Page 46 of The Queens and the Kings
Pedr shrugged. “He’s an adult. He’ll do what he wants. Keep in mind that the Ladylord will do anything to protect the mainland, and she’ll strive to make you think she’s protecting her people. Maybe it’s true, maybe it’s not. She’s a hard one to read.”
“You’ve met her?” Henrik asked.
Pedr hesitated. “Not this one, but I hear things.”
“From pirates.”
He shot Henrik a scathing glare. “Amongst others.”
Exasperation hinted in Henrik’s tone when he asked, “So you already knew the Lordlady was gone before we received the letter?”
“Like I said. I hear things. The letter confirmed rumors.”
The mainland had grown from a hint to a long pulse in the minutes Henrik had been awake. A black strip in the east gained texture, form. It expanded slowly. Answers about Selma had never been so close. The resurrection of his goal brought a glut of emotions that sank to the bottom of his chest like a heavy stone. The ship slowed. Water and waves hurried instead of raced.
Henrik asked, “Can we trust the Ladylord?”
“Can you trust Arvid?”
When Henrik gave no response, Pedr chuckled without humor. He draped a hand on the wheel. “Keep your skepticism, Henrik, and you have a chance of figuring this out. You might be the only one who can. Britt trusts people too much. She has connections and friends. It works against her. Stay skeptical, and you’ll probably stay sane.”
Coming from a would-be pirate that lived alone on a ship, the advice reeked of projection. Sense, too. Henrik took that in, put it in the internal box where he kept the important things worthy of later reflection, and prepared himself for the mainland.
The sun hung high, warm with bemusement instead of intensity, when Pedr tossed Britt a small coin purse. It clanked as she caught it in one hand, then promptly dropped it in her brassiere. Henrik’s eyes widened with amusement.
She winked, adjusting it within the safe confines. “It’s the only place safe from pickpockets,” she said lightly.
He scowled at the thought.
The relatively calm waters of Klipporno bay surrounded them, the waters flat and downright simple compared to the rocketing waves of the open sea. For good measure, Burning Beard’s pink flames danced from the top sail. Merchant boats and ships and a few distant frigates skirted a wide berth.
A rowboat splashed into the water on the starboard side of the ship.
“Ready,” Pedr declared. His head tilted to one side, eyes squinted. “Make sure you tie the rowboat up. This arcane will make friends with other boats and follow them like a puppy if it's not tied. This boat doesn’t row itself, but it will make it a little easier.”
Good. A workout would relieve tension.
Britt clambered down the rope ladder. Einar stood at the side of the ship, arms sprawled across the railing. He studied the teeming amalgamation of awaiting humanity with glassy-eyed indifference. Everything about him rippled contrariness and gloom, from his rigid glare, to the supplicant fold of his body, as if he’d drop into prayer at any moment. He gripped the railing, knuckles tightening and releasing in an undulating pattern.
Life had resumed, but not quite. Henrik gripped Einar’s shoulder.
“You sure?”
Einar nodded. “I don’t want to go in yet. Report back. Let me know if it’s worth it.”
Britt waited in the rowboat, her nimble feet far more graceful on the ropes. Henrik intentionally shoved aside thoughts of Selma, warnings about the Ladylord, and the ramification of Agnes’s death. With Agnes slain, an alliance with the mainland had new intrigue and motivation. They still didn’t know what they’d encountered on that ship, but it certainly had everything to do with His Glory.
Einar’s lust for revenge had reached an unquenchable level, and Henrik couldn’t help but experience a profound new desire to help the soldat rebellion.
Henrik slotted all the questions that required answering into the back of his mind. What wasthat powder? Why did His Glory have it onboard frigate number thirteen? Most important of all—could the mainland answer any of his questions?
If they could, Henrik might have afriendshipfor them after all.
The jagged Klipporno coast resembled a fractured rock: all unpredictable lines and busyness and holes. People teemed amongst it from every pace of life. Docks, buildings, shoots of greenery, wild dogs. He couldn’t imagine a place where he might be more overwhelmed.
Without a doubt, it was the biggest chunk of land he’d stepped on. Britt withdrew her oar as the rowboat came alongside the far, inner edge of the dock, skirting around larger rowboats at the end. Another minute of momentum and the sea wash would glide them the rest of the way.
“We’ll head up to the Ladylord’s house.” She jabbed a finger into the sky. “We go up, up. All the way up. She lives in the catacombs at the top.”
