Page 50 of The Queens and the Kings
All of them had been on edge, and the distinct feeling that revenge drove Henrik into the mainland on Einar’s behalf hadn’t allowed Britt a moment’s rest. What would Henrik or Einar do to achieve said revenge?
She’d seen them square off against Oliver, fierce in protection of each other and their own freedom for the first time. With a soldat rebellion and potential overthrow of His Glory on the horizon, the stakes loomed ever higher.
A shaft of sunlight tangled in her eyelashes, drawing her out of her reveries. She trailed her finger along the edge of a chiseled shelf filled with stone sculptures. Their ribald poses struck a familiar, feminine theme. Robust women of varying thickness, lengths, and nudity displayed proudly. Ten of them, slick, glazed, lovely. Ten others, earthy, textured, rough.
“These rooms,” she said conversationally, because she couldn’t stand the resounding silence, “are the beginning of deep tunnels and catacombs that build all the way into the mountains. Eventually, they connect outside, to where the wyverns live hours and hours away. They say it’s a full day’s trip one way through the dark spaces, as it requires mud, climbing, and risk. The last Lordlady collapsed many of the tunnels that led to the wyverns, and wisely so, I would imagine. When the mainland had more arcane use, torches would light the way. That was, of course, hundreds of years ago.”
Carina had wandered with Britt into the catacombs one time, when Carina was only eight or so, and still young enough to find a thrill in sordid, dangerous spaces. It had been a revelation of complexity. No matter how broad the mainland appeared, it honed into an intricate detail and nuance.
“How long have the wyverns been on the mainland?” he asked.
“Who knows? Hundreds of years, at least. Did you learn much about the mainland as a soldat?”
“Only history and sailing. Skirmishes, battles, that sort of thing.”
Britt studied the sculptures more closely. Sometimes, though not often, hidden entrances or doorways lurked in the Ladylord’s frequently visited places. She saw no sign of hidden seams along the shelf, but then, the mainland had arcane just like other places.
Except Stenberg.
“The wyverns are separated from the thicker population centers, like Klipporno,” she continued, listening in the beats of silence for the Ladylord’s approach. “The wyverns have been here for generations, and have still never accepted a rider.”
Henrik didn’t respond, but she didn’t mind. She needed to prattle her nervousness out before the Ladylord arrived. She’d never spoken to the leader of the mainland on her own. General Helsing had borne the brunt of the Lordlady’s stern intensity. His broad facial features, wrinkled nose, condemnation not-so-carefully hidden. Such never bothered General Helsing. In fact, she found a sort of relief and refuge in honesty.
Britt’s palms began to sweat when a shuffle of feet sounded on the other side of the door. This is where she rose or fell in General Helsing’s eyes. Where she served her isles, her draguls, herself, or she failed.
Heart in her throat, Britt whirled around as the door opened.
The Ladylord appeared.
Chapter Seventeen
PEDR
Einar watchedPedr like a wild drake ready to attack. Pedr ignored him to study the ropes, feeling his way into the arcane through his ship. He merged with the boards, their grains, whorls, nuances.
Why? he asked.Why did you fail two days ago? What happened?
Nothing responded. Of course, it didn’t. Arcane wasn’t sentient. It didn’t speak to him. He had awareness of its intensity, the power levels, the dynamics. Sometimes, he thought something held it. A reserve. A hesitation. Arcane hadn’tquitecommitted to him.
There was no real connection. As the years passed, Pedr’s awareness and arcane understanding increased, but arcane didn’tspeak.
Yet, it did.
Pedr blinked out of Rosenvatten and tilted his head onto his shoulder. No answers to be had. He’d have to figure it out himself.
Sun burrowed into his freckled skin. As Arcanist of the Sea, he didn’t worry about sunburn. He tanned . . . sort of. Hisfreckles connected, so intense he appeared a shade darker. He didn’t miss the misery of pale skin on a sunny day at sea. Simple pains weren’t reallya problem, either. Aches, scratches, fatigue had faded, though he could experience deep, physical pain with overwhelming injury.
Einar’s hard stare followed Pedr as he tugged the ropes. To further ignore Einar’s hard attention, Pedr recalled Stenberg frigate number thirteen. The ship, the powder. The smell of Stenberg sealstone thick on the air, and the onded. None of it made sense.
Sealstone?
Onded?
Together, they meant something.
The urge to call for Himmel arose, but he stuffed it aside. She wouldn’t appear with Einar hovering so darkly, nor could he ask her to solve every mystery. Besides, the ondedweren’t blatantly tied to the Wyvern Kings. They were tied to something on that frigate.
The dust.
