The Bridge Kingdom

by Danielle L. Jensen

  She started to pull away, but he rotated her arm, frowning at the shallow cut on her elbow. Reaching into the pouch on his belt, he extracted a small tin of salve and a roll of bandage and proceeded to tend to the injury with practiced hands. The muscles of his forearms flexed beneath the steel and leather of the vambraces buckled around them. This close, she gained a new appreciation for how much larger he was than her, head and shoulders taller and easily double her weight. All of it lean muscle.

  But Erik, her Master of Arms, had been just as big, and he’d trained Lara and her sisters how to fight against those who were larger and stronger. As Aren finished bandaging her arm, she imagined where she would strike. To the arch of his foot or his knee. Knife to open his guts. Another to the throat before he had the chance to get a grip on her.

  He tied off the bandage. “I gave up a great deal in this exchange with your father, and all I got in return beyond the promise of continued peace was you. So you’ll excuse me for not wanting to see you dead within the first days of your arrival.”

  “And yet you obviously were content to allow me to wander your dangerous jungles.”

  “I wanted to see where you’d go.” Motioning for her to follow, Aren moved through the deadfall covering the jungle floor, making minimal use of the glittering machete he held in one hand. “Were you trying to escape?”

  “Escape to where?” She forced herself to accept his arm as he guided her over a fallen tree. “My father would have me killed for dishonoring him if I returned to Maridrina, and I possess no skills that would allow me to survive elsewhere on my own. Whether I will it or not, Ithicana is where I must remain.”

  He laughed softly. “At least you’re honest.”

  Lara contained her own laughter. She was many things, but honest wasn’t one of them.

  “Then what were you doing out here?”

  Save the lies for necessity. “I wanted to see the bridge.”

  Aren stopped in his tracks, turning to give her a sharp look. “Why?”

  She met his gaze unflinchingly. “I wanted to see the bit of architecture that was worth the rights to my body. My loyalty. My life.”

  He recoiled as though she’d slapped him. “The rights to those things are yours to give, not your father’s.”

  It wasn’t what she’d expected him to say. But rather than easing her trepidation about that particular aspect of her mission, it made her skin burn hot with an anger that she couldn’t quite explain, so she only gave a curt nod. “So you say.”

  Smacking a vine out of his way with the machete, Aren strode up a steep incline, not waiting to see if she followed. “You were going the wrong direction, by the way. Now try to keep up. There’s only a brief window in which you’ll be able to see the bridge through the mist.”

  They climbed upward, mostly on a narrow trail, during which they said not a word to one another. There was nothing to be seen but endless jungle, and Lara was beginning to believe Aren was toying with her when he walked into a clearing containing a stone tower.

  Tilting her face to the sky, she let the endless rain wash the sweat from her face, watching the clouds twist and swirl on winds that didn’t breach the tree canopy.

  Aren gestured at the tower. “The break in the cloud cover will be brief at this time of year.”

  The tower smelled of earth and mildew, the stone stairs circling upward worn in the center from countless footsteps. They reached the top—a small empty space open on all sides, revealing misty jungle in every direction. The lookout was at the apex of a small mountain, she realized, and she could only barely make out the grey sea below. There was no beach. No pier. And most importantly, no damned bridge.

  “Where is it?”

  “Patience.” Aren leaned his elbows on the stone wall framing the space.

  More curious than annoyed, Lara went to stand next to him, taking in the trees and clouds and sea, but her attention was drawn to him. He smelled of damp leather and steel, of earth and leafy things, but beneath that, her nose picked up the smell of soap and something distinctly, and not unpleasantly, male. Then a blast of wind roared through the tower, chasing away all scents but that of sky and rain.

  The clouds parted with incredible speed, the sun burning down upon them with an intensity she hadn’t felt since she’d left the desert, turning the swaths of faded green into an emerald so vibrant, it almost hurt her eyes. The mist raced away on the wind, leaving behind sapphire skies. Gone was the mysterious island, and what was left in its place was all brilliant color and light. But no matter how she searched, she could not see anything remotely resembling a bridge.

