The Bridge Kingdom

by Danielle L. Jensen

  Sitting upright, Lara eyed her boy’s clothes, which she’d slept in, the boots sitting on the floor next to her bed the only garment that Aren had removed from her after she’d passed out.

  Her knives.

  Looking around frantically, Lara threw the pillows onto the floor, her heart settling and a faint smile rising to her lips as she saw the blades resting there. Apparently Aren had noticed more of her habits than she’d realized.

  Picking up the water, she opened the shuttered windows and looked outside: clear skies and only a light breeze ruffling the laundry hanging from the line across the street. They could go home today.

  Home. Shaking her head sharply at the slip, Lara drained the glass in several long gulps, and pulled on her boots. The room was decidedly devoid of dirt, so she used a bit of soot from the lamp to complete her disguise before shoving her few belongings into her bag and stepping out into the hallway.

  To find herself face-to-face with half of Aren’s guard.

  “What’s going on?” she asked Taryn, who looked strange in the simple dress she wore as disguise.

  “Weather’s going to turn. Time to go.”

  She was lying. There were very few things that put fear into the eyes of the Ithicanians, and the promise of a storm certainly wasn’t one of them.

  Downstairs was already busy with the early-rising merchant class who were breaking their fast, but her eyes immediately found Aren sitting at the bar. Behind it stood Marisol, who, for once, wasn’t polishing a glass, her focus entirely on the man in front of her. Lara’s jaw tightened, but her jealousy fled as she remembered Aren’s words. There will never be anyone but you.

  Except with all the lies she’d told, all the ways she’d manipulated him, how could she stay with him?

  As Lara stood frozen in the entrance to the common room, Aren turned and caught sight of her. What looked like relief spread across his face. With a final word to Marisol, he dumped a handful of coins on the bar. Something was very wrong.

  He strode across the room. “Finally decided to show yourself, cousin? Barely going to have enough time to make the run to Southwatch as it is without waiting on your primping.”

  She glowered at him because other patrons were watching, but once he was within arm’s reach, he muttered, “We’ve been compromised. We need to go.”

  Jor and the rest of the Ithicanians were outside leaning against the wall with false nonchalance. Despite their apparel, no one with half an eye would believe them sailors. They were too alert, and not a one of them appeared hungover. Unlike her.

  “Don’t want to miss the tide,” Aren announced, and immediately they were on the move.

  In the harbor, they wove through the crowd at a near run, down to the wharf and onto the dock where their vessel was moored. The Ithicanians who’d remained with the ship were already scurrying about on the deck, readying to set sail. Readying to flee. Lara’s focus sharpened, and she scanned the docks and crowds for any sign of pursuit. Aren had said their cover had been compromised, but there were levels to that statement. If the Maridrinians had discovered they were from Ithicana, that was one thing. If they’d discovered Aren’s identity—or worse, Lara’s—then they were in serious trouble.

  “You’re mad, John.” The harbormaster’s paunch shook as he scuttled toward them. “There’s a storm brewing.”

  Aren paused at the base of gangplank, using one hand to push Lara up. “Nothing but a squall. It will keep the Valcottans off my heels.”

  “Insanity,” the man grumbled. “I’ll keep a space open for you.”

  “We’ll be back before lunch. You can buy me a drink or two on my return.”

  “More likely that I’ll be toasting your memory.”

  Aren’s laugh cut off abruptly. Her hackles rising, Lara turned from her inspection of the darkness swirling in the east to find Serin standing a dozen paces or so behind the harbormaster, his arms crossed behind his back. Watching.

  The ship rocked on a swell, and Lara staggered, her shoulders colliding with Aren’s chest, his arm reflexively wrapping around her to catch her balance, holding her against him.

  Serin’s eyes widened.

  “Go,” she whispered, seeing the realization dawn on the spymaster’s face. Realization that her presence in Maridrina meant she knew the truth. That the gambit fifteen years in the making had played itself out too soon. The realization that if Lara made it out of this harbor, so would any chance of her father ever taking the bridge. “Go!” she screamed.

