“I did it to protect you!”
“Lara, the martyr.” Marylyn’s lip turned up in a sneer. “Only I saw through to your true intentions, you lying whore.”
Lara stared at her, dumbfounded. The letter she’d left in Sarhina’s pocket had explained everything. Her father’s intention to have the rest of them killed. That Lara faking their deaths and then taking Marylyn’s place as Queen of Ithicana was the only way to save all their lives, except for perhaps her own. She’d given them their freedom. “He was going to kill our sisters. It was the only way. Why don’t you understand?”
“I understand perfectly.” Marylyn shifted the blade pressed to Aren’s throat, angling the tip upward. “Do you think I didn’t know that Father intended to kill the rest of you?” She laughed. “Do you think I cared?”
This wasn’t her sister. It couldn’t be. Marylyn had always been the sweetest. The kindest. The one who needed to be protected.
The best actress.
“You said your sisters were dead.” Aren’s voice jerked her back into the moment.
“What now, has she been keeping secrets?” Marylyn stroked his cheek with her free hand, laughing as he recoiled. “Allow me to bring you into the fold, Majesty. No one forced Lara to come to Ithicana to spy, she chose to. Except ‘chose’ isn’t even a strong enough word. Lara conspired against us all in order to ensure she would be Queen of Ithicana so that she would have the glory of throwing your people on Maridrinian blades.”
“That’s not true,” Lara whispered.
“That’s the woman you married, Majesty. A liar like none I’ve ever known. Worse than that, she’s a murderer. I’ve seen her kill. Maim. Torture. All in cold blood. All practice for what she intended to do to your people.”
That part was true. Painfully and horribly true. “We all did it, Marylyn. None of us had a choice.”
Her older sister rolled her eyes. “There was always a choice.” Her eyes turned on Aren. “What do you think he would’ve done in the same position? Do you think he’d have slaughtered an innocent man just to save himself?”
No.
“Selfish little cockroach, always putting herself first. Although I can see why you decided to remain around after you plunged the knife in his back.” She trailed a finger down Aren’s bare chest. “What a prize he is. They didn’t tell us that during our lessons at the compound. I might have put him through his paces a few times myself before slitting his throat.”
Fury seared through Lara’s chest, and she unclipped her knife from its jeweled hilt, though the thought of hurting her sister made her sick. “Don’t touch him.”
Marylyn pursed her lips. “Why? Because he’s yours? For one, he’s rightfully mine. Two, even if I intended to leave him alive, which I don’t, do you really think he’s going to want anything to do with you now that he understands what kind of woman you are? When he finds out what you’ve done?”
“I’ve done nothing.”
Reaching into her pocket, Marylyn extracted a heavy piece of parchment edged with gold.
No.
“Recognize this, Your Majesty?” Marylyn held it in front of Aren’s face. “You wrote it last fall in response to my father’s request you hold true to the spirit of the Fifteen Year Treaty. Not the most charitable of responses, although I suppose you did deliver, in the end.” Her whole body shook with laughter.
Not possible.
She’d destroyed all the pages.
“There is a type of ink that is invisible until sprayed with another agent. At that point, it becomes quite visible. If you look in Lara’s quarters, I’m certain you’ll find a jar of it, somewhat depleted.”
Marylyn flipped the letter around, and Lara could do nothing as Aren took in line after line of her neat writing laying out every one of Ithicana’s secrets, a strategy to infiltrate the bridge that was damning in its details.
She’d brought Ithicana to its knees.
“Lara?” Aren’s eyes burned into hers, and the anguish in them was like having her heart carved out of her chest.
“I didn’t . . .” She had. “I wrote it before. Before I knew the truth.” Before he’d risked his life to save hers. Before he’d taken her into his bed. Before he’d trusted her with everything. “I thought I’d destroyed all the copies. This is . . . this is a mistake. I love you.”
She’d never said it before. Never told him she loved him. Why had she never said it before?
“You love me.” His voice was hollow. “Or were you only pretending to?”
“How tragic this is.” The clock chimed, punctuating Marylyn’s words. “Though I suspect it is about to get so much worse given that Keris’s party of courtiers has crossed paths with a weapons shipment from Harendell.”
A horn sounded. A call for aid. Then another and another until the notes were nothing more than a garbled mix of noise.
