The Bridge Kingdom

by Danielle L. Jensen

  And what were his options? The surest way to stop Silas would be to join forces with Valcotta, but that would be disastrous for Maridrina. Lara’s people would die by the thousands, cut down by blades or starved to death. Innocent lives lost—all because of the greed of one man. But to do otherwise would likely mean the end of Ithicana unless Harendell intervened, which past behavior indicated unlikely.

  “There is no solution,” he said.

  Silence.

  “Stop trade with Valcotta.” Lara’s words were so quiet, he barely heard them. “Attempt to undercut support for this war with Maridrina. Make Ithicana the hero.”

  “If I break trade relations with Valcotta and use my resources to crack their blockade on Maridrina, it will decimate our profits. Ithicana needs the income Valcotta brings in at Southwatch in order to survive. Never mind that they’ll likely retaliate. You want me to risk that on speculation? On coincidences?”

  “Yes.”

  Silence.

  “Aren, you brought me here because you believed your people needed to know Maridrina in order for there to be peace between our people. In order for them to see Maridrina as an ally, not as the enemy of old.” Her voice was choked. “It goes both ways. Maridrina also need to see Ithicana as an ally. As a friend.”

  Aren’s shoulders bowed. “Even if I agree with you, Lara, I’ll never get the council to go along with it. They believe we’ve bought peace with Maridrina—that we gave your father what he wanted, so he has no reason to attack us. They won’t jeopardize the Valcottan revenue based on the supposition that your father might want more.”

  “Then maybe it’s time you told them the truth about me. Maybe that will be enough to prove to them the gravity of our situation.”

  Aren felt the blood drain from his face. “I can’t.”

  “Aren—”

  “I can’t, Lara. Ithicana’s reputation for cruelty isn’t entirely undeserved. If they discover you were a spy . . .” His mouth felt dry as sand. “It wouldn’t be a merciful execution.”

  “So be it.”

  “No.” He crossed the space between them in three strides, pulling her into his arms, his lips pressing against her hair. “No. I refuse to turn you over to be slaughtered. I’ll damn well let them feed me to the sea before I ever agree to that. I love you too much.”

  And because Aren knew she was brave enough to sacrifice herself whether he willed it or not, he added, “If they learned the truth about you, the last thing they’d do is help your people. They’ll force me to ally formally with Valcotta, and what would happen . . . I’m not sure Maridrina would survive it.”

  Her shoulders started to shake, and then sobs tore from her throat. “It’s impossible. Impossible to save both. It always has been.”

  “Maybe not.” Aren pushed her toward the bed. “I need you to stay here and keep up your performance.”

  Lara wiped a hand across her cheek. “What are you going to do?”

  Stopping with his hand on the door, Aren turned to look at his wife. “Your father sent you to Ithicana for a purpose. He failed. But I also brought you here for a reason, Lara. And I think it’s time to see if my gambit worked.”

  She didn’t stop Aren as he exited, his long strides eating up the corridors of the palace as he formed the words. A speech he’d used countless times, but now turned to a different purpose. Reaching the council chambers, Aren extracted his key, unlocked the door, and entered.

  Conversation froze, then Ahnna said, “Nana sent word. Storm season is over. War Tides has begun.”

  There was a shifting and gathering in the room, every one of the commanders and seconds present now keen to return to their watch. To prepare to repel their enemies, whoever they might be. To be through with this meeting.

  But Aren wasn’t through with them.

  “There’s one more matter we need to discuss,” he said, the tone of his voice causing all heads to turn. “Or rather, finish discussing. And that is the matter of the plight of the Maridrinian people.”

  “What’s there to say?” Aster said, exchanging a chuckle with Mara. “They made their bed.”

  “As did we.”

  The smile fell away from Aster’s face.

  “Sixteen years ago, Ithicana signed a treaty of peace with Maridrina and Harendell. A treaty that both of those kingdoms have held to, neither of them attacking our borders in the intervening period. Our terms with Maridrina have all been met. They provided me with my lovely wife, and we have eased the costs of using the bridge.”

