Page 35 of The Queens and the Kings
She nodded, lips pressed together. “She was, as Pedr tells it,a devil of a woman.”
Henrik revealed a lazy, subdued smile that grew slowly. On the rare occasion he offered such a full-bodied response, his eyes sparkled a little.
“A devil of a woman?”
She lifted both hands. “Apparently. I’ve heard stories about herwild waysall my life.Mostly fromGeneral Helsing, mind you. Dear Aunt Gertrude and Mama didn’t get along, as you might imagine.”
Laughing, he said, “Britt fits you very nicely. Strong, but light.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you remember your mother?”
“Barely. What few recollections I have are brief, and might be my own imagination. Malcolm remembers more than I do, and Pedr more than him. Pedr knew them the longest.”
Henrik mulled that over, then canted his body to face her. “Listen, I’m not always great at casual or deep conversation. I don’t . . . I don’t talk about emotional stuff all that much, so I’m just going to ask you what’s on my mind without trying to be . . . soft.”
Curiosity drove her brow higher. Suppressing a smile, she said, “Please.”
“Your aunt is cold, harsh, and not very nice. That . . . probably wasn’t great as a kid and I doubt it feels good as an adult. I’d rather have no parents at all than a parental figure like her. After she pulled this . . . demand . . . on you, how do you . . . ” He cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.
“Feel?” she ventured.
“I guess?”
His haphazard attempt to empathize warmed her like malt whiskey. Her lips twitched as she tried to hide a smile.
“I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I thought that same thing several times while growing up. Better to have no one than someone so unfeeling and rigid, I suppose. In hindsight, I am grateful for her. Part of me did need some structure, at least a little. She provided it in spades. When my father died, she took it hard. In some ways, I don’t think she’s ever recovered. He was her little brother. They were close. Regardless, General Helsing is . . . well . . . she is who she is. There’s no changing her.”
He snorted an agreement.
“I’ve learned to accept what I receive and not expect more. That doesn’t change the sting, but it removes the pressure of not getting what I want. Anyway, it’s not easy.”
Britt’s heart hammered in her throat as she took a chance and lay her hand on his forearm. The corded muscles beneath her fingertips twitched, but didn’t buck her off.
“Thank you for asking.”
His fingers curled under his own palm, sealing him off. His wry smile made her chuckle. “I’m not good at it, Britt, but I’m willing to be bad until I improve.”
“You’re not bad at conversation,” she countered. “You’re to the point. I think anyone can appreciate that. For what it’s worth, I’m not great at asking the right questions either. For themost part, Pedr and Malcolm raised me, and Agnes is the first real girlfriend I’ve had. Living in the undermountain meant I know a lot of people, have a lot of friends, but none of them very close.”
“Really?”
She nodded.
Henrik leaned back, one eye narrowed, as if he didn’t believe her. “You strike me as the heart of a party. The lifeblood. The energy. I may have been grappling at the time, but I watched you the night I won the title from Captain Oliver. You had no problem in that crowd.”
“A ruse,” she said easily, then hastily added, “not a lie, necessarily. It’s just that most of the time I don’t know what I’m doing. The sociality and bubbly exterior is partly an act. It hides a woman who would rather be sailing than chatting.”
Henrik laughed. “I’ve never liked you more than right now.”
Me either,she wanted to say, but her courage fled. This conversation was proof of progress, and she didn’t want to mess it up. She let her hand fall away from his arm and rest in the fold of her dress. She missed his warmth once it was gone. Wind flapped against her pant legs, howling a lonely, low tune through the ropes.
“Do you think we can do it, Britt?”
The raw question in his voice cut through her. Sorrow like that could have cracked bones.
“We’ll find Selma, Henrik.”
