Page 103 of The Queens and the Kings
“It’s falling apart.”
“The soldats are falling apart, yes.” Einar nodded. “The navy is a different matter, it sounds like.” He waved the letter, then nodded toward Pedr. “Arvid is already on his way to find us. Pedr said he can help them arrive sooner.”
Henrik confirmed by glancing at him. Pedr nodded. Henrik didn’t bother asking how. It didn’t matter. Pedr had always been strange, but good on his word.
“Anything else?” Henrik asked.
Einar braced his hands on the rail behind him. The ship barreled into a rolling wave, splashing. “The situation on Stenberg sounds tenuous. The port authority was brutalized and almost drowned.”
“By whom?”
Einar shrugged. “Arvid didn’t say.”
“His Glory is losing control,” Henrik said.
The light in Einar’s gaze illuminated. “Which is why Arvid is coming here. He said a partnership with the mainland would be the right emphasis we needed to get rid of His Glory, as long as there’s not something else attached. He’s sufficiently convinced that the majority of Stenberg would be supportive and ready to move on.”
Something else attachedwas the pertinent point. The mainland wanted something from Stenberg, and he had a feeling it wasn’t only damma.
Einar passed Henrik the letter.
“Arvid will be here in two days.”
Henrik passed the day on the stern, in the sunshine, with his throwing stars and brooding thoughts. Einar paced, speaking plans to Pedr, who didn’t acknowledge him at all. Britt made herself scarce with a book in Pedr’s berth, occasionally switching for a hammock on the deck when the sunshine was persuasive instead of overbearing.
That evening, Henrik stared at the words he’d just written, illuminated by wavering candlelight.
Selma,
Forgive me for leaving.
He crossed it out, attempted again.
Selma,
I’m sorry for?—
He balled the paper up and tossed it onto the floor with five others. The pen nub trembled as he glowered at the fresh page.
What could he possibly say?
Closing his eyes, he accessed the memory again. The scream. The shrill, horrified shrieks. The impression of great movement followed, as if she flailed and thrashed. Until now, it had all been vague, uncertain memories. As powerful as wispy smoke. But Selma had replaced herself in them.
She howled his name from the recollection until he no longer knew if he remembered it or if it were made up in his head. She fit. Her voice. The face.
He closed his eyes and attempted to see her again. To access other memories. He mined the lower levels of his dark gut box, searching for something else. Light? Toys? Had there been a bedroom, a father? A father, yes. Of course. There must have been.
His chest knotted at the thought. All these years and he’d ignored the reality that someone had sired him. Something about seeing Selma in person unlocked the obvious truth that someone else had been involved in his creation.
It made him breathless.
Henrik blinked back to life when asnapsounded. Something wet gushed onto his fingers. Ink glugged over his hand as he stared at the broken fountain pen. The dark pool gathered in beads on the page, powerful as a blood stain.
After cleaning the mess, he pulled his last sheet, grabbed a pencil, and scrawled across the top.
Meet with me, please? Anywhere that doesn’t involve the Ladylord or anyone else. Tell me where to find you.
Erik