  An amused laugh filled her ears just as fingertips caught her chin, gently lifting her face. “Look further,” Aren said, and Lara’s eyes went to the now-turquoise seas.

  What she saw took her breath away.

  10

  Lara

  All the descriptions given to her during her training paled in comparison to reality. It was not a bridge. It was The Bridge, for there was nothing that compared with it in the world.

  Like a great grey serpent, the bridge meandered as far as the eye could see, joining the continents. It rested on top of naturally formed tower karsts that seemed to have been placed by the hand of God for just such a purpose, defying the Tempest Seas that crashed against their feet. Occasionally, its grey length drifted over the larger islands, resting on thick stone columns built by ancient hands. The bridge was a feat of architecture that defied reason. That defied logic. That should, by all rights, not even exist.

  Which was exactly why everyone wanted it.

  Tearing her eyes from the bridge, Lara glanced up at Aren whose own gaze was fixed on the stone structure. Though he must have seen it every day of his life, he still exuded a sense of wonder, as though he, too, could hardly fathom its existence.

  Before she could look away, he turned his head, and their eyes met. In the sunlight, she saw that his eyes were not black, but hazel, the brown flecked with emerald green that mirrored his kingdom. “Does seeing it bolster your sense of self-worth?”

  Her skin burned hot, and she turned away, needing to move. “I am not a commodity.”

  He huffed out a breath. “That’s not what a meant. The bridge, it’s . . . For Ithicana, it’s everything. And Ithicana is everything to me.”

  Just as Maridrina was everything to her.

  “It’s . . . impressive.” A weak word for the ancient structure.

  “Lara.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him reach for her, then withdraw his hand as though he thought better of touching her. “I know that you didn’t choose to be here.”

  He scrubbed a hand through his hair, his cheeks clenched as though he were struggling for words, and her heart began to pound anticipating what he would say. “I want you to know that you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. That this . . . this is whatever you want it to be. Or don’t want it to be.”

  “What is it to you?”

  “The treaty means peace between Ithicana and Maridrina. It means lives saved. Maybe one day it will mean the end to violence on our shores.”

  “I didn’t think we were talking about the treaty.” She was intent on understanding what motivated this man, which included his desires.

  Aren hesitated. “I hope our marriage will be the first step toward a future where my people’s lives aren’t tied to this ancient piece of stone.”

  The statement was so contradictory to what he’d said about the bridge being everything that Lara opened her mouth to ask for him to explain, but she was cut off by the sound of a horn blaring in the distance. It belted out a song, then repeated it twice. Aren swore after the first pass, his hand reaching for the large spyglass mounted at the center of the watchtower. He panned the water, unleashing a tirade of curses when he caught sight of whatever it was he was searching for.

  “What is it?”

  “Raiders.” He flung himself at the stairs, then caught himself on the doorframe, halting his p
rogress. “Stay here, Lara. Just . . . don’t move. I’ll send someone for you.”

  She started to argue, but he was already gone. Leaning over the edge of the tower, she watched him exit the base, sprint through the clearing, then disappear from sight.

  Standing on her tiptoes, Lara peered through the spyglass. It took her a moment, but she finally caught sight of the ship passing under the bridge toward Midwatch, its deck teeming with armed men in uniforms, the Amaridian flag flying from the mast. A naval vessel. And not, if Aren’s words were to be believed, one that had come in peace.

  A loud crack split the air. Lara watched as a projectile tore through the rigging, a mast splintering and toppling sideways. It fell, sails and ropes catching on the metal spikes set into the base of one of the bridge piers. The ship keeled over, spilling countless men into the water. Another crack echoed up to her position, and a gaping hole appeared in the hull. A hole that swiftly disappeared as the vessel sank lower in the water.

