Page 22

HENRIK

Mud and sand caked the back of Henrik’s arms the next morning as he climbed over a fence, dropped to the ground behind it, and peered through the crumbling stone. The young boy, Chamsen, raced for home. He’d extracted Chamsen from a kidnapper in Shantytown. The child abductor lay dead on the ground, left for the sailors or the sea birds to deal with.

Cham banged on the back door.

“Mor!” he cried. “Far!”

Henrik lay low, crouching out of sight, a knee pressed into soft soil. The affluent stone house, with painted-over flaws, bamboo roof shingles imported from other islands, brightly colored stone gardens, and signs of life all over the ground, belonged to a known acolyte of His Glory. A rich archivist named Ubba, admired for his knowledge of Stenberg history and law. Invaluable when His Glory had bright aspirations to dominate.

The door blew open. A woman with thick hair wrapped in a silk sleep turban stood on the other side. The boy, crusted with dirt and tears, threw himself into her legs. She cried out, clutched his thin arms, slumped against the door, and nearly fainted.

When Ubba appeared with equal parts astonishment, Henrik backed away. The little boy wailed, burying himself in his mother’s neck. Henrik couldn’t bring himself to watch. As he turned to go, he caught Ubba studying the yard, scouring the fence, searching, searching.

Henrik vanished into the still-dark dawn hours. As he crept away, departing the affluent neighborhood through a complicated series of walled roads that made little sense, sunlight emerged in the distance.

Ahead, a shadowy figure stepped away from the wall, hands in pockets, a sense of lounging about him. Henrik recognized Einar right away. Einar didn’t say a word as Henrik approached, but spun to fall into step behind him.

Wordless, Henrik slipped back a step. Accepting the silent communication, Einar took the lead.

* * *

They stood at the edge of a cliff that overlooked a bashing sea thirty strides below. Spray hastened toward them, then hissed a mocking retreat. The far corner of the Quarters lay at their backs. At the sailor’s compound, a high and flapping orange flag whipped in the early-morning breeze. The presence of the flag kept the distant ships from coming into port during a cleansing, unless they were prepared to wait the cleansing out. Such a noisy spot would prevent eavesdroppers from the Quarter, and the sheer drop at their feet protected two-thirds of their surroundings.

“We need to talk,” Einar said. His expression had clamped down. “About Oliver and Arvid and everything. There’s about to be a rebellion—a big one. A group of soldats are leaving. We’re breaking away. Before I give you details, I need to know where your loyalty lies.”

The charged question didn’t require further clarification, though it should have. The clues of the past several days lay out with an obvious array of issues. Increasing unrest between soldats. Captain Oliver’s disrespect at Captain Arvid’s tribute.

No wonder .

Henrik’s response required no thought. “With you.”

Though he’d never had his loyalty to Stenberg called on, after the charged discussion with Captain Oliver last night, he didn’t care. All these years, and all this sacrifice, led to no trust. None. Something passed through Einar’s eyes.

Quietly, he smiled.

“Really?”

“Did you doubt it?”

“Me? No. The others? Yes. They wanted to see how you reacted to the growing tension. Wanted to see if you’d support Captain Oliver blindly or not. You’re Oliver’s new recruit, remember? We had to be sure.”

“They must be satisfied.”

“They are.”

“Why?”

“The fights. Not because you won,” he added, “though that would help anyone build respect. The way you broke up the fights, protected Britt. Soldats listened to you, and you responded to Vilhelm’s ridiculous arrogance. They said I could bring you in, but then I received an assignment. I just returned.”

Henrik nodded once. “Good.”

Einar huffed a laugh, looked away. The charged moment required both of them to take a pause. After a time, Einar said, “Arvid is leading a soldat rebellion. That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

A metaphorical stone slammed into Henrik’s gut, robbing his breath. He jerked to the side, meeting Einar’s sober gaze straight on.

“What?”

“Arvid is alive.”

“But—“

Einar shook his head. “His death was staged, every bit of it. He’s alive on Narpurra, working with them as an ally to help us resist His Glory.”

Henrik could barely comprehend the word alive in this context. In his mind, Arvid was gone. The pyre burned. The past sealed.

Einar continued. “Arvid convinced His Glory to give him the assignment to go to Narpurra, but Arvid had written ahead. The Narpurran government agreed to see Arvid alone. Once there in person, he made his request for help away from the sailors and Narpurra agreed. Readily. Except, the Kapurnickkians came to help Narpurra, which was unexpected. A battle did happen, which made it easier for Arvid to fake his death.”

Grimacing, Einar shook his head. “A few sailors died because of the battle, and Arvid’s struggling with that. But we have to accept some loss of life. He’s still not sure how Kapurnick knew about the attack. Arvid thinks a different Narpurra leader sent out a drake to request reinforcement, but didn’t have permission.”

Blood drained from Henrik’s head, making him dizzy. The whispered words sent him into a bloodless headache. Remembering Einar and the ten soldats who remained on the dock during Arvid’s memorial ceremony cemented his deepening spiral.

