Page 117 of The Queens and the Kings
Denerfen tumbled across the deck at the unexpected movement, yawned, and flew toward Pedr.
“What’s wrong?” Britt called, straightening.
Pedr stood outside his quarters, one hand on his hip as Denerfen settled on his shoulder. “Get up. I heard an incoming drake from far away. Drake has just left to confirm, but if I’m right, and I’m never wrong, then Arvid is almost here.”
Pedr’s surly mood continued for the next hour, while Einar stumbled from below decks, Drake returned with fresh-caught fish to gut, and the general bustle of life began. Pedr stuck to the wheel, eyeing the western horizon when Arvid’s vessel appeared, and grumbling under his breath as they approached at what felt like a crawl in comparison.
Pedr’s command of the ocean was never so obvious as when compared to that of mere humans.
Arvid’s ship—a fast, versatile merchant vessel he probably hired out of Narpurra—pulled alongside less than two hoursfrom Pedr’s announcement. Few words had exchanged since then. Arvid boarded their ship with a smile, looking no worse for wear. Einar, ready at the gunwale, clapped him in warm arms as he stepped on the ship. Henrik gave the same back-slap greeting. Solemnity rang in all their expressions.
Disentangling from Henrik, Arvid held out a hand for Britt, who clasped it with a welcoming smile. “It’s good to see you again, Captain.”
He returned it, full force, displaying an amiable side she hadn’t observed in other soldats. “Britt, always a pleasure. Call me Arvid, please. Thanks for taking care of these two hooligans for me.” His bright expression dimmed, the corners crinkling with sorrow. “Sounds like you’ve had a hard time.”
Einar, still and hard-edged, scowled. To his right, Pedr stood with his arms crossed, expression inscrutable. “Arvid.”
Arvid returned Pedr’s subdued head nod with a similar one. “Pedr.”
Spinning around to face Einar and Henrik again, Arvid said, “Soldats, sounds like we need to talk. Britt, Pedr, you are always welcome.”
Sunlight streamed into Pedr’s quarters as they clustered around a table, all three soldats standing. Britt scooted back by the windows next to Pedr as the three soldats fell into instant conversation. The merchant ship departed, back to the west and toward the broiling storm.
The phrases,successful work with Stenberg citizensandstabilization of moniesandcontacts within Stenberg politicsslung around. Within five minutes, maps, plans, and other things sprawled across the table, with Einar and Arvid doing most of the talking.
Eventually, Henrik explained the ship where Agnes died, the Ladylord’s proposal, the wyverns, the damma, the requests.
All of it.
For the hour while everything unfolded, Pedr kept his arms folded across his chest and didn’t take his eyes off of them. His calculated stewing, the undercurrent of emotion, meant he paid attention, but he didn’t join. A bored affectation stole over him. He might be paying attention, but that didn’t mean he liked it.
“In order to gauge whether the populace would support a resistance against His Glory, we wanted everyone on Stenberg to know what happened before and during the Unseen Island debacle.”
Arvid reached into a pocket on the inside of his vest and withdrew a rolled piece of paper. He set it in the middle of the map. Henrik grabbed it first, reviewing it.
“It’s a leaflet,” Arvid explained, palms pressed into the tabletop. “We had trusted people delivering them, door to door. According to reports given by Old Man and others, the information was well received. We had to do three rounds of distribution because so many more Stenbergians wanted it.”
Such underhanded, sneaky attempts to go behind His Glory’s back and involve the residents would firmly cement Arvid’s place as the next leader. A ratherdifferentleader than His Glory, at that.
Their purpose, no doubt.
“Did the sea god cause a hurricane in response to such a lascivious rebellion?” Britt asked with a cheeky smile.
Arvid laughed. “Not yet, but we’re holding our breath. No one died, if you can imagine. We had the leaflets delivered to individual homes in the dark, at the lowest patrolling sailorcensus. Old Man’s reports said only a few of them circulated outside, in the markets.”
“Did it remain hidden from His Glory?” Henrik asked.
“We aren’t sure. It’s doubtful. We assume that he knows we’re working behind his back. He’d be a fool not to know.”
Henrik held the flyer for Britt to read. She accepted and smiled, appreciating the inclusion as she held it up to the light near the window. A bold line splayed the top middle.
His Glory Lies
Amused, she read through a summarized version of what happened with Oliver, the betrayal at the Unseen Island, and a list of negligence and other issues with His Glory.
“It’s a love letter to revenge,” she murmured.
Arvid chuckled.
