“They’re lovely. Thank you.”
He chuckled. “Look more closely.”
Pulling them from their sheaths, Lara tested the edges and found them keen, but the balance was off. Then her father reached over and pressed one of the jewels, and the gold casement fell away to reveal a throwing knife.
Lara smiled.
“If they won’t allow you to communicate with the outside world, you’ll need to bide your time while you learn their secrets, then escape. Perhaps even fight your way free and return to us with what you’ve learned.”
She nodded, flipping the blades back and forth to get the feel of them. There was no chance of her willingly returning to hand-deliver her invasion strategy. To do so would be a death wish.
After learning her father’s intention to kill her and her sisters at the dinner, Lara had had time to consider why her father wanted the daughters not destined to be queen dead. It was more than a desire to keep his plot a secret until he’d succeeded in taking the bridge. Her father wanted this plot kept secret forever, for if anyone learned of it, his ability to use his other living children as negotiating tools would be negated. No one would ever trust him. Just like he’d never trust her. Which meant if Lara ever returned, successful or not, she too would be silenced.
Her father interrupted her thoughts. “I was there when you girls had your first kills,” he said. “Did you know?”
The blades stilled in her hands as Lara remembered. She and her sisters had been sixteen when the line of chained men had been brought to the compound under Serin’s watchful eye. They were raiders from Valcotta who’d been captured and brought to test the mettle of Maridrina’s warrior princesses. Kill or be killed, Master Erik had told them as they were pushed one by one into the fighting yard. Some of her sisters had hesitated and fallen beneath the raider’s desperate blows. Lara had not. She would never forget the meaty thunk her blade made as it sank into her opponent’s throat from across the yard. The way he stared at her in astonishment before slowly collapsing onto the sand, his lifeblood pooling around him.
“I didn’t know,” she said.
“Knives, as I recall, are your specialty.”
Killing was her specialty.
The carriage was rumbling over cobbled streets, the horses’ hooves making sharp little sounds against the stone. Outside, Lara heard intermittent cheers, and flicking aside the curtain, she tried to smile at the filthy men and women lining the streets, their faces pale from hunger and illness. Worse were the children among them, eyes dull and hopeless, flies buzzing near their eyes and mouths.
“Why don’t you do something for them?” she demanded of her father, whose face was expressionless as he stared out the window.
He turned his azure eyes on her. “Why else do you think I created you?” Then he reached into his pocket and gave her a handful of silver to toss from the window, which she did. She closed her eyes as her impoverished people fought each other for the gleaming metal. She would save them. She would wrest the bridge from Ithicana’s control, and no Maridrinian would go hungry again.
The horses slowed, making their way down the steep switchbacking streets to the harbor below. Where the ship waited to take her to Ithicana.
She tugged aside the curtain to get her first look at the sea, the scent of fish and brine on the air. There were whitecaps on the water, the rise and fall of the waves stealing her attention as her father plucked the knives from her hands to be returned when the time was right.
The carriage pulled through a market that appeared nearly devoid of life, the stalls empty. “Where is everyone?” she asked.
Her father’s face was dark and unreadable. “Waiting for you to open the gates to Ithicana.”
The carriage rolled into the harbor, then came to a stop. There was no ceremony as her father helped her out. The ship awaiting them flew a flag of azure and silver. Maridrina’s colors.
He led her swiftly down the dock and up a gangplank onto the ship. “The crossing to Southwatch takes less than an hour. There are servants waiting to prepare you below.”
Lara cast one backward glance at Vencia, at the sun burning hot and bright above it, then turned her sights on the clouds and mist and darkness that lay across the narrow strait before her. One kingdom to save. One kingdom to destroy.
4
Lara
Lara stood on the ship’s deck, which lurched and bucked like a wild horse, digging her fingernails into the railing, fighting to keep the contents of her stomach from spilling out into the sea. To make matters worse, raised in the desert, she had never learned to swim—a weakness that had already begun to haunt her. Every time the ship heeled over in the heavy wind, her breath caught with the certainty they’d capsize and drown. The only things that distracted her from visions of waves closing over her head were the more certain dangers facing her.