  Hands frozen on the spyglass, Lara held her breath as violent barrage of ammunition methodically destroyed the ship while those still aboard clambered higher, or swam toward shore, fins circling them ominously, no safety within reach. As she watched, one of the sailors was jerked under, and her blood ran cold as a cloud of crimson blossomed where he’d been. After that, it was a frenzy, the sharks attacking one after another after another, the water now more red than blue.

  Moving the glass to where the island met the sea, she searched for any sign of Ithicanians, keen to see their defenses in action. But the angle was bad, the jungle obscuring her vision of whatever was happening at the water’s edge.

  This could be her one chance to see how the Ithicanians repelled invaders from the inside, and she was missing it because of a poor vantage point.

  Lara found herself running. Down the stairs and into the clearing, her eyes trained on the path Aren had taken, trusting it would lead her to where she needed to go. The jungle was nothing but a blur of green as she ran, the humid air heavy in her lungs as she leapt over rocks, slid in the mud, caught her balance and kept going. The water wasn’t far, and it was downhill.

  The path burst out into the open, cutting along the edge of a cliff. Far below, the ocean slammed against sheer rock. She veered around a bend, finding herself at the top of a steep slope. Lara paused, taking cover behind a rock.

  She spotted a cove that she hadn’t been able to see from the watchtower. With a white sand beach and turquoise waters, it was hidden from the ocean by rocky cliffs, the opening to the sea beyond a gap barely wide enough for a small boat. The gap was currently blocked by a heavy chain connected to stone buildings on each side.

  The beach was full of soldiers. Lara’s gaze went to the strange boats sitting on the sand, which showed no sign of going anywhere, before shifting her attention to the Ithicanians standing atop the cliffs overlooking the sea, Aren’s tall form among them.

  Frowning, Lara peered around the boulder, trying to determine where the catapult the Ithicanians had used against the ship was located, when she heard loose gravel sliding down the path behind her. Then a voice: “. . . hardly worth the stones we lobbed at them. A brisk wind would put that decrepit piece of shit on the bottom of the sea.”

  Her heart skipping, Lara searched for a way to escape, but the beach was crawling with soldiers, to her left was a tangle of jungle vines, and to her right was a sheer drop onto the jagged rocks jutting out of the ocean. The only way to keep from being caught spying was forward.

  Stepping out from her cover, Lara picked her way down the steep slope and onto the beach, ignoring the startled expressions of the soldiers.

  One man put his fingers to his lips and gave a sharp whistle, causing those standing on the cliffs—including Aren—to turn. He was not so distant that she couldn’t make out the surprise, and subsequent irritation, that crossed his face.

  Before the soldiers could stop her, Lara circled the cove, climbing the steps carved into the rock that allowed access to the cliff overlooking the sea. Aren met her at the top, clearly not inclined to allow her to watch what was going on. “I told you to stay in the tower, Lara.”

  “I know, I—” She pretended to lose her balance on the narrow step, hiding a smile as he caught hold of her arm, pulling her onto the clifftop and giving her an unencumbered view of the bridge and the ship sinking next to it. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s no concern of yours. Go down to the beach and someone will take you back up to the house.” He motioned to one of his soldiers, and Lara’s mind raced, grasping for a reason to linger.

  “There are drowning men out there!” She waved away the soldier trying to take her arm. “Why aren’t you helping them?”

  “Those are raiders.” Aren shoved the spyglass he was holding into her hand. “See the flag? That’s an Amarid vessel. They were trying to find a way into the bridge under the cover of the fog.”

  “They could be merchants.”

  “They aren’t. Look at the bridge. See the lines hanging from it?”

  Through the glass, Lara pretended to look at the men dangling from ropes when really she was examining the structure itself, searching for openings. This was a vantage point no one but the Ithicanians had, and it was possible she might learn something valuable. But Aren plucked the spyglass out of her hand before she could get more than a quick glance.

  “This is an act of war against us, Lara. They deserve what they get.”

