Page 18

HENRIK

A hint of insecurity existed in Britt’s churning eyes as she offered him more information.

“Malcolm is a Major,” she said, her heart in her eyes. Unease drove her to her feet, so she paced as she spoke. “When a messenger drake delivered a message from Narpurra saying that Stenberg was sailing to Narpurra to escalate a situation there, General Helsing sent Malcolm and a contingent of Kapurnickkian sailors. Something about existing agreements and charters and the mainland? I don’t know.”

Messenger drakes were arm-length dragons that delivered messages back and forth for many isles, but they favored Kapurnick. Unlike draguls, these drakes didn’t have a bond, but they did form loyalty to a person.

How appropriate this strange twist of fate that would take his beloved Captain and her brother.

“Captain Arvid,” he said.

She paused. “Sorry?”

He shook his head. “Continue.”

With an elongated breath, she complied. “Okay. Well, there was a battle at Narpurra. Later reports said that soldats disguised themselves as sailors and infiltrated Narpurra island. A bloody, arcaneless battle followed.”

Arcaneless. Only someone off Stenberg would signify that detail.

Hands wringing, she whispered, “Malcolm offered himself as a prisoner to exchange for four of his sailors. To spare their lives. The Stenberg sailors agreed. Those four returned to Kapurnick. One of them sent a messenger drake ahead of time, letting us know. I intercepted the drake, read the message, then sent it to General Helsing. Couldn’t believe my luck, managing to head for Stenberg before news really arrived of what happened.”

She squared her shoulders, chin high. “I left on the first ship that was departing before General Helsing had the full news.”

“Ossian.”

She nodded. Her firm-jawed ire trailed into exhaustion as she unclenched her hands and loosened her shoulders. “Malcolm means everything to me, Henrik. If Stenberg is holding him somewhere, I have to know.” Quietly, she added, “More rests on his life than you think.”

“And then you found me,” Henrik concluded.

“Yes.”

“Your brother is ranked quite high, but he must be younger than most Majors?”

“Yes. General Helsing runs the islands, with the help of two Undergenerals. Each Undergeneral has three Majors that work with them. My brother is the sixth Major. As such, he’s in charge of maintaining relationships with jord traders outside of our main islands.”

The Kapurnickkian isles held a different structure to their government with a ruling military commander acting as the overseer. On Stenberg, His Glory worked in capacity as both military and general leader. Kapurnickkian leadership had more leadership positions, but not by much. Considering how many other islands relied on jord, Kapurnick should have had more leaders to deal with the constant back-and-forth of trade negotiations.

“So you came all this way to find Malcolm?” he asked.

Britt bit her bottom lip. “Yes. Because of her.”

She withdrew a hand from her pocket.

A tiny dragul curled in her palm, breathing thready and fast. The sloping, gentle features and lacking horn buds indicated a female. She tightened her coiled body, shivering, as if she’d taken a cold. If she hadn’t looked so diminutive, he would have guessed her to be the same size as Denerfen. Color leached out of many of the scales, leaving her speckled with gray and notes of receding violet into lavender.

Tears swam in Britt’s eyes. Her voice clotted. “Her name is Tesserdress. She’s bonded with Malcolm. Before now, she has never been away from him for more than a few days.”

“She’s dying.”

Britt nodded, her lips pressed. After a moment, she cleared her throat, blinking fast. The sorrow in her beautiful eyes cut through his chest. “It’s more than Tesserdress. She’s one of the only remaining females we have that can lay eggs.”

A beat passed while that sank in.

Panic resulted.

Sheer, blind panic.

“If we lose the draguls, we lose jord.” he whispered, stark. “Their manure is what allows us to grow food on Stenberg.”

“Exactly,” she whispered. “The isles reliant on jord would never recover their ability to produce food, and Kapurnick’s economy would crash. Stenberg, who is most reliant on us, would have to turn to the mainland for soil. But His Glory wouldn’t do that, and the Lordlady might not offer it.” A haste born of passion elevated her tone. “Without draguls to produce jord, we lose all of our current structure. People will have to leave the islands to live elsewhere.”

“The mainland,” he hissed, then shivered.

Mournfully, she added, “Not only would the most beautiful race of dragons be swept away, but most of the isles couldn’t sustain enough food to support our current populations. Kapurnick may be amicable with Narpurra at this moment, but there’s no doubt Narpurra would happily betray us, rise to power when other islands fell weak, enslave many islanders, and eventually dominate. Over time, our numbers would dwindle and be so few . . .”

She trailed away.

Bloodthirsty and dramatic as the tale sounded, he couldn’t fault her predictions. Narpurra. The power-hungry island that didn’t rely on jord for trade, or life, would be the first to skip over what relatively little space existed between the islands and take over. The high mountains of Kapurnick hosted a plethora of military advantage, food, shelter, and strategy. They were a gem of a prize. Enough to sustain smaller populations without imports from the jord trade.

But Stenberg?

Catastrophic.