“Those courtiers exited piers on Aela and Gamire Islands and attacked your guard posts from the rear, disabling their shipbreakers so that Amaridian vessels loaded with hundreds of our soldiers could land unmolested. Even now, many of them are moving on to Northwatch and Southwatch to attack them from behind. And we have men using Ithicana’s own signal horns to ensure no one will come to their aid. That’s only the beginning, of course. Lara’s instructions were quite detailed. Especially in how we might take Midwatch.”
Panic flared in Aren’s eyes, and she knew what he was thinking: All his soldiers—all his friends—were sitting in the barracks, their guard down.
Marylyn continued to prattle, but Lara’s mind raced. If they could get down to the barracks, maybe they could get the chain closed in time. Send a signal to Southwatch warning them. But that was impossible unless she disarmed Marylyn.
“Don’t do this. Don’t be our father’s pawn any longer.”
Her sister’s face darkened. “I’m no one’s pawn.”
“Aren’t you? You do his bidding, and for what? Everything we were told as children was a lie intended to fuel an irrational hatred of Ithicana. To turn us into fanatics who’d stop at nothing to bring our enemy down. But Father was the villain. He is the oppressor Maridrina needs to rid itself of. We were deceived, Marylyn. Why can’t you see that?”
“No, Lara. You were deceived.” Marylyn gave a pitying shake of her head, the back of her leg knocking against the bed. “I’ve always seen clearly. You ask what I have to gain? I bring your heads back to Vencia, and Father has promised to shower me with riches. If I hunt down our other wayward sisters, he will make me heir. I will be Queen of Maridrina and master of the bridge.” She smiled. “Ithicana will be no longer.”
Rage consumed Lara like a sentient beast, prowling through muscle and tendon, making her fingers flex on the knife in her hand. Master Erik had always warned her that anger would make her sloppy. Cause her to make mistakes. But he was a liar. Rage gave her focus. And it was that focus that caught the faint shifting of the sheets on the bed behind Marylyn. That allowed her to hear the faint hiss over the rapid beat of her heart. Aren, born and bred to this wild kingdom, heard it, too.
“You’re deluding yourself.” Lara watched the shifting shape. “Father knows that you’re a mad dog. And once you’ve done his dirty work for him, he will have you put down. Or I could do it for him.”
She threw the knife.
The blade sliced through the air, missing Marylyn, but sinking deep into the bed, the sheets now a flurry of motion.
“Lost your touch.” Her sister cackled even as Aren leaned back, shoving his weight against her. They toppled against the bed and the injured snake struck. Marylyn screamed as its teeth sank into her shoulder. Twisting, she released Aren and stabbed her blade into the snake, pinning its body to the mattress.
Lara was already across the room. She slammed into Marylyn, sending them both rolling. They grappled, fists and feet flying with the intent to injure. Maim. Kill. Blow after blow, both of them equally well trained. Yet when it came to this one thing, to violence, Lara had always
been better.
Catching Marylyn’s head in a lock, Lara whispered, “You are queen of nothing,” then jerked her arms and snapped her sister’s neck.
The light went out of the other woman’s eyes, and time seemed to stand still.
How had it come to this? It seemed a lifetime ago that she’d made the decision to sacrifice herself in order to save her sisters. To be Maridrina’s champion. To break the Bridge Kingdom. Everything had changed since then. Her beliefs. Her allegiance. Her dreams. Yet now one of her sisters lay dead at her hands, and Ithicana was on the brink of falling beneath Maridrina’s yoke.
Despite everything, her father had still won.
“What have you done?”
The horror in Aren’s voice made her teeth clench. “I didn’t intend for this to happen.”
He had a machete in his hand, but his arm shook as he leveled it at her. “Who are you? What are you?”
“You know who I am.”
His breathing was ragged. Eyes never leaving her, he reached to retrieve the piece of paper that was Ithicana’s damnation, rereading the lines, his thoughts scorched across his face. They couldn’t fight this.
There was a commotion outside. The sounds of men shouting.
“I’m not leaving you behind to damn me further,” Aren hissed.
Lara didn’t fight as he bound her wrists with the tie for one of the drapes. Or when he pulled a pillowcase over her head and dragged her out of the room, even as soldiers spilled into the house. Ithicanian voices, at first. Then Maridrinian. Then chaos.
