Page 136 of The Queens and the Kings
Ten.
Confirming the arcane swept by as it should, and some had already returned, indicated the completion of the loop. Andthatwas far more terrible than he wanted to comprehend. Pedr rubbed the water out of his eyes.
What was that halo of light in the distance? It couldn’t be a fire. The hurricane thrashed the ship, nullifying the mighty current. The glow came again.
Again.
Thatwasfire.
Pedr hissed through his teeth. Fire crawled out of the ship of the line’s deck. How did she set the damned thing onfire?With a storm like this, they’d get it under control.
“Britt,” he growled.
Still, no sign of her. Arcane returned to his side in full power, hitting with the force of a boulder. When the final, returning tendril of arcane coiled in his chest, then dissipated to nothing, Pedr cursed. He banged a fist on the wheel and sent arcane to the merchant ship again. Ten minutes later, no Britt.
“You bastid Siren Qu—!” he shouted. The curse threatened his throat, but he didn’t care. His resistance tightened his fingers into fists as he screamed. “Siren?—”
His voice cut short.
Queens, youbastids!
His fingers slammed against his palms. He punched his fist into ropes with a guttural scream. Colors zinged skyward. Rosy hues burst to light in fireworks unbothered by the deluge. Britt would see them, and she’d know he hadn’t left. He’d find her somehow. He’d break the curse and leave this blasted ship and . . .
Pedr’s breath cut short.
A wyvern wing gained altitude, flying just over the merchant ship.
“Himmel!” he shouted. “Himmel, light the sky!”
Lightning arced, silhouetting the wyvern from behind. Perched on top, barely more than a huddled lump, was his sister. If he hadn’t been the Arcanist of the Sea, he wouldn’t have seen her clinging to the back, in the narrow strip between the wings.
Pedr shouted.
“Yes!” he cried, following the wyvern as it battled higher. “Yes, you monster. Take her with you, but bring her back to me!”
Laughing into the teeth of the storm, Pedr veered his course east. The mainlander ship could limp home, drown. He didn’t care. He had to save his bloody sister, andthen he had to save the love of his life.
Chapter Thirty Eight
HENRIK
His Glory had lost weight.
His eyes were sunken, lackluster. Time ravaged wrinkles into the spaces around his mouth, which soured when Henrik and Einar entered the room ahead of the Ladylord. Arvid, following last, closed the door. The three of them fanned out behind her, deadly gazes locked. Only Arvid changed His Glory’s smug glare to a stunned breath of surprise.
His Glory’s upper lip curled over his teeth in a snarl.
Einar winked.
Three soldats surrounded His Glory around the sides and back. They ignored Henrik and Einar, but their inexpressive faces regarded Arvid for a bit longer than required.
Seeing the tyrant was an affirmative slap to Henrik’s established plan: they had to fight. That past held worthy ties. Henrik desired His Glory’s blood because he’d ordered Britt to the whippingstock, but Einar’s thirst tripled his own.
Einar didn’t bother to mask his seething hatred. He had Agnes’s death and his own lifetime of servitude to avenge. Henrik wouldn’t tear Einar away from His Glory, either. Their plan had altered, but Henrik didn’t mind.
Killing His Glory right here was even better.
Efficient, really.
