“We’ll go when the Queen of Ithicana says it’s time to go.”
The older man chuckled, then clapped him on the shoulder.
The first of the Kestark boats reached shore, and Aren recognized Commander Aster even as the man’s eyes lighted upon him, apprehension filling them. “Your Grace. I didn’t realize you’d come yourself.”
“The benefit of being at the Midwatch garrison. Like I was supposed to be.”
Aster’s face lost more of its color, and rightfully so. That he was arriving now meant he hadn’t been at Kestark garrison, or even with the bulk of his forces warding off the anticipated attack. And Aren was quite certain he knew exactly where the other man had been.
“As you can see, Commander, things almost didn’t go Ithicana’s way today. Aela is a weak point, its outpost was undermanned, and the shipbreaker hadn’t been recalibrated after storm season, leaving those who were here sitting ducks for an entire ship full of Amaridians.”
“We’re behind on inspections, Your Grace,” Aster blurted out. “The season came early . . .”
“Which doesn’t explain why you over-deployed to the southeast and left your northern end exposed. Perhaps you’ll enlighten me?”
“There were four naval ships. We needed to be ready to defend—”
“To defend a series of islands that wouldn’t be assailable if the Amaridians attacked with twenty ships!” Aren snarled. “Which if you’d been paying attention, you would’ve known. Which suggests to me that you were distracted when you gave the order.”
“I was not distracted, Your Grace. I’ve been commanding Kestark since you were a child.”
“And yet . . .” Aren gestured at the rows and rows of dead faces staring sightlessly at the sky. Then he leaned forward. “Evacuations are complete, so that means your lovely wife and children are safely ensconced in Eranahl, leaving you with all the time in the world to screw your mistress in the house I know you had built for her just west of here.”
Aster’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t deny it. He couldn’t, not with his own personal guard listening from where they stood next to their boats. Then his eyes drifted past Aren’s shoulder. “What is she doing here?”
Turning, Aren saw that Lara stood behind him, a surviving officer—a girl who was only eighteen—at her elbow. He started to defend Lara’s presence, but the girl beat him to it.
“Respectfully, Commander, a hell of a lot more of us would be dead if our queen hadn’t come.”
Lara said nothing, but her blue eyes were cold and eviscerating as she stared Aster down. Then her gaze shifted to Aren and she nodded once.
“No more mistakes, Commander.” Aren took her arm and stepped toward the boat where his own guard waited. “And do us all a favor and keep your cock in your trousers and your eyes on the enemy for the rest of War Tides.”
“My eyes are on the enemy. She’s standing right there.”
Temper frayed past repair, Aren turned and slugged the man in the face, knocking him out cold. Then he turned to the girl-soldier. “You’ve just been promoted to Acting Commander of Kestark until another can be chosen. Do let me know if anyone gives you any trouble.”
Lara helped him and the guard push the boat out into the water, then hopped in, sitting in her usual spot, the most out of the way she could be in the small vessel. Aren sat next to her, but there was no space for conversation, all of them forced to row hard to get past the break line, the wind against them.
The squall was coming in hard from the north, lightning dancing across the blackening sky, and the vessel rose and fell on swells that grew with every passing minute. Lara’s back was to him, but Aren could feel the fear radiating from her, knuckles white where she gripped the edge of boat. She kept her composure until a freak gust caught the sail. Lia and Gorrick flinging their weight onto the outrigging was the only thing keeping them from capsizing. That tore a scream from her throat. Lara had thrown herself unarmed into battle, but this . . . this was what terrified her. And Aren found himself unwilling to subject her to it.
“We need to get off the water!” he shouted at Jor, spitting out a mouthful of seawater as a wave washed over them. Jor signaled to the boat carrying the rest of his guard, then he scanned their surroundings and pointed.
Sail lowered, they rowed hard, heading for one of the countless landing points hidden throughout Ithicana.
The rain fell in a deluge, making it almost impossible to see as they wove between two towers of limestone and into a tiny cove with cliffs on all sides. From the top of one of the cliffs two heavy wooden beams reached out over the water, ropes with hooks dangling from each of them. Lia lunged, catching hold of one of the hooks and clipping it to the ring mounted at the stern of the vessel.
