Page 172 of The Queens and the Kings
“And you?” Henrik asked.
“His Glory does not yet know the nature of my relationship with the rebels. If you do your job well, and we do ours, he’ll be dead before he finds out.”
Einar smiled. “Henrik’s and my job is to kill His Glory.”
“As the only two soldats still on the island with the capability and willingness, yes.” Ingemar inclined his head. “The plan was to give that to you.”
Einar shoved Henrik in the shoulder. “Then let’s go! Time for destiny!”
Arvid nodded toward Ingemar. “These sailors and myself will form a perimeter around the Temple to prevent others from entering.”
Solemnly, Ingemar said, “That will buy Einar and Henrik time to stop the arcane, but it won’t be long. His Glory is bringing a first wave five hundred strong.”
“Fifty against five hundred?” Henrik asked, his voice as neutral as possible.
Arvid’s grim expression hardened into something like a smile. He lifted the hand containing his recent message.
“There are a few more here to help us.”
A voice shouted from the crowd. “Arvid is not alone, you shite piece of garbage. We are here to fight with our brothers.”
Henrik spun. Ten familiar faces stepped out of the crowd of sailors, working carefully around arcane flows. Their raucous grins and ridiculous swagger bore them closer.
Harald.
Fritz.
Ebba.
Timmer. Henrik’s soldat brothers filtered through the old cobblestone road.
“We came with Pedr,” Harald called, slamming a stunned Einar in the chest with a jaunty fist. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, leading Henrik’s gaze to a set of bright pink flames in the harbor. Whispers of, “Burning beard,” and “the soldats have returned!” rippled through the sailors.
“Pedr,” Henrik retorted, stunned.
The question ofhowfaded as quickly as it came. Those questions could come later. Instead, he breathed out a smile and gripped his friend by the shoulder.
“Am I glad to see you, Harald.”
“Your ugly mug will scare all the pretty sailors away, Timmer,” Einar called, laughing. They embraced, hands slapping backs.
Harald nodded, sword in the air. “We’re ready to fight the old-bones bastid who kept us enslaved. Count onusto guardthe Temple. Arvid, command your army to a bigger perimeter. Soldats take care of soldats. Brothers.” Harald slammed a fist into his chest.
Arvid embraced each in turn. Einar thumped Arvid on the chest and pointed right at his heart.
“We trust you, Captain Arvid. Our brothers have our backs. We’ll see you when it’s over.”
Chapter Forty Seven
PEDR
Pedr expectedto feel relief when the load of soldats—so stern and calm—departed from his ship for Stenberg. He didn’t.
Like Henrik, they didn’t have a lot to say. When they did speak, it was quietly and to each other. Their professionalism had been easy to transport. Einar, it turned out, was the chatty one who asked all the right questions at the wrong time.
The one who wanted to know more. The one who gave Pedr a glimmer of hope in finding Mila, the annoying bastid.
The soldats’ tension kept even Britt’s ready smile cowed, and she didn’t stray far from Pedr’s side whenever the soldats collected. Far from being cowed by them, she remained quietly observant. None of them meant her harm, but equally obvious was her elevated position of respect as a woman associated with Henrik. Only Harald, their clear leader, spoke with or approached Britt. The rest maintained a respectful distance. Under different circumstances, they might even be curious.
