Page 36 of The Queens and the Kings
“It’s not just Selma. It’s . . .”
“Everything else?”
He looked at his hands. “Yeah. If I find Selma, great. But then what? If I don’t, which I expect, when do I stop searching? What if she’s dead? What if she’s alive but doesn’t want to meet? Doesn’t remember? What if?—”
“What if you stopped worrying over possibilities and focused on what you control right now?”
Henrik blurted out, “You sound like Arvid,” and a hint of color deepened his cheeks.
Britt dissolved into a giggle. “Thank you. I consider him a man of sound enough understanding, based on what Agnes says.”
He stewed, lips tucked haphazardly to one side. “What about the Ladylord? I don’t know what to expect from her, or the mainland. I’ve never been. There are a lot of unknowns around your safety while I’m there.”
“Mysafety? What about you? You’re the one that His Glory has a ransom out for. Einar, too.”
“I’m not worried about myself.”
She pressed a palm to her chest. “Neither am I.”
He growled, a grizzled irritation crossing his features. “You should be.”
“Not with you there,” she retorted.
He relaxed, muttering, “Good,” and left the topic. Well, that meant something, too. She couldn’t fathom what, with the cryptic way he leaned close, yet avoided intentional touch.
Considering the curl of his fingers before, she almost didn’t touch him again. But she sensed a pull, an uncovering desperation for the kindness of a friend. If she could never be more, she’d give this. She set her palm on top of his hand, folding her fingers over his. He sucked in a breath, studied them.
“It’s going to be fine, Henrik. I’m here with you until the end. Whether Selma is alive, or dead. Interested, or not. Whether the Ladylord wants you on her side, or is aligned with His Glory and wants to kill you to prove an alliance. We’ll do it together. I’m your friend.”
His fingers trembled as she gave him one last squeeze. He released a trapped breath, blinking in a daze as she withdrew, leaving him to his empty, lost pursuit of ghosts on the sea.
Chapter Twelve
HENRIK
The steady,rhythmic splash of the sea was a lulling sound. Henrik closed his eyes, leaned into the noise. Three days into their voyage and they had only two left before arriving at the mainland, where the question of Selma had a prayer of being answered.
His eyes blew open as the splashing lessened against the hull. The sails drooped, sagging fast. The ship slowed to a dramatic chug, forcing Henrik to grab a mast or slide across the deck. Before he could ask why, a surprise caught his attention. A ship loomed on the water, minutes off the port side, where there shouldn’t be any ships.
The bulk indicated a frigate, but details remained hazy. It might be a massive ship of the line. The mainland created those behemoths to prowl the waters, but he thought not. Certainly, not small enough to be a sloop.
The main passage from Narpurra to Klipporno port on the mainland was a busy lane. Other ships would be present, but Pedr cut currents and rode routes other merchants couldn’t manage. As if he truly did makehis own current, the way Einar thought.
Pedr stood at the helm, fingers playing across different ropes like a musician. A dizzying rainbow of colors erupted into the sails with every touch, illuminating the almost-twilight hour in shoots of crimson, yellow, vermillion, and emerald. Pedr sent a firework that dazzled bright rose overhead, burning to embers. Seconds after it landed on the sail, bright pink flames erupted. The mainsails revealed no char, no alteration. The harmless flames issued no heat, either.
Burning Beard, indeed.
Einar’s head emerged when a hatch burst open. “What’s going on?”
“No idea.”
Henrik crossed the deck up the stairs to join Pedr at the wheel. Pedr glowered.
“Is that new ship a problem?” Henrik asked.
“Probably not.”
“Do you always light your sails?”