Aren passed his paddle to a white-faced Lara. “If we get too close to the walls, push the boat away.”
She nodded, holding the wooden paddle like a weapon. Behind him, Taryn waited until the boat swung around to the right angle, then jumped, catching hold of a rope hanging from the cliff, climbing swiftly to the top.
“Aren, get over here and help.” Jor and Gorrick had removed the pin holding the mast in place and were struggling to heave it out of its base. Aren stumbled over a seat, then caught hold of the mast and added his strength to the effort. The mast popped out right as a violent swell lifted the boat, sending both mast and Gorrick tumbling into the water.
Aren fell backward on his ass, leaving only Jor standing, the old man shaking his head in disgust. “Why does this never get easier?” He reached down and clipped the other line to the boat, while Aren helped the swimming Gorrick lash the mast to the side.
An exhausting eternity later, they finally lifted the second boat onto shore with the winch, where they tied it down, the lot of them trudging around the bend of rock to where the safe house waited.
The interior of the stone building was mercifully dry and free from gusting wind. After assigning two of the men to first watch, Aren slammed the wooden door shut with more force than was necessary. Without fail, his eyes went immediately to Lara, who stood at the center of the room holding the bag full of supplies.
“Are there many of these places?” She turned in a circle.
There wasn’t much to see. Bunks made of wood and rope lined two of the walls. Crates of supplies were piled against the third wall, and the fourth was mostly taken up by the door. His guards were all pulling off their boots and tunics to dry, then turning their attention to their weapons, which all needed to be sharpened and oiled.
“Yes.” He tugged off his own tunic and tossed it on a bunk. “But as you noticed, they’re a damned pain in the ass to use in the middle of a storm.”
“Will the storm sink the rest of the Amaridian fleet?” she asked, and the guard chuckled, reminding him that everyone was listening.
“No. But they’ll move out into open water rather than risk being driven up onto a shoal or against any rocks. Will give us a bit of respite.”
One of her eyebrows rose. “Not the most comfortable respite.”
“Now, now,” Jor said. “Don’t be so swift to discount the comforts of a safe house. Particularly a Midwatch safe house.” He went over to one of the crates, prying open the lid and looking inside. “His Grace has fine tastes, so he ensures anywhere he might have to spend a night is stocked with only the best.”
“Are you complaining?” Aren sat on the bottom bunk and leaned back against the wall.
Jor extracted a dusty bottle. “Amaridian fortified wine.” He held it closer to the lantern on the singular table and read the label. “No, Your Grace, I am most certainly not complaining.”
Popping the cork, Jor poured a measure into the tin cups Lia set out, handing one to Lara. He held one up. “Cheers to the Amarid vintners who make the finest drink of the known world, and to their fallen countrymen, may they rot in the depths of the Tempest Seas.” Then the old soldier cleared his throat. “And to our own fallen, may the Great Beyond gift them clear skies and
smooth seas and endless women with perfect tits.”
“Jor!” Lia jabbed him in the arm. “A goodly number of our fallen were women. I’m sure at least a few of them liked men. At least let them be surrounded by—”
“Perfect cocks?” Nine sets of surprised eyes turned to look at Lara, who shrugged.
“Where mortal life fails, the Great Beyond delivers,” Jor intoned, and Aren flung his boot at him.
Lia threw up her hands. “People died. Show respect.”
“I am respecting them. Disrespecting them would’ve been toasting their sacrifice with this sludge.” Jor plucked a bottle of foggy Maridrinian wine from the crate. It rattled, and he gave it an incredulous glare, eyeing what appeared to be a rock sitting in the bottom of the bottle. “Not bad enough by itself, they need to put bits of rock in it?” His eyes flicked to Lara. “Is this some strange test of the fortitude of Maridrinian stomachs that I haven’t heard about?”
Everyone smirked, then Gorrick roared, “To Ithicana!” They all repeated him, lifting their glasses.
