Page 28 of The Queens and the Kings
“News from Arvid,” he called. “Better tell the ladies. They’ll want to hear this, too.”
Chapter Nine
BRITT
Britt’s jaw dropped.“You’re kidding!”
Agnes flapped her hand, squealing. “No! Einar already has the monies to pay for the legalization. Not sure how he found it, though. Both of us departed Stenberg without anything except the clothes on our back. I think Arvid gave it to him? It sounds like something he’d do.”
They sat on the edge of a narrow bed, in a compact room Agnes and Einar shared. Einar would barely fit across the flimsy mattress on his own, with his long longs and wide shoulders. Agnes attempting to curl up with him was a humorous picture.
Wood outfitted every available space, forming shelves with bars across the middle to hold objects inside, a wooden desk nailed to the floor, and windows along the eastern side. Rosenvattenhad portholes in nearly every cabin—a luxury Britt rarely saw in other frigates or merchant vessels, obsessed with functionality and space and protection.
“But . . . legalizing!” Britt cried. “I thought . . .”
“That legalizing with a soldat wasn’t a good thing?”
“Well, yes.”
Agnes shrugged. “Who cares? The soldats are all but disbanded at this point, and His Glory is grasping for any control. That sort of thing only matters at Stenberg, and neither of us want to return. What does it matter what His Glory thinks, or does? If Arvid has his way, and the rebellion goes as planned, His Glory will be dead soon.”
The calmness of Agnes’s voice around His Glory’s death was a bold testament to how much the rebellion had taken up her life. Einar welcomed all of it, but Henrik still twitched when the wordsStenbergorOliverorrebellionorHis Gloryarose.
She suspected that he struggled to understand, based on the war in his eyes. He’d cut the biggest ties that bound him to His Glory, but something haunted him. Who wouldn’t war between a desire for freedom and utter terror of it once obtained?
Britt clapped her hand over Agnes’s and squeezed. “I am so happy for you.”
Agnes gave a deeply contented sigh. “It’s so wonderful to dream and have it come true.” She tilted Britt a knowing gaze. “What about you and Henrik?”
Draping her arms around her bent knees, Britt laughed. A short, hollow, wary thing. “I’m afraid there’s nothing that exciting to tell.”
“Oh?”
“Henrik is . . . wonderful.”
“You care about him. This isn’t a ruse anymore, I can tell.”
Admitting their full story to Agnes had been harrowing. She’d worried that Agnes would stop trusting her, or feel betrayed, but Agnes took it in stride. Like a true friend. Britt wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.
As General Helsing’s niece, her infamous status across the islands as Burning Beard’s sister, and eventual appointment to Keeper, gave Britt a droll sense of distance. Few islanders deeply befriended her, though she knew most residents well. Thosewho offered more than passing interest in her were mostly high-ranking officers. It’s why Malcolm had been her main lifeline, and Pedr her greatest escape. Thisgirl talkscenario was utterly new.
And lovely.
“It’s not a ruse,” Britt admitted. “Not even a little. I care about Henrik.”
The stirring that arose from using his name affirmed what she’d known for a while: she cared for Henrik, but she didn’t know what that meant.
Until Henrik could sort out his life, creating expectations of him would be . . . foolish. Perhaps hopeless. His hesitance around emotion, intense brooding, made it unclear where he stood.
And yet . . .
His quiet touches, obvious protectiveness, occasional, fleeting smile. Her lips burned to connect with his and hush the building restlessness in his presence. Questions of longevity and freedom arose. Could a man who finally discovered his freedom truly commit?
Didn’t he deserve time?
“Something is there on my side,” Britt concluded. “Caring and affection and a desire for more. But . . . he needs space.”
“On his side too!” Agnes cried, laughing. “Britt, I’ve never seen a soldat act toward you the way he does without caring. They don’t knowhow.”