Without jord, Stenberg would have little sustenance. The mainland would have to export food, but Stenberg didn’t have the resources to trade for all their bounty. Growing their own food left lean times, but created independence. Henrik leaned his knuckles onto the table with a hoarse breath.

“I know,” she whispered hastily. “I know how bleak it is, but I couldn’t tell you! I wasn’t sure how much I could trust you. General Helsing has sworn us to silence and . . . if Narpurra or His Glory knew . . .”

Her barren whisper was as shocking and stark as anything he’d heard. Repercussions and ramifications wound out, putting him instantly into defensive and planning mode. For several minutes, they listened to the crash-bang of thunder. Rain descended with thundering applause.

“General Helsing is aware?” he asked.

“About the draguls?”

“And Malcolm.”

She hedged a hesitant, “Well, yes. Malcolm left Tesserdress behind because it was supposed to be a quick skirmish and return, and it was too dangerous for her. Normally, he doesn’t go on these raids, but Stenberg has been so difficult to work with the last year. He hoped to negotiate, to withdraw our jord contract if we must.” With less energy, she admitted, “Tess and Malcolms bonding has never been easy or simple, and it’s relatively new. Within the last year. He’s still getting the hang of it. General Helsing knows that Tesserdress needs Malcolm.”

He lifted his eyebrow.

“All of Kapurnick will know that Malcolm is gone by now,” she said. “Taken prisoner by your people. Tesserdress is the youngest female we have, thus, is the most capable for new dragul eggs. When healthy, she could produce two per year.”

“You have no other females?”

“We have some, but of varying age and health. Our numbers are desperately low after losing most of them in a plague not long ago. If we lose more, they won’t be able to breed.”

“This also means?—”

“Less jord.” She nodded. “Yes. That’s also why Kapurnick has to be careful with this information, or else panic might follow. The dragul keepers, General Helsing, the Undergenerals, and the Majors know our predicament.” Softly, she added, “And you.”

Other issues existed. So few draguls meant the supply of jord was about to rapidly plummet, or already started. That explained the lessening numbers. Oliver would need to know, and soon. It nearly prompted Henrik to drop into a rapid-fire interview of Britt so he could gather details and build a more robust picture, but he held the temptation.

Could Oliver know?

If the captain found out, so would His Glory. What then? War? An attack? Save the dragul, but hold Kapurnick hostage to it?

Henrik delicately rubbed a hand over his face. He could see out of his left eye today, which was progress. He paced in front of the table. Questions later. First, they had bigger problems. Much, much bigger problems.

The need to keep Britt close had exponentially multiplied. Working with her, gaining more information, would have to be a careful process. She’d taken a massive and calculated risk coming here to find Malcolm, and that female dragul didn’t have long to live.

“I know you must feel pressure to tell your leadership,” she butted into his rapidly forming plans with a hard tone, “but I’m begging you to wait until I’m on a ship toward whatever hellhole you’re keeping Malcolm on. Clearly, he isn’t here . At least, not that I’ve been able to find. I had hoped that he’d be here by the time we arrived. Narpurra’s a similar distance . . .”

The you’re in you’re keeping Malcolm hit with a bitter twinge inside.

“We’ll deal with the details of my leadership later,” he said. “For now, we need to find your brother so you can save Tesserdress.”

With a great deal more suspicion than he wanted to see, she asked, “You’re willing to help?”

“None of us would benefit from her dying.”

A flash of displeasure told him she didn’t like the reasons, but she’d accept the outcome. Britt shrugged one shoulder in silent acceptance. She appeared stiffer than he’d ever seen. His mind raced to catch up, speeding past annoyance and into plans.

If she had just told him at the beginning . . . but the thought was pointless. How could she reveal a secret this explosive and dangerous to an unknown soldat? He couldn’t fault her.

“If Malcolm was taken prisoner at Narpurra, they wouldn’t register him on any official paperwork filed in the Archives,” Henrik said. “At least, not yet.”

“Got that,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

“The island where they put him is a longer journey from Narpurra this time of year, with head winds and storms. They may have not returned, or were tasked elsewhere before you arrived.”

All the color left her face.

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

Recalling Einar’s conversation when Henrik had just returned, he continued. “They took Malcolm to the Unseen island. Einar offhandedly mentioned a prisoner that the soldats took there with that name.”

“Where is the Unseen island?”

He gestured south east. “It’s part of the Chain. Unless you’ve been there, the Unseen island remains hidden. The arcane that infuses the island hides it. You can’t see it. Dodgy to approach, because of . . . arcane, mostly. Native arcane. Stenberg took over the island decades ago and drove out the locals, who placed ikons to protect it.”

“So why is my brother there?” she screeched.

The female dragul—what was her name?—jerked awake with a pathetic little mewl. Britt instantly lay her fingertips over the dragul’s wings in a soothing gesture. The dragul calmed, stirring restlessly.

“His Glory sends prisoners there because the ikons prevent escape, and we don’t have to spare sailors watching them.”

Her jaw dropped.

