Page 116 of The Queens and the Kings
Henrik smiled. A rich, full smile she’d never seen before. It changed the energy of his face, illuminating his rich eyes. Therising emotion gave his profile a dark shadow, highlighting the joy in his expression with golden lines.
“Yes,” he drawled. “I can’t wait to tell him that he was also a bastid as a child, always getting me into trouble.”
Laughing, she said, “Some things never change! Einar doesn’t know about the meeting?”
“He knew I left, but he was asleep when I returned.” Henrik’s gaze tapered into an astute assessment. Rising instinct predicted what he was about to mention.
“You were gone most of the day, too, Britt.”
With a wry smile, she said, “Yes. Pedr sent me on an errand.” Eager to recount, she asked, “Can I tell you?”
Henrik smiled again. If he kept this up, she wouldn’t be able to keep her lips to herself.
“Yes, please.”
The Teller was a poor recounting after the emotional highs and lows of Henrik meeting Selma, but the opportunity to share her theories and thoughts was welcome, all the same. Henrik’s instinctive calculation and quick mind didn’t disappoint.
“So the Wyvern Kings are, supposedly, awakening from a thousand year banishment bestowed by the equally powerful Siren Queens?”
“Yes.”
“Whom you think,” he continued with a steady thoroughness, as if he put each clue together one at a time, “put some kind of curse on Pedr that prevents him speaking about them?”
“Yes.”
“Hmmm.”
Britt could only wait one minute, watching the cogitation behind his lovely eyes, before she demanded, “Well? What do you think?”
Henrik placed his hands over his eyes and groaned. “I think this is insane. Wyvern Kings? Siren Queens? It was easier when His Glory was our only problem.”
“But it has to bereal,right? Pedr is an Arcanist. There are wyverns attempting to escape the mainland, and some force attempting to keep them from flying west.”
“Well . . . yes. But we still don’t know what threat the Siren Queens pose against us. They fear the Wyvern Kings, but what does it mean for humans? For islanders? Nothing good, clearly. Butwhat?”
“No idea,” she agreed reluctantly.
“Pedr can’t tell us?”
“Doesn’t seem like it.”
“What does war between the Wyvern Kings and the Siren Queens matter to us?” he asked, but without diffidence. True curiosity lurked in the corners of his eyes. “Would the Siren Queens, if defeated, come here? Or is it the Westlands that they fight over? That’s what Jordaire mentioned, right?”
“Correct. I don’t know the answer.” She lifted up a helpless hand. “Until yesterday, all was stories.”
“Stories have origin points,” he murmured, trapped in thought. With a shake of his head, he pulled out of it. His rough hand lifted, the scratchy palm touching her cheek. “Thank you. You’ve given us a more clear picture, a better understanding of an enemy we may or may not have to face.”
Britt pressed her hand to his. Invisible bands drew her closer, swirling them in a magnetic pull she was utterly defenseless against. His focus shifted to her lips, his own tightening when she bit her bottom lip and pulled tight. A storm arose, swirling her heart with tempest power. Britt’s breaths filled the space between them.
He trapped her fingers with his, elevating her chin with his soft touch.
“Britt?”
A distant cry issued from far away in the sky, breaking the spell. Denerfen startled awake with a squawk, tail pointing straight out. Britt’s head jerked up as Pedr’s door closed. Drake sprang from his shoulder, airborne with several claps of his broad wings, and headed southeast. The hard flaps, the determined point of his snout, spoke to trouble.
Britt sat up. Henrik’s touch melted away. She’d never be able to kiss him with Pedr glowering at them so thoroughly.
“Bastid,” Henrik muttered.