“Why?” Henrik ground out.

“The whole rebellion idea started years ago. There’s been building restlessness for a while, but it exploded right after you left for your reefer year. His Glory’s demands turned relentless. Overnight, it seemed. His Glory commanded Arvid, Harald, and myself to take people from a Chain island and bring them back in order to enslave them.”

“To do what?”

He shrugged. “We don’t know. Something on Stenberg’s eastern shore. We weren’t informed. Regardless, His Glory had ordered other soldats to do it, and they did.”

“Under Captain Oliver?”

Einar nodded, grave. “That’s when we realized how dark it had become.”

The taking of people to enslave them was a blatant rejection of a peace treaty signed decades ago. Narpurra was known to sidle around it, evading bold proof many times, but all other isles held to the agreement with willful regard.

Kapurnick, if they found out His Glory had begun to enslave people again, would cut off jord exports.

Einar scuffed his foot along the ground. “Arvid has an insider who says His Glory has plans and things in place, but hasn’t told us exactly what they are yet.”

“What did Arvid do?”

“Arvid refused. Oliver insisted Arvid find the enslaved and bring them back. It put a divide between them that spiraled into blatant unrest. Surely, you’ve noticed the division.”

“Yes, but what about the enslaved?”

He shrugged. “We haven’t been able to answer why or where they go.”

Einar kicked at two black rocks. They careened over the edge, plummeting to the white spray below. If they hit the water, the swell of waves into the edges roared too loud to hear. Soothing, but agitated.

“Vilhelm is Oliver’s new darling,” Einar added. “The only reason Oliver hasn’t put him up for Second Captain is because he’s too new. It would have tipped the rebellion into full strength.”

“Captain Oliver knows about the rebellion?”

“He suspects.”

“Does he know about Arvid?”

Einar chewed on his bottom lip. “I don’t believe so. The disrespect at Arvid’s memorial could have been frustration at Arvid’s refusals earlier. It could have been a deeper understanding. We’re not sure.”

Henrik chewed over the information, unable to stop his mind from reaching into the long impacts. If rebellions happened in the past—surely, they must have at some point—then history had forgotten them. Intentionally, he’d wager. They couldn’t be the first unhappy group of forced workers. Enslaved workers, if one looked at it too closely.

Yet what did it mean? If His Glory lost half of his soldat force, would it really impact Stenberg?

Undeniably.

“You’ve joined this rebellion, Einar?”

“Of course.”

“What do you want from it?”

“His Glory removed,” he said instantly, “and freedom.”

Henrik glanced at him from the corner of his eyes. Einar continued, impassioned now, with a burning fervor Henrik hadn’t heard before.

“We want monies. We want compensation. We want the choice to take assignments or reject them. They dictate everything , Henrik. If we procreate, if our relationships legalize, whether we can keep our children. They’re afraid of us. If they aren’t, they will be. Should be.”

The promise rang with authority. Bitterness.

They’re afraid of us.

They will be.

These thoughts weren’t new. Henrik entertained them before, in the quiet nights of his more rebellious stages. Before they brainwashed the fight out of him. Before he understood that the only way forward was to buy in, and thoughts could come later, when healing, rest, food, and shelter weren’t the most precious commodities. But then healing, rest, food, and shelter were always the commodities.

“He sent me as a reefer,” Henrik said quietly, “to keep me away from it. Oliver has known there’s been growing discontent and he didn’t want me to be part of it.”

“Exactly.”

The bastid.

“He might have suspected I’d been involved before you left. Oliver wanted us separated. He’s had you pegged for years, Henrik, yet never asked if you wanted the promotion. The assumption is that you do whatever he says. It’s wrong. I’m done. We are done. We want you to be part of us.”

“How many are following Arvid?”

“Ten. Eleven including you.”

So they had been watching him. Testing him. Trying to see if he’d reveal his true loyalties. This conversation aside, Henrik had no idea where he landed. Both in their eyes and his own.

Flooded by a sudden understanding, his attention snapped to Einar. “The Cleansing and the daily whippings are because of the soldats?”

Einar nodded, grim-faced. “Probably. In addition to whatever wickedness he’s planning that we haven’t been able to figure out. His Glory is baffling, Henrik, but he’s not blind. Now that Arvid appears to be out of the picture, we’re hoping it will cool His Glory’s motivation to chase the rebellion.”

The deep roots boggled his mind.

“Arvid’s insider believes that His Glory knows there’s growing unrest amongst soldats,” Einar continued. “His Glory also knows that if he loses soldats, he’ll lose just about everything, including sailors. We rebel, sailors will follow. The navy disintegrates, and so will His Glory’s power. Without us, Henrik, he’s nothing.”

The casual confidence and certainty struck Henrik in the chest. “Sounds too good to be true,” Henrik retorted. “You’re overestimating the navy.”

