More splashing, waves thudding against hulls and paddles carving through the water. But above all of that, Lara picked out groans of pain. Her heart skipped.
Please let him be alive.
The cove turned into a flurry of activity, boats full of bloodied men and women drifting in, those on shore tying them off and helping the injured onto land. Her eyes skipped over their shadowed faces, searching. Searching.
“Will you goddamned hurry it up?” Jor’s voice. Lara wove through the efficient traffic, trying to find the soldier. Finally, she spotted both him and Lia crouched in the bottom of a boat, a slumped figure between them.
“Aren?” Her voice came out as a croak, her feet abruptly rooted on the spot.
The pair reached down, and relief flooded her veins as Aren batted their hands away. “Get off me. I can damn well get out myself.”
He stood and the boat wobbled, both Jor and Lia easily catching their balance, but Aren nearly going over the side.
“Enough of your pride, boy,” Jor barked, and between him and Lia, they dragged their king onto land.
Lara couldn’t see what was wrong with him in the dark, the lanterns casting shadows that appeared like bloodstains, only they shifted and moved. Then Aren turned, and the lantern behind him revealed the outline of an arrow embedded in his upper arm.
“Get out of my way.” She shoved two soldiers to the side and ran toward Aren.
“What the hell are you doing down here?” Aren pushed Jor away even as he stumbled. Lara lurched forward and caught his weight, the hot tang of blood filling her nose. “I can walk on my own,” he muttered.
“Clearly.” Lara’s body quivered with the effort of holding him upright as they navigated the sloped beach to the treeline, the path leading to the barracks dimly lit with jars of algae.
Dragging Aren into the barracks, she eased him down on a bench. Throwing aside her sodden cloak, she pulled one of her knives and cut away his tunic, dropping the ruined garment on the floor. Then she knelt next to him, her eyes taking in the injury.
The arrowhead was buried deep in the muscle of his upper arm, the shaft having been broken in half by someone at some point, the wood stained dark with blood.
“Goddamned Amaridians.” Jor’s voice seemed distant to Lara, every part of her focused on Aren’s breath against her neck, hot and ragged.
Lifting her face, she met his pain-hazed gaze. “We can’t pull it out—we have to push it all the way through.”
“Every moment with you is such a delight.” A faint spark returned to Aren’s eyes. “Sorry I missed dinner.”
“You should be.” She struggled to keep her voice even. “It smelled very good.”
“Missing the food isn’t the part I’m sorry about.” He lifted his uninjured arm, fingers brushing against the large diamond still adorning her ear, sending a tremble racing through her.
“Brace yourself on me.” She pushed his hand away before her composure was totally shot. “The last thing we need is you squirming and making the injury worse.”
Aren huffed out a pained laugh, but took hold of her waist with the hand of his uninjured arm, his fingers digging into the muscles of her back.
“This will hurt,” Jor warned, taking a firm grip on the arrow. Swearing, Aren dropped his head against Lara’s shoulder and she pulled him against her, knowing she wasn’t strong enough to keep him steady if he struggled.
“Relax,” Jor said. “You’re being a baby.”
Lara murmured into Aren’s ear, “Breathe.” His shoulders trembled as he inhaled and exhaled, and she knew his attention was on her. His fingers flexed, then slid from her waist to her hip. “Breathe,” she repeated, her lips grazing the lobe of his ear. “Breathe.” As she said the word the third time, she met Jor’s gaze.
He pushed.
Aren screamed into her shoulder, shoving against her so hard that Lara almost went over backward, her boots skidding against the barracks floor. Blood splattered her face, but she held on, refusing to let go of him.
“Got it!” Jor said, and a second later, Lara’s knees buckled and she fell back, Aren landing on top of her. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved, Aren’s breathing labored in her ear, his body pressed against hers. She held him, clung to him, an irrational desire to hunt down and destroy those who’d done this consuming all other thought. Then Jor and Lia were hauling him off her.
Scrambling upright, Lara wiped the blood off her face, her heart hammering as Jor examined the injury. “You’ll mend,” he said, then moved aside as one of Nana’s students arrived.
All around were bloodied soldiers. Some gritted their teeth against the pain. Some screamed as their comrades tried to staunch horrific wounds. Some lay motionless.
Every one of them injured in defense of their home.
Lara’s eyes fell on Taryn, tears dribbling down the woman’s face as she pressed her hands against a young man’s stomach, trying to hold his guts inside. “Don’t you die on me.” Her whispered voice somehow cut through the din. “Don’t you dare die.”
But as Lara watched, the young man’s chest went still.
How many more hearts would still when her father made his move?
They are your enemy, she chanted. Your enemy. Your enemy. But the words were profoundly hollow in her mind.
Lara took one step back. Then two. Three. Until she was out of the barracks and on the empty path.
“Lara!”
She turned. Aren stood a dozen paces behind her on the path, the bandage on his arm half falling off as though he’d pushed away the healer working on him before she could finish.
“Wait.”
She couldn’t. She shouldn’t. Not when every bit of resolve she possessed was crumbling to the ground. Yet her feet remained fixed to the earth as Aren slowly made his way toward her, blood running down his arm and dripping from his fingertips.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was shaky. “I’m sorry that all you’ve seen since you’ve been here is violence.”
