Page 182 of The Queens and the Kings
BRITT
Anticipation feltlike a live wire in her blood. Britt cursed it, the way it flipped her stomach, tilted her balance. She felt like she rode a ship on its side, and her whole world waitedto feel normal again.
Finally, the rowboat docked. Denerfen chirruped from her neck, seeking.
Stenberg men and women poured out of the rowboat and onto the dock, heading toward the smoking fires of the market. Children secure back on the mainland vessels, these islanders returned to fight, pack their belongings, or find lost friends. Tears, sniffles, and muted fears accompanied them.
Once the speedy rowboat emptied, she hopped onto the dock. No port authority waited to glower her into submission. Sunrise belted the distant sky, lightening the smoky and vague shadows. The sounds of battle had faded into a breathless question. From her vantage, she glimpsed the high, sealstone streets and winding cobblestone roads.
Barren.
Near-destitute.
No vendors accosted her as she neared the shore. No one shouted for her to purchase something, or raced away from a storm. Pedr hadn’t emerged from his quarters in the hours she’d shuttled islanders away from danger. She didn’t dare return.
Britt stepped onto land, barefoot, with Henrik’s name on the tip of her tongue. How perfect the irony. The first time she sprinted down this dock, she fled Henrik. This time, she couldn’t find him fast enough.
Her heart hammered as she carried her fears for his life with her off the dock. Her forward momentum stalled as she pondered where to go next. The battle appeared to be over. The calamity and noise had ceased.
Where would Henrik be? In the thick of it, probably.
A deep voice called her name.
“Britt!”
Whirling to the right, her heart stalled in her throat.
Henrik!
He jogged toward her, an intent, concerned expression on his face. He studied her as he dashed across distance between them. Despite a little sweat, blood, and dirt, he appeared no worse for wear.
“Henrik!”
Her breathy exclamation carried terror and relief, concern and admiration. But she didn’t care. The time for analysis and stress over Henrik had come to an end—life was too short for this uncertainty.
He slowed.
She threw herself into his arms.
He caught her, arms wrapped firmly around her back, and swamped her with the smell of the sea and everything she longed for. Her time with wyverns vanished. Her fear for his life dissipated. Of course he wasfine. Henrik was a soldat. A survivor.
He swung them around in the sand, wrapping her in impossibly strong arms. Everything righted. Her world tipped back into balance as she braced her hands around his cheeks.
“You’re fine?” he asked, holding her gaze.
She nodded.
“You?”
“Fine,” he confirmed and lowered her to the ground. Laughing, he reached into her hair, tapping Denerfen on the snout as he emerged. “Ta to you, too.”
He cheeped.
She kept her hands on Henrik’s shoulders.
“Einar?”
“Also fine.”
