The Bridge Kingdom

by Danielle L. Jensen

  “Lara?”

  “I’m fine.” And she was, in the sense that her panic had settled with the solidness of the bridge beneath her feet, excitement slowly bubbling up to take its place. She had done it. She’d found a way into the bridge.

  Everyone was staring at her, shifting their weapons and supplies with obvious unease. Aren had caved to her fear, and in doing so, had revealed one of Ithicana’s secrets. Jor, in particular, did not look pleased.

  Aren’s face was unreadable. “We need to get moving. I don’t want to miss the tide on our return.” He frowned. “Not while they’re running cattle.”

  Cattle. Food. According to Serin’s letter, the best of it was finding its way into the holds of Valcottan ships, not Maridrinian stomachs.

  Jor held up her blindfold. “Best we put this back on.”

  The group’s footfalls reverberated as they walked, Lara’s hand resting on Aren’s arm for guidance, the wind and sea only faintly audible. The bridge bent and curved, rising on gentle inclines and dipping down on declines as it meandered through the islands of Ithicana. It was a ten-day journey at walking speed between Northwatch and Southwatch islands, and she could scarcely imagine what it would be like to be enclosed within the bridge for so long. With no sense of day or night. With no way to get out other than to run toward the mouths of this great beast.

  Though there were ways out; she knew that with certainty now. But how many? How were they accessed from the interior of the bridge? Were the openings only to the piers, or were there others? How did the Ithicanians know where they were?

  Foreigners from every kingdom, merchants and travelers, traversed the bridge regularly. They were always under Ithicanian escort, but she knew for fact they weren’t blindfolded. Serin had told her and her sisters that the only markers in the bridge were those stamped in the floor indicating the distance between the beginning and end. There were, to his knowledge, no other signs or symbols, and the Ithicanians were apparently fastidious in removing any marks anyone attempted to place. Those caught doing so were forever forbidden from entering the bridge, no matter how much money they offered to pay.

  Answers would not be easily gained. She needed to earn Aren’s trust, and to do that, she needed him to think he was winning her over.

  “I’m sorry for my . . . loss of composure,” she murmured, hoping the others wouldn’t overhear, though the acoustics made it impossible that they would not. “The sea is . . . I’m not . . .”

  She struggled to articulate an explanation for her fear, settling with, “Thank you. For not letting me drown. And for not mocking me mercilessly.”

  With the blindfold in place, Lara had no way to judge his reaction, and the silence stretched before he finally answered. “The sea is dangerous. Only war takes more Ithicanian lives. But it’s unavoidable in our world, so we must master our fear of it.”

  “You don’t appear to fear it at all.”

  “You’re wrong.” He was silent for a dozen strides. “You asked me how my parents died.”

  Lara bit her lip, remembering: They’d drowned.

  “My mother had been sick for years with a bad heart. She was taken by a fit one night. A bad one. One she wouldn’t come back from. Though there was a storm blowing in, my father insisted on taking her to my grandmother on the slim hope she could help.” Aren’s voice shook, and he coughed once. “No one could say for certain, but I was told my mother wasn’t even breathing when he loaded her into the boat and set sail. The storm came in fast. Neither of them was seen again.”

  “Why did he do it?” She was both fascinated and horrified. This hadn’t been just any pair, but the king and queen of one of the most powerful kingdoms in the known world. “If she was already gone, why risk it? Or at the very least, why didn’t he have someone else take her?”

  “Moment of stupidity, I suppose.”

  “Aren.” Jor’s voice was chiding from where he walked behind them. “Tell it right or don’t tell it all. You owe them that much.”

  Lara considered the older guard, curious about their relationship. Her father would’ve had the head of anyone who’d dare speak to him in such a way. Yet Jor seemed to do so without fear; and indeed, she felt nothing more than mild irritation from the king striding on her left.

  Aren huffed out a breath, then said, “My father didn’t send her with someone else, because he wasn’t the sort of man to put his well-being ahead of another. As to why he risked it at all . . . I suppose it was because he loved my mother enough that the hope of saving her was worth his own life.”

