Aren extracted his spyglass, scanning the blackness for any lights on the horizon marking a ship. “You think I was right to stand my ground on this?”
The only sound was the wind howling and the waves slamming against the cliffs below. “I don’t know. I’m not sure there is a right choice in this, Aren. All paths lead to war.” Jor leaned back on his hands. “But what’s done is done, at least so far as the battle facing us is concerned. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to take a piss.”
The older man silently disappeared into the jungle and then not so silently did his business. Aren remained crouched on the rocks, shoving his hands in his pockets to warm them. With the evacuation mostly complete, his people had answered the annual call to arms, everyone between fifteen and fifty either at or on their way to their assigned garrison, the only exception being families with small children, who only sent one parent. Able bodies fought. Those unable played other roles, whether it be watch duties, dispatching signals, organizing supply drops, or managing the complex task of ensuring every one of the hundreds of outposts were appropriately manned. Ithicana didn’t have civilians during War Tides. It had an army.
An army that was furious that Amarid had caught them with their trousers down at Serrith. An island that just happened to be under Aren’s watch.
Over and over, he replayed the War Tides council meeting in his head, seeing a hundred things he could’ve done differently. Said differently.
“I understand you took heavy losses at Serrith, Your Grace.” Watch Commander Mara’s voice echoed in his head. “That’s twice Amarid has sneaked up on you, and War Tides has only just begun. The pretty Maridrinian girl must be quite distracting.”
Everyone in the room had shifted uneasily, Lara the crux of the barb, not the losses. They knew that Serrith was a nightmare to defend, the proximity of the bridge to the beach allowing vessels to hide beneath it while launching landing craft, rendering the shipbreakers useless. It took manpower and preparation to hold off an attack, and even then, with heavy fog, the soldiers stationed there would only have had a few minutes—the time it took for the longboats to reach the beach—to mount their defense. Which would’ve been enough if the man on watch hadn’t fallen asleep at his post. A mistake the soldier had paid for with his life.
“I understand she was with you when the attack happened. In the bridge.”
There’d been no hope of keeping that quiet. Not with all the evacuees from Serrith now in Eranahl. Gossip moved faster than a tempest in Ithicana. The only saving grace was that Aster was late to the meeting. If the Watch Commander knew what Lara had seen, the old bastard would burst a blood vessel. “It’s never been my intention to keep Lara locked up. You all know that.”
Yet neither had it been his intention to bring her into the bridge or for her to see how his military used it to fight their enemies. But watching her panic in the boat, gasping for breath and shaking uncontrollably . . . He hadn’t been able to take it. He wasn’t about to admit that in front of these battle-hardened men and women whose respect he needed to earn.
“Knowing your intentions isn’t the same as agreeing with them. The Maridrinians are rats. Let one loose, and soon all of Ithicana will be infested with them.”
“The Maridrinians are our allies,” Ahnna said from where she stood at the far end of the large replica of Ithicana, her hand resting protectively on Southwatch island.
Mara made a face. “The Maridrinians are our business partners at best, Ahnna. We pay them for peace. That’s not an alliance.”
But it could be, Aren thought before he interjected. “They gave us fifteen years of peace in exchange for nothing, Mara. They proved their commitment to the treaty, and now it’s time for us to do the same.”
“But at what cost?” Mara gestured to the middle of the map, where model Amaridian ships sat to represent the lurking enemy fleet. The Amaridians were always Ithicana’s worst raiders, primarily because they were competitors for the same business: trade between the continents. Amaridian merchant vessels took the greatest risks, making the crossing north and south even during storm season, primarily trafficking goods Ithicana wanted no part of in its markets. Maridrina had made heavy use of their services. Until now. And the Amaridian Queen clearly intended to make her displeasure over that fact known.
“Once terms are negotiated with Harendell they’ll check Amarid’s navy,” said Aren. For while Amarid might risk quarrelling with Ithicana, picking battles with their enormous neighbor was another thing entirely.
