Page 137 of The Queens and the Kings
Nils and two other high-ranking members of the mainland military stood at Alma’s side. They didn’t hide their apprehension. Their harried expressions, combined with the generally flustered air, meant that His Glory had takeneveryoneby surprise.
“Thank you for the escort, soldats,” the Ladylord said in a cheerful tone, “I appreciate your support. His Glory, what an unexpected meeting you’ve requested.”
Henrik conceded a grudging respect toward her. She didn’t welcome, pander, nor make false stands. His Glory gave a lazy blink. The rolling tenor of his voice echoed in the chamber when he replied.
“Ladylord.”
“It has been years since you’ve visited the mainland with any sort of diplomatic purpose.”
“Indeed.”
Alma waited him out. The silence continued in awkward measure until His Glory, satisfied that he’d made some invisibly political point, proceeded.
“I’ve heard rumors that a recent shipment of damma may not have arrived.” His intonation was steady. “I decided that it would be wise for me to proceed to the mainland to . . . discuss former diplomatic agreements that no longer serve our best interest.”
Alma tilted her head to one side.
“Oh?”
After a heartbeat’s pause, His Glory asked, “You are out of damma, Ladylord?”
“As you’re aware.”
With a sigh, almost like a tsk, he said, “It is difficult when change lands, isn’t it? And yet,” he smiled blandly, “changefinds us all. Ladylord, I have come to formally dissolve ties between the island nation of Stenberg and the mainland. We will no longer supply you with damma, and we ask for an official revocation of trade agreements.”
The room met his request with utter silence. Henrik restrained the temptation to glance at Einar from the corner of his eyes. Something about His Glory’s presentation stank. Alma took her time assessing His Glory, as if she, too, sensed a moving puzzle.
Einar’s foot twitched against Henrik’s. He tapped Henrik’s foot once. Twice. Thrice. One tap meant straight. Two taps meant right. Three taps meant left. Henrik returned it with a low, affirmative sniff.
“Your request is not unexpected, Your Glory. It does stir my curiosity, however. What has spurred this . . . change of heart?”
He smiled.
“You’re not clever enough for that, Ladylord. No, no. Explanations are not required.”
Her smile became fixed. “According to the agreements given by our forebears, Your Glory, any dissolution without full agreement from either party results in an immediate retaliation of war. No matter how powerful you believe your god Norr to be, he cannot save you from the might of the mainland. An explanationisrequired.”
Her confidently spoken words did nothing to the austerity of his smile. His Glory leaned forward, bending at the waist ever-so-slightly.
“I welcome your aggression, Ladylord. May you proceed at your own risk.”
The following silence was a bold refusal to explain. The Ladylord, apparently unbothered, glanced at Nils. The General sweated, his collar saturated. His eyes darted to Henrik, then Arvid, every three seconds.
“Do you have any thoughts, Nils?”
“We’ll crush you,” he rasped.
His Glory smiled.
Einar crackled with hostility, though his steely expression didn’t change. He shifted his weight forward, arms bent. His Glory peeled his eyes off of the Ladylord and regarded Einar. His lazy, violent smile widened. “Einar, the soldat,” he sang under his breath. “What a pleasure killing you will be.”
Gleeful, Einar whispered, “I feel the exact same way.”
Einar and His Glory moved at the exact same moment.
Einar lunged.
His Glory ducked.