  To risk everything for the slim chance of saving those you loved . . . Lara knew that compulsion because that was how she felt about her sisters. And it might cost her her own life just yet.

  “Ill-fated romance aside, my point is, I know what it’s like to lose something to the sea. To hate it. To fear it.” He kicked a bit of rock, sending it rattling ahead of them. “It knows no master, most certainly not me.”

  He said nothing more on the issue, or on anything else.

  There was no sense of time in the bridge, and it seemed they’d been striding down the path for eternity, when Aren finally came to a halt.

  Blind, Lara stood utterly still, relying on her other senses as the soldiers shifted about. Boots scuffed against stone, the echoes making it difficult for her to tell from which direction they were working, but then a breeze brushed against her left hand at the same time it hit her cheek, fresh air filling her nostrils. The opening was in the wall, not the floor.

  “The stairs are too steep to navigate blind.” Aren flipped her over his shoulder, his hand warm against her thigh as he balanced her weight. Instinct had her grip him by the waist, her fingers digging into the hard muscles of his stomach as he stooped down. Only at the last second did she think to reach out, her hand running the length of a solid slab that must have made up the door. A door that, unless she missed her mark, blended seamlessly into the wall of the bridge.

  The sounds of the jungle grew as they went down a curved staircase, then the soft light of the sun filtered through her blindfold.

  Aren set her back onto her feet without warning. Lara swayed as the blood rushed from her head, his hand on her back, guiding her forward before she could find her bearings.

  “Good enough,” Jor announced from somewhere ahead, and the blindfold was tugged from her eyes. Lara blinked, looking around, but there was only jungle, the canopy blocking even the bridge from sight.

  “It’s not far,” Aren said, and Lara silently trailed after him, careful to keep to the narrow path. The guards encircled them, weapons held loosely in their hands, their eyes watchful. Unlike her father, who was constantly surrounded by his cadre of soldiers, this was the first time since their wedding that she’d seen Aren treated like a king. The first time she’d seen them protect him so aggressively. What was different? Was this island dangerous? Or was it something else? There was a crackle in the trees, and both Jor and Lia stepped closer to her, hands going to their weapons, and Lara realized it wasn’t the king they were worried about protecting. It was her.

  They skirted the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea, the water thirty feet below crashing violently against the rocks. Lara searched in both directions for a spot where men could land, but there was none. On the assumption it was the same way all around the island, she could see why the builders had chosen it as a pier. It was nearly impenetrable. Yet, given Aren had intended to come by boat, there must be a way.

  The house appeared out of nowhere. One minute it was trees and vines and vegetation, the next, a solid stone structure, the windows flanked with the ubiquitous storm shutters that all buildings on Ithicana likely possessed. The stone was coated with green lichen, and as they approached, Lara determined it was made of the same material as the bridge, as were the outbuildings in the distance. Built to withstand the lethal tempests that battered Ithicana ten months of the year.

  Coming around the house, she caught sight of a stooped figure workin
g in a garden fenced by stone.

  “Brace yourself,” Jor muttered.

  “Finally deigned to grace me with your presence, Your Majesty?” The old woman didn’t rise or turn from her plants, but her voice was clear and strong.

  “I only received your note last night, Grandmother. I came as soon as I could.”

  “Ha!” The woman turned her head and spit, the glob flying clear over the garden wall to smack against a tree trunk. “Dragged your heels all the way here, I suspect. Either that or the weight of your crown is making you sluggish.”

  Aren crossed his arms. “I don’t have a crown, which you well know.”

  “It was a metaphor, you fool.”

  Lara lifted a hand to her mouth, trying not to laugh. Somehow, the motion caught the old woman’s attention despite her back being turned. “Or is my grandson’s tardiness the result of him tarrying to wipe puke off your face, little princess?”

  Lara blinked.

  “Smelled you from a hundred paces away, girl. All those years in the dunes gave you no stomach for the waves, I take it?”