“Has Harendell sent for Ahnna yet?”
Aren sensed his twin shifting nervously behind him. “No.”
“Begun trade negotiations?”
“Not yet.” Sweat dribbled down Aren’s back, and it was a struggle not to grind his teeth. “Which isn’t surprising. They’ll be waiting to see how the peace stands in the south before they start making demands.”
“Doesn’t smell like peace.” Everyone turned to watch Commander Aster enter the room. “Smells to me like war.”
He handed Aren a folded letter sealed with amethyst-colored wax stamped with the Valcottan emblem of crossed staffs. “Ran into the mail runner in the bridge and thought to bring this to you directly.”
You mean you thought to have me read it in front of everyone, Aren thought, cracking the wax with more force than was necessary, reading the few lines and struggling to keep a grimace from his face as he set the page down on the replica of Midwatch. The Empress of Valcotta was a reasonable woman. The Valcottans were reasonable people. But both hated Maridrina in a way that bordered on religion. It was a sentiment that the Maridrinians returned.
“Well?” Mara demanded at the same time Aster blurted out, “Has Valcotta declared war on us?”
Eyes on the page, Aren read: “To His Royal Majesty, King Aren Kertell, King of Ithicana, Ruler of the Tempest Seas and Master of the Bridge.”
Everyone in the room seemed to hold their breath, and he knew why. Until today, the Empress had always addressed him as Dearest Aren, beloved son of my friend, God keep her soul in peace. The use of his titles was not a good sign.
He continued. “Long have Valcotta and Ithicana been friends—”
“Friends who raid when the weather’s nice,” Jor muttered from where he stood at Aren’s left.
“All friends quarrel on occasion,” Aster said. “Will you continue, Your Grace?”
Aren coughed. “Long have Valcotta and Ithicana been friends, and it grieves us terribly to learn that you have chosen to betray that friendship by siding with Maridrina against us.”
Someone in the room let out a low whistle, but Aren didn’t lift his head from the page. “It breaks our heart to know that our dear friend Ithicana now supplies our mortal enemy in their unjust attacks against our lands. And all our dead we shall lay at your feet.”
No one spoke.
“Strong is our desire to maintain our friendship with Ithicana, but this affront cannot go unanswered. Once the calm is upon us, we shall deploy our fleets to blockade our foe, Maridrina, from reaching your markets at Southwatch island until this offensive alliance is broken.”
He was prevented from reading the rest, as both Aster and Mara broke into laughter, much of the room echoing them. “Good fortune favors us after all,” Aster finally managed to get out. “Silas thought he was so clever. Thought he’d managed to extract the one thing from us that we didn’t want to give, but neither he nor Maridrina will see any of it.”
Aren hadn’t laughed then, and he certainly wasn’t laughing now. A twig snapped, and he jerked from his thoughts, turning to watch Jor step back out onto the rocks, still in the process of buckling his belt.
“Winds are strengthening,” Jor said. “Storm is going to rage harder before it gives its last gasp. Amarid will have to cool its heels for a few days before they come for blood.” The old soldier smirked at Aren. “It’s an opportune moment for you to go spend some time with that pretty wife of yours. She’s starting to take a shine
to you, I can tell.”
“You came to all those realizations while you were taking a shit?”
“It’s when I do my best thinking. Now go. I’ll finish the patrol.”
Rising to his feet, Aren cast his gaze in the direction of his house, then shook his head. Lara was supposed to be the first step toward a better future for Ithicana. But with Amarid about to wage war and Valcotta doing its best to destroy the treaty, a better future no longer felt like a dream.
It felt like a delusion.
21
Lara
Lara rested her chin on her forearms, one eye on the faint glow in the east and the other on the Ithicanians grouped in the clearing in front of the barracks. Rainwater dripped down the back of her neck, but after three nights spent spying from the roof of the large stone structure, she barely noticed the endless damp anymore.