By tonight, she’d be married. She’d be alone in a foreign kingdom with a reputation for the worst sort of cruelty. The wife of a young man who was lord over it all. This was the life she’d been protecting her sisters from, at the sacrifice of her own, and all of it for the sake of her people. But now the consequences of that choice were terrifyingly imminent. Clouds hung low over the white-capped sea, shifting and moving like sentient beasts, but through them, ever so faintly, she could make out the shadow of an island. Ithicana.
Her father joined her at the railing. “Southwatch.”
His travel-stained clothing had been replaced with a pristine white shirt and black coat, his polished sword hanging from a belt decorated with silver and turquoise disks. “Aren keeps a full garrison of soldiers there at all times, and they have catapults and other war machines trained on the ocean, ready to sink any who’d attempt to take the island. There are spikes set into the seafloor to spear any ship that manages to approach any point other than the pier, which is itself rigged with explosives should they feel it has been compromised. The bridge cannot be taken at its mouth.” His jaw tightened. “It’s been tried and tried.”
Countless ships and thousands of men lost for every attempt. Lara knew the history of the war that had ended fifteen years ago with Ithicana triumphant, but the specifics rose and fell in her mind like the waves on which the ship rode. Her knees were shaky, her whole body weak with seasickness.
“You are the hope of our people, Lara. We need that bridge.”
She was afraid if she opened her mouth, she’d spill whatever remained in her stomach overboard, so she only nodded once. The island was in full view now, twin peaks of stone festooned with lush vegetation rising out of the sea. At their base was a lone pier crusted with armaments, a cluster of unadorned stone buildings, and beyond, a single road leading up to the yawning mouth of the bridge itself.
Her father’s sleeve brushed her wrist. “Don’t for a heartbeat believe that I trust you,” he murmured, stealing back her attention. “I saw what you did to your sisters, and while you might claim to have Maridrina foremost in your heart, I know you were motivated by the desire to save your own life.”
If saving her own life had been what she’d cared about, she would have faked her own death. But Lara said nothing.
“While your ruthlessness makes you desirable for this role, your lack of honor makes me question whether you’ll put our people’s lives above your own.” Grabbing her arms, he twisted her toward him, nothing on his face betraying that this was anything more than a conversation between a loving father and his daughter. “If you betray me, I will hunt you down. And what I will do to you will make you wish that you’d died alongside your sisters.”
The sound of steel drums danced across the sea and into her ears, punctuated by the distant grumble of thunder.
“And what if I succeed?” Her mouth tasted sour, and she turned her head away, taking in the hundreds of figures on the island waiting for the ship. Waiting for her.
“You’ll be the savior of Maridrina. You’ll be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams.”
“I want
my freedom.” Her tongue felt strangely thick as she spoke. “I want to be left alone, to my devices. Free to go wherever I choose, to do as I will.”
One silver eyebrow rose. “How different you and Marylyn are.”
“Were.”
He inclined his head. “Even so.”
“Do we have an agreement then? The bridge in exchange for my freedom?”
His nod was punctuated by a loud boom of thunder. It was a lie, and she knew it. But she could live with his lies because their goals were aligned.
“Drop sails,” the captain of the ship bellowed, and Lara gripped the rail as they lost momentum, the sailors running about to make ready to land. The drums continued their beat, pace escalating along with Lara’s heart as the ship drifted against the empty pier, sailors leaping the gap to tie off the ship.
The gangplank was lowered, and her father took her arm, leading her toward it. The drumming intensified.
“You have one year.” He stepped onto the solid stone of the pier. “Do not falter. Do not fail.”
Lara hesitated, dizzy, and, for the first time since the night she’d freed her sisters from their dark fate, desperately afraid. Then she took her first step into the world that was now her new home.