  Flushing, Lara glanced at her clothes, which were still damp from falling out of the boat. When she looked back up, Aren’s grandmother was on her feet, an amused smile on her face. “It’s your breath,” she explained, and Lara struggled not to stomp on Aren’s foot when he covered his own mouth to hide a smirk. The old woman noticed.

  “A little seasickness wouldn’t have killed her, you idiot. You shouldn’t have caved.”

  “We took precautions.”

  “Next time let her puke.” Her gaze shifted back to Lara. “They all call me Nana, so you can, too.” Then she pointed a finger at one of the guards. “You, pluck and dress that bird. And you two”—she jerked her chin at another pair—“finish picking these and then wash them up. And you.” She leveled a steely gaze at Lia. “There’s a basket of laundry that needs scrubbing. See it done before you go.”

  Lia opened her mouth to protest, but Nana beat her to it. “What? Too good to scrub the skids from an old woman’s drawers? And before you say yes, remember that I wiped your shitty ass more times than I care to count when you were a babe. Be grateful that I can at least still do that much for myself.”

  The tall guardswoman scowled but said nothing, only collected the basket and disappeared down the slope to retrieve water.

  “I assume Jor has gone off to bother my students.” It took Nana pointing it out for Lara to realize with a start that the man had abandoned them without her noticing. “It still hasn’t sunk in that they aren’t interested in an old lecher like him.”

  “Your girls can take care of themselves,” Aren replied.

  “That wasn’t my point, now was it?” Nana pulled the gate to the garden shut, then shuffled in their direction. Her hair was solid silver, and her skin wrinkled, but her eyes were shrewd and discerning as she squinted at her grandson. “Teeth!”

  The barked command made Lara jump, but without hesitation, Aren bent over and opened his mouth, allowing his grandmother to inspect his straight white teeth. She grunted with satisfaction and then patted his cheek. “Good boy. Now where’s your sister been? Avoiding me?”

  “Ahnna’s teeth are fine, Grandmother.”

  “Not her teeth that concern me. Has Harendell asked for her yet?”

  “No.”

  “Send her anyway. It shows good faith.”

  “No.” The word came out of Aren as a growl, which surprised Lara. Surely he didn’t intend to break his contract with the northern kingdom? Not when he’d been willing to fulfill his half without argument?

  “Ahnna doesn’t need your coddling, boy. She can take care of herself.”

  “That’s between me and her.”

  Nana grunted and spit before turning her attention to Lara. “So this is what Silas sent us, is it?”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Lara inclined her head with the same respect she’d have given a Maridrinian matron.

  “We’ll see how long that pleasure lasts.” Faster than Lara would’ve believed an old woman could move, Nana reached over and gripped her by the hips, twisted her this way and that, before running her hands up Lara’s sides, laughing when Lara batted them away. “Built for bedding if not breeding.” She leveled a stare at her grandson. “Which I’m certain you’ve noticed, even if you haven’t availed yourself.”

  “Grandmother, for the love of god—”

  Reaching up, Nana flicked his earlobe hard. “Mind your tongue, boy. Now as I was saying”—she turned back to Lara—“you’ll labor hard, but you’ll deliver. You’ve the willpower.” She ran a quick finger down an old scar on Lara’s arm, one she’d earned in a knife fight against a Valcottan warrior. “And you’ve known pain.”

  This woman was too shrewd. Too close. Lara snapped, “I’m not a broodmare.”

  “Thank goodness for that. We’ve little time for horses here in Ithicana. What we need is a queen who’ll produce an heir. Unlike your father, my grandson won’t have an entire harem to ensure the royal line continues. Just. You.”

  Lara crossed her arms, annoyed though she had no right to be. There was zero chance of her producing anything. She’d been supplied with a year’s worth of contraceptive tonic. There would be no surprises on that front.

  “Come with me, I’ll give you something for the seasickness. Boy, you go find something else to keep you busy.”

