Page 148 of The Queens and the Kings
“There’s no Cristan that I know of in Stenberg.”
“No,” she crooned, tutting. “There wouldn’t be, would there? I interrupted the soldats, attempted to save you. It brought embarrassment to my whole family. His Glory used it as a lesson for other mothers. In order to earn His Glory’s trust, Cristan would have to change his name, perhaps. Or maybe leave the island and swear on death to never return. Or, he would have somehow proven his loyalty against me. For all I know,” she added softly, “he negated our legalization, promised to never acknowledge my existence, and is living a beautiful life under a different name.”
The wordsprove his loyalty against meleft Henrik in a tight knot. That meant his father could be anyone. More than likely, he was dead. Killed after Henrik joined the soldat training as a boy, just to prevent problems. When it came to His Glory, one never knew what to expect.
Selma threaded her fingers together in a supplicant position. Her lips pressed to her thumbs. “I want to know if he’s alive. What sort of life did he make? Where is he now? His Glory forced us apart. I want to know what it means. There are no expectations.”
Time had whittled away even the saddest resignation. He heard none of that in her tone. Only determination.
“It will be dangerous,” he said.
“I know.”
“So how will you find him?”
“I don’t know. I’ll visit every single person on the ships, if I must. Live on Stenberg again and introduce myself to everyone. Become a Sister of Stenberg. Somehow,” she added. “I don’t know, but I trust myself to figure it out. If I’ve proven anything, it’s my adaptability.”
Her hand reached out, touched his. He didn’t flinch or withdraw, so she settled her palm more fully and gave a squeeze. Henrik set his other hand on top of hers and returned the affectionate gesture with a deepening pit in his stomach.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “Let me know how I can help. I would also like to know.”
Dawn kissed the next morning with her fresh scent. The rousing ship, the calm sea, reminded Henrik of Britt. Questions about her well being swarmed him. Was she safe? What trouble did she stir up with Pedr? Was she being wise?
Sailors scurried around, unfurling the jib, shouting orders, bringing wakefulness to the sleepy air. Einar yawned at his side. Despite his obvious fatigue, a bright fever lay behind his glassy eyes. It looked something like hope.
“When we defeat His Glory, I’ll be free to find Agnes.”
Instead of grabbing Einar by the shoulders, shaking him violently and demanding,what are you thinking?Henrik cleared his throat.
“How?”
“Pedr told me that there’s a small treasure trove of artifacts that His Glory keeps hidden away. Precious artifacts.Historicalartifacts.”
“They belong to the people of Stenberg,” Henrik countered.
“They belong to the Arcanists.”
The gentle words, soft as a caress, sent a bolt of fear through Henrik. After a pause, in which Henrik understood thedesperate searching in Einar’s voice, Henrik asked, “Where is this treasure trove?”
“In the Temple, most likely.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does Pedr?”
“No.”
“He wouldn’t, would he? The man hasn’t left his boat in fifteen years. What will these artifacts provide for you?”
Einar paused with a wary note of uncertainty. “Do you believe me?”
“I believe you think it’s real.”
“That’s not the same,” he growled.
“I know,” Henrik said.
