Page 64 of The Queens and the Kings
Chapter Twenty
HENRIK
Einar’s hairfluttered in chaotic, uneven strands. He’d shorn it off with a knife sometime in the night, leaving it strange and haphazard and short on top. A rare sign of mourning amongst the soldats. They often had little to mourn. He appeared ghostly, exhausted. Most nights, he slept on deck, near the spot where he released Agnes. Last night, he stood at the wheel and stared out.
At their backs, the wharf bustled. People moved in the teeming, but quiet, crowd. Most avoided the two soldats, leaning against a fence and staring at the dock.
Henrik asked, “Are you sure you want to meet the Ladylord?”
“She invited me, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll go.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I do.” Einar’s jaw tightened. “I need to . . . be away from the ship for a few hours. I need a break. Something else to think about.”
Henrik nodded. A roughshod plan filled his head. There were a lot of things about their approach to the Ladylord hedidn’t like. The power in her hands, for one. The unfamiliarity of the mainland naval structure, for another. Pedr knew more information about the mainland navy than he revealed. It wasn’t enough.
They needed a little power.
A statement.
One card in their hand, just in case.
As he opened his mouth to explain where they were going next, Einar interrupted him. “Pedr says that Arcanists are real.”
“What?”
“There’s an Arcanist of Souls, apparently. Pedr says that sometimes you can approach the Arcanist of Souls to find a lost soul. Retrieve a loved one from death, even.”
He spoke lightly. Even. Tension threatened to cut him in half.
“Retrieve?”
Einar’s fingers tapped along the wooden railing. “From death, from Norr. From wherever Agnes is right now, without me. I don’t know!”
“That would require Norr to be alive,” Henrik said evenly, “and, if I heard you right not long ago, you don’t believe in anything associated with His Glory anymore.”
Einar said quietly, “I’m not sure there’s anything left to believe in, Henrik.”
A vacuum of silence swelled. Henrik sought for solace to impart, but found none. The haunted pain in Einar’s eyes revealed the thin line he trod. It wouldn’t take much before Henrik lost him, too.
“Pedr says it’s a suicide mission,” Einar added. “Going after Agnes’s soul. Attempting to speak to the Arcanist, all that.”
“Sounds like a story.”
“Even if it was destined to fail,” Einar whispered, “maybe death wouldn’t be the worst thing either. Maybe . . .”
“Don’t do it, Einar,” Henrik barked, low. “I know you think chasing Agnes to your own death is the answer, but it’s not worth it. Your life has value. Agnes wouldn’t want you to give up, and you know it. There’s more to live for.”
Einar swallowed so hard, Henrik heard it. “I don’t know if I believe that. You’re my brother, but you’re not her.”
“If I’m not enough,” Henrik growled, “that’s fine. But you don’t know what’s after this life. Not even a little. You’re making a plan based on assumptions you don’t control, and that’s not what we do. We plan, we execute. That’s what wedocontrol, Einar. Nothing beyond right here.”
Einar closed his eyes. “I hate it,” he whispered. “This. . . living without her. Henrik, Ihateit.”