The drums let out a thundering beat, then went still. Holding tight to her father’s arm, Lara walked up the pier, biting back a gasp as she took in the masked Ithicanians for the first time.
Their steel helmets were sculpted like raging beasts with mouths full of snarling teeth and brows bearing curved horns. She could see nothing of the men beneath except their eyes, which seemed to glitter with malice as they watched her pass, hands on swords and pikes. No one spoke; the only sounds were the whistle of the wind between the two towers of rock and the call of the storm beyond.
Tearing her eyes from the soldiers, Lara’s gaze went down the paved road rising up to the gaping mouth of Ithicana’s bridge. It was enclosed like a tunnel, maybe a dozen feet wide and equally as tall, made of a grey stone gone green with exposure to the damp air. A great steel portcullis was raised, the entirety of the bridge’s mouth framed by a guardhouse.
A figure stepped out of the dark opening, the steel spikes of the portcullis hanging above him like fangs, and Lara felt her stomach lurch.
The King of Ithicana.
Dressed in trousers, heavy boots, and a tunic of drab greenish gray, he was tall and broad of shoulder. Her training told her that he was as much a soldier as any of those lining the road. But those details were lost, her heart beating staccato, as she took in the helmet that concealed his face. It had a snout like a lion’s, open to reveal glittering canines, and horns like a bull sprouting from both temples.
Not a man, a demon.
The lingering dizziness from the voyage passed over her in waves, and with it came fear that possessed her like an angry spirit. The heel of her sandal slid on the stone, and Lara stumbled against her father, the ground feeling as though it were moving beneath her like the rocking ship.
This had been a mistake. A terrible, horrible mistake.
When only a handful of paces stood between them, her father stopped and turned to her. In his free hand was a jeweled belt with her camouflaged throwing knives hooked on either side. He wrapped it around the waist of her sodden gown, fastening the buckle. Then he kissed both her cheeks before turning back to Ithicana’s king. “As was agreed upon, I stand here to offer my most precious daughter, Lara, as a symbol of Maridrina’s commitment to its continued alliance with Ithicana. May there ever be peace between our kingdoms.”
The King of Ithicana nodded once, and her father gave Lara a gentle shove between the shoulders. With halting steps, she walked toward the king, and as she did, a bolt of lightning lanced through the air, the flash making the visage of his helmet seem to move, like it wasn’t metal, but flesh.
The drums resumed, a steady and harsh beat: Ithicana incarnate. The king reached out one hand, and though every instinct told her to turn and run, Lara took it.
For reasons she couldn’t articulate, she’d expected it to be cold like metal, and equally unyielding—but it was warm. Long fingers curved around hers, the nails cut short. His palm was calloused, the skin, like hers, covered with tiny white scars. The nicks and cuts that couldn’t be avoided when combat was one’s way of life. She stared at that hand. It offered some strange comfort; what stood before her was nothing more than a man.
And men could be defeated.
A priestess approached on her left and tied an azure ribbon around their hands, binding them together before belting out the Maridrinian marriage vows so that all could hear over the growing storm. Vows of obedience on her part. Vows to create a hundred sons on his. Lara could’ve sworn she heard a soft snort of amusement from behind the king’s helmet.
But as the priestess raised her hands to proclaim them man and wife, he spoke for the first time. “Not yet.”
Waving away the startled priestess, he shook loose the ribbon that Lara was supposed to have worn braided into her hair for the first year of their marriage. The silk flew off toward the sea. One of his helmeted soldiers stepped out of the ranks, coming up to stand before them.
He shouted, “Do you, Aren Kertell, King of Ithicana, swear to fight by this woman’s side, to defend her to your dying breath, to cherish her body and none other, and to be loyal to her as long as you both live?”
“I do.” The king’s words were punctuated by the hammer of a hundred swords and spears against shields, and Lara twitched.
