Page 181 of The Queens and the Kings
He tossed it.
The blade wedged into His Glory’s ribs, just below the sternum.
A perfect shot.
A shocked gurgle accompanied the targeted hit. His Glory slid down the corner of the wall, blood spurting between his hands. Crimson oozed around the knife sticking from just below his ribs.
Henrik stared at him, panting. He crossed the distance, yanked his knife out. “Greetings to your bastid father, you piece of shite,” he muttered. “That was for Britt. For Agnes. For our mothers. For our fathers.”
Blood chugged with lessening force. The life in His Glory’s eyes ebbed, slumping him into a wet, crimson puddle. Henrik spun. Vilhelm blinked, eyes glazed with shock, from where he lay on the floor. A moan escaped him, and he dropped his face down. Still half conscious, by the look of it.
The other soldats didn’t stir as Henrik crouched next to Einar. He flipped him over and thumped a hard fist into his spine. Einar peeped once, a quick breath. The paralyzing cloud retreated in wisps, wafting away. Einar, pale as a ghost, didn’t respond when Henrik shouted his name.
“Wake up, you bastid!”
A firm slap on the cheek roused something of a moan. A harder second slap brought a cough. When Henrik raised his hand for a third, Einar croaked, “Slap me one more time, you bastid, and I’ll rip your head off.”
Henrik slumped to the ground at his side, yanked him upright. Air breezed in and out of Einar’s lungs. Hacking at first. Painfully, so.
Einar gazed at His Glory with disbelief.
“It worked?”
Incredulously, Henrik muttered, “Of course it worked, you bastid. As easy as taking down the tyrant of an entire island while he planned to use arcane against us, that’s all.”
“Feint and cut.” Einar coughed. “I knew he’d have arcane nearby.”
Shouts from outside echoed up, ricocheting off the Temple walls. Henrik gently slapped him on the cheek a final time.
“Pull yourself together, you piece of shite. We need to send the sign that His Glory is done.”
Einar’s brightening eyes lifted to a coiled whip hanging on the wall above the door.
He grinned.
“I have an idea.”
They stole down the same staircase they entered from, wound through the hallways, and into the main arcade on the bottom floor. As they passed out of the Temple and into the Compendium courtyard, Einar stopped. Henrik stood behind him, following his gaze higher.
His Glory’s body hung from a curved fourth-story window, suspended by a whip. Black drapes billowed in a surging wind, flapping around his still form. Moments after His Glory’s corpse appeared, a ripple of sound roared across Stenberg. Now, a stranger silence descended, far more unnerving.
Einar saluted the dead tyrant and turned to go.
Henrik lingered.
Freedom, he thought. His life beckoned.
The young side of Henrik that hadn’t dared to believe he was safe withered away. Like a child, it was easily reassured. The juvenile fears swept out with it. That tyrant was truly gone.
Soldats advanced from the dull shadows. Ebba nodded. Harald grinned. They joined Einar and Henrik with subdued hand clasps, one eye on the body swinging from the eaves. Henrik couldn’t take his eyes off him.
Freedom, he thought again.
“Henrik?” Einar’s question echoed in the empty Compendium courtyard. Ebba and Timmer and Fritz surrounded him. “You coming? We need to find Arvid, see what’s happening with the battle. Besides, Pedr still has the sails burning. I’ll bet he’s having a hard time subduing Britt.”
Henrik gratefully turned to go, leaving His Glory where he belonged.
Chapter Forty Nine
