Page 7 of The Queens and the Kings
Agnes’s voice elevated. “A year? I had no idea it was so long.” Arvid shrugged, hands spread as if to say,what can I do? The familiarity continued to stun Henrik. He’d never knownanyStenberg military leader to speak to any person outside their circle of work, particularly not women. Nor include them in military plans.
“It’s why Oliver sent me out as reefer,” Henrik said.
Arvid pointed to Henrik with two fingers. “Correct. He knew you’d have a moral problem with it, and he wanted you to take my place.”
Einar tapped his chin with his thumb, a Stenberg affirmation. Arvid asked, “Do you know who Ingemar is, Henrik?”
“Of course.”
Ingemar Gustar, officially titled the fifth Captain of Stenberg, was the representative to His Glory that Stenberg residents voted for. His Glory appointed the other four on his whim. Historically, the fifth Captain had no military background, but received the Captain title as an honorific prestige. He worked as a liaison between the island residents and the island leadership. Specifically, His Glory.
Ingemar had been a faithful servant at His Glory’s side for years. He was calm, wise, quiet. According to reports from soldat headquarters, Ingemar tended to support soldats when the navy Captains tried to hoard Elestran monies.
“Do you know Ingemar well?” Arvid asked.
“Only that he’s very close to His Glory.”
“Yes, and he’s fair. Ingemar warned me that His Glory was displeased I wouldn’t participate in the slave trade. Without that warning, I’d be dead.”
Einar snorted into his coffee mug.
“Bastid.”
“Whenever Einar hears the wordsHis Glorynow,” Agnes said after a casual sip of coffee, “he curses him a bastid.”
Arvid chortled.
“What shifted His Glory into a willingness to kill you?” Henrik asked. “It’s one thing to be unsupportive, and another to earn a murder sentence.”
“I pushed back when His Glory violated contracts with smaller, outlying island chains and pulled in enslaved islanders.”
“Why did he need them?”
“I never found out, though we tried. Unfortunately, no one could stop Oliver from fulfilling His Glory’s commands. He fulfilled all of them and became the favorite. The enslaved went somewhere.”
“Bastid,” Einar said again.
Arvid threaded his hands together. “Once Ingemar warned me, I had two choices: Rebel, or die. I’m tired of the tyranny, the command, the ownership of life. I have been for years. Until that moment, I hadn’t found the courage to do something about it.”
“Then you did,” Henrik said.
“Finally.”
Henrik reached for the coffee. The bitter taste swallowed like ash. A headache thudded against his skull, and he wanted out of the close room. Hints of the surging storm hadn’t slowed in the intervening minutes, and he longed for the fresh gale.
His lack of desire to return to Stenberg or have anything to do with the rebellion pressed like cold iron. After weeks at sea, he wanted out of this mess, not deeper in.
A silence filled the room, allowing Henrik to think. Henrik focused on the low table and sank into his observations. Agnes watched Henrik over the rim of her coffee mug. Einar lounged against the chair, his hand splayed across her spine, his fingers toying with ends of her hair.
Aligned with what other soldats told him on the way here, Arvid’s story fit. No fissure of insecurity weakened the retelling. No uncovering of lies or half truths. Henrik broke the silence.
“What’s your plan, Arvid?”
Arvid’s cheeks puffed out in a breath. “I’m glad you asked. Though tempted to stay dead and build a life elsewhere, I couldn’t do it. There are soldats still loyal to each other. To Stenberg. There are innocent citizens on Stenberg that need safety. It would be cowardly and selfish to forget them.”
True.
Oh, how true. That exact tether kept him in this room.