As Aren swallowed the wine, which was very good, he heard Lara murmur, “To Ithicana,” and take a small sip from her glass.
Refilling the glasses, Aren stood. “To Taryn, who slaughtered our enemy. And to our queen,” he pulled Lara forward, “Who saved our comrades.”
“To Taryn!” everyone shouted. “To Her Majesty!”
The wine disappeared within minutes, for despite the flippancy, today had left its mark. It was how they managed—by pretending not to care, but Aren knew that Jor would make time for each of them, helping them come to terms with what they’d witnessed. And with what they had done. He was captain of the guard for a reason.
Lara was hugging her arms around her body, shivering despite the wine. The wind and rain had been colder than Ithicana normally saw, and her clothes were soaked through. He watched her eye the other women, who were stripped down to trousers and undershirts, and then her hand went to her belt.
His heart skipped, then raced as she unbuckled it, setting it aside along with the Maridrinian marriage knives she habitually wore. Then she unfastened the laces of her tunic at her throat and pulled the garment over her head.
The safe house went completely silent for a heartbeat, then filled with the over-loud clatter of weapons being cleaned and mindless chatter, everyone looking anywhere but at their queen.
Aren could not seem to do the same. While the other women wore thick standard-issue fabrics, Lara’s undergarments were the finest ivory silk, which was soaked, rendering it effectively transparent. The full curves of her breasts pressed against the fabric, her rose-colored nipples peaked from the cold. There was, Aren thought, nothing the Great Beyond could offer that would be more perfect than her.
Realizing he was staring, Aren jerked his gaze away. Snatching up a thin blanket folded at the end of the bunk, he handed it to Lara, careful to keep his eyes on her face. “It will warm up in here with all the bodies—I mean, people. Soon. It will be warmer soon.”
Her smile was coy as she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, but her mirth at his discomfort fell away as she caught sight of Jor examining one of her knives.
He had the jeweled thing out of its sheath and was testing the edge. “Sharp.” He used it to cut the wax off a wheel of Harendellian cheese. “I thought these were supposed to be ceremonial?”
“I thought it wise to render them somewhat useful,” Lara replied, expression intent.
“Barely.” Jor balanced the weapon, the gem-crusted hilt making it heavy and cumbersome, though the blade itself looked well made. “We could sell these for a fortune up north and get you something you might actually be able to use.”
Lara was shifting and swaying as though she wanted nothing more than to reach over and snatch the knife back, so Aren did it for her, wiping the cheese off the blade with the side of his trousers before returning it to her.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “My father gave them to me. They’re the only thing he ever gave to me.”
Aren wanted to ask why that mattered. Why she cared at all for anything to do with the greedy, sadistic creature who’d sired her. But he didn’t. Not with everyone listening.
Jor picked up the bottle of Maridrinian wine. “Desperate times. Desperate times.” Then he popped the cork and poured, something landing with a splash in his tin cup. “Now what do we have here?”
“What is it?” Lia asked.
“It appears a smuggler’s prize has lost its way.” The old soldier held up something that glittered red in the lamplight, then he tossed it Aren’s direction. “There’s a buyer at Northwatch who’s going to be very dissatisfied with his wine purchase.”
Aren held up the large ruby. He was no expert on gemstones, but judging from the size and color, it was worth a small fortune. A very unhappy smuggler, indeed. Shoving it in his pocket, he said, “This should cover the taxes the individual was trying to evade.”
Everyone laughed then dug into the supplies, all of them battered and half-starved after a day of fighting and rowing and almost dying, more interested in shoveling food down their throats than in conversation. Lara sat next to Aren on the bunk, balancing on her knees a spread of cured meats, cheeses, and a tin cup of water as she ate.
Her slender hands and fingers had an assortment of old scars, nicks and lines, and one knuckle that was slightly larger, suggesting it had been broken at one point. Not the hands one would expect of Maridrinian princess, but whereas before he’d questioned what sort of life she’d been living in the desert to earn those scars, now he was having very different thoughts about those hands.
Of how it would feel to hold them.