  Lara followed her inside. She expected the interior of the home to be damp and musty like the bridge, but instead it was dry and warm, the polished wooden panels on the walls reflecting the flames in the fireplace. One wall hosted floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with jars packed with plants, powders, colored tonics, and what appeared to be insects of various sorts. There were also several long glass cages, and Lara shivered as she saw coiled forms move within them.

  “Don’t like snakes?”

  “I have a healthy respect for them.” This earned a cackle of approval.

  After rooting around in her shelves, Nana produced a twisted root, which she passed to Lara. “Chew this before and while you’re on the water. It will help keep the nausea at bay.” Lara sniffed it uncertainly, relieved to discover the smell, at least, was not disagreeable.

  “I’ve got nothing for overcoming fear, though. That’s your own problem to manage.”

  “Given I can’t swim, I feel my fear of water is as healthy as my respect for snakes.”

  “Learn.” The curtness of the old woman’s tone conveyed a lack of tolerance for complaint that reminded Lara briefly, painfully, of Master Erik.

  With a jerk, Nana opened the curtains covering one of the windows, allowing the sunlight to spill inside, then beckoned Lara closer. “You’ve your father’s eyes. And your grandfather’s.”

  Lara shrugged. “The color is some small proof that I’m a true princess of Maridrina.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the color.” Quick as the snakes in the cages, Nana caught Lara by the chin, fingers pressing painfully against her jaw. “You’re a sly little thing, just like them. Always searching for an advantage.”

  Resisting the urge to pull away, Lara stared back into the woman’s eyes, which were hazel. Like Aren’s. But what she saw within them was very different from what she saw in his. “You speak as though you know my family.”

  “I was a spy when I was young. Your grandfather recruited me into his harem. He had the foulest breath of any man I’ve ever met, but I learned to hold my breath and think of Ithicana.”

  Lara blinked. This woman had infiltrated the harem as a spy? That it could be done was alarming of itself, but only the loveliest girls were brought into the King’s harem, and Nana was . . .

  “Ha, ha!” Nana’s laugh made her jump. “I didn’t always look like the last prune left in the bowl, girl. In my day, I was quite the beauty.” Her fingers tightened. “So don’t think I don’t know firsthand how you use your fair face to achieve your own ends. Or the ends of your country.”

  “I am her
e to nurture the peace between Ithicana and Maridrina,” Lara replied coolly, considering whether she’d have to find a way to see this woman put down. While she was confident in her ability to manipulate Aren and those close to him, Nana was quite another story.

  “This kingdom wasn’t built by fools. Your father sent you to make trouble, and if you think we aren’t watching you, you’re wrong.”

  Unease flickered in Lara’s chest.

  “Aren cares a great deal for honor and he’ll keep his word to you no matter what it costs him.” Nana’s eyes narrowed. “But I don’t give a squirt of piss for honor. What I care about is family, and if I think you are a true threat to my grandson, don’t think for a heartbeat that I won’t arrange for an accident to occur.” The woman’s smile was all straight white teeth. “Ithicana is a dangerous place.”

  And I’m a dangerous woman, Lara thought before answering, “He seems more than capable of taking care of himself, but I appreciate your candor.”

  “I’m sure.” Nana’s eyes seemed to delve straight into Lara’s soul, and she felt no small amount of relief when the old woman twitched the curtains shut and gestured to the door. “He won’t want to miss the tides. Harendell is running cattle and he hates cows in the bridge.”

  Because they’re not making him any money, Lara thought bitterly. But she couldn’t help asking, “Why is that?”

  “Because he got trampled during one of the annual runs when he was fifteen. Three cracked ribs and a broken arm. Though he’d tell you the worst was having to stay with me while he recovered.”

  Annual runs? What the hell was the old woman talking about? The only reason there was cattle in the bridge was because her father had arranged to have them purchased at Northwatch. Not for the first time, unease flickered through her at the disconnect between what she knew to be true and what she was seeing and hearing in Ithicana. They must have been sold to Valcotta or another nation, she decided. Loaded onto ships so that Maridrina was bypassed entirely. Though given Valcotta’s enormous herds, she didn’t see why they’d be importing them.