Page 110 of The Queens and the Kings
Or maybe not. If he gave her a protective signet against the Siren Queens, that meant Jordaire was aware. Like Himmel, he also knew what was happening.
Bastid, definitely, but not as big a bastid.
Though, in fairness, Pedr hadn’t played fair. He hadn’t told Britt that the Teller hated him with the passionate fire of a lubber. Pedr had banked on the fact that Jordaire would also be watching the signs of the rousing Wyvern Kings and have his own concerns, which would motivate him to tell Britt about the Siren Queens.
It worked.
He couldn’t believe it.
Blinking out of his shock because of a suspicious and sudden silence, Pedr looked up. Britt stared at him.
Hard.
“I know the Teller is the Arcanist of Land, Pedr.”
“Canny,” he murmured, “as expected.”
She ignored the rare compliment. “I heard the stories. Can I say their name?”
Relief whispered through him. He nodded. She nudged the braid a little closer. He didn’t touch it.Couldn’ttouch it. He wouldn’t even acknowledge it.
“But what I don’t know,” she said with a breezy tone of deepest irritation, “is what the Siren Queens and Wyvern Kings have to do withyouand whatever curse you have.” She flapped her hand in his direction. “Whatever thisno talking thingis that you’re stuck with.”
At her mention of their names, his throat closed off. He opened his mouth, but it was futile, so he closed it again. He pleaded with his eyes for understanding. For patience. Britt’s shoulders slumped. She ran a hand over her face, fingers in her hair, and sighed. Her eyes closed with weariness.
“I know you can’t tell me. Based on the expression on your face, just hearing those words causes great discomfort, which is . . . confusing. Based on what the Teller said, the Wyvern Kings are banished from their homelands and rousing to fight for the Westlands, or whatever. That explains other things, but notyou. You are the lone, odd detail.”
That is not the first time I’ve heard that,he thought.
She peered at him. He tried to hide a wince, but failed when she frowned. Britt tossed her hands in the air.
“I’m sorry, Pedr. I’m trying to understand, but I can’t fight this one for you. I’ll do the best I can but . . . none of this makes sense. I’m exhausted and thirsty and hungry. Maybe I’ll be less cranky after I eat.”
Britt stood, and his heart went with her. Fifteen years, these secrets had been building inside him.
Building.
Building.
Ready to burst.
Chapter Thirty Two
HENRIK
The paperin Henrik’s hand crinkled as he consulted it for the last time.
Right at the stone pillar with a lamp on top. Follow the alley to the left, past a red flag on the right-hand door. My home is on the left, with an image of a bird carved into the wood.
Dim lights emitted from these alleyways in Klipporno, far quieter than the riotous wharf at night. Lights dotted the distant sea while boat lanterns glowed from the harbor. He thought of Stenberg and the stars.
Drawing in a deep breath, Henrik strode down the alley, past a red flag. On the left he found a wooden door with a burned out image of a bird. Heart thumping, he lifted his knuckles and rapped on it. It opened a second later.
Selma immediately appeared. She stood there for a full breath, taking him in, before she stepped back. “Please, come in.”
He stepped inside, noting how she locked the door behind them, the iron bars crossing the inside of her shuttered windows. The air was thick, a little stuffy. Was Klipporno not safe enough for open windows with iron bars? She gestured to a pillow on the ground, eyelashes fluttering nervously. Her voice trembled.
“Have a seat.”