  “I assume you’re driving to a point, Your Grace,” Mara said.

  “The terms have been met,” Aren interrupted, “but the question of the nature of the agreement between our two nations remains unanswered. Is it, as Commander Mara so eloquently described, a business contract, where Ithicana has paid Maridrina for peace? Or is it an alliance, where our two kingdoms use the terms of the treaty to foster a relationship beyond the exchange of services and products and coins?”

  No one spoke.

  “The people of Maridrina are starving. Little of their land is suited to produce, and of that which is suited, more than half rests fallow for lack of hands to work it. The wealthy are still able to import, but the rest? Hungry. Desperate. All while we, their so-called allies, do business with their enemy, filling Valcottan holds with the goods Maridrina desperately needs because the Valcottans pay the most. Sitting idly by while Valcottan ships deny Maridrina the steel they’ve rightfully paid for. No wonder they call this treaty a farce.”

  “What’s happening in Maridrina is Silas’s doing,” Ahnna said. “Not ours.”

  “It is Silas’s doing. But are we any better for sitting back and watching while innocent children go to their graves when we have the power to save them? Silas is no more the sum of his kingdom than I am the sum of ours, and neither of us is immortal. There is a larger picture.”

  “Just what are you suggesting, Aren?” Ahnna asked, her voice toneless.

  “I’m suggesting Ithicana demand Valcotta drop its blockade. And should they refuse, that they be denied port at Southwatch. That we prove ourselves allies to Maridrina.”

  The room broke into a flurry of voices, Aster’s the loudest of all. “These sound like your wife’s words, Your Grace.”

  “Do they really?” Aren leveled the man with a glare. “How long have I been pushing for us to form unions with other kingdoms so that our people have opportunities beyond war? For us to turn Ithicana into something more than just an army viciously guarding its bridge? How long did my mother push for it before me? These are not Lara’s words.”

  Though in a way they were, because before, he’d only cared about protecting his own kingdom. About how Ithicana might benefit from an alliance. Now Aren saw both sides, and he believed he was a better man for it.

  “But to have an alliance that would allow our people these opportunities, we cannot just take. We have to give something in return. Maridrina’s plight? It’s an opportunity to show Ithicana’s worth. Our worth.”

  “Is this to be a proclamation, then?” Aster spat. “For us to risk our own children and have no say in the risking?”

  If Aren could’ve made it an order, he would’ve, for no reason other than that he would be the one to bear the guilt if things went wrong. But such was not Ithicana’s way. “We vote.”

  Slow nods, then Emra’s mother said, “All right, then. Hands for those in favor.”

  Hers went up immediately, as did Emra’s and four of the other younger commanders. Including Aren’s vote, that made seven, and he needed nine. It was one of the reasons he hadn’t asked Lara to come back here with him. Odd numbers ensured the vote wouldn’t hang. And having her absent meant no one could hold her accountable.

  Several of the old guard, including Aster, stepped back, shaking their heads. But Aren almost fell over in surprise when Mara lifted her hand. Seeing his shock, the commander of Northwatch said, “Just because I question you doesn’t mean I don’t believe in you
, boy.”

  All who remained to cast their vote was his sister.

  Ahnna trailed a finger over Southwatch, her brow furrowed. “If we do this, it will mean the destruction of our relationship with Valcotta. It means war for Ithicana.”

  Aren cast his gaze over the replica of his kingdom. “Ithicana has always been at war, and what do we have to show for it?”

  “We’re alive. We have the bridge.”

  “Don’t you think it’s time we fight for something more?”

  Ahnna didn’t answer, and sweat trickled down Aren’s back as he waited for his twin to cast her vote. Waited to see if she could move past her distrust of Lara and Maridrina. If she’d risk taking a chance, this leap of faith. If she’d fight at his side the way she always had.

  Ahnna gave her island one last affectionate pat, and then she nodded once. “I swore long ago to fight by your side, no matter the odds. Now is no different. Count Southwatch in.”

