Page 162 of The Queens and the Kings
“I like her. She’s quiet, but kind. A good listener.”
Henrik nodded. “Yes, she is.”
Einar thought that over, jaw tensing. “If one more person we care about dies because of this bastid, I will personally tear His Glory apart with my own whip. Mark my words.”
The sentiment was fair.
How cruel could fate be? To give him a hint of a life with a woman like Britt. To spark affection and realness and caring. To deliver his birth mother and the most powerful dream of his life, only to rip it all away in a final surge against His Glory?
He wouldn’t let that be true.
As three more people crept out of the thick foliage and toward the sea, Old Man, Arvid, Einar, and Henrik pressed close to an almost-crumbling rock wall. Other figures hurried across the sand, toward a ready rowboat with a former sailor waiting. This wasn’t the first group Henrik had seen in their bid to escape, and the sheer work of it surprised him. The boat, now full, shoved away from the sand bar.
When it vanished, another appeared.
Once those people rowed out, their tiny boat barely large enough to meet the weight, Old Man growled, “That’s the hour mark, and the evacuations are well under way. Let’s get going. We have to sneak through the neighborhoods undetected, and then the abandoned market, and into the Compendium. There are roaming bands of sailors, but they’ll be little more than a headache for you, and I’m in the mood for heads to roll. I want fire. I want death.”
Arvid chortled. “Good thing you’re on our side.”
Old Man dropped a bulky bag thatclunkedwith the dull thud of metal on metal. Weapons. A thrill of relief brightened Henrik. This, he knew. The world of caring for others, of dreamingof a life ahead, of having something to plan for, he didn’t understand.
Not yet.
Old Man gave a wheezy laugh. “We have a government to overthrow and a self-righteous prig to remove from his fancy-pants throne. I hope His Glory squeals when he dies. I call dibs on wrapping his throat with a whip.”
Einar reached for the weapons first. “You’ll have to fight me for the honor, Old Man.”
With little moonlight to guide, working away from the beach and into neighborhoods was a near-blind midnight walk. They moved carefully, sticking to tacky shadows along buildings and roads, and kept their footsteps speedy and light. Old Man, the smallest, sent them frequent glances to see if they kept up.
“No obvious arcane in use,” Henrik said.
“He’ll keep that for himself,” Einar muttered. Arvid, who remained just out of sight behind to keep track of the rear, moved with impressive stealth.
Henrik turned a corner, taking the lead around a tight bend, when a noise tickled near his right ear. He shot out his arm, which slammed into Einar’s chest to stop him. His other hand held up a fist, elbow squared.
Arvid, Einar, and Old Man scattered to hidden corners. Henrik tucked himself around the edge of an ivy trellis and pressed his spine to a wall as a group of three sailors rounded the cobblestone road ahead of them.
“The dark is thick here,” the middle sailor said. He rubbed his arms with his palms, though the night was thick and sultry. His dim profile cast a wary glance to the sky.
“Don’t be a piece of shite,” a different voice responded. “Dark is dark.”
“You say that now! But wait until?—”
“Shut up,” snapped a sailor on the left. “Someone is out there. Did you hear that?”
They stood in the middle of the road. The one on the left, the presumed leader, spread both arms to halt the others. He spun a circle, studying the shadows.
“We’re not supposed to stop,” whined the one on the right. “Besides, who would be out here?”
“Silence!”
Einar breathed, “Feint and cut?” from over Henrik’s right shoulder. Under different circumstances, Henrik might have laughed. Einar’s favorite move was a feint and cut, but it was too sophisticated for this situation. Henrik shook his head.
“Then finish them,” Einar muttered.
Henrik shoved away from the wall. “We’ll give you five seconds to drop to your knees,” he called. “If you refuse, you’ll wake up in the morning or not at all.”
All three sailors whipped around. The middle one gave a mewl-like scream, as if he stepped on a kitten’s tail. The one on the right jumped, grabbing the middle with a shout. Only the one on the left remained calm, eyeing Henrik. Einar and Old Man’s footsteps approached from behind.
