These Barren Lands

Chapter 2

Eero's quarters are a short distance from the mainmast, under the helm. I knock once, and a dry voice calls, "Come in." All too familiar nerves rock in my stomach.

We're friends.

Nothing more.

But as I push the door open and see the king sitting at his desk, back bent in concentration, my magic swells in my chest. It's so hot that it hurts. The surge of power makes my fingers twitch, my cheeks burn. I don't know why She does this, but since that day at the beach, the one where I nearly kissed Eero, She's been out of control.

His back is to me as he reads one of the many scrolls stacked on the top of his desk. Yellow warm lights washes over his face from the candles around him, highlighting the stress and worry lines on his eyes and mouth. He chews absentmindedly on the end of a quill as he reads.

Beside his correspondences, his crown sits. The blue gems wink in the candlelight. He's supposed to be wearing it, but he whispered to me once that it pinched his head. I smile at the memory and close the door behind me.

"Pretty late, isn't it, Magnus?" Eero asks, not looking up.

"I mean, he might think so, but—" Eero spins around at the sound of my voice, scattering his papers in shock. "But I'm not him," I finish, biting back a laugh.

"Ari." It comes out on a wisp of breath. A relief. It makes me shudder with elation. "What are you doing here?"

I smirk. "Well, I think you're taking me home."

At that, Eero's shock fades into mild annoyance. He scoffs and turns back to his work. "You know what I meant."

"Sorry, your majesty." He huffs again, but from here, I can see the puff of his cheek as he grins. "I—What are you working on?"

I should tell him that Papa's men are here, that we're to be escorted to him immediately, but... I don't want to. The way those guards looked at me, like I was an intruder in my own homeland... I'd rather stay here, be looked at like I'm whole and like I belong, than be gawked at.

The guards can wait.

Eero scoots sideways on his bench and pats the wood. "Answering letters from Espjerg. Come. Sit."

I cross the room and slide onto the seat beside him. He cringes as water drips onto his paper.

"Raining out there?" he asks, striking that painfully handsome, one-sided smirk that makes his single dimple come out.

"Just a little," I say.

"You're going to smear the ink. At least use a towel, you drowned rotte." Eero blindly reaches into the cupboard beside him and retrieves a roll of plush material. I take it from his hand and wrap it around my shoulders.

"How are things in Epsjerg?" I ask, patting the water out of my hair.

In response, Eero hands me one of the letters. It's written in Anjordian, which I can read sufficiently, thank the Divine, but the handwriting is messy and smeared from the horrid weather. I catch words like "uneven" and "severe losses" and "low spirits." This isn't a good update, that much is clear.

"They're all the same," he muses, shuffling through the rest of the stack. "The men are tired of fighting; they're not making any gains against the Snejorians. Supplies are running low, and spirits are starting to drop."

"Have you gotten through to the queen?" I ask, voice quiet.

Eero sighs. "Yes, but all she said was that she could grant me an audience. It's not like Maeja. She's always been an advocate for peace. I assumed that would continue after Father died."