  39

  Lara

  Eight weeks later, Lara clunked her mug against Jor’s over the fire pit, shrieking with laughter when a log burst, spraying sparks at their hands.

  For the first time in living memory, the months of respite from storms hadn’t meant war for Ithicana, though it felt as though the entire nation had held its breath until the season was declared over.

  After a strongly worded warning from Aren to drop the blockade or risk losing the right to trade at the Southwatch market—which the Valcottan Empress had ignored—Ithicana had driven the Valcottan navy ships lurking around Southwatch back, allowing Maridrinian vessels full access. Aren had then proceeded to load Ithicana’s own vessels full of food and supplies, which were delivered into Vencia and distributed to the poor. Again and again, Aren had used Ithicana’s coffers and resources to supply the belabored city until the Maridrinian people were cheering his name in the streets.

  Whether it was because he’d lost the support of his people for war or because Lara hadn’t given him the intelligence he’d needed, her father hadn’t lifted a hand against Ithicana. Neither had Amarid, which seemed to still be licking its wounds. And now that the storms were rolling in, both kingdoms had lost the chance for another year. Or perhaps forever, if the strength of the relationship between the Ithicanian and Maridrinian people were any indication.

  Not that there hadn’t been consequences. The empress had responded with a letter telling Aren he deserved whatever he got for bedding down with snakes, turning her armada entirely to merchant transport in an attempt to further undercut the bridge’s revenues, which were already halved by the loss of trade with the southern nation. The coffers were drained. But in Lara’s mind, both Maridrinian and Ithicanian civilians were alive. They were safe. Nothing else mattered.

  She had done her duty as both princess and queen.

  “Your brother should be passing by Midwatch right now,” Jor said, handing her another full mug of ale. “Tide’s low. We could take a stroll through the bridge and pay him a visit. Have a little family reunion.”

  Lara rolled her eyes. “I’ll pass.” Her brother Keris had finally convinced their father to allow him to attend university in Harendell to study philosophy, and he was traveling through the bridge with his entire retinue of courtiers and attendants to start his first semester. One of the mail runners had come ahead of them, and he said the party looked like a flock of birds, everyone bedecked in silks and jewels.

  “Let’s go,” Aren murmured into her ear. “I’m looking forward to a night with you in a real bed.”

  “You’re going to fall asleep the second your head hits the pillow.” She relished the rising heat of desire between her legs as his fingers traced along the veins in her arms. She’d stayed with him at the barracks all through War Tides, but the narrow soldier’s cot had not been conducive to romance. Although they’d made do.

  “I’ll take that bet. Come on.”

  He led her out into the gentle rain, the worst of the squall already over. One of Aren’s soldiers was outside, and he looked at her with surprise. “Thought you already went up to the house.”

  “Not yet. Jor kept refilling my mug. I expect they’ll be out of ale by the time your shift is up.”

  “Thought I saw you, was all.” The big guard frowned, then shrugged. “They’re signaling for a supply pickup at the pier, so we might have more drink arriving.”

  “I’ll send some down from the house,” Aren assured the man, tugging on Lara’s arm.

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” But Aren was already towing her up the path, the chain in the cove rattling upward behind them. Mud squelched beneath their boots as they made their way up the trail to the house they’d barely visited over the prior eight weeks, neither of them able to relax enough to step away from the barracks.

  “A bath, first,” Lara said, thinking dreamily about the steaming hot springs. “You smell like soldier.”

  “You’re not so fresh yourself, Majesty.” Aren swung her up into his arms, the lantern light dancing wildly where it hung from her hand. She twisted in his grip, wrapping her legs around his waist. A soft moan escaped her lips as she pressed against him, his hands gripping her ass.

  Lara kissed him hard, sliding her tongue into his mouth, then laughed when he slipped, the lantern falling from her hands and going dark. “Don’t you dare drop me.”

  “Then quit distracting me,” he growled. “Or I’ll be forced to take you in the mud.”

  She slid to the ground and took his hand, leading him at a perilous run up the slope until she caught sight of Aren’s cat, Vitex, sitting on the front step, tail twitching angrily.

