Page 32

HENRIK

When Major Helsing wasn’t separated from his arcane-bound dragul, hacking away at jungle bushes, and scrounging food from a hostile environment, Henrik had the idea that Malcolm was a brute of a man, with broad shoulders and a hard glare. As the relative of a famed Kapurnickkian General, softness wouldn’t be in his makeup.

All in all, Malcolm wasn’t that far lost. Remnants of baser physical strength lingered in his thick neck and stout arms, but he’d clearly been diminishing on the island. Whether as the result of separation from his dragul, sheer starvation and stress, or a combination of both, it would take a while for Malcolm to recover.

Henrik didn’t hate him, but he wasn’t about to admit that. Malcolm had all the overtures of a solid older brother, which made Henrik more inclined to like him. Anyone that protected Britt earned his favor, but Henrik and Malcolm were hardly cordial yet.

While Lars and Britt worked their way ahead, Malcolm’s tense glare locked on Henrik’s face.

“So, my sister found a soldat to help her.”

A drawling question laced the words, tinged with a sense of disbelief and exasperation. Henrik could relate. Britt stirred up equal parts disbelief and exasperation within the same breath.

“It’s a long story.”

“I plan to hear it.”

Henrik nodded. “Fine. I’m open to whatever questions you have, but the situation is complicated and we don’t have time. This is not the place for hashing it out.”

“Catch me up on the basics, so I know what’s going on. Soldats are paranoid, but you’re a step beyond a regular soldat if you’re willing to deal with my sister to release me, and I want to know what we’re facing.”

“Fair.”

“You know about the draguls, obviously.”

“I do.”

“Does your Captain know?”

“He knows something, I don’t know how much.”

“Were you commanded to this mission?”

“No.”

Interest illuminated Malcolm’s expression as he murmured, “Fascinating,” in a tone exactly like his sister. He tipped his head toward a snoozing Tesserdress, draped over his shoulder like a wet towel.

“She’s why you’re here, isn’t she?”

Henrik didn’t answer.

With a hidden scoff, Malcolm continued, “Any soldat worth their weight in jord would understand the importance of saving Tesserdress, assuming my sister told you about Tesserdress and my bonding and our need for her eggs?”

Henrik nodded once.

“Then something big happened to Britt. My sister wouldn’t discuss the draguls with a soldat unless forced.”

Henrik leaned into the sense that Malcolm spiraled toward something, though a visceral reaction to the word forced made his gut clench.

He remained quiet.

“If you’re here helping me clear the island, that means you’re at least invested in returning Tesserdress and Denerfen to Kapurnick, but I can’t imagine what your plans will be beyond that. Any soldat would be honored to turn a weakness such as ours to His Glory. I imagine the payout would be worth it.”

Henrik licked his lips, irritated at the immediate leap to material gain, though he couldn’t fault the logic. He would have thought the same. Before his reefer year, he might have even sought it. If he turned in that dragul, he could ask for almost anything.

Henrik shoved that aside. Selma didn’t matter right now, because he owed Britt more than a distracted attention.

“Your question about my motivation is understandable and fair,” Henrik said, “My motivation isn’t for my own island. Not anymore. Nor is the explanatory story mine to tell,” he hastily added, with a quick glance at the trail where Britt and Lars continued behind them. Britt looked intrigued by the adventure, but Lars was reluctant.

Very reluctant.

Malcolm used the silence to add pressure. Henrik cast about for the right words, found no better replacement, and finally said, “I owe Britt. A lot.”

Malcolm’s eyes widened for a full three seconds. His gaze flickered over Henrik, as if he must resort to visible measures for understanding, while he sidestepped down the path. He managed a halting reply before returning his attention to the trail.

“Oh?”

“Let’s not harp on it,” Henrik growled. “My goal on this island is to safely deliver Tesserdress to you, and help all of you return to Kapurnick. After that, we’ll re-evaluate. For now, your sister has my loyalty.”

The words rippled.

Your sister has my loyalty.

Treason.

A soldat had no loyalty except to His Glory. But what if His Glory betrayed them ? Why didn’t the relationship work in reverse? The profound cracks in his life’s foundation that formed when he saw Britt on the whipping post deepened. They sank low and wide.

“To that end,” Henrik continued before a barrage of questions could muck up their time and distract his original purpose, “Captain Oliver will be here soon, if he isn’t already. He seeks me. There’s no doubt. It’s a matter of time before he arrives or gives chase to our ship as we leave.”

“What’s your plan?”

“Depends. Is Pedr who he says he is?”

If the switch in topic surprised Malcolm, he gave no indication. “Yes. He marauds under the pirate name Burning Beard.”

“He truly is?”

Amused, Malcolm said, “Yes. Didn’t Britt tell you?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t believe her?”

He sighed. “It seemed . . . extraordinary.”

Malcolm snorted. “That’s Pedr. He defies belief.”

“Pedr can take you to Kapurnick?”

Malcolm nodded.

“Good. Then my plan is to stay here. Britt will go with you. I trust you to see her home. It’ll be better if I’m not with you to draw Captain Oliver and other soldats into your path.”

“This will fulfill what you owe her?”

“That’s up to her.”

Malcolm’s hands opened and closed in loose fists. Jaw tensing and loosening in sync with his fingers, he said, “Okay. There really is more, isn’t there?”

Henrik sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “More than you’ll want to hear. The moment you and Britt have the ikon that allows you to depart, leave. I’ll draw Oliver away.”

“Fine, but what if Oliver doesn’t come?”

Henrik laughed.

Oh, if only.

“He’ll come.”

Malcolm shrugged. “I’ll keep Britt with me. No doubt she’ll be grateful to head home and protect Denerfen and Tesserdress.”

“She won’t like it,” Henrik warned.

The older brother emerged. Rigidity tightened through Malcolm’s tawny muscles, highlighted by so much starvation and time. “What is she to you?” he demanded.

Henrik shook his head, ran a hand through his hair. “To the locker if I know. It’s safe to say there’s no one quite like your sister, and I have no idea how to read her. We were . . . bound by a mutual agreement. She’s free to go. With luck, this will recompense some of what I owe her.”

Malcolm eyed him with profound disdain, his upper lip curled. “Must be worse than I imagined. Regardless, it doesn’t matter. I’ll get her to Pedr’s boat and leave. She’ll go.”

“Are you willing to exploit her love for the draguls to make her leave? Because I will, if you won’t.”

Malcolm grinned. “We might be more alike than I thought, soldat. Don’t worry about it. My sister is under my care. Good luck against Oliver. You’re going to need it.”