Page 92 of The Queens and the Kings
Britt kept a wary eye on him while she answered Einar’s questions. “We don’t know,” she said, then clarified, “I meanIdon’t know. I believe that Pedr does, but he can’t tell us.”
Stiffly, he nodded.
“Can we guess?” Einar asked. “Could you nod or shake your head?”
Pedr croaked, “Worth a try.”
“Do you know why the current went west?” Henrik asked.
Pedr nodded.
“Does it have something to do with your silence?”
Another incline of his head, this time more difficult. His lips twitched. Rotten Siren Queens. They were devious and thorough, building the curse off of intent instead of actuality. A damning combination.
Britt asked, “The reason that the current went west is connected to the wyverns?”
He struggled to nod. His nostrils flared as tightness spread through his arms. He wrenched out, “King,” before his lips clamped shut. His fingers slammed closed against his palm. Britt, eyeing him, stepped so she stood directly in his path.
Confusion clouded her expression.
“King?”
Pedr grunted. He wouldn’t be able to put the wordsWyvern Kingstogether without it linking to the Siren Queens in the context.
“It’s happening again,” she whispered, a hand on his stiff tendons. “We’re onto something. King. Something with wyverns and kings.”
“Wyvern Kings?” Einar asked. “I’ve heard of them before.”
Britt repeated it, incredulous. “Wyvern Kings?”
“They’re stories,” Henrik muttered. “Tales told to children.”
Einar stepped closer. “So were Arcanists.” He jerked his head to Pedr. “Now we’ve met one. Maybe none of it is a story.”
Finally,Pedr thought.Finally, this bastid has a purpose.
Britt whirled to face Pedr again. “Are the Wyvern Kings real?”
His neck clamped. Defiance, pure and colossal, swelled inside him. He hated this curse. Hated the control, hated the Queens, hated the silence. He hated it. Hated it. Hated it. Pedr’s shoulders heaved as the tightening pulled his elbows in. He nodded, but the subtle up-and-down could have been a twitch.
Britt gasped. Einar stared at Pedr, wide eyed and pale. Pedr’s teeth clenched. Sweat sprouted along his brow.
“Blessed mermaids, Pedr,” she cried. “We’ll stop.”
“No,” he hissed. “M-more.”
Anguished, Britt licked her lips. “Fine. Are the . . . Wyvern Kings . . . our enemy?” She struggled to say the words, as if she couldn’t quite believe them.
His cheek twitched, body wrenching as his elbows slammed into his ribs. He grunted. His nails dug into his palm, drawing blood.
“M . . . maybe.”
Henrik caught him as his knees gave out.
Pedr’s eyes fixated on the west as Henrik lowered him to the deck. Pedr’s knees curled into his chest. He tightened into a ball, fever flushing his body. Light pirouetted through the ropes, zipping around, adding chaos to the silence. Pain followed. His bones would crush. His heart fluttered as he panted for air.
Tears sprang to Britt’s eyes.
