The Bridge Kingdom Read online

  Aren nodded, but his brow furrowed, suggesting that he didn’t quite believe her. The sweat-soaked sheets peeled off her skin as she leaned out of the bed to fill her glass with the water pitcher, knowing the nightgown she wore only barely covered her breasts and hoping the flash of skin would distract him.

  “Who did that to you?”

  Lara froze, certain in an instant that she had shouted something damning while caught in her fugue state. Her eyes skipped to the open door, calculating her chances of escape, but then his fingers grazed the skin of her back, following a familiar pattern. Scars, which her sister Sarhina had rubbed oil into every night for years until they’d faded into thin white lines.

  “Who did this?” The heat in his voice made her skin prickle.

  Serin had ordered it done after she’d snuck out of the compound and into the desert to watch one of the caravans as it passed, countless camels and men laden with goods to sell in Vencia. For her troubles, she’d received a dozen lashes, Serin screaming the entire time that she’d put everything at risk. Lara had never entirely understood why he’d been so angry. There’d been no chance of the caravan catching sight of her, and all she’d wanted was to see what goods they carried.

  “My teachers were strict,” she muttered. “But it was a long time ago. I almost forget they’re there.”

  Rather than appeasing him, Aren only appeared to grow angrier. “Who treats a child this way?”

  Lara opened her mouth, then closed it, no good answer coming to mind. All of her sisters had suffered beatings for infractions, though none as often as she. “I was a disobedient child.”

  “And they thought to beat the trait out of you?” His voice was icy.

  Pulling the sheet up to cover her body, Lara didn’t answer. Didn’t trust herself to.

  “For what it’s worth, no one will lay a hand on you in Ithicana. You have my word.” Rising, he picked up the lamp. “Dawn is only a few hours away. Try to get some sleep.” He left the room, pulling the broken door shut behind him.

  Lara lay in bed, listening to the soothing patter of rain against the window, still feeling the trace of Aren’s fingers on her bare skin. Still hearing the adamancy in his voice that she’d never be hurt in Ithicana, a promise so entirely at odds with everything she knew about him and his kingdom. His word means shit, she reminded herself. He gave his word to allow Maridrina free trade, and all her homeland had to show for it was rotten meat.

  Her goal was the bridge. Finding a way past Ithicana’s defenses and into the structure coveted by all. And today, Aren was taking her on a tour of his kingdom. With luck, she’d see how they traveled, where and how they launched their boats, where their civilians were located. It was the first step toward a successful invasion. The first step toward Maridrina returning to prosperity.

  Focus on that, she told herself. Focus on what this means for your people.

  But no amount of deep breathing steadied the rapid pulse in her throat. Rising from the bed, she went to the doorway to the antechamber. Jumping, she caught hold of the frame, her nails digging into the wood as she pulled herself up and lowered herself down, the muscles in her back and arms flexing and burning as she repeated the motion thirty times. Forty. Fifty. Imagining her sisters doing pull-ups next to her, urging each other on even as they fought for victory.

  Dropping to the ground, Lara lay on the floor and moved on to crunches, her abdominals fiery beasts as she passed one hundred. Two hundred. Three hundred. The Red Desert was hotter than Ithicana, but the humidity here was murder. Sweat dripped down her skin as she moved from exercise to exercise, the pain doing more than any meditation to drive away unwanted thoughts.

  By the time Clara knocked on the door with a tray full of food and a steaming cup of coffee, Lara was ravenous and beyond caring if the servant noticed her red face and sweaty clothes.

  Drinking the coffee, she mechanically shoveled food down her throat, then bathed before donning the same clothes she’d worn during her last trek through the jungle, including the heavy leather boots. She belted her knives at her waist and wove her hair in a tight braid that hung down the center of her back. Light was beginning to glow around the heavy drapes on the window when she left the room.

  She found Eli sweeping the hallway. “He’s waiting for you out front, my lady.”

