Page 20 of The Queens and the Kings
Henrik had so many questions he didn’t know where to start, but he opted for an easy one as he inspected cubbies in the walls, stuffed with dried grass. Dragul beds, presumably. “Is this your only living space?”
“No. I have a room, but I don’t use it much. For a while, I sailed a lot with Pedr. That was before officially working with the draguls. Mostly so General Helsing couldn’t complain about me not wanting to learn to read and write.” She rolled her eyes.
“You prefer this?”
She smiled. “Absolutely.”
He turned away, saying, “That fits,” under his breath.
The draguls chirped with reckless joy in her presence. They touched her constantly, played games, chased, spun, dodged playful wings. No wonder she smiled so wide. The draguls revered her. Their joy radiated from a place deeper than oceans.
“Thank you,” he said, then added, “for showing me.”
Britt’s smile warmed, if possible. “I appreciate you coming. It’s not many soldats that would be interested in a cave of finicky draguls.”
He barked a laugh. “I like it. It’s good to see you here. A lot of you makes sense now that I’ve met Malcolm and Pedr and . . . General Helsing.”
He said the words too carefully. She must have noticed his measured tone, but humor remained in her eyes. “What did you think of my aunt?”
“She reminds me of our Captains.”
“Anything else?”
“Not really.”
Britt sighed. “She doesn’t represent herself as much else. At least she never lies.”
“Have you always called her General Helsing?”
“Always,” she said lightly. “She insisted upon it. Familiar terms likeauntormomorfriendmake her deeply uncomfortable. As long as I have memory, she’s been General Helsing. Pedr remembers a time when she was Major Helsing.”
When a wave of sadness crested her voice, a new and ever-present desire to kiss Britt welled up. An antagonistic uncertainty followed the urge. Henrik cleared his throat to save himself from doing something stupid.
“Where will I sleep up here?”
“You can have the bed, if you want it. I don’t sleep much there. I prefer the ground. Outside.”
“Really?”
The casual way she flung a lock of hair over her shoulder and praised sleeping outside made his stomach knot. He didn’t know others shared the same desire, outside of most soldats.
“It’s Pedr’s fault,” she insisted. “When I was with him, I always slept on the deck, under the stars. I got used to it after a while. General Helsing says that when I’m aroundnormalpeoplethen I should act like a normal person. Considering all that you and I have already gone through together, I think we’re beyondnormal.”
“Normal is a lie.”
She snatched two pillows from the bed and held them up. “Outside, or inside?”
He chortled. “You offend me. Outside.”
She winked and tossed a pillow at him. “There’s a flat spot to the right of the doorway. Plenty of room for both of us, if you want to pick your place.”
“I assume you’re not afraid of mud.”
Another dazzling smile. Her ribald certainty was borderline teasing, as if she enjoyed his naive ways. “There won’t be any mud.”
He didn’t ask. Another arcane effect that prevented mud from forming, he guessed. What a weird arcane infusion. She plucked a dragul from the air. “I’ll be right there. Just need to tuck them in, whisper sweet nothings, that kind of thing.”
He resisted the urge to request the same.
