Page 10 of The Queens and the Kings
After walkingalongside General Helsing toward the outer edge of the undermountain, a wave of solace swept through Britt. Any portion of Dragul Mountain would always be home, which meant she had finally arrived, and fully survived.
Denerfen and Tesserdress, too.
Blessed relief.
A veranda opened up to the sea, cut into the rock to allow fresh air. Rain slicked the porous floor, tinkling from splattering water. She trailed her fingers in the dropping waterfalls as they passed, grinning.
As they veered away from the veranda, they entered a hallway protected by the undermountain interior. Only a few steps away, General Helsing pushed open two doors and stepped into her office. Another, separate veranda opened the other side of the room, but retractable windows protected her interior from the weather.
The familiar space brought a second wave of relief. The driftwood desk, the mossy overlook that led to an open view of the ocean, and the smell of growing things. Usually, she loathedstanding in this space. Today, it felt restorative. A piece of home that still existed.
She’d changed.
Home hadn’t.
The short-lived comfort ended quickly. Malcolm and Tesserdress also survived, but Britt brought a host of other problems to solve, answers to provide, a budding war between islands to avoid, and most important of all . . . a trip to the mainland. They could only do that with General Helsing’s support.
Namely, supplies.
Pedr would take them anywhere Britt asked because he’d be eager to leave General Helsing’s vicinity, and it had been years since she’d sailed with him. Whether Pedr would admit it or not, he grew lonely on the wide seas and constantly attempted to persuade her to join. But in order to leave, they’d have to re-outfit the ship with food, fresh water, and other necessities. The week-long passage to the mainland required more than Pedr stocked for himself.
Britt owned nothing very special beyond dresses, a few trinkets passed down from her parents, a sculpture from Pedr, and some books. Except for Denerfen, she led a simple island life. Malcolm could offer a piddling amount compared to their aunt. And certainly not if General Helsing outlawed Malcolm’s assistance, which she had done in the past. General Helsing’s continual irritation with Pedr made suchoutlawingrather realistic.
Denerfen twirled off Britt’s shoulder and soared through a window, canted open, landing in the middle of the rain-soaked veranda. Britt chuckled as he flapped around, dodging from puddle to puddle, cooing as he rubbed his wings against Kapurnickkian moss, where he often curled up to sleep in his dark, rocky, lazy mountains.
He chirruped.
“Let me reassure you that we won’t be home for long,” Britt said before General Helsing could level her fierce stare. “I’m not sure what Malcolm told you about events in Stenberg and the Unseen Island.”
General Helsing rounded her desk, pivoting with militaristic exactness even when no one but Britt would observe the formality. That was her aunt. Her father’s sister. A woman as rigid as the Stenbergian sea god Norr.
Her aunt stopped behind her pristine desk and took Britt’s full measure again. The probing stare was commonplace, but unnerving. Every wrinkle in Britt’s brow and fold of her skirt earned analysis. She fought the urge to shuffle her weight from foot to foot. When General Helsing smelled a weakness, she made it known.
Out of a weird sort of protective instinct.
“Why won’t you be here long?” General Helsing asked as if the twenty seconds of silent interrogation hadn’t occurred. “You just returned, and your dragul who certainly needs to rest.”
Britt cast a sidelong glance to Denerfen, who flopped into a puddle and cooed, eyes closed.
“He’s fine,” she said.
“Why?”
“I made a promise to Henrik that I intend to keep.”
The duration of General Helsing’s silence made it clear this was news. She didn’t waste time with known information.
So.
Malcolm hadn’t told General Helsingeverythingin his long and detailed missives. Granted, most of their voyage passed with Britt and Malcolm struggling to recover. Malcolm from his broken, lacerated arm, and Britt from the reopening of the whip wounds that Captain Oliver bestowed on Stenberg. Her wounds had healed to healthy scars.
Her aunt pressed her fingertips to her desk and leaned on them. “What promise was that?”
“We believe Henrik’s mother lives on the mainland, or she did. I promised him that I would help find her.”
And I won’t abandon him now, she silently added.
Too much happened at the Unseen Island for her to discard this purpose. Emotions stirred up, and those emotions flapped around like heart draguls.
