. He prefers it up here. He probably enjoyed having the space to himself while I was gone.”

“Are there more than two Keepers?”

“Not really . A third one, Agneta, stays every now and then when she’s not midwifing on the islands.

Mostly, it’s me and Rolf. He lives and breathes draguls.

They make him happy, which I agree with.

They offer a great escape from General Helsing or Malcolm when he’s being insufferable.

” She added wryly, “Which is most of the time.”

Henrik had so many questions he didn’t know where to start, but he opted for an easy one as he inspected cubbies in the walls, stuffed with dried grass. Dragul beds, presumably. “Is this your only living space?”

“No. I have a room, but I don’t use it much. For a while, I sailed a lot with Pedr. That was before officially working with the draguls. Mostly so General Helsing couldn’t complain about me not wanting to learn to read and write.” She rolled her eyes.

“You prefer this?”

She smiled. “Absolutely.”

He turned away, saying, “That fits,” under his breath.

The draguls chirped with reckless joy in her presence. They touched her constantly, played games, chased, spun, dodged playful wings. No wonder she smiled so wide. The draguls revered her. Their joy radiated from a place deeper than oceans.

“Thank you,” he said, then added, “for showing me.”

Britt’s smile warmed, if possible. “I appreciate you coming. It’s not many soldats that would be interested in a cave of finicky draguls.”

He barked a laugh. “I like it. It’s good to see you here. A lot of you makes sense now that I’ve met Malcolm and Pedr and . . . General Helsing.”

He said the words too carefully. She must have noticed his measured tone, but humor remained in her eyes. “What did you think of my aunt?”

“She reminds me of our Captains.”

“Anything else?”

“Not really.”

Britt sighed. “She doesn’t represent herself as much else. At least she never lies.”