Page 102 of The Queens and the Kings
A point in her favor, like always, though he wouldn’t have cared if she told Einar. It might have been a favor. Henrik tipped his head back. His legs sprawled out in front of him, one braced against the wall.
“It was Selma,” he said softly, “and I was a shite. I ran like a little bastid.” When Einar didn’t reply, Henrik kept going, picking up speed. “I couldn’t do it. I saw her, realized who she was, and I panicked. I left. I’m sorry. I was going to ask?—”
Einar’s firm words stopped him short. “Don’t do that to yourself.”
“I regret it,” Henrik admitted, wincing. He ran a hand over his hair, letting it hang loose down his back. “Leaving like that, I mean. I . . . shite.”
“Don’t apologize for my part, Henrik. If I never have answers, I’ll be just like the rest of the soldats. Give it time. You might feel differently after you think about it.”
The exoneration helped, and Henrik hated that he wanted it. The questions plagued him, haunting in their depth. What if that had been his only chance? What if he never saw her again? It wasn’t fair to ask for another chance.
Was it?
“In the end,” Henrik whispered, “no matter what Selma did or didn’t do, she wasn’t strong enough to fight His Glory.”
“Of course she wasn’t,” Einar snapped. “Wearen’t strong enough to fight His Glory, you bastid! And that’s the point, isn’t it? That’s why we’re overthrowing him. If demmed Arvid wouldrespondalready,” he added in a violent mutter.
Einar shot to his feet, hot energy flowing into the room. He paced with frenetic agitation.
“His Glory is a dictator, enslaving those who serve his purposes, harming whomever he wants because he claims to be Norr’s son. Bastid.” He scoffed, and the passion underlying his words wasn’t anything new. The ferocity was. Agnes’s death had stoked an existing fire, brought forward by the solace of vengeance.
Einar threw himself into a rickety chair, braced his elbows on his knees, and leaned into them. His head hung. “I miss her, Henrik.” His clenched voice barely wrung out, “I just want to hold her again.”
With Britt bright in his mind, Henrik whispered, “I’d feel the same.”
“I’ll kill His Glory first, even if I have to die bringing that bastid to the grave,” Einar vowed, “And then I’ll go after Agnes. I will get her back, Henrik.”
“I hear you, brother. But you’re walking a dangerous road.”
Einar shot to his feet with a growl. “So are you.”
The door slammed shut behind him.
Henrik bolted awake, disoriented by a dream. After a few rabid breaths, he settled into the familiar berth. Dust motes danced in wild sunshine. The ship pitched gently. He shoved off the floor and to his feet.
Above deck, Einar and Britt stood at the wheel with Pedr. Drake perched on Pedr’s neck, a piece of leather strapped to Pedr’s shoulder to protect him from the sharp talons and clacking scales. Einar’s shining smile meant Drake had returned with something important.
Britt beamed as Henrik approached.
“Good morning.”
He nodded, his voice a scratchy growl. “Morning.”
“News from Arvid.” Einar held up a paper. “Depending on your outlook, things are bleak.” He nodded to the southwest, where Stenberg lay somewhere behind miles of sea.
“Arvid reports that their campaign to ask Stenberg citizens about a rebellion against His Glory went extremely well. More underground cooperation than expected, but it took awhile. They had to be very careful, which is why his response was delayed. Three other soldats have defected, but the rest remain.”
“Which soldats?”
“Johan, Mikael, and Brodin.”
“I spoke to Brodin when I returned from the reefer year. Young almost-soldat, right?”
Amusement lightened Einar’s eyes. “Yes, that’s the one. He worked in the office for several months, almost a year. Arvid liked him. Brodin said he wanted to go where Henrik went.”
That a young soldat would have such high aspirations and boldness wasn’t a bad thing, but to follow Henrik so blindly? Probably wasn’t a great thing.
Einar continued. “That brings the total count of defected soldats to fifteen. Those three leaving, and the soldats who died at the Unseen Island, means the soldat numbers have been low. Soldat leadership has pushed new recruits in early.”