  “Raise the sails!” Aren roared.

  The Ithicanians surged into action, and in a heartbeat, the ship was drifting away from the dock, the gangplank landing in the water with a splash. Aren dragged her with him as he raced to the helm, shouting orders even as swarms of soldiers descended upon them.

  “Hurry!” The gap between ship and dock was widening, but not swiftly enough. “Aren, I can’t let them take me alive.” Lara pulled one of her knives from her boot. “They’ll make me talk.”

  He caught sight of her knife, realizing her intentions. “Put it away, Lara! I won’t let them take you.”

  “But—”

  He tore the jeweled blade from her hand and threw it, the weapon flipping end over end to land on the dock. Which was filled with sprinting soldiers, the front-runners preparing to leap.

  “Come on, wind!” Aren shouted. “Don’t let this be the one damned time you refuse to blow.”

  As if answering the call of its master, the wind howled in from the east, the sails snapping taut. The ship lurched as three of the soldiers jumped, their arms flailing as they fell into the water instead of onto the deck.

  The ship collided with another vessel with a loud crunch, the other crew shouting and swearing as they scraped the length of it, slamming into another ship, then another, as Aren used the strength of the wind to force their way through.

  Soldiers ran in all directions, leaping onto ships in an attempt to reach their target, but they were too slow. Except in the distance, naval vessels were swarming with sailors making ready for pursuit.

  “Can you outrun them?” Lara demanded.

  Aren nodded, his eyes fixed on their progress through the crowded harbor.

  Bells clanged riotously in the city.

  “Shit!” Aren shouted. “We need to get past the breakwater before they lift the chain.”

  Lara’s gaze skipped across the water to the twin towers flanking the gap in the breakwater, to the heavy steel chain that was creaking upward.

  “Full sail!”

  The deck was organized chaos as the Ithicanians hauled on lines, white canvas streaming skyward. The ship leapt across the waves toward the gap, but the chain was rising just as fast. Even if they managed to get across, it would tear loose the rudder and they’d be easy pickings for the Maridrinian navy.

  “We can’t hit that gap with full sail,” Jor shouted. “We’ll be tossed up on the rocks.”

  “Get them up,” Aren ordered. “All of them.”

  Lara clung to the rail, her hair whipping out behind them with the speed of their progress. Yet the expressions on the crews’ faces told her it wasn’t enough. That they were headed toward a disaster that would see them all drowned or captured, which would amount to the same thing.

  And there was nothing she could do to save them. Even if she jumped overboard, the ship would be trapped. Serin and her father would never let them go free.

  Slamming her fists on the rail, Lara snarled in wordless fury, despair carving her insides hollow. Despite everything, her father was going to win.

  Aren’s hand caught hers. “The wind—it gusts around the hill and through the gap in the breakwater. If we time this just right, it might work.”

  “What might work?” The chain was perilously close.

  “You’ll see.” He shot her a grim smile. “Hold on to the rail, and for the love god, don’t let go!” Then he let go of her hand and heaved on the wheel.

  As he did, an enormous gust of wi
nd struck them broadside. The rigging groaned, ropes and wood and canvas straining, on the verge of snapping, and the ship heeled over. Further and further and Lara shrieked, clinging to whatever she could, certain the vessel would capsize.

  The ship shuddered, a loud scraping filling Lara’s ears as the chain dragged along their port side. The noise was horrific, wood splintering and cracking, their speed flagging even as the wind eased, the ship slowly righting itself.

  “Come on!” Aren shouted while Lara stared up at the soldiers manning the breakwater towers, their eyes wide with astonishment.

  Then they were through.

  Regaining her footing, Lara stumbled to the side of the ship to look back. Arrows rained down on their wake, fired more in desperation than at any chance of hitting a mark. Nor, she thought, would they risk the catapults mounted on the hills. Her father wanted them captured, not dead. The Maridrinian vessels were crowded up behind the now fully raised chain, the captains shouting at those manning the towers.