  “What are you doing out here?” Aren reached for the cat and it hissed and leapt away, limping slightly as it bolted into the trees.

  Lara watched him go. “He’s hurt.”

  “The female he’s been chasing probably got a piece of him. He likely deserved it.” Catching her by the waist, Aren lifted her up the stairs and shoved open the door to the house.

  It was dark.

  “Not like Eli not to set out a lamp.” Lara’s skin prickled as she stared into the yawning blackness. Aren had sent word up to the house that War Tides was over, instructing Eli to select an expensive bottle of wine from the cellar for his mother and aunt. But the Ithicanian boy never shirked his duties.

  “Maybe he drank the wine instead,” Aren murmured, raining kisses onto her throat, his hands finding her breasts. “Will do him good.”

  “He’s fourteen.” The house was silent. Which wasn’t precisely unusual, but there was something about the nature of the silence that rubbed Lara the wrong way. As though no one breathed.

  “Exactly. Do you know the sorts of things I was doing at fourteen?”

  Lara stepped away, listening. “I should check on him.”

  An aggrieved sigh exited Aren’s throat. “Lara, relax. The storms are here and they will do their duty.” Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her. Slowly. Deeply. Driving all thought from her head as he gently pushed her down the dark corridor into their room, where, thankfully, there was a lamp burning. The yellow flame pushing back the darkness eased Lara’s agitation, and she let her head fall back as her husband’s teeth grazed her neck, feeling the faint breeze from the open window.

  “Bathe later,” he growled.

  “No. You stink. Get outside and I’ll be there in a moment.”

  Grumbling, he shucked off his tunic and vambraces, tossing both on the floor, starting toward the antechamber and the door to the courtyard beyond.

  Peeling off her hooded cloak, Lara hung the damp garment on a hook to dry and was unfastening the top lace of her tunic when her heart skittered, her eyes falling on a letter with a familiar seal. Next to it, a knife twin to the one at her waist sat in a small pile of crimson sand, its rubies glittering in the light. The knife Aren had thrown on the docks in Vencia. Dread filled her stomach as she walked over to the table, picking the heavy paper up with numb fingers, and breaking the wax.

  Dearest
Lara,

  Even in Vencia, we have heard talk of the affection between the Ithicanian King and his new queen, and how it fills our heart to know that you have, however improbably, found love in your new home. Please accept our most sincere well-wishes for your future, however short that future might be.

  Father

  “Aren.” Her voice shook. “Why wasn’t this letter delivered at the barracks? Who brought it?”

  No answer.

  A scuffle of motion.

  A muffled curse.

  Whirling, she reached for the knife at her waist. Then froze. Aren was on his knees on the far side of the room. A hooded figure dressed in clothing identical to Lara’s own held a glittering blade to his throat. And beneath the bed next to them, a young man’s hand protruded, fingers covered in drying blood. Eli . . .

  “Hello, little sister,” a familiar voice said, and the woman reached up and pulled back her hood.

  40

  Lara

  “Marylyn.” The name croaked out of Lara’s throat, her chest a riot of emotion at seeing her sister again, even as she knew what the other woman’s presence meant. Beautiful, with golden blond hair.

  Marylyn had been the noblewoman on the ship Emra had boarded.

  “Lara.”

  Aren started to struggle, snapping Lara out of her trance. “Don’t move,” Lara warned him. “Her blade will be poisoned.”

  “You do know my tricks.”

  “Let him go.”

  “We both know that’s not likely to happen, little cockroach.”

  The old nickname burned in her ears, while her eyes searched for a way to disarm Marylyn without getting Aren killed. But there was none.

  “Who is this woman?” Aren demanded.

  “Lara is my little sister. My lying, thieving, little bitch of a sister.”

  The words were a slap to the face. “Marylyn, I came here to spare you.”

  “Liar.” Marylyn’s voice was pure venom. “You stole what was rightfully mine, then left me to rot in the desert. Do you have any idea how long it took me to get to Vencia to explain to Father what you’d done?”