But the shock of the noise was nothing compared to what she felt when the soldier turned to her and said, “Do you, Lara Veliant, Princess of Maridrina, swear to fight by this man’s side, to defend him to your dying breath, to cherish his body and none other, and to be loyal to him as long as you both live?”
She blinked. And because there was nothing else for her to say, she whispered, “I do.”
Nodding, the soldier pulled out a knife. “Now don’t be a baby about this, Majesty,” he muttered, and the king answered with a tense chuckle before holding out his hand.
The soldier sliced the knife across the king’s palm, then before Lara could pull away, he grabbed her arm and ran the knife across her hand as well. She saw the blood well up before she felt the sting. The soldier pressed their palms together, the King of Ithicana’s hot blood mixing with hers before running down their entwined fingers.
The soldier jerked their hands up, almost lifting Lara off her feet. “Behold, the King and Queen of Ithicana.”
As if to punctuate his words, the storm finally fell upon them with a resounding clap of thunder that made the ground shudder. The drums took up their frenzied pace, and the King of Ithicana pulled their hands out of the soldier’s grip, lowering his arm so Lara wasn’t on her tiptoes. “I suggest you board your ship, Your Grace,” he said to Lara’s father. “This storm will chase you home as it is.”
“You could always offer your hospitality,” her father responded, and Lara’s attention flicked from him to Serin, who stood with the rest of the Maridrinians beyond. “We are, after all, family now.”
The King of Ithicana laughed. “One step at a time, Silas. One step at time.” He turned and gently tugged Lara into the depths of the bridge, the portcullis rattling its way down behind them. She had only the opportunity for a brief glance back over her shoulder at her father, his expression blank and unreadable. But beyond, Serin met her gaze, inclining his head once in a slow nod before she was pulled out of sight.
It was dark inside, smelling faintly of animal dung and sweat. None of the Ithicanians removed their helmets, but even with their faces concealed, Lara felt their scrutiny.
“Welcome to Ithicana,” the king—her husband—said. “I’m sorry to have to do this.”
Lara saw him lift a hand holding a vial. She could’ve dodged it. She could have taken him down with a single blow, fought her way free of his soldiers. But she couldn’t let him know that. Instead, she gave him a doe-eyed look of sho
ck as he held it up to her nose, the world spinning around her, darkness rushing in. Her knees buckled and she felt strong arms catch her before she hit the ground. The last thing she heard before she faded from consciousness was the king’s resigned voice: “What have I gotten myself into with you?”
5
Aren
Aren, the thirty-seventh ruler of Ithicana, lay on his back, staring up at the soot stains on the roof of the barracks. His helmet rested next to his left hand and, as he turned his head to regard the monstrous steel thing he’d inherited along with his title, he decided that whichever one of his ancestors had come up with the idea of the helmets had been both a genius and a sadist. Genius, because the things put fear in the hearts of Ithicana’s enemies. Sadist, because wearing it was like having his head stuffed in a cooking pot that smelled of sweaty socks.
His twin sister’s face appeared in his line of sight, her expression amused. “Nana has examined her. Says she’s shockingly fit, most certainly healthy, and, barring tragedy, likely to live a goodly long while.”
Aren blinked once.
“Disappointed?” Ahnna asked.
Rolling onto one elbow, Aren sat upright on the bench. “Contrary to the opinions of our neighboring kingdoms, I’m not actually so depraved as to wish death upon an innocent girl.”
“Are you so sure she’s innocent?”
“Are you arguing that she’s not?”
Ahnna scrunched up her face, then shook her head. “In true Maridrinian fashion, they’ve given you a beautiful and sheltered shrinking violet. Good to look at and not much else.”
Remembering how the young woman had shaken as she’d walked up the pier, holding tightly to her father’s arm, her enormous blue eyes filled with terror, Aren was inclined to agree with his sister’s assessment. Yet even so, he fully intended to keep Lara isolated until he could get a grasp on her true nature. And learn exactly where her loyalties lay.
The Bridge Kingdom Page 3