  “It will take them a bit of time to get the chain reversed. They might chase us all the way to Southwatch.” Aren’s eyes shifted to the black clouds hanging over the dark ocean, promising wild seas. “The race is on.”

  31

  Lara

  The naval vessels gave up chase halfway to Southwatch, though whether it was for fear of the storm brewing in the east or the dozen shipbreakers on the fortified island, it was impossible to say.

  Docking the ship at the Southwatch wharf was no mean feat, and Lara’s whole body ached with tension as Aren eased the battered ship against the stone, Ithicanian crews on land using rigging attached to the wharf to tie the rocking ship down. She, Aren, and the rest of the crew disembarked swiftly, meeting an older Ithicanian man at the guardhouse mounted where the wharf met the island.

  “We did not realize you were in Vencia, Your Grace.” The man bowed with more formality than anyone at Midwatch ever used. His gaze skipped past his king to land on Lara, his eyes widening as he inclined his head to her.

  “Unplanned trip. Where’s the commander?”

  Aren’s voice was crisp and unwavering, but his left hand clenched and then opened in a repetitive motion that betrayed him. He was not looking forward to justifying himself to his sister, that much was certain.

  “Off island, Your Grace. She left this morning to deal with a conflict on Carin Island, and I expect she’ll need to ride out this storm there.”

  Aren’s hand relaxed. “Tell her I’m sorry to have missed her, but we cannot linger. Have the ship stripped, then sink it.”

  “As you say, Your Grace.” Bowing once again, the man continued down the toward the ship, shouting orders as he went.

  Lara cast a backward glance at the battered vessel. “Why sink it? Can’t you just . . . repaint it?”

  “No time to return it to safe harbor before this storm hits. The sea will tear it apart and sink it anyway if we leave it here, which could cause problems with other ships trying to make port. Ahnna will cut my balls off if she has to deal with cleaning up that sort of mess.”

  “I get the impression that she’ll be reaching for her knife anyway when she discovers where you’ve been.”

  He laughed, his hand falling against her lower back to guide her up the path. “A little luck on our side that we missed her, then.”

  “Will she let it go?”

  “Not a chance, but hopefully she won’t feel inclined to follow us all the way to Midwatch to voice her opinion on the matter.”

  “Your bravery is inspiring.”

  “We all have our fears. Now let’s get inside before the rain hits.”

  They didn’t linger in the Southwatch market, which would’ve been a disappointment to Lara if she’d hadn’t burned with urgency to return to Midwatch. The market was a series of large stone warehouses, plus one smaller building that Taryn told her was where all the trade was conducted. She longed to see what was inside those buildings, what sort of goods had come from Harendell, Amarid, and beyond, and what would depart from her own homeland. Just as she now found herself longing to talk to the Ithicanians who lived and worked here on Southwatch. To know them in a way she, out of necessity, hadn’t allowed herself to before.

  Because now they felt as much her people as the Maridrinians she’d left behind. On the heels of that realization came a deep and unceasing shame that she, who was their queen and whom they believed to be their defender, had nearly put them on the funeral pyre. Men, women, and children. Families and friends. Most who were innocents dedicated to no more than living their lives—those people, as much as Aren, would’ve been the individuals she’d have betrayed if her words had reached Serin and her father.

  With that knowledge burning in her heart, she was glad when Aren and his guards led her into the yawning black mouth of the bridge.

  The Bridge. How she hated the cursed thing, which was the source of every bit of despair in her life. With every step she took down its stinking length, she wished it didn’t exist. Wished she’d been sent to Ithicana with no agenda beyond being a wife. Wished she was not her wicked, lying, and traitorous self. But wishes were for fools. Which was perhaps fitting, because her foolish self lost all grasp of logic whenever her sleeve brushed against Aren’s, every time his gaze fell upon her, every time she remembered the feel of his hands on her body and how much she desired them there again.

  There was no day or night in the bridge. Only endless musty darkness. The storm caused a moaning sound within the tunnel, sometimes little more than a whisper, and other times a deafening roar that forced the group to stuff cotton into their ears. It was like a living beast, and by the end of their first day of walking, Lara was half convinced she’d been consumed.