  “No one deserves this,” she replied, and though her reaction was an act, her stomach still twisted as the waves pummeled the ship, swallowing the wreckage whole. All the Amaridians were in the water now, some trying to reach the dangling ropes, others swimming in the direction of the island on which she stood. “Help them.”

  “No.”

  “Then I will.” She whirled around, keen to use a dramatic display of empathy to get a closer look at the small craft on the beach, only to find herself face-to-face with three of Aren’s soldiers. “Let me pass.”

  None of them moved, but neither did they reach for their weapons. Lara glanced over her shoulder, taking in the twin stone structures with solid doors and no windows, which guarded the mechanism for lifting the chain. She suspected they were always guarded. Yet her eyes were drawn from her assessment to the handful of sailors who, against all odds, were within reach of the gap leading to the cove. But several of them were floundering, the heavy waves washing over their heads.

  “Please.” Lara shouldn’t care whether the Amaridians lived or died, but she found that she did, the shake in her voice genuine as she said, “This is cruelty.”

  Aren’s face was dark with anger. “Cruelty is what those men would’ve done to my people if they’d managed to get past our defenses. Ithicana never asked for this. We never invade their lands. Never slaughter their children for sport.” He pointed his finger at the sailors, and bile rose in Lara’s throat as another was jerked beneath the waves, the water frothing red as the shark tore him apart. “They brought war to us.”

  “If you let them die, are you any better?” There were only three sailors left, and they were close. Except fins trailed in their wake. “Show some mercy.”

  “You want mercy?” Aren twisted on his heel, reaching into his quiver even as he turned. Three blurs of black fletching, and the remaining sailors sank beneath the waves. He rotated back to face her, knuckles white where they gripped his bow.

  Lara dropped to her knees, closing her eyes and feigning distress even as she sought her own inner focus. Ithicana was showing its true colors. Not peaceful courtyards and soothing hot springs, but violence and cruelty. And Aren was its master.

  But she would be his doom.

  “Wait for the winds to die, then pick off those hanging from the rock,” Aren ordered his soldiers. “The last thing we need is one of them finding their way in at low tide.” Then boots thudded past her, and he went down the steps to the hidden beach.

  Lara stayed where she was, smiling inwardly as
the Ithicanians gave her and her moral outrage wide berth even as she considered Aren’s words: a way in at low tide. A way into where, was the question. Into the cove? Or had he been referring to a far greater prize?

  The winds died, the sun retreated behind another bank of clouds, and the rains returned, soaking her to the bone. But she did not move. In stoic silence, she watched the soldiers push the boats out into the water, sail beneath the bridge, and methodically shoot the sailors who’d managed to cling to the ropes through the entire ordeal, their lifeless bodies falling to the ocean below.

  She said nothing as they returned, only marked the meandering route they took, which was too purposeful to be without design, the necessity revealed as the tides reversed, the waters trailing away to reveal the deadly traps beneath the surface. Steel spikes and jagged rocks, all intended to destroy any approaching vessel unaware of the correct path.

  The tide hit its lowest point, and Lara started to rise, convinced she’d seen all there was to see. Then a shadow at the base of the nearest bridge pier caught her attention. No, not a shadow. An opening.

  Her heart sped, and it was a struggle to keep a smile from her face as elation filled her. She’d found a way into the bridge.

  11

  Aren

  “Amarid’s queen must truly be desperate to be crewing her ships with this sort.” Gorrick flipped over the corpse that had been pulled from the ocean, blood seeping into the white sand. It was missing a leg, courtesy of one of Ithicana’s sharks. It was also missing its left thumb, but in that, the sharks were blameless. For the missing digit combined with the brand on the back of his hand indicated that this man had spent some time in one of Amarid’s prisons for theft.

  Kneeling down, Aren examined the dead soldier’s threadbare uniform, the elbows worn through on both arms. “All convicts, you say?”

  “Those that we could get a look at.”