All she had ever known was violence. It was nothing to her. And everything.
“I wish it was different. I wish it wasn’t like this.”
He swayed, dropping to his knees, and Lara didn’t realize she’d also knelt until the mud soaked through her dress. Didn’t realize she’d reached out to steady him until the hand of his uninjured arm caught hold of her hip for balance. A dance where she led and he followed.
“Eyes just like your damnable father. That’s what I thought when I first saw you. We call it Maridrinian bastard blue.”
He must have felt her flinch, because his grip on her hip tightened, drawing her closer. She didn’t fight him.
“But I was wrong. They’re different. They’re . . . deeper. Like the color of the sea around Eranahl.”
Eranahl? She’d seen that name before, written on one of the pages in his desk . . . Heard it when he’d berated Commander Aster on the beach at Aela Island. Revealing it was a slip on his part, she was sure of it. But she couldn’t bring herself to care as his hand slid to the small of her back. It took all the willpower she had to keep from slipping her arms around his neck, to keep from kissing those blasted perfect lips of his, never mind the blood and gore.
Lara withdrew her hand from his shoulder, but he caught it with his own. Folding her fingers into a fist, he kissed her knuckles, eyes burning into hers. “Don’t go.”
Everything was burning.
Lara’s heart beat frantically, her breathing unsteady, her skin so sensitive that the press of her clothes almost hurt.
Stop! The warning shrieked inside her head. You’re losing control. She tuned the voice out, shoved it away.
Aren’s thumb brushed the inside of her wrist, her knuckles still pressed to his lips, and it sent rivers of sensation running over her skin, the desire to have his hands elsewhere making her legs weak. She swayed and he pulled her against him, both of them unsteady.
“You need to go back to the healers,” she whispered. “You
need to let them stitch that up before you bleed to death.”
“I’ll be fine.” He lowered his head even as she lifted hers, sharing the same air, the same breath, the rapid rise and fall of his chest belying his words. He was not fine.
The thought of it filled her with terror. Terror that turned instantly to rage. Why did she care what happened to him beyond the success of her mission? Why did she care whether he lived or died? This was the man who willfully made decisions that caused great harm to the people of her homeland. Perhaps he did so for the sake of his own people, but that did not excuse the complete lack of empathy and guilt he felt in the doing. He was her enemy, and she needed to get free of him before she made a mistake.
Then his lips brushed softly against hers, and it undid her entirely. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and she wanted more. More of this and more of him. But instead of giving it to her, he pulled back. “I need you to help me make this stop. I’m tired of fighting against the world, when what I want is to fight to make Ithicana part of it.”
And it was as though reality slapped her across the face.
Lara pulled away from him. “It’s never going to stop, Aren.” Her voice was barren. Dead. Which was strange, because inside her head was a chaos of emotion. “You have what everyone wants, and they’re never going to stop trying to take it. This is Ithicana, and it’s all it will ever be. Live with it.”
“This isn’t living, Lara.” He coughed, then winced, pressing his hand against the wound. “And I intend to keep fighting for a better future even if it kills me.”
Irrational fury surged through her veins at his words. “Then you might as well lay down and die!” She needed to be away from this situation because it was tearing her apart. Rising in a flurry of motion, Lara turned and ran, up the dark path, slipping on the mud and roots, to the house.
She waited in her rooms until the halls were silent, until there was no chance of anyone disturbing her, then crept through the dark hallways and picked the lock to Aren’s room. Vitex sat on the bed, but he only slunk outside, ignoring her as he passed.
Closing the door behind her, Lara brightened her lamp and went to Aren’s desk. She extracted the jar of invisible ink Serin had given her, then drew the stationery box of heavy official parchment next to her left hand, flipping open the lid. Taking the top page, she turned it over so the embossed shape of the bridge was facedown, then she dipped a pen into the ink and began to write in tiny script, the liquid drying invisible as she detailed everything she’d learned about Ithicana and a strategy for taking, and breaking, the Bridge Kingdom. Her hand shook as she reached the bottom, but she only set aside the paper to dry and retrieved another, repeating her message. Then another, and another, until all twenty-six pages in the box contained identical damning words.
It took all her strength not to tear them to pieces as she set everything back and retreated to her own room. Exhaustion weighing her limbs, she buried her face in the pillows of her bed, tears soaking the feathers within. It’s the only way, she told herself. It’s the only way to save Maridrina.
Even if it meant damning herself.
25
Lara
War Tides ended with a typhoon that came in fast and violent, the seas so rough that not even the Ithicanians would venture out on them. Even the bridge was likely empty, Eli told her, the storm too intense for merchant ships to brave the short crossing to Northwatch and Southwatch islands. Midwatch felt profoundly isolated as a result, cut off entirely from the world, and made worse by the fact that Lara was stuck in the house alone with the servants.
Though the fighting was over, Aren was avoiding her. He spent all his days with his soldiers and his nights on the narrow cot in the barracks, not once coming up the path to the Midwatch house.
Even so, she checked the number of pages of stationery in his room nightly, but every last page of the condemning words remained in Ithicana.
