“Your wish is my command, Your Majesty,” he growled into her ear, flipping her over his shoulder and heading to the door. In the hallway, they encountered Eli, who bore a stuffed satchel on one shoulder.
“I’m doing a run to the barracks, Your Graces. Any messages you wish to relay?”
Aren hesitated. “Yes. Tell Jor I want to see him. After lunch.” He patted Lara meaningfully on the ass, laughing when she kneed him in the chest. “But for now, I need a bath.”
Several hours later, they were finishing a meal of grilled fish and citrus sauce when the door to the house slammed open.
Heedless of his mud-splattered boots, Jor tromped into the dining room and took a seat across from them. “Majesties.” His twinkling eyes moved back and forth between Lara and Aren as he snaked a cake from the tray. “How nice to see the two of you finally playing nice.”
Lara’s cheeks warmed, and she took a mouthful of fruit juice, hoping the glass would hide her embarrassment.
“And all it took to earn your affection was the poor boy jumping into shark-infested waters to save your ass.” He sighed dramatically. “I’m not sure I’m up for such acts of heroism. I suppose I’ll have to put aside the dream of taking you on when Aren gets himself killed with one of his stupid stunts.”
“Piss off, Jor.”
Lara only smiled. “Fortunately for you, I have a soft spot for elderly men.”
“Elderly?” Bits of cake flew from the guard’s mouth. “I’ll have you know, little miss, that I’m . . .”
“Enough, enough.” Aren filled the cup in front of Jor. “That’s not why you’re here.”
“Yes, do tell me why I had to drag my elderly ass up the hill to visit you two lovebirds.”
Lara turned in her chair to eye Aren, curious.
“How do the skies look?” he asked.
“Stick your head out the door and see for yourself.”
“Jor.”
“Clear.” The guard chewed slowly on another cake, brow furrowed with suspicion. “Why?”
Aren’s hand closed over Lara’s, his thumb tracing a circle against her palm. “Tell everyone to pack their things and ready the boats. I think it’s time we went home.”
35
Lara
Home.
To Lara, Midwatch was home, with its quiet serenity. But there was no mistaking the excitement on the faces of the guards as they tied their packs and loads of provision into a trio of boats, nearly tripping over each other in their haste. Wherever they were going was home for them, too, and the flurry of activity only bolstered Lara’s curiosity. There were no civilizations of size in Ithicana, nothing bigger than a fishing village, and the Maridrinian in her struggled to believe that the King of the Bridge Kingdom would call one of those home.
“Where are we going?” she asked Aren for the hundredth time.
He only gave her an amused smile and tossed her bag of possessions into the canoe. “You’ll see.”
She’d barely been allowed to take anything, only a set of her Ithicanian clothes, a selection of undergarments, and, at Aren’s request, one of her silk Maridrinian dresses, though of what use that would be in a fishing village, she didn’t know.
Nibbling on a fresh piece of root to help keep her stomach calm, Lara settled into the boat, staying out of the way as they exited the cove. Though the skies were relatively calm, the sea was full of branches and debris, and through the mist draping Midwatch, Lara noted the jungle had been severely damaged by the storm, trees felled and plants stripped of flowers and leaves.
The boats passed under the bridge, the island fading from sight, and Lara turned her gaze ahead as the sail was lifted, the brisk winds whisking them across the surf. They veered west, away from the snaking bridge, passing innumerable tiny landmasses, all which appeared uninhabited, although well she knew that in Ithicana, appearances could be deceiving.
They sailed for an hour when, rounding a smaller island, Lara’s eyes fell upon a veritable mountain rising out of the ocean. Not a mountain, she silently corrected herself. A volcano. The island itself was several times the size of Midwatch, the slopes of the volcano, which reached up to the sky, thick with verdant jungle. Azure waters slammed against cliff walls fifty feet high, with no signs of a beach or a cove. Impenetrable and, if the smoke rising from the peak was any indication, a dangerous place to inhabit.
