Page 9 of The Queens and the Kings (The Isles #2)

“Have you always called her General Helsing?”

“Always,” she said lightly. “She insisted upon it. Familiar terms like aunt or mom or friend make her deeply uncomfortable. As long as I have memory, she’s been General Helsing. Pedr remembers a time when she was Major Helsing.”

When a wave of sadness crested her voice, a new and ever-present desire to kiss Britt welled up. An antagonistic uncertainty followed the urge. Henrik cleared his throat to save himself from doing something stupid.

“Where will I sleep up here?”

“You can have the bed, if you want it. I don’t sleep much there. I prefer the ground. Outside.”

“Really?”

The casual way she flung a lock of hair over her shoulder and praised sleeping outside made his stomach knot. He didn’t know others shared the same desire, outside of most soldats.

“It’s Pedr’s fault,” she insisted. “When I was with him, I always slept on the deck, under the stars. I got used to it after a while. General Helsing says that when I’m around normal people then I should act like a normal person.

Considering all that you and I have already gone through together, I think we’re beyond normal . ”

“Normal is a lie.”

She snatched two pillows from the bed and held them up. “Outside, or inside?”

He chortled. “You offend me. Outside.”

She winked and tossed a pillow at him. “There’s a flat spot to the right of the doorway. Plenty of room for both of us, if you want to pick your place.”

“I assume you’re not afraid of mud.”

Another dazzling smile. Her ribald certainty was borderline teasing, as if she enjoyed his naive ways. “There won’t be any mud.”

He didn’t ask. Another arcane effect that prevented mud from forming, he guessed. What a weird arcane infusion. She plucked a dragul from the air. “I’ll be right there. Just need to tuck them in, whisper sweet nothings, that kind of thing.”

He resisted the urge to request the same.

Dewy rainwash clung to the essence of nighttime.

The fresh smell filled his lungs, reached down to the edge of his toes and welled higher again.

Unsurprised to find the ground dry, he quickly located the spot she indicated.

Minutes later, Britt joined him. He sat with his back to the cave wall, knees propped up, elbows on top, staring at the sliver of remaining storm.

Her shoulder brushed against his as she settled.

With a hushed voice, brightened by a held giggle, she asked, “Can I tell you a Kapurnickkian secret?”

“Please.”

“My aunt isn’t a fan of the draguls.”

“You’re lying.”

Gleeful, she bit her bottom lip and laughed. “It’s true, I swear!”

“They’re the cornerstone of your island.”

“She respects their position and what they give to us,” Britt tied her hair out of the way, affecting him with her continual indifference to weather, dirt, or fear, “but she doesn’t like draguls. They’re unpredictable. Mostly when they fly around her head.”

“Does she interact with them?”

“Only if forced.”

“I didn’t expect you to say that,” he admitted, “but it does fit.”

She sighed. “I know.”

These mountains were the backdrop to Britt’s life.

Her history. Could he catch up on all that he’d missed?

Or discover the source of pain that General Helsing’s presence stirred up?

Britt had an apparent love and loyalty for Pedr, like a father.

Her teasing and exasperation with Malcolm resembled deep-seated sibling rivalry and vexation instead of reverent adoration.

“Henrik?”

He blinked out of his ruminations. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Lost in thought?”

“Something like that.”

Britt slunk down, yawning. “I was just asking what you thought about the wyvern.”

“I have no idea what to think.”

“You’ve never seen one, right?”

“No.”

When silence returned his reply, he didn’t waste the opportunity to ask his greatest question. “Did you have a chance to request a resupply for a trip to the mainland?”

Her eyes were more ponderous than upset when she said, “Yes.”

“And?”

“Before General Helsing could answer, the wyvern appeared. I’m not sure if she’ll agree. General Helsing isn’t inclined to help with anything related to Pedr, and she certainly wouldn’t do it out of nostalgia or affection. If she does, it’ll come at the cost of something else.”

“Such as?”

He thought he heard her mumble, “My dignity,” but couldn’t be sure. Britt wrapped her arms around her pillow, propped it against the rock, and sank lower. Denerfen snuggled in at her neck, burrowing his face beneath her ear. Her knees bent. From within the cave, a dragul whistled a light snore.

She yawned. “General Helsing rarely ventures into any offer without the opportunity for material gain. We’ll know more in the morning. The draguls shouldn’t bother you. They sleep in their cubbies, except for Denerfen. Obviously, he sleeps with me. But if there are any problems just let me know.”

Henrik stretched out on the ground, ensuring a careful span of distance. Rushing waves had replaced the tinny rainfall. Fog skated by, fluffy against a recently-risen moon. The thick air captured his attention while Britt fell asleep.

Her wispy breaths lulled him to deeper thought as he stared into the dark, lost in wyverns, draguls, ships, and a maze of familial relationships. I don’t know how to do this , he wanted to say. What does it mean to be part of a family?

An hour later, Britt turned in her sleep, scooting closer with a sleepy sigh. Her head found his shoulder as she repositioned, and her arm curled around his. Heart in his throat, he silently welcomed her.

But he didn’t touch her.