  Aren was indeed waiting, and Lara took a moment to watch him through the glass window before making her presence known. He sat on the steps, elbows resting on the stone behind him, the muscles of his arms bare beneath the short sleeves of his tunic, vambraces buckled onto his forearms. The rising sun, for once not obscured by clouds, glinted off the arsenal of weapons strapped to his person, and Lara scowled at her lone pair of knives, wishing she were similarly armed.

  Pushing open the door, Lara took a deep breath of the humid air, tasting the salt of the sea on the soft breeze and smelling the damp earth. A silver mist drifted through the jungle canopy, the air filled with the drone of insects, the call of birds, and the screeches of other creatures for which she had no name.

  Aren rose without acknowledging her or her nightmare, and she followed a few steps behind so that she could watch him without scrutiny as they walked down the narrow, muddy trail. He had a predatory grace about him: a hunter, his eyes roving the ground, the canopy, the sky, his bow held loosely in his left hand rather than slung over one shoulder the way her father’s soldiers carried them. He would not be caught unaware, and she idly wondered just how good a fighter he was. Whether, if it came down to it, she’d be able to best him.

  “You always look like you want to kill someone,” he remarked. “Possibly me.”

  Kicking a loose rock, Lara scowled at the muddy pathway. “I hadn’t realized the dowager queen still lived.” Indeed, she’d been under the impression that all who remained of the royal line were the king and his sister.

  “She doesn’t. Nana is my father’s mother.” Aren turned his head as something rustled in the bushes. “My mother, Delia Kertell, was the one born to the royal line. My father’s family was common-born, but he rose through the military ranks and was chosen to join her honor guard. Mother took a liking to him and decided to marry him. My grandmother . . . she’s a healer, of some renown. Although others might use different words to describe her, my sister included.”

  “And why does she want to see me, exactly?”

  “She’s seen you,” he said.

  Lara narrowed her eyes.

  “When you first came and were still asleep. She checked to ensure your health was good. What she wants is to meet you. As to why . . . She’s meddlesome and everyone, including me, is too terrified to say no to her.”

  The idea of a stranger inspecting her body while she was unconscious felt profoundly invasive. Lara’s skin crawled, but she covered the reaction with a shrug. “Checking to see if my father had sent a pox-ridden girl to send you to your grave?”

  Aren tripped and dropped his bow, swearing as he reached down to retrieve it from the mud.

  “Not the swiftest method of assassination, but effective, nonetheless.” She added, “And some might say the repugnance of the victim’s final years, hours, days, is worth the wait.”

  The King of Ithicana’s eyes widened, but he recovered quickly. “If that’s how you intend to do me in, you’ll want to move quickly. The pustules and skin rashes will reduce your appeal, I’m afraid.”

  “Hmm,” Lara hummed, then clicked her tongue against her teeth in mock disappointment. “I’d hoped to wait until the dementia had taken over so as to spare myself the memory. But one must do what one must do.”

  He laughed, the sound rich and full, and Lara found herself smiling. They rounded a bend and came into a clearing dominated by a large building, a group of Ithicanian soldiers loitering in the sunlight.

  “Midwatch barracks,” Aren said by way of explanation. “Those twelve are my—our—honor guard.”

  The stone structure was large enough to house hundreds of men. “How many soldie
rs are here?”

  “Enough.” He strode through the clearing toward those waiting for them.

  “Majesties,” one of them said, bowing deeply, although there was amusement in his tone, as though such honorifics were rarely used. Tall and corded with muscle, he was old enough to be Aren’s father, his close-cropped brown hair laced with grey. Lara stared into his dark brown eyes, something about his voice familiar, and after a heartbeat, she recognized it as that of the man who’d conducted the Ithicanian portion of her wedding.

  “This is Jor,” Aren said. “He’s the captain of the guard.”

  “So nice to see you again,” she replied. “Do all Ithicanian soldiers have side jobs, or are you an exception?”

  The soldier blinked once, then a smile grew on his face, and he gave her an approving nod. “Good ear, princess.”

  “Poor memory, soldier. I’m a princess no longer—you yourself ensured that.” She walked past them all, heading down the narrow path to the sea.