Yet as they curved around the monolith, Jor lowered a sail, easing their speed even as Lia rose to her feet, hand balanced against Taryn’s shoulder as she scanned their surroundings. “No sails on the horizon,” she declared, and Aren nodded. “Run up the flag then.”
The bright green flag bisected by a curved black line was unfurled and raised to the top of the mast, the wind catching at it with an eagerness that was reflected on the faces of all the Ithicanians. They drew closer to the island and, shading her eyes with her hand against the glare off the water, Lara picked out a dark opening in the otherwise solid cliff walls.
The entrance to the sea cave grew as the boats approached, barely enough clearance for the masts as they drifted inward, the darkness obscuring whatever lay within.
Lara’s heart thundered in her chest, realizing that she was witnessing something that no other outsider had seen. A place that was wholly the domain of Ithicana. A secret greater, perhaps, than even those of its precious bridge.
A deafening rattle made Lara jump. Aren’s hand rested against her back to steady her as everyone’s eyes adjusted to the dimness. Blinking, she watched in awe as a steel portcullis covered with seaweed and barnacles lifted into a narrow gap in the rock of the ceiling and the three boats were gently washed into a tunnel that bent to the right. Gripping the sides of the boat, Lara held her breath as Taryn and Lia rowed them inward, the tunnel opening into an enormous cavern. Sunlight filtered down through small openings in the ceiling to dance across the smooth water, and the floor of the cave seemed within arm’s reach, though Lara suspected it was far deeper.
Moored to the walls were dozens of boats, including the large ones she’d seen evacuating the village on Serrith Island. Half-dressed children swam among them, their shrieks of laughter audible as the rattle of the portcullis descending behind them faded away. There were shouts of recognition as the children caught sight of Aren and his guards, and the lot of them fell in like a school of fish around the boats. Jor laughed, pretending to swat at them with a paddle as they made their way to the far end of the cavern where steps carved into the dark rock led upward.
The children’s voices filling her ears, Lara allowed Aren to help her out of the boat, her legs unsteady beneath her. What was this place?
Her sweating hand resting on Aren’s arm, Lara walked up the stairs toward the sunlit opening, her heart pounding in her chest. Together, they stepped out, and a gust of briny wind caught at Lara’s hair, tearing it loose from its braid. The brightness bit at her eyes, and she blinked, half to clear the tears and half because she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
It was a city.
Covering the steep slopes of the volcano crater, the city’s streets and houses and gardens all wove seamlessly into the natural vegetation, all of it reflected in an emerald lake which pooled in the basin. Releasing Aren’s arm, Lara turned in a circle, struggling to take in the magnitude of this place that shouldn’t, that couldn’t, possibly exist.
Men and women dressed in tunics and trousers went about their business, and countless children ran amok, likely enjoying the respite from poor weather. There were hundreds of people, and she had no doubt that many more could be found within the structures that were built into the slope, made from the same solid material as the bridge. Trees and vines wrapped around the homes, their roots digging deep into the earth, the greys and greens broken by countless blooms every color of the rainbow. Metal chimes hung from tree branches, and with every breath of wind, their delicate music filled the air.
Every bit a king surveying his kingdom, Aren said, “Welcome to Eranahl.”
36
Aren
It was the worst storm season Aren had ever seen.
Typhoon after typhoon lashed Ithicana, sea and wind and rain battering the fortress that was Eranahl, keeping it even more isolated than normal. The city was forced to dig into its supplies, and it would be a mad dash to restock the vaults before War Tides descended and the city’s population tripled, those living on the islands close to the bridge coming to take shelter from the inevitable raiders. They’d bring supplies with them, but with months of only limited clear days to fish and gather, they’d be running lean themselves.
Which meant the bridge would need to provide.