The population of Midwatch had grown by four, if not five, times in the past few days, men and woman arriving by boat to join the ranks. They were civilians—or at least had been until War Tides began—but calling them such seemed a misnomer, as they fell into the efficient routine of Midwatch with practiced ease. Even the youngest, who couldn’t have been more than fifteen, seemed to have arrived fully trained.
Still, the ranking officers—who were all career soldiers at Midwatch—ran them through drill after drill, day and night, leaving nothing to chance.
And anything that happened in the midnight hours, Lara was witness to.
Sneaking out of the Midwatch house was no great challenge despite the number of guards Aren now had posted around the home. For one, she’d earned a bit of trust from them by saving Aren’s life during the battle on Serrith Island, so they were no longer waiting for her to do something nefarious. Two, the clouds from the rainstorms made for the darkest of nights, giving her perfect cover for escape. And three, the Ithicanians were distracted by what they perceived as a far greater threat than a young woman soaking herself in a hot spring:
The Amaridians.
The fleet remained off the coast of Ithicana, though there had been no attacks since Serrith. Eli, the source of much of Lara’s information, had told her that they were unlikely to make a move until the weather cleared. The waters were shallow and full of rocks and shoals, as well as the man-made defenses Ithicana was known for, and unpredictable winds and poor visibility made attacking during foul weather inadvisable.
But the storm wouldn’t last forever, and Midwatch seethed with anticipation of the battles to come. Which served Lara’s purposes well.
Already her head was full with what she’d learned during her venture off Midwatch with Aren, and the past three nights had yielded even more. From her perch, she’d learned much about how the bridge was patrolled, inside and out, where sentries were stationed on the surrounding islands, and the signals they used to communicate with Midwatch, which seemed to function as a central control point for this area of Ithicana. She’d learned about the explosives they used to destroy enemy ships, shot by arrow or launched by shipbreaker and, if the story she’d overheard was true, occasionally planted by hand under the cover of night.
She’d watched them train, working in the rain with only faint lantern light to avoid the attention of anyone on the water. Hand to hand, with blades, and with bow, the worst of them were at least proficient. The best of them . . . well, she wouldn’t want to go up against the best of them unless she had to. Their weapons were all of fine make, every one of them armed to the teeth, the garrison stockpiled with enough to supply them with spares.
Midwatch was only one piece of the puzzle, but if it was the standard that Ithicana held itself to, then what Serin and the rest of her masters had told Lara and her sisters about Ithicana being impenetrable had been alarmingly accurate.
But as to the rest of what she and her sisters had been told about Ithicana . . . that, Lara was questioning. Questioning what was truth and what was lies, because it was impossible that all parties had been honest with her. Not with everyone claiming to be the victim and no one the aggressor.
Someone was deceiving her.
Or everyone was. Pushing back a strand of wet hair from her face, Lara wished, not for the first time, that she’d been allowed to spend time away from the compound. Everything she knew had come from books and from her masters. Outside of combat, she was like a scholar who studies the world but never leaves the library. It was a limitation, and one she’d pointed out to Serin several times, much to his endless irritation.
“It’s not worth the risk,” he had snapped. “All it would take is one slip on your part, and everything that we’ve worked for, fought for, would be undone. Is your desire for a sojourn worth losing the only chance Maridrina has at escaping Ithicana’s yoke?” He’d never waited for a response, only slapped her cheek and said, “Remember your purpose.”
Master Erik had given her a different answer when she’d pressed. “Your father is a man who needs control, little cockroach,” he said, passing a whetstone up and down a blade. “Here, he can control every variable, but outside”—he used the weapon to gesture to the desert—“true control is beyond even a king’s power. Your life is as it is out of necessity, my girl. But it won’t be this way forever.”
His words had infuriated her at the time—a vague non-answer, in her childish opinion—but now . . . Now she wondered if there was more depth to his response than she’d once realized.
Now she wondered if the variable her father had most wanted to control was her.
