Page 173 of The Queens and the Kings
Well . . . maybe Henrik wasn’t so bad.
The scent of brimstone filled Pedr’s nostrils as the wind blew straight into his face. He sniffed. His hair bounced with a stirringbreeze. Notes of fresh cotton, sea spray, plumeria lingered with the stronger smell of brimstone.
Himmel and something . . . no, someone. . . else must be nearby.
Brimstone? That wasn’t Jordaire. That was . . .
Shite.
He cursed under his breath, shoved away from the rigging, and dropped down the mast. The empty air whizzed past him as he landed on the deck without a ripple of pain. Britt sucked in a breath of surprise, but knew better than to ask if he was okay. Of course he was. The fall would have killed a mortal, but didn’t even register a tremor in his ironclad Arcanist body.
“What do you smell?” she asked. “You always have that expression when you smell something concerning.”
“Onskar.”
Her brow elevated. “Who?”
“The Arcanist of Souls.”
The blood left her wide-eyed face. She stepped away from her spot at the stern, where she longingly stared after the quietly retreating soldats who stole their way inland, toward Stenberg. They’d passed dozens of small boats with full loads heading for mainland ships just out of sight. Others, almost empty, headed back to Stenberg to gather more.
Didn’t take long to see an evacuation for what it was. Nor Britt’s growing and twitchy curiosity. He gave her two minutes before she jumped overboard or took a rowboat to the pier and attempted to save Henrik herself. She had no business meddling.
Yet.
“Onskar is the Arcanist of Souls,” he muttered, “and he’s here on Stenberg. I can smell him.”
“That is a bad thing?”
Terrible, he thought.Portentous. The worst situation in the world.
“It’s not good,” he said.On your ends,as the pirate Captains he dealt with would say. Britt swung back around to study Stenberg.
He’s here,Himmel whispered in the wind.
Pedr turned away so Britt couldn’t hear his reply. “Can you see him?”
No.
“Where is he?”
Everywhere.
“What do I do? I can’t leave. I?—”
You can meet him here.
“How?”
Present yourself.
Swearing, Pedr hissed, “No! You know I’m the weakest Arcanist. I’m a joke against you and Jordaire. I have fifteen years in the position and the arcane is only just familiar to me. Jordaire has hundreds of years. Call him!”
He cannot.
“Why?”
He is dealing with other things.