“How is that possible?”

Henrik rubbed his forearm and muttered, “You don’t want to know.”

Britt shrank against the chair. The Chain was a series of hundreds of islands extending from the southwestern island of Siloam all the way east, toward the mainland. Some of them were so close that islanders rowed between them within hours. Others required longer. Mapping them had proven an egregious, decades-long project. No archivist on any island wanted to commit to the idea. His Glory couldn’t pull sailors away from their duties long enough to map the Chain out as a designated task, so the map fell into disrepair and disarray.

Also, most islanders didn’t care about a map.

The cowed expression on Britt’s face was the right one. At least she paid attention to geography, which some people in the Isles never bothered with.

“It’s not impossible to find, if you can locate a ship captain who knows where it is. You have to have visited there before and escaped it. Most Stenberg captains know it because of their prisoner drops.”

“Can you find it?”

“Yes.”

Relieved, she nodded. Her other hand curled around Tesserdress. She hesitated, glancing at him, then delicately placed Tesserdress next to Denerfen on the blanket. A sheepish heat rose in her cheeks, as if she didn’t want to explain how she’d managed to smuggle two draguls on to Stenberg.

He still couldn’t fathom.

“I’ll find a captain to take us,” Henrik said.

“Right away?”

“I hope so. With the cleansing, plenty are stuck here, and growing antsy. Ossian might still be here, and he knows the island.”

“What about the cleansing? His Glory closed?—”

“Ossian owes me.”

Her expression didn’t ask for details, so he offered none. She wouldn’t want the grisly story, anyway.

“How long does it take to get to the Unseen island?” she asked.

“Days, at least, depending on the weather and currents. I’ll see what kind of ship we can manage. Ossian might know of a smaller, faster one.” He nodded to the sickly dragul. “Will she make it?”

Britt put her hand over Tesserdress’ scaled, lavender body. Her tail had coiled up toward her face, tucking her together like an amethyst loaf.

“She has to make it.”

Henrik glanced outside, racing to absorb these new developments. A second dragul. Selma. Erik. Too much at the same time. He paused as he reached for the door. The slate sky brought an early night, with its rollicking thunder and heady wind gusts. True sunset would creep in soon, heralding darkness. Good. He needed an escape and time to think.

“I need to talk to Ossian. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

Suspicion whipped into her eyes. Her lips pinched, cheeks tightened.

Exasperated, he said, “Do you want to leave right away, or not? I won’t tell Oliver before we’ve saved the female. I promise.”

Something in his visage must have mollified her, because her shoulders smoothed out. She nodded once, but didn’t speak. Her hand hadn’t moved from her protective shell over the dragul.

“If you don’t trust me yet,” he growled with more force than he intended, “at least trust that I have no interest in Stenberg collapsing because one of the last female draguls dies, all right?”

A flicker of reassurance dimmed her haughty gaze and assessment. With a tight nod, she turned to focus on her dragons. Denerfen watched Henrik from beneath hooded eyes as he slipped into the night and plunged into the storm.

* * *

Wind whipped into Henrik’s face, and rain sliced through the air like driving needles. He headed into the wind, slipping down alleys, and blending into a night as thick as ink. It provided a place to hide. To defeat this surreality and find steady ground.

Britt commanded his thoughts at first. So regal, yet concerned. Her hand protectively cupped over her dragul charges, her ferocity a sparkling force. Impressive that she’d kept Tesserdress a surprise this long. Small details aligned. The too-heavy wrist pouch, her protective hand always in or near her pocket, fluttering wings that didn’t quite sound like Denerfen.

Selma intruded, overriding all the other conundrums. Captive Malcolm, dying draguls, and the shattering impact on the isles, could come later.

Selma.

His mother .

Against all odds, Britt found her. Henrik let his parents names sprint through his mind as he slipped into the Shadowlands, not so much searching as prowling. Thinking in the night.

Selma.

Cristan.

Erik.

Anderberg. Proof that he had, at one time, existed as a different person. If he hadn’t become a soldat, who would he be? An Anderberg. Putting a name on it changed everything. He had heritage. History.

Parents.

Questions about his old life haunted him, as if he’d thrown open the box.

A cackle broke the night, issued from some poor soul sprawled along the edge of the road, half delirious with drink. Henrik ignored them, cutting a wide angle. He forced his thoughts away from Selma; he couldn’t afford such a deep distraction.

To save the draguls, he’d forfeit his Second Captain spot. He knew this. Accepted it. Couldn’t care less about what happened to the twenty bags of jord or what games Captain Oliver played.

Like Harald, Henrik hadn’t wanted the promotion anyway.

Einar told him not to trust Captain Oliver, and Henrik trusted Einar more than anyone. Until he heard the information that Einar wanted to share, Henrik would let the question of jord rest. Though subtle, the decision was a rebellion.

He’d never rebelled before.

For now? He focused on the draguls. The gale whipped and the wind screamed as he hurried toward the ocean, Ossian bound.

It all sounded like Selma in his head.