Page 2 of The Queens and the Kings
Nope.
No.
Not . . . he couldn’t . . . that was . . .
Pedr turned toward the sea, filling his mind with waterborne obligations. He needed to activate the arcane to lower the sails, check his food rations for the mere humans amongst them, and trynotto look at the black mountains he longed to climb, but couldn’t.
That foul curse tied him to the ship . . .
No matter how hard he tried, Pedr couldn’t block the sound of Agnes dancing with Einar in the rain. It pounded relentlessly, soaking them. Their laughter tripled through it, undaunted. Pedr couldn’t retreat into his quarters fast enough. He couldn’t wait to break this curse.
And break it, he would.
Chapter Two
BRITT
A drizzlingrain hummed on top of the churning sea, singing like a lullaby. It sluiced down Britt’s back, pebbling the water as she leaped off the side of the rowboat and onto the Kapurnickkian pier. Clouds and fog glided past, obscuring the viridian Dragul Mountains.
Hermountains.
Denerfen issued a delighted squeak beneath her damp hair, wings flapping, claws massaging her shoulder in a threat to fly higher without her. Rain like this would swamp him into the turbulent seas within seconds, so she reached with a calming hand. Her gaze remained straight ahead.
Thirty steps away, under the protection of an awning, awaited a lone, stalwart figure: shoulders braced, arms rigid. General Helsing held herself as tightly wound as a clock, without display of awkwardness or bodily insecurity.
Malcolm shouted over a roll of thunder. “She’s going to be livid that you left without telling her your plans! And with a dragul,” he added with lessening gusto.
A ripple of fear hit Britt’s stomach like cold water. General Helsing couldn’t berate Britt for anything with Denerfen, herbonded dragul. She could, however, berate Britt for taking Tesserdress with her.
Britt had known from the beginning that General Helsing would be unhappy that Britt left to save Malcolm without permission. All that happened on the Unseen Island and with Captain Oliver, which would make her aunt downright murderous.
Britt called over her shoulder, “Still worth it.”
Malcolm flashed her a grateful smile. Weeks on Pedr’s ship, a few more Kapurnikkian potions, and sleep had restored his health. His broken arm remained weak, but mended quickly. Greater scars existed in his eyes than his body. Steady food and safety had done most of the work.
As they hurried up the dock, a rolling motion stirred beneath Malcolm’s shirt. Tesserdress, his dragul. She, too, had almost fully recovered. Britt’s relief continued to be a palpable thing.
Striding at her side, Henrik glanced at Britt. His dark expression matched his eyes and hair, which he’d tucked into a braid, then wound to a knot on top of his head. Was he nervous? Frightened? She scoffed at the thought. What would frighten Henrik, the Stenberg soldat? After what she’d observed on the Unseen Island . . . nothing.
With a shake of his saturated head, Malcolm said, “I guess it’s better to get the confrontation over with. When we get closer, I’ll stay with Henrik until you’re done with your verbal lashing. She might lock you up in the undermountain, you know.”
General Helsing had unsuccessfully attempted it before. “I know,” Britt grumbled, and added, “Thanks.”
Malcolm offered to keep Henrik away to spare her the embarrassment of General Helsing’s dressing down. Nevermind that Britt had saved Malcolm and Tesserdress. She’d deliberately gone around General Helsing to make it happen, and General Helsing didn’t like anything she couldn’t control.
As they slowed, Henrik quietly stated, “I’m not staying with Malcolm.” Had she imagined that his fingertips grazed the small of her back? Henrik’s hard stare dared her to stop him from following her. Water rolled down his cheeks.
Britt’s knees turned to water. She nodded once.
Malcolm rolled his eyes and muttered a Kapurnickkian curse word. Britt didn’t want Henrik to stay with Malcolm, but she didn’t relish the idea of General Helsing gouging her pride in front of Henrik, either. Based on his narrowed scrutiny and defensive stance, Henrik wouldn’t appreciate her aunt, either.
Concern suffused Henrik’s expression as Britt approached the awning, which extended fifty steps from the doorway into the mountain. Malcolm opened his mouth to speak again, but stopped. The aged lines of General Helsing’s face were visible, so she’d hear whatever he said.
General Helsing shifted her weight. Her hands, held at her rail-thin sides, hadn’t swayed. Her graying bun and severe cheeks were the picture of indignant ire.
When General Helsing was less than twenty steps away, Britt slowed. The weight of her fears settled with insufferable discomfort. Henrik squinted through the rain, as if to ask why she faltered. Her heart slammed.
Blessed mermaids, she had to pull it together.
