Page 115 of The Queens and the Kings
“I’m sorry, Britt.” Pedr had choked. “I did everything that I could.”
His young freckled face, wild hair, disappeared from her mental view. The memory stopped.
“They were on a ship when a hurricane blew in,” she continued more steadily now. “Their vessel wasn’t able to withstand the giant waves, and it went down. Pedr was . . . somewhere nearby, I guess.”
“How?”
She shook her head, jostling Denerfen. Her dragul slid to the side of her neck and settled on the deck, curled around her tresses.
“He’s never told us. He was different afterward. Quieter, which probably isn’t a stretch to believe.”
Henrik mulled it over. Britt pressed her free hand to the deck beneath them, seeking grounding, fascinated by the slow change of the sky to brittle orange. The light that came before the sun peeked above the horizon.
“Is that when he became . . .” Henrik swirled a hand around, indicating the ship.
Britt cocked her head. She hadn’t thought of it that way before . . . the timeline was uncertain. She had been so young at the time. Pedr hadn’t always been thisstuck to his ship. He hadn’t been so powerful, so brooding, so intense. But he’d always been tied to the sea. Always obsessed with the arcane and motion.
“Maybe,” she whispered.
“So you know what it’s like to lose your parents as a child,” he said with a quiet voice. She couldn’t decide if it was wonder or hurt that tinted his words.
“I do.”
“Why didn’t you mention it sooner? There are very few people that could understand such an event.”
“Because it’s still very different from what you experienced. So entirely, utterly different.”
His face scrunched, as if he didn’tquiteagree.
Britt pressed a hand to her chest. “I may have lost my parents, but I still had my brothers, my island, my family. I wasn’t torn out of their arms in a parting so wretched that I still haven’t forgotten it decades later. There was no reason for me to take the focus off of your search for Selma. Besides, I didn’t know where our friendship would go. Growing up, I had Malcolm and Pedr and, for better or worse, my aunt.”
“Have you always called her General Helsing?”
“Yes, though I think the name Gertrude is lovely.”
“It suits her.”
Britt laughed. “Yes, it does. General Helsing also suits her personality very well. She’s uncomfortable with the intimacy that comes with first names.”
As hoped, he spoke. But not after a long, contemplative silence. “I understand.”
Greater questions and vulnerabilities built in her throat, but she couldn’t make herself say them. He spared her the agony by finally breaking his silence. “It was definitely Selma.”
She burst out, “You’re certain?”
He nodded, breathing a soft raspberry. “Having time to think and meet with Selma alone, without Alma hovering nearby or outside, made it easier.”
She rolled onto her side to face him again, bending her arm underneath her head as a pillow. Rushed and breathless, she demanded, “What are your impressions of Selma? What did you think? Tell me everything!”
To her utter delight, he continued to speak. His explanations, recounting, rolled out as if he spoke this much everyday, but she’d never heard so many words come from his mouth in one sitting. She breathed carefully, lest she move too much and break the spell that had stolen over him.
“When I left, I promised her I would see her again,” he concluded. “I stayed there for hours, and it seemed . . . natural enough.”
“When will that be?”
His head shook. “I don’t know, but I hope soon.”
Awed, she whispered, “I can’t believe she remembered Einar.” Britt giggled. “I mean, Noah. And that his name isNoah. You’ve not only found your family, but his, too. What a treasure. You have answers.”