Of how it would feel to be touched by them.
Of how it would feel—
“Lights out!” Jor announced. “The wind tells me this storm will break overnight, and we’ll want to be back on the water at dawn.”
All eyes shifted to the eight bunks, then to the ten people in the room.
“Either double up or draw straws for the floor.”
Gorrick climbed to the top of one of the bunks, then pulled Lia up with him, and Aren winced, hoping they’d keep their hands to themselves for once.
“I’ll take the floor,” he said. “But I’m damn well going up for a nap in my feather bed once we get home tomorrow.”
“We appreciate your hardship, Your Majesty.” Jor reached over and turned down the lamp, plunging the safe house into near darkness.
Aren lay on the stone floor, one arm folded under his head for a pillow. It was cold and uncomfortable, and despite his exhaustion, sleep wouldn’t come as he listened to the deepening breathing of those around him, a thousand thoughts filling his head.
When something cold brushed against his chest, Aren almost jumped out of his skin before realizing it was Lara. She was leaning out of the bunk next to him, her eyes lambent in the faint glow of the lamp. Wordlessly she caught hold of his hand with hers and tugged him upward, drawing him onto the bunk.
Pulse roaring in his ears, Aren climbed over her, his back resting against the cold wall, unsure of what to do with his arms and his hands or any part of himself until she curled against him, her skin icy.
She’s just cold, he told himself, and you need to keep your hands to yourself.
Which might well have been the hardest thing he’d ever done, with one of her knees between his, her arms tucked against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder, and her breath warm against his throat. He wanted nothing more than to roll onto her, to taste those lips and peel that taunting bit of silk from her chest, but instead he pulled the blanket over her naked shoulder, then rested his hand against her back.
The room was humid with breath and heavy with the smell of sweat and steel. Taryn was snoring as though her life depended on it, Gorrick was jabbering in his sleep, and someone—probably Jor—was farting at regular intervals. It was very likely the least desirable situation to share a bed with his wife for the first time. But even
as her hair tickled his nose, his arm fell asleep under her head, and a crick formed in his neck, it occurred to Aren, as he drifted off, that there was nowhere else he’d rather be.
Hours later, Aren awoke to a rhythmic thumping. Frowning, he turned his head and found Lara’s eyes open and gleaming in the faint light. Pulling one hand from under the blanket, she pointed upward and cocked her eyebrow with an amused smirk.
Gorrick and Lia. Likely warming themselves up after their turn at watch.
He winced, whispering, “Sorry. It’s a soldier’s life.” Then he mentally ran through the watch, realizing that Jor had skipped him over and that Taryn was gone, which meant it was almost sunrise.
“Want to go outside?” Relief filled him when Lara nodded.
They pulled on boots and clothes and weapons in near silence, Lara taking food from one of the crates and following him out into the night. The storm had blown over, the sky a riot of silver stars, the only sound the crashing of the waves against the island’s cliffs.
Taryn was perched on a rock in the shadows, but he heard her murmured thanks when Lara went over and gave her some of the food.
“Aren, take her to the east side.”
“Why?”
Even in the darkness, he felt Taryn smile. “Trust me.”
“All right.” He took Lara’s hand. “We’ll be back at sunrise.”
Aren hadn’t been to this particular island many times, so he went slowly. He managed to find his way to the eastern lookout by memory, a flat bit of rock that hung out over the ocean. A sea of blue starlight stretched before them.
Lara stepped ahead, still holding on to his hand. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”
Neither had he, but Aren forced his eyes from her face to the calm water below. “We call it Sea of Stars. It doesn’t happen often, and always during War Tides, so it doesn’t get much appreciation.”
Glowing strands of algae covered the water, the clusters forming brilliant blue spots of light on the sea, making him feel as though he stood between two planes of starlight. It rippled on the gentle waves, casting shadows on the rocks that seemed to dance to the rhythm of the swells. They stood watching for a long time, neither of them speaking, and it occurred to Aren that he should kiss her, but instead he said, “What changed?”
The Bridge Kingdom Page 20