As did she.
On the morning after the storm broke, Lara decided it was time. Dressing in her Ithicanian clothes, she filled her pockets with jewels and some of her more favored narcotics, ate as much as she could stuff in her stomach, then told Eli she was going to go outside for some fresh air.
Attempting the seas during a storm would see her dead in truth, so she’d waited for clear skies before enacting her plan to fake her death, knowing that honor would drive Aren to send a formal letter informing Lara’s father of her demise. That Serin, ever watchful, would check the page and discover what she’d written. Then she could only hope and pray that, when she hadn’t shown up after a time in Vencia, her father and Serin would believe she was dead in truth. Then no assassins would come searching for her in Harendell, which was where she planned to go. She could live her life knowing that she’d given her people a chance for a better future.
At the cost of the futures of everyone living in Ithicana.
With the storms to watch over the island, Taryn and the rest had been given respite from guard duty, and there was no one to evade as she followed a trail to the cliffs overlooking the sea, cutting down the northern side until she came to the spot she’d selected long ago.
It was a high spot, the water forty feet below, but what had drawn her to it was the series of flat rocks jutting out of surf. They were suitable for her to lower her little canoe onto with ropes, and equally suitable for staging what would appear an accidental fall and a tragic death. From there, she intended to hop from island to island, using safe houses as she found them, slowly making her way to Harendell during the breaks in the storm.
It was a plan fraught with peril, yet it wasn’t fear that sat heavy in her gut as she stared down at the rocks.
“Don’t fall.”
Startled, Lara lost her balance, and Aren reached out and caught hold of her arm, hauling her away from the edge.
He made a noise of exasperation, then kept pulling on her arm. “Come with me. You have duties to attend to.”
“What duties?”
“A queen’s duties.”
She dug in her heels, leaving twin trails in the mud until he stopped and gave her a look of disgust. “That’s not a duty, Lara. Supervising the return of the Midwatch evacuees is. So ether start walking, or I’m going to drag you down to the water and toss you in a boat.”
“I’ll walk.” She was furious that her plan was being disrupted, but also furious at the small kernel of relief that she felt knowing she’d likely have to wait for another storm to pass before leaving Ithicana.
Ensconced in her usual spot in the boat, she waited until they were out of the cove before asking, “Where are we going?”
“Serrith.” Aren hunched over, his back to her.
“Just a charming day on the water,” Jor said from behind her as he put up the sail. After that, no one said anything more.
The cove at Serrith Island was dominated by two of the large twin-hulled vessels she’d seen during the evacuation, but they were already empty of civilians and supplies, their crews readying to depart. To depart to Eranahl, she mused, watching them. Though where exactly that was remained a mystery to her despite all her weeks of spying.
Her skin prickled as she followed Aren up the path through the gap in the rock where she’d killed all those soldiers. They continued on until they reached the village. It was an entirely different sight than the last time they’d been here. Instead of blood and bodies, dead-eyed children and weeping parents, it was bustling with industry. Women opened up the shuttered windows and doors to their homes to air them out, and children ran wild between them.
There was a flood of greetings and well wishes, proud introductions of new babies to their rulers, and children trailing in their wake, desperate for a moment of attention. Aren’s tactic was obvious. Trying to pull on her heartstrings by pushing chubby babies into her arms or by giving her sweets to hand out to the children.
And it was effective. She wanted to drop to the ground and weep, because their world was going to be torn asunder.
But it was between them and the Maridrinians. Maridrina’s starving people needed the bridge, needed the revenues, needed the goods that came through it. So she would sacrifice these people for her own and then pray that guilt and grief didn’t kill her.
Lara would have given anything to have her sisters here to share the burden, because they would understand. They were the only people who would understand. But she was alone, and every minute that passed felt like she was closer to the breaking point of what she could endure.
Only when they returned to the boats did she feel like she could breathe again, sitting with her face in her hands as they sailed back to Midwatch.
“Looks like the guardians have had some visitors,” Jor said, breaking the silence.
Lara lifted her head, eyes landing on a small island with gentle white beaches that faded into rock and greenery. Looming above it was the bridge, its length resting on a pier centered on the island. It wasn’t that the island itself was unique, only that it appeared remarkably easy to access relative to the others the builders had used as piers.
Because they’d had no choice, she determined, eyeing the distance. The largest bridge span she’d seen was a hundred yards between piers, and to bypass this island would’ve required a longer stretch than was possible. Her eyes then landed on the three human-shaped forms lying halfway up the beach, bloated and rotting in the sun. “What is this place?”
“Snake Island.”
She thought of the countless serpents she’d seen since arriving. “A name that describes most of Ithicana.”
“This one in particular.” Aren motioned for Jor to lower the sails, allowing the boat to drift over the shallow bottom toward the beach. “Look.”
She stared, seeing shifting movement beneath the ledge of rock overhanging the beach, but unable to make out details.
Aren stood up in the boat next to her, a still moving fish that had been caught earlier in one hand, waiting as the waves washed them gently to shore. When they were about a dozen feet out, Jor stuck a paddle in the water, bracing the boat from moving farther. Aren threw the fish.
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