The main door to the barracks opened and shut beneath her, and Lara’s attention perked as a tall figure exited the building. He had his hood pulled up against the rain, clothing identical to that of every other soldier, but she knew instinctively it was Aren. Something about his stride. The way he held his shoulders. The hint of pride that radiated from him as he surveyed the troops. And something else that she couldn’t quite put a finger on . . .
She knew that what her father and Serin had told her about the King of Ithicana had been a lie—though she understood why. It was easier to stab a demon in the back. A much harder thing to betray a man whose actions and choices were driven by a desire to do right by his people. But she also knew that her homeland and Ithicana were at odds, and what would save one would damn the other. The welfare of her people was her priority, her mission to give them the one thing that would ensure their future. And for that reason, Aren could never be anything to her but the enemy.
Aren stepped closer to the training soldiers to say something to the woman leading the exercises, and Lara leaned forward to catch what it was. When she did, a piece of debris slipped off the roof of the barracks, landing with a soft thud on the ground.
Aren turned on his heel, one hand going to the weapon belted at his waist, the other shoving back his hood.
Lara froze. Dressed in black clothes, she was hidden in the darkness atop the roof. Unless someone held up a lantern to investigate a noise.
With the toe of his boot, Aren nudged the fallen bit of branch and leaves. Lara silently willed him to look away. It’s nothing. Just foliage knocked loose by the wind. Happens a hundred times a day. But even as she did, she could relate to the sixth sense that was telling him something wasn’t right.
“Someone bring a lantern over here. And a ladder. I think we’ve got snakes on the roof again.”
Pulse roaring in her ears, Lara eased backward, her fingers clutching the slimy stone of her perch. He’d hear even the slightest noise, but if she didn’t move fast . . .
A horn sounded in the distance, and the Ithicanians—Aren included—stopped what they were doing and turned in the direction of the water. Another horn sounded, this one closer, and Aren gave a sharp nod. “Amaridians are on the move.” He started shouting out orders, but Lara couldn’t afford to stay to listen. Dawn was approaching, and she needed the cover of night to get back into the house undetected. And she needed to be inside by the time the sun was up, or her absence would be noted.
Easing
around the back of the barracks, she jumped, catching hold of a tree branch that really needed to be cut back. From tree to tree, she climbed, then dropped into the shelter of the jungle. Using the route she’d established on her first night, she cut over to the path leading up to the house, moving as fast as she dared on the muddy earth.
Gorrick and Lia were guarding the exterior, and she silently circled until she found a place out of sight of both of them, then scaled the wall, crawled over the roof, and dropped into the courtyard. Easing inside through her cracked window, she swiftly scrubbed the mud from her boots and clothes, putting everything back in the wardrobe where it could dry undetected.
A knock sounded at the door, the lock rattling. “Your Grace? It’s dawn.”
Taryn. The woman was like damned clockwork. Since her perceived failure to watch Lara while they were staying at Nana’s house, Taryn was intent on redeeming herself by monitoring Lara like a hawk. She slept in the hall outside Lara’s door—would’ve slept right next to her bed if Lara hadn’t gently noted that Taryn’s snoring rivaled the thunderstorms for volume.
If she didn’t answer, Taryn would likely break down the door. “Coming!”
Throwing on a robe and wrapping a towel around her hair, Lara trotted across the floor and opened the door. “Is something wrong? I heard horns?”
“Amarid,” Taryn replied vaguely, then her eyes narrowed. “Why is there mud on your face?”
“I was just washing it off. Certain muds are good for the skin. They cleanse the pores.”
“Mud?” Taryn gave her a dubious frown, then shook her head, passing a weary hand over her eyes before stepping into the room, giving it a once-over. “I’ve told you not to leave your window open. You’re asking to wake up with a snake under the covers with you.”
“I only opened it just now,” Lara lied. “It was stuffy in here.”
Taryn checked under the bed. “The storm’s blown over, so you can go outside if you want fresh air.” Then she flipped back the cover and swore, stepping back several paces. “What did I tell you?”
The Bridge Kingdom Page 17