  The older man laughed. “I hope you sleep with one eye open, Aren.”

  “And a knife under your pillow,” Lia added, and the whole group laughed.

  Aren laughed along with them, and Lara wondered if they knew that he’d yet to consummate their marriage. That by the laws of both kingdoms, they could walk their separate ways. Casting a backward glance over her shoulder, she met Aren’s gaze unblinking and he swiftly looked away, giving a root crossing the trail a violent kick.

  It didn’t take long to reach the tiny cove where they hid the boats, which were a variety of sizes. They resembled canoes, except they had an outboard frame linking them to either one or two additional hulls, which she supposed balanced them in the waves. Some of them were rigged with masts and sails, including the pair into which the group loaded their weapons and gear. A hint of fear grew in Lara’s chest. The boats were tiny compared to the ship she had taken for the crossing to Southwatch, and the seas beyond the cliff walls protecting the cove suddenly seemed rougher than they had moments ago, the whitecaps rising high and fierce, certain to swamp the flimsy vessels.

  A dozen excuses filled her mind as to why she shouldn’t, couldn’t, leave the shore. But this was why she was in Ithicana—to find a way past their defenses—and Aren was about to reveal the information without any concession on her part. She’d be a fool to pass up the opportunity.

  Aren stepped into the boat, then held out a hand for her, easily keeping his balance as the vessel rose and fell beneath him. Lara held her ground, biting the insides of her cheeks as she felt his scrutiny. He opened his mouth, but she beat him to it. “I can’t swim, if that’s what you’re wondering.” She hated admitting the weakness, and from the faint smile on his face, he knew it.

  “I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone who couldn’t swim.”

  She crossed her arms. “It’s hardly a necessary skill in the middle of the Red Desert.”

  All the soldiers studiously busied themselves with various tasks, every one of them clearly listening.

  “Well.” Aren turned to squint at the sea. “You’ve seen what prowls these waters. Drowning might be the easier way to go.”

  “How comforting.” She ignored his hand and stepped into the boat before she could lose her nerve. It swayed beneath the added weight, and Lara dropped to her knees, clinging to the edge.

  Laughing softly, Aren knelt next to her, holding up a black piece of fabric. “Sorry for this, but some secrets must be kept.” Not waiting for assent, he blindfolded her.

  Shit. She should’ve known it wouldn’t be this easy. But sight wasn’t the only way to discover information, so she kept her mouth shut.

  “Let’s go,” he ordered, and the boat surged away from the beach.

  For a moment, Lara thought it wouldn’t be that bad, and then they must have slipped out of the cove, because the boat began to buck and plunge like a wild horse. Lara’s heart thundered in her chest, and she clung to the bottom, not caring what Aren or the rest of the Ithicanians thought of her as water splashed her clothes, soaking them through. If they tipped over, or if one of them threw her in, none of her training would help her. She’d be dead.

  And then eaten.

  On the heels of her terror came a wave of nausea, her mouth filling with sour salvia no matter how many times she swallowed. You can do this. Get control of yourself. She clenched her teeth, fighting against the rising contents of her stomach. Do not throw up, she ordered herself. You will not throw up.

  “She’s going to puke,” Jor said.

  As if on cue, Lara’s breakfast rose fast and violent, and she leaned blindly toward the edge right as the boat tipped sharply in the same direction. Her grip on the boat slipped even as she vomited, and she fell face first into the water. The cold sea closed over her head, and she flailed, imagining the water filling her lungs, fins circling around her. Teeth rising up to jerk her under.

  She’d been here before. Drowned. Smothered. Strangled.

  An old terror with a new face.

  She could not breathe.

  Hands grabbed at her tunic, hauling her back into the boat. She slammed into something solid and warm, then someone peeled up the edge of the fabric covering her face, and she found herself staring into the depths of Aren’s hazel eyes.

  “I’ve got you.” His grip on her was so fierce it should’ve hurt, but was instead almost as comforting as being on dry land. Behind him was the bridge pier with the opening at its base, so tantalizingly close that her fear eased. But Aren pulled the blindfold back down, plunging her back into darkness.