Einar shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“And Narpurra?” Henrik folded his arms over his chest. “Whose idea was that?”

“Arvid. He’s vouching.”

Unease made Henrik restless. Riots in the soldat ranks stood against everything they were taught as boys.

“They ripped us from our families and made us into killing machines to work their will.” Einar shook his head, a bitter edge heightening his voice. “They brought this on themselves. We want him and his acolytes gone. All of it and all of them .”

The words reverberated.

All of them, gone.

All of it.

All of them.

That meant His Glory. Captain Oliver. The infrastructure they created. Probably even His Glory’s personal soldats, so often complicit in the deepest betrayals. The Archives, Compendium. Where did this stop?

The firmness of Einar’s voice spoke to the depth of expectation between them. He’d taken more than a calculated risk telling Henrik everything. Finally, Oliver’ cryptic desperation made sense.

But why the assignment to rescue Chamsen? It had been relatively simple, and hardly proved his worth. Henrik hadn’t shown motivation to discover the jord question. Winning the grappling tournament proved his physicality, but the lack of unraveling the jord mystery left him a weak candidate. Captain Oliver could promote Vilhelm, but it would ensure the rebellion unfolded.

“Narpurra?” Henrik countered hotly, because the point required a second attempt at discussion. “ Why Narpurra? They’re wild and unpredictable.”

“Who else?”

“Kapurnick!”

Einar scoffed. “Don’t be a fool, Henrik. Just because you’re fond of a Kapurnickkian woman doesn’t mean their political structure would help us with a rebellion. They have their own problems, and Arvid says they’re almost destitute.”

The wind evaporated from Henrik’s lungs.

Einar chuckled, slapped his shoulder. “I saw the dragul during the fights. She does pretty well, acting local, but she’s not that good. I sense there’s quite a story brewing there. Agnes is dying to learn the truth.”

He owed Einar a lot more information. The space between him and Britt was layered, and at some point, he’d share each one with Einar. For now, Henrik forwent explanation of Captain Oliver’s current state of mind, Britt, and the draguls, to say, “Britt needs to leave immediately. She has a . . . family emergency, for lack of a better word. She needs to go to the Unseen island in the Chain. I can explain it all later, but not right now.”

Einar raised a querulous eyebrow.

“That fast?”

Henrik cut his disbelief short. “I need to find a ship that’ll take us immediately and without being detected.”

“Are you sending her, or are you going with her?”

“I don’t know.”

The thought of sending Britt alone was a coward’s betrayal. Repugnant. And yet . . . what obligation did he have? She was a wily woman that made it onto Stenberg on her own, despite being on a ship packed with jord and dozens of wild sailors. Plus, she found Selma in the Archives while navigating hints of his soldat world.

Did she need him?

Did he need her?

He clenched his fingers, not liking that train of thought. No matter where it branched, the endings felt wrong. Horrific. Archaic, even. Sending her on a ship willing to break the cleansing interdict and risk being an enemy to Stenberg wasn’t ideal. Those rangy types would sooner rape her and ditch her body overboard than help, unless the exorbitant cost made it worth the risk.

But if he left Einar and the other soldats at such a delicate time in this rebellion . . . with Captain Oliver breathing down his neck and distrustful . . .

A cold shudder skimmed Henrik’s spine as he sank deeper into his thoughts. Hadn’t Britt foretold this? When they first spoke, she mentioned His Glory forcing people onto ships, stealing jord, scuttling ships.

For a long time, Einar and Henrik listened to the breaking waves. After too long watching the sunrise bloom overhead, and wondering what Britt would think of this situation, Einar clapped a hand on Henrik’s shoulder and squeezed.

“Don’t be a bastid, Henrik. Go with her.”

“Captain Oliver already threatened to take my rank if I didn’t complete a last-minute mission last night. I did, but now I have to complete some paperwork and find the missing jord. He’s already fuming.”

Einar growled, “He threatened your rank?”

Henrik nodded.

“His Glory is watching,” Einar spat. “That’s why. Oliver is under pressure, too.”

“I see it.”

With a shake of his head, Einar set aside his rage. “Let’s just say that if you’re not on Stenberg for the next week or two, Oliver won’t notice. If he does? It won’t matter. Nothing will be the same. We’ve got your back.”

Einar’s hand slipped away from Henrik’s shoulder. The quiet promise of underground distraction wasn’t as concerning as it should have been. Henrik’s lack of concern felt like an answer to where his loyalty lay.

“What do you have planned?” he asked.

“A statement,” Einar said. “Although Arvid is supposedly dead, we’re not, and Oliver still has a problem on his hand. It’s a reminder that we’re not to be underestimated, but we promised Arvid we wouldn’t go full bore without him.”

Henrik’s breath swirled in his lungs. That solved it. He’d go with Britt and suffer whatever consequences remained. Captain Oliver could deal with His Glory. “If I go with Britt,” Henrik said, “I give up everything here.”

Einar nodded. “It’s worth it.”