Page 70 of The Queens and the Kings
Henrik’s stomach clenched so hard it nearly knocked him sideways. After all their attempts to set boundaries, Alma still had them by the balls. Not entirely, though. She made a mistake in thinking there was only one way for them to find her motivation for an arcane suppressant. Let her have her illusion of control.
He said nothing, offering no reaction, and kept walking to the door.
“Three days,” she trilled to their backs, “I so look forward to our discussion.”
Water splashed Henrik’s ankles as he crossed a mellow beach, not far from the main wharf into the bay. New waves roused the briny scents of fish. Klipporno lacked freshness, unless a breeze swept in from the sea.
Everything here felt wrong.
Ships scattered the water in haphazard and dangerous cross hatches. Angular cliffs jutted up against the water’s edge in adeath trap, and signs of humanity clogged every available space. Klipporno denizens scattered the view, speckling the sand with their wares, fish guts, and teeming imperfections.
He’d rather be on a reefer year again, visiting distant, forgotten islands. With this many people, the sea lost her wild. Even walking straight to the ocean and avoiding the cobblestone roads hadn’t staved the suffocation.
He hated Klipporno, the mainland, and everything about it. But mostly, he hated that he already knew he’d fight with the mainland. Not just for Selma, though she certainly motivated him. For Stenberg.
For Einar.
Because what else would he do? Live happily with Britt on a lesser-known island? Not while his brother fought. Einar’s experience with Agnes sent Henrik reeling away from that possibility. That’s what came of plans for a soldat.
Einar trailed him, ankle-deep, arms moving at his side. His stony-face silence spoke for him. They splashed through an incoming wave, closing in on the wharf. They didn’t speak as they returned to the rowboat, nodded to the young boy watching their oars, and climbed inside. The lad scampered over, carrying the heavy oars he’d removed to keep the rowboat safe. Henrik tossed him an extra coin, and the lad grinned with all his teeth.
Next to their rowboat waited an exact replica.
Britt’s.
Henrik would have preferred to go with her. Her message was clear.
I got this.
He let her go. Whatever situation she approached here at Klipporno, she probably was more prepared to deal with it than him. He trusted her, but it didn’t mean he liked it.
Einar grabbed the oars, sending Henrik a challenging glare that dared him to argue. Henrik held up two hands in surrender,and stood to shove them off the dock. Oars in the black waters, Einar expertly managed them into the bay. Salt water splashed the hull, Henrik’s thighs. The hot sun warmed his skin. Not soon enough, the close proximity of rowboats and the music of the dock ebbed into raw ocean.
Henrik asked, “Thoughts?”
“Are you going to tell the Ladylord about the ship where Agnes went below the water?” Einar immediately retorted, pulling hard on the oars. He spoke the words with a hard, punctuated ferocity.Agnes went below the water,because he wouldn’t say that Agnes had died.
“Britt already did.”
Einar scowled. “Well, shite. That drops us a bargaining point. Seems odd she didn’t mention it today. Did you know anything about damma?”
Henrik shook his head. “Never heard of it. You?”
“No.”
“Arvid might.”
Einar nodded, sucking on his front teeth as he leaned harder into each row.
Henrik ran a hand through his hair. “When we return to the ship, I’ll send another messenger drake to Arvid. I sent him one yesterday, too. We might get a response before meeting with their generals. Whatever damma is, it might be the powder we ran into.”
Trouble filled Einar’s eyes as he heaved on the oars again, skipping them across the agitated bay. “For sure it is,” he countered. “Which means two things: His Glorydidsend a shipment, which negates their war, and it’s a deadly nightmare that he’s doling out. The question is what they’re trying to suppress?”
“We’ll find out.” Henrik pointed to the left. “Pedr’s over there.”
Einar leaned on one oar, canting them in a more direct route. “That powder,” Einar murmured. “It was . . .”
“Trouble.”