Yet it had been painfully easy not to think about the looming dangers in the intervening months since he’d brought Lara home to Eranahl. Easy to sit around the table with his friends, drinking and eating, laughing and telling stories into the darkness of the night. Easy to lose himself in a book without the anticipation of horns calling warnings of raiders. Easy to sleep late in the morning, his arms wrapped around his wife’s slender form. To wake and worship the curves of her body, the taste of her mouth, the feel of her hands on his back, in his hair, on his cock.
There were days it felt like Lara had been with him all his life, for she had wholly immersed herself in every aspect of his being. In every aspect of Eranahl. He’d feared that she’d struggle to integrate herself with his people and them with her. But within a month, she’d learned the name of every citizen and how each of them was related, and Aren often found her working with the people, helping them when they were sick and injured. Most of Lara’s time was spent with the youth of Ithicana, partially because they held fewer of the biases against Maridrinians than their parents and grandparents and partially, he thought, because it gave her a sense of purpose. She started a school, for while her asshole of a father might have treated her poorly, he hadn’t scrimped on her education, and her efforts to share that knowledge won her more hearts than even her heroics at Aela Island.
Lara made his friends hers, going toe to toe with Jor over who could tell the worst jokes, drinking and eating and laughing as she delved into their lives, her hand tucked in Aren’s as they waited out storm after storm. Never did she reveal more than cursory details about her own life, but if anyone noticed, they did not comment. And Aren himself had stopped digging, had stopped asking who had inflicted her scars, inside and out, content that if she wished to tell him, she would.
With much cajoling and prodding, the Ithicanian children had convinced Lara to wade into the cavern harbor, teaching her to float and to paddle about, but she was out in a flash if a fish bumped her and she refused to put her head under the surface. The few times someone had been brave—or foolish—enough to dunk her had been the only times Aren had seen her lose her temper at the children, screaming bloody murder. Then she’d stormed half naked and dripping back to the palace, where she refused to speak to anyone, including him, for the balance of the day, only to go right back into the water with them during the next storm break.
Coming to Eranahl had changed his wife. It hadn’t softened her, exactly, for she still had the wickedest temper of anyone he’d ever met, but it seemed to Aren that being here had pulled her out of her shell. Out of the fortress she’d constructed to protect herself. She was happier. Brighter. Content.
Except every storm season came to an end, and this one would be no different.
Heaving in a sigh, Aren eyed the sky, the rain pattering gently against his skin. There was only the faintest breeze, the squall barely deserving the name, and he suspected it would only be a matter of days before Nana ruled the season over. Which is why his war council had convened.
For the last hour, Watch Commanders had been arriving by boat: battle-hardened men and women who had seen the worst their enemies had to offer, and had dealt worse in return. Each of the nine, including him at Midwatch, was responsible for the defense of certain portions of the bridge and the islands flanking it, and all of them had arrived ready to discuss what the season would bring. Save one.
Ahnna was late.
Stepping into the shelter of Eranahl’s cavern harbor, Aren sat on the steps to wait, annoyed at the anxiety building in his gut. This would be the first time he’d seen his twin since Lara’s fall from the bridge. First time they’d spoken since he’d threatened to ship her off to Harendell. Ahnna had been adamantly against Lara being anything more than a glorified prisoner kept at Midwatch, and he couldn’t help but wonder how she would react to Lara being in the heart of Ithicana.
The gates began their slow rattle upward, startling Aren from his thoughts. One of the Southwatch boats drifted around the bend, and he squinted into the dim light, trying to make out his twin. Ahnna sat at the stern, rudder in hand, expression unreadable.
The boat bumped against the stone steps, one of the soldiers hopping out and mooring it while the others unloaded supplies. Ahnna flipped her pack over her shoulder, calling to her crew to enjoy their few hours of liberty before taking the steps two at the time.
“Your Majesty,” she said, and his heart sank. “I apologize for being late. With the state of relations between the southern kingdoms, Southwatch requires my full attention.”
“It’s fine.” He tried to come to terms with the wedge between them that might never be removed. “We’ve time.”
