The Two Kings
Page 29
Just as I neared the brick harbor, my heart rebounded. Above the harbor master’s quarters, an azure and evergreen sail draped unfurled along the ship’s mast—Ark Ulfur’s colors. My feet carried me out to the large network of wooden docks that shot out in snowflake patterns.
Two people stood aboard the ship. One placed belongings in the small hull, while the other inspected and mended the boat’s boards as needed.
My strides were long as I neared them. With each step, my boots clapped against the planks.
“Where have you been?” Astra asked when she caught sight of me.
It was the one question I didn’t want to answer. “Here. I never left the city.”
Svotheim didn’t even look up from his tedious work.
“Well, I assumed you hadn’t left the city.” Her tone was lighthearted. “Where did you sleep?”
I swallowed. Why was I afraid to say the truth? What did it matter if they knew? The lines tumbled through my head, but my tongue wound itself into a knot. I did care if they knew. This was something private. It was the only part of my life that I kept to myself.
“It’s a dangerous game you are playing, Derethe,” Svotheim said. “When these two men meet—both prideful, power-wielding, ambitious men–what do you suppose will happen?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Stop playing coy. Solvild told me.”
That rat bastard. “I thought you said it was my body, and that I was allowed to do with it as I pleased.”
“What is she talking about? What did Solvild tell you, Svotheim?” Astra’s brow scrunched.
He didn’t reply but hammered a few loose nails. His concentration laid on the ship’s belly.
The lack of an answer tore at my nervous flesh. “One has another woman hanging onto his arm, and the other doesn’t view me as anything more than religious entertainment.”
Svotheim’s hands stopped, and his focus shifted to me. A flush of disbelief came over his face. “Men have hearts too, Derethe. Feelings are never black and white. The smallest amount of interest or intimacy is enough to spark a bed of envy.”
I folded my arms atop my chest, and my eyes stuck to the waters.
Svotheim rose to his full height. “It hurt, didn’t it? Seeing Iver with Irska while he stole looks at you. You know how crushing the world is. So, why would you want to afflict that upon another?” He spat before crouching once more. “He sought you out last night.”
The sound of the river clapping against the boat’s edge filled the air between the three of us. I stared at the Varundian. “It was only one evening. That’s hardly enough for anyone to sink their hopes into.” Yet I had managed to do just that with Iver.
Svotheim nodded. “I agree. But Torram and Iver are different from you and me. Don’t be surprised if their feelings are not replicated in the same fashion as yours.”
The man was overreacting. Torram and I had shared a few moments of warmth, nothing more. “All right.” I threw up my hands in defeat. There was no point in debating the subject with him any further. We weren’t going to see eye to eye on this. “What can I do to help prepare the ship?” I changed the subject.
“Prepare?” Svotheim chuckled. “The boat’s ready. You didn’t think I was sitting around waiting the entire time you were missing, did you? You should know better than to expect these hands to remain idle.”
“I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of gathering your belongings,” Astra added.
“It’s fine.” I climbed onto the ship. “Did you already pay your respects to King Erlend?”
Svotheim shook his head. “It’s not customary to send off foreigners as you do your own.” He wrapped a rough rope around a notch. “Erlend is aware of our leave. If he feels he needs to see us off, he may appear, but I doubt it. We’re just messengers, Derethe, not heroes.”
“Aye.” I nodded to myself. With hurried hands, I helped Astra finish loading the hatch. My first adventure had come to an end, and now we set out for another.
But not as a pair like before. This time, it would be a trio.
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The Varundian Series
The Traitor
The Two Kings
The Sea Serpent
The Other Spade
The Silver Ring
The Forsaken Return
The Storm’s End
About the Author
Professional cat herder by day, mystical archivist by night, Marian Gray can often be found existing in multiple dimensions. Her days consist of 26 hours, two of which always seem to get misplaced, and she prefers tea over coffee for a daily leaf reading.
When she's not frightening the neighbors or placing herself on FBI watchlists due to her google searches, she spends her time deep in a book with a toddler gnawing on her ankle or battling the Dark Lord.
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