  She could not stay in Ithicana, even if she wanted to. And she did want to. More than anything. But her entire relationship with Aren had been built on a lie, and if she told him the truth, what were the chances he’d forgive her? He loved his people too much to allow someone like her to remain his queen. Neither was keeping it a secret an option. Her father would make her pay for her betrayal. There would be no happily-ever-after. Not for her.

  Reluctantly, a plan formed in Lara’s mind. Her first order would be to destroy the papers with her planned invasion. Then she’d wait for a clear night, and make a run for her hidden canoe and supplies. All that would be left would be to sail toward revenge. Because she fully intended to make her father pay for what he’d done to Maridrina. What he’d intended to do to Ithicana. And what he’d done to her. Plotting the variables distracted her. Took away the tightness that gripped her chest every time she realized she’d never see Aren again.

  From time to time they encountered groups transporting goods. Bored donkeys pulled carts filled with steel, fabrics, and grain southward. Men with handcarts transported crates of Valcottan glassworks northward. And once, after following a stream of spilled ale for several miles, they passed a wagon full of barrels headed north. Jor had jokingly put his head under the leaky barrel until Aren kicked his feet out from under him, then informed the man driving to quit making a mess of his bridge.

  Sometimes there were merchants in the caravans, but always they were flanked by Ithicanian guards wearing masks. Before encountering any of them, her own group would don identical masks, and Lara idly wondered what the merchants would think if they knew the rulers of Ithicana had passed them in the darkness.

  They made camp in the bridge two nights in a row, eating cold rations they’d picked up at Southwatch with only water to drink. The guards took rotating shifts on watch, everyone sleeping with only their pack for a pillow and their cloaks for blankets. Privacy was nonexistent, and by the third day of walking, Lara was almost frantic to be free of the place.

  “Home sweet home,” Jor said, and the rest of the group stopped, silently watching while the captain rested both hands against pressure points on the bridge wall. A soft click filled the air, and a door-sized block of stone swung inward on silent hinges, revealing a s
mall chamber with an opening in the floor.

  Jor stepped inside and looked down. “Tide’s still too high. We’ll have to wait a bit.”

  “I’m taking Lara topside,” Aren abruptly stated. “The rest of you wait down here.”

  No one said anything, Taryn and Jor silently opening the hatch in the ceiling. Aren boosted Lara up, then hauled himself outside. Leaving the hatch open, he walked several dozen paces down the length of the bridge. Lara followed, stopping next to one of the thick steel rings embedded in the rock that the Ithicanians used for their zip lines.

  The storm had been short, ending on their second day in the bridge, although another was brewing on the horizon. For now, the sky around Midwatch was clear and sunny, the water below a tranquil blue. The fresh air and open space instantly relieved the oppressive pall the bridge had cast.

  “We need to talk, Lara.”

  Her heart skittered, her veins flooding with trepidation.

  “I know you’re a spy for your father.”

  Her stomach hollowed. “I was a spy for my father. I am no longer.”

  “I’m going to need more proof than just your word.”

  “The proof is that I’m here. With you.”

  Silence.

  When Lara’s nerve finally frayed, she asked, “Aren’t you going to say something?”

  Aren turned to face Midwatch, tension radiating off him. “I suppose one question is obvious: Did you pass any information back to him that I should know about?”

  “I’ve given him nothing.” Because she hadn’t. Not one single thing. Not with all those damnable pieces of paper still sitting in his desk, waiting for her to destroy them.

  He exhaled a long breath. “I suppose that’s something.”

  Something.

  The need for him to know the reason behind her actions burned in Lara’s chest. “Serin and my other teachers, they lied to me. All my life, they lied about the nature of Ithicana, about the relationship between your kingdom and mine. They painted you as a dark oppressor that used its power over trade to suppress my people. To control them. To starve them. All for the sake of profit. They told me that you killed merchants and sailors for no reason other than that they’d come too close to your shores. Not just killed, but maimed and tortured for sport. That you were a demon.”