Page 170 of The Queens and the Kings
Einar swung around. “When we win against this bastid, can I be the one to whip him until the muscles slide off his bones?”
A brief flash of something like amusement, but too far focused to be that, appeared on Arvid’s expression. “His Glory will meet his end tonight, but we can’t guarantee more than that. This arcane stuff is a major and immediate problem.”
“He’s planning on destroying Stenberg,” Henrik said, tightening his grip on his cudgel.
Arvid nodded, but didn’t appear all that convinced. “Maybe. I think he’s trying to keep us out with a decisive display of power so no one wants to return and he can have his island again. This appears to have happened tonight.”
Einar glanced at several ash piles. Low and livid, he added, “Too bad not everyone made it to the evacuation spot.”
Henrik jerked his chin toward the Temple. “I’d bet my life that His Glory’s in there, thinking he’s safe behind arcane.”
Arvid nodded. “I agree. For all we know, heissafe behind arcane.”
“Only one way to find out. Let’s go!” Einar clapped his hands. “I’m ready to end this. All of it.”
Henrik shook his head once. “Hold.”
“For what?”
“It’s a trap.”
Einar frowned. “Of course it’s a trap.”
Arvid shook his head, then quietly intoned, “Henrik is correct. Wait. We have other resources.”
Fluttering wings followed his reply. A shadow winged closer. Henrik had his cudgel up, legs braced, before he recognized the svelte outline of a rather young drake. In size, it was only twice the size of a dragul. It alighted on Arvid’s shoulder, bearing a white missive that looked blinding in the darkness.
Arvid skimmed the message, brow furrowed.
“Well, I’ll?—”
He paused when gathering feet flooded the exterior walls of the Archives. Einar put an arm out, shoving Arvid back. Henrik put himself in front of Arvid as the drake took off, returning to shadows.
Sailors regurgitated from the depths of the Archives. They marched out at double time, the clink and rattle of armor filling the street. The arcane began to withdraw, retreating from the cobblestone in thin strips that turned to brittle ash.
“What is this?” Henrik snapped.
The unexpected noises, the removal of the obvious threat, startled Einar into silence. None of them bothered to hide. They’d long been spotted, and now wasn’t the time for hiding, anyway. Within twenty seconds, every balcony, ledge, open space, courtyard, and visible road filled with sailors. Their grim faced stares focused on the three of them.
“Forty,” Einar muttered.
Henrik studied the movement behind the glazed windows. No lights, but the shadows seemed to have a life of their own. “There are others inside.”
“Fifty-four sailors.” Arvid lowered the letter. “There should be fifty-four sailors here tonight.”
“How do you know?” Einar retorted as the amassing finalized deeper in the Compendium. The eerie glow as arcane continued to slip-slide backward, not chugging as vociferously from the Temple window, deepened Henrik’s growing confusion. Einar reached for his other knife, but Arvid held out a hand.
“Hold, soldats.”
Three soldats against fifty-four sailors. Henrik shook his head. Einar had wanted revenge and a flashy defeat. Well, his opportunity had come. Britt filled his mind, followed by Selma. The rest of his simplest dreams flooded him like a warm bath. Enjoying the sea. The simple pleasure of a quiet day, not withheld to another’s schedule written for him.
And yet . . . the ravaged marketplace and standing before His Glory’s loyal sailorswasthe right place. Stenberg had enslaved him into the world of the soldats, but he chose to stand here. Even as death gathered like a hurricane. The unseeing eyes of the sailors locked on the three of them, filled with an unreadable savagery.
Abangand thenthudissued from within the Archives. Sailors split to either side, clearing a pathway leading out. Irony rose up with a bitter taste in Henrik’s mouth as a familiar form appeared there.
Einar whispered, “That’ll be Ingemar.”
Ingemar, the People’s Representative of Stenberg and the Fifth Captain of His Glory’s ranks. The title was granted to whomever Stenberg voted as their representative, though thevoting processwasn’t transparent. His Glory likely picked his representative and lied about the results.
