Page 47 of The Queens and the Kings
Henrik elevated his eyes.
Up, indeed.
This coast was a mixture of sea, surf, and hard rock. Cliffs, set back from the ocean, rose to a daunting height. The sun crested the top, leaving the lower cliffs in a wet shadow. Within the rocks themselves, life teemed. Buildings piled in clusters along the bottom and edges, accessed by roads zigzagging in switchbacks up the cliffside. People with wagons avoided several steep pitches via longer routes. Occasionally, an animal pulling a cart interrupted the flow, but people veered around them, too.
“She lives in the cliffs?” he heard himself ask.
“Lubbers live everywhere in Klipporno.”
“Lubbers?”
“It’s a name for mainland people. They call us islanders, we call them lubbers. Fair’s fair.”
Based on the way she said it,lubberswas not a kind term. Britt plucked the coin purse out of her brassiere, extracted two shiny coins, and shoved them in a smaller skirt pocket.
“Follow my lead, Henrik,” she said brightly. “You have Malcolm’s letter?”
He touched a pocket inside his leather vest. To avoid drawing attention, he’d left his favorite gauntlets behind.
“Yes.”
“We might have time to find the scribe after speaking with the Ladylord, depending on how long it takes. Most Ladylords or Lordladys don’t have time for extensive meetings with island agents, but politicians constantly surprise me. His Glory notwithstanding.”
Water slapped the rowboat, wetting the bottom of Britt’s skirt when she climbed out, looped the rope around the tie down, and reached for the ladder. She stowed her paddle as a stern-looking dockmaster glowered at them.
Henrik followed her out of the rowboat. A burly woman approached Britt, hand outstretched. With her usual brilliant smile, Britt popped the two coins into the awaiting hand. They glimmered a faint orange and yellow.
“For the day,” Britt chirped. Her fixed smile was in place again, so easy to spot now that she told him the truth. No one else would recognize her fake smile as such. Not if they hadn’t studied her as deeply as Henrik. Her sincere smiles were far more tame, filled with raw power. They didn’t take up her whole expression in a fixed, forced brightness.
He thought of it as her game. The bubbly strategy she employed to get what she wanted. Not nefarious, but calculated. The real Britt was far more steady, and seeking.
A fine eyebrow, set against a suspicious face, arose on the dockmaster’s face. The woman exclaimed, “Two coins? Are you mad? It’s a half pence for the day in mainland monies.”
Britt leaned closer. “I know you’ll take good care of my rowboat.” She tipped her head out to the sea. “Compliments of Burning Beard.”
A half gasp lingered at the back of the woman’s throat as she peered beyond Britt, comprehending the distant blaze of pink jutting above his sails. The woman tucked the coins into her pocket and cast a surreptitious glance at the dockmaster as she checked something on a paper, strapped to a wooden board, in the crook of her arm.
“Right. We’ll keep a good eye on it.”
“Ta!”
Britt strode away with her usual confident certainty. Henrik followed, a fool at her heels.
Chapter Sixteen
BRITT
Henrik’s steady,unwavering expression carried them through the tightly-packed and winding streets of Klipporno. Denerfen stayed with Pedr. If he’d come, he would have roamed across her shoulders with bottled excitement. Helovedthe scents of the mainland, but the uncertainty was too much. She couldn’t worry about his safety andwhat she faced in diplomatic negotiations.
Besides, he adored Pedr. She couldn’t fathom a safer place for him.
People filled the edges of the cobblestone road as they streamed past fish hawkers and bead sellers, the smell of body odor mixing with fresh bread. Britt breezed past baskets imbued with specific stones, supposedly arcane-infused for different purposes. Love necklaces. Protective bracelets. Conch shells decorated with glittering glass. A tattoo shop with designs that purportedly contained the arcane and changed patterns after completion.
She scoffed. Hardly.
Nothing of great consequence, but that was the mainland. Vast populations and opportunities and fathomless resources,but so little depth. The coastal cities didn’t struggle through famines or scarcity, like The Isles. The multitudinous farmland tripling behind them, and the wyvern hoard that skirted the shore, meant food and outside attack weren’t great concerns.
A cart filled with rotting pieces of wood rattled in front of Britt, cutting fast around a tight corner of stone-made buildings. Henrik reached out a hand, fingers clutching her arm above her elbow. His quick tug prevented a painful collision. She snuck a glance at his face. His jaw worked, his nose twitched, his neck twisted in obvious discomfort.
