Page 22 of The Queens and the Kings
An hour later, Britt turned in her sleep, scooting closer with a sleepy sigh. Her head found his shoulder as she repositioned, and her arm curled around his. Heart in his throat, he silently welcomed her.
But he didn’t touch her.
Chapter Seven
BRITT
A touchon her shoulder and a boot in her ribs roused Britt from sleep. Disoriented by the honey-like smell of sommarblomstar flowers, and the cool kiss of a breeze on her face, it took several seconds for her to remember she wasn’t on the ship.
Her eyes fluttered open to find Malcolm staring at her, Tesserdress tucked against his neck. Denerfen stirred against her clavicle, stretching lazily. His wings fluttered under her chin, a whispering promise.
Malcolm tapped her ribs again, none too gently.
“Get up.”
“Bastid,” she muttered.
Malcolm chuckled.
Britt rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand as Henrik shoved to his feet, eyeing Malcolm warily. Tension hummed between them. By the missing warmth lingering at her back, she must have been cuddling Henrik in her sleep. No wonder Malcolm looked as surly as a Krackalack dervish.
Sunlight broke the far horizon, a slit of glassy light nestled in a grapefruit sky, where water split air. Wind warbled past, a dewy caress on her cheek.
Malcolm glanced at Henrik, then Britt. “General Helsing wants to speak with both of you in her office right now.” His words sank like a heavy weight when he turned to speak to Henrik. “You really believe your mother is on the mainland?”
Henrik licked his lips. “I have intelligence that indicates a high possibility.”
“From Arvid?”
Henrik nodded. A wash of embarrassment flowed through Britt. With the wyvern stirring up attention, and the excitement of showing Henrik her close dragul world, she hadn’t thought to ask Henrik about his visitor.
Malcolm turned to Britt. “You, Pedr, Henrik, Einar, and Agnes are setting sail soon. Sailors are already loading Pedr’s ship with supplies.”
Her head whipped up. “General Helsing agreed?”
Malcolm nudged her toward the stairs.
“On one condition, and you’re about to find out what it is.”
Dreams of cold Kapurnickkian fruit salad for breakfast propelled Britt through the corridors, Henrik at her side. Hopes of her favorite mushy fruit, the juvi, made her mouth water. At a branching of hallways, Malcolm split away with a promise to find them at the dock, and a bidding of luck.
“I’ll handle this conversation,” Britt said as they closed in on General Helsing’s office.
Henrik posed no argument.
Denerfen coiled on her neck, flipping between the right and left ear, before settling in on the left. He nuzzled her lobe as she approached her aunt’s office, stepping through the open doorway. She touched Denerfen’s neck. “It will be fine.”
General Helsing stood behind her desk, fingertips pressed to the top of the wood, when they entered. Henrik closed the door behind them.
“I’ve already ordered the supplies sent to . . . the ship.” General Helsing paused. She only spoke Pedr’s name when forced. “There are conditions.”
“I assumed.”
Was it on purpose that her aunt began the loading process before Britt agreed? Or had the wyvern last night inspired General Helsing to a new sense of haste? Both, probably. As monosyllabic and intense as her aunt could be, she was supremely intentional. Cunning didn’t quite do her justice. With General Helsing, nothing happened by accident.
“What do you require?” Britt asked, arms at her side, fingers curled. A stance General Helsing required when Britt was a child.Anything else makes you appear insecure and weak,she once said.Stand like you mean it.
“I expect you to speak to the Lordlady on my behalf.”