  The loss of her sight sent a wave of dizziness through her. Sweat mixed with the water dripping down her face, her breath coming in frantic little gasps.

  She inhaled a ragged breath, fighting for the calm void she’d been trained to find if tortured when one of the guards said, “We could take the bridge. This seems cruel.”

  “No,” Jor snapped. “Not happening.”

  But Lara felt Aren still. He was considering the idea. Which he’d only be doing if he, too, believed unnecessarily terrifying her was cruel. So she let her fear take hold.

  Once she did, there was no turning back. Her terror was a wild beast of a thing bent on consuming her. Her chest clenched, her lungs paralyzed, and stars danced across her vision.

  The waves tossed the boat up and down, the spikes set into the sea scraping along the metal-lined hull. Lara clung to Aren, the strength of his arm holding her against his chest and her fingernails digging into his shoulders the only things keeping her from falling into madness.

  Vaguely, she heard the group arguing, but their words were a dull drone of noise, as unclear as a foreign language. But Aren’s command, “Just do it!” cut through the fog.

  The soldiers around her grumbled and swore. The steel plates on the hull ground against rock, and a second later, the violent buck and swell of the sea ceased. They were inside the bridge pier, but her panic didn’t ease, for there was still water everywhere. She could still drown.

  A crackle of a torch. The smell of smoke. The boat shifting as the soldiers disembarked. Lara fought to take note of these details, but her focus centered on the water surrounding her, on what was lurking within it.

  “There’s a ladder.” Aren’s chin, rough with stubble, brushed against her forehead as he shifted. “Can you reach up and grab it? Can you climb?”

  Lara couldn’t move. Her chest felt like bands of steel were wrapped around it, every exhalation painful. There was a faint repetitive thumping against the bottom of the boat, and it took her far too long to realize that it was because she was shaking and her boot was hitting the hull. But she couldn’t seem to stop it. Couldn’t seem to do anything but cling to Aren’s neck, her knees clamped around his thighs like a vise.

  “I promise I won’t let you fall in.” His breath was warm against her ear, and very slowly, she mastered enough of her panic to let go of his neck with one hand, reaching up to find the cold metal of the ladder. But it took all the bravery
she possessed to let go of him, to pull herself up, blindly reaching for the next rungs.

  Aren stood with her, gripping her waist with one arm, his other braced on the steel. He lifted her up, holding her steady until her feet found the ladder.

  “How far?” she whispered.

  “Sixty more rungs, from where your hands are now. I’ll be right beneath you. You won’t fall.”

  Lara’s breath was deafening in her ears as she went up, rung by rung, her whole body quivering. She’d never felt like this before. Never been so afraid—not even when she’d stared death in the eye when her father had come to take Marylyn from the compound. She continued up and up, until someone grabbed her by the armpits, hauling her sideways, and set her down on solid stone.

  “We’ll keep that blindfold on only a little longer, Majesty,” Jor said, but Lara hardly cared. There was a solid surface beneath her hands, and the ground wasn’t moving. She could breathe.

  Rock scraped against rock, boots thudded softly, then strong hands gripped her shoulders. Her blindfold was peeled back, and Lara found herself looking up into the King of Ithicana’s worried face. Around them stood the soldiers, three of them holding torches that flickered yellow and orange and red. But beyond them yawned a darkness deeper than a moonless night. A blackness so complete, it was as though the sun itself had ceased to exist.

  They were inside the bridge.

  15

  Lara

  “Are you all right, Lara?”

  It took several seconds for Aren’s question to register, Lara’s attention all for the grey stone beneath her, which was stained dark with dirt and lichen. The bridge wasn’t made from blocks, as she had thought, but rather a smooth and unblemished material. Like mortar . . . but stronger. She’d never seen anything like it. The air was musty and ripe with the smell of mildew and moisture and manure. Aren’s voice echoed off the walls, asking after her well-being over and over before the sound disappeared into the endless corridor of black.