Page 138 of The Queens and the Kings
The room exploded from the middle out. A percussiveboomsent Henrik wheeling back. Tossed through the air, he flailed until his spine slammed into the wall. He dropped to the ground.
Black spots danced across his eyes as he struggled to stay conscious. Coughing, he fanned a hand in front of his face. Dust clogged the air, thickening each breath. Next to him, Arvid groaned. Einar lay limp on the floor nearby, blood trickling from his left nostril. His chest heaved up and down with fast, thready breaths.
Someone moaned.
Through the haze, an undulating ochre glow appeared. Like grass on fire, summer straw, churned soil. Scents rolled off of it. Flowers and hay and hot pine needles. After several seconds of concentration, Henrik could just make out the Ladylord standing inside of an invisible, protective bubble.
Across from her, a variegated rainbow stood between His Glory, his three personal soldats and the Ladylord. The indomitable, opal wall expanded outward like powerful rays. The Ladylord had an arcane shield that pressed against His Glory’s arcane shield. Both roiled like building clouds, surgingback and forth in a physical tussle, until the floor trembled with raw might.
His Glory smiled, feral. The shield he conjured retracted. “Ah, how very interesting. You’re not the only one with an Arcanist friend, Ladylord. Good luck in the upcoming events. You’ll need it.”
His Glory and all three of his soldats vanished.
Einar’s hands didn’t stop clenching, unclenching, clenching for an hour.
Henrik kept a loose eye on him as Einar strode at his side through Klipporno. A headache thudded at the base of Henrik’s skull, intensifying each footstep. Arvid, quiet but steady, trailed behind them, lost in thought.
At some point after His Glory left, Nils, both irate and pale, barked out vague directions to a ship south of the wharf and told them to find it. “Can’t miss it. Bright orange flag. I’ll meet you there. Can’t talk here. Bring your rowboat. Immediate response. We have to retaliate. Now!”
The wharf’s escalating, ambient noise welcomed them into chaos before Einar broke the silence in a livid explosion.
“He’s aligned with an Arcanist?”
Henrik said, “Apparently.”
Einar drove a hand through his hair. “But . . . how? I thought the arcane didn’t work on Stenberg. Pedr said the arcane is broken. All of Pedr’s arcane is a little . . . kooky. Off-center. It’s functional, but not really.”
Henrik shared the surreal disbelief. He said, “Maybethatarcane works,” for lack of anything else.
“It must be the Arcanist of Souls.”
“How do you know?” Henrik countered.
“I don’t—not really. But it still. . .I just . . . ”
Henrik shook his head, the headache intensifying through the base of his skull. None of it made sense.
“Why would His Glory align with the Arcanist of Souls?” Henrik asked. “What benefit does it lend?”
“The arcane,” Einar countered. “He conjured a protective rainbow!”
“Yes, but why?”
Einar’s nose twitched. “I don’t know.” He tilted his head to the left to indicate their next move and veered onto a well-maintained cobblestone road. The smell of fish and brine wound through the air.
“It has to be the Arcanist of Souls,” Einar muttered again, as if convincing himself.
Arvid asked, “Why?”
“That’s the only one left. The Ladylord obviously aligned with the Arcanist of Land or else she might have died. Didn’t you smell the soil? It falls in line. That shield wasn’t Pedr’s, and she’s mentioned an Arcanist before. I certainly think her death was His Glory’s goal with the . . . whatever he did. Without her shield he would have achieved his goal.”
“Obviously?” Arvid questioned. “What’s soobviousabout her allegiance to the Arcanist of Land?”
Einar tossed his hands in the air. “The brown glow! The yellow colors. It’s earthy and symbolic.”
“If each shield acted as a symbol for the arcane’s origin, then what are rainbows?” Henrik countered.
“Souls?”