Ahnna’s eyes turned skyward, then she shook her head. “I’m not sure that we do.”
The palace was silent as he and Ahnna entered, everyone who wasn’t needed having vacated the premises and those who were needed busy with their tasks. It made for a strange quality of sound, as though the absence of people changed the building, causing footsteps to echo and voices to carry.
Not that either of them felt inclined to speak.
Turning down the hall, Aren caught sight of Lara sitting on a padded bench outside the council chambers, shoulders squared, eyes fixed on the solid doors. She wore a silken gown of blues and greens, her hair braided into a coronet that revealed the long column of her neck. High-heeled sandals, the leather inlaid with lapis lazuli, were strapped to her feet, and from here, he could see her cheeks and brow bones shone with golden dust.
“I see she hasn’t given up her expensive tastes,” Ahnna muttered.
Lara hadn’t, and Aren indulged her, but not for the reasons his sister thought. Lara would’ve forgone the luxuries, would’ve blended in with his people to the point they forgot she hadn’t been born among them, but both of them understood the importance of the people remembering she was Maridrinian. Of them coming to love her as a Maridrinian, which they had.
Lara rose at their approach, and as she turned to face them, Aren heard the soft catch of Ahnna’s breath. She was staring at the jewels around Lara’s neck, the emerald and black diamond necklace that had been their mother’s. “How could you?” Her words came out as a hiss between her teeth. “Of all the things you could have given her, why that?”
“Because Lara is queen. And because I love her.”
A thousand retorts flashed through his sister’s eyes, but she said none of them. Only bowed to Lara. “I’m glad to see you well, Your Grace.” Then she extracted the key marking her as a Watch Commander, unlocked the council chamber, and went inside.
“I told you it would be a mistake not to talk to her sooner.” Lara rested her hands on her hips, giving him a slow shake of her perfect head. “You slap her in the face with everything she doesn’t want to see and then expect her to grit her teeth and bear it.”
Closing the distance between them, Aren pulled Lara against him, her arms slipping around his neck. “Why are you always right?” he asked, closing his eyes and kissing her throat.
“I’m not. It’s only that you are so often wrong.”
He chuckled, feeling some of his tension dispel only for it to return when she said, “It’s too soon, Aren. Let me go get Jor.”
“No. You are Queen of Ithicana and that makes you my second in command. That is how it has alw
ays been, and for me to take Jor in there with me instead would send a message to the Watch Commanders and the people that I don’t see you as capable. That I don’t trust you. It would undo everything we’ve accomplished since you came to Eranahl.”
“As far as they know, I am incapable.”
“I know otherwise.” But he was the only one who knew; Lara’s past, her training, her deadliness a secret Aren kept from everyone. And would continue to keep in order to protect both his wife and the tenuous peace their marriage symbolized. “Besides, there is more to running a kingdom than martial prowess.”
“This is War Tides council meeting,” she said between her teeth, eyes shifting down the corridor to ensure they were alone. “The only thing that matters is martial prowess. Let me get Jor.”
Aren shook his head. “You’re the only one who knows all the stakes.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I need you at my side.”
And before she could argue further, he unlocked the door and tugged Lara inside Ithicana’s war room.
37
Lara
Aren dropped her arm the moment they entered, the intimacy that had thickened the air between them moments ago gone. And replaced with something else entirely.
Here, they were not husband and wife. Not King and Queen of Ithicana. In this room, Aren was Commander of Midwatch and she was his second, and Lara instinctively mimicked his squared shoulders and grave expression, following at his heels to the elevated replica of Midwatch, the island one part of an enormous map of Ithicana. The only complete map of Ithicana in existence.
No one was allowed in this room but Watch Commanders and their seconds. Not even servants were admitted to clean, the group taking care of the duty with typical Ithicanian efficiency. That she, a Maridrinian, stood in this room was unprecedented, a fact made clear when every head turned toward her, their eyes wide with shock.
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