Screams cut the air, blades against blades, and she was jerked this way and that. Horns still sounded, filling the air with the call for aid that would never come. Night air filled her nose, and she was falling, knees banging painfully against the steps. Arms pulling her upright, then they were running.
Branches whipping her face, roots tripping her feet, the ground slick with mud.
Hissed voices. “This way, this way.”
The shouts of pursuit.
“Down, down. Did you gag her?”
Her face was pressed against the ground, wet earth seeping through the pillowcase. A rock dug into her ribs. Another pressed sharply against her knee. All of it felt distant, as though it were happening to her in a dream. Or to someone else.
They carried on through the night, the heavy rain helping them avoid what seemed like countless Maridrinian soldiers hunting them across Midwatch, though logically she knew it couldn’t be so many. By now her father’s elite would’ve discovered Marylyn’s body—and the absence of hers and Aren’s—and there was no doubt that finding them would be nearly the same priority as taking the bridge itself.
Only as dawn came, filtered grey through clouds and the sodden fabric covering her face, did they take cover. There were familiar voices in the group. Jor and Lia. Others from the honor guard. Her ears strained for Aren’s, but not once did she pick it out amongst the whispers.
Still, she was certain he was there. Sensed his presence. Felt the guilt and anger and defeat radiating from him in waves as he came to terms with the fall of his kingdom. Knew, instinctively, when he sent everyone away so that he was alone with her.
Lara waited for a long time for him to speak, braced herself for the blame and accusations. Aren remained silent.
When she could take it no more, Lara pushed upright, lifting her bound wrists to tug the pillowcase from her head, blinking in the dim light.
Aren sat on a rock a few paces away, elbows braced on his knees, head hanging low. He was still shirtless, and the rain ran in torrents down his muscled back, washing away smears of blood and mud. A bow and quiver rested under the shelter of an overhang. A machete was belted at his waist. In his hand he held her knife—the one she’d thrown at the snake—and he was turning it over and over as though it were some artifact he’d never seen before.
“Did anyone get out?” Her voice rasped like sandpaper over rough wood. “To warn Southwatch?”
“No.” His hands stilled, the blade’s keen edge glittering with rain. “Taryn tried. The Maridrinians used our own shipbreakers with shocking proficiency. She’s dead.”
Sharp pain dug into Lara’s stomach, her mouth tasting sour. Taryn was dead. The woman who hadn’t even wanted to be a soldier was dead, and it was because of her. “I’m so sorry.”
He lifted his head, and Lara recoiled from the fury in his eyes. “Why? You got everything you wanted.”
“I didn’t want this.” Except she had, at one point. Had wanted to shatter Ithicana. That desire had gotten them to this point, no matter how much she regretted it.
“Enough of your lies.” He was on his feet in one smooth motion, stalking toward her, knife in hand. “I may not have a full report yet, but I know the bridge has fallen to your father using a plan to infiltrate our defenses that was better than I could’ve come up with myself. Your plan.” As he raised his voice, she couldn’t help but flinch, knowing they were still being hunted.
“I thought I’d destroyed all the evidence. I don’t know how it got away from me—”
“Shut up!” He lifted the blade. “My people are dead and dying because of you.” The knife slipped from his fingers. “Because of me.”
Wrenching the damning piece of paper out of his pocket, he held it up to her face. Not the side she’d written on, but the one he’d written, the script flowing and neat. Words persuading her father to reconsider his war with Valcotta and to put his people before his pride. Her chest hollowed as she read the end.
Let it be said, however, that should you seek to retaliate against your spy, Ithicana will take it as an act of aggression against its queen, and the alliance between our kingdoms will be irrevocably severed.
Aren dropped to his knees in front of her, gripping the sides of her face, his fingers tangling in her hair. Tears glinted in his eyes. “I loved you. I trusted you. With myself. With my kingdom.”
Loved. Past tense. Because she’d never deserved his love, and now she’d lost it for good.
“And you were only using me. Only pretending. It was all an act. A ploy.”
“No!” She wrenched the word from her lips. “At first, yes. But after . . . Aren, I love you. Please believe that, if nothing else.”
“I used to wonder why you never said it. Now I know.” His grip on her face tightened, then he jerked his hands away. “You say it now only because you’re trying to save your own skin.”
“That’s not true!”
Explanations fought each other to make it out of her mouth first. Ways to make him understand. Ways to make him believe her. They all died on her lips as he fished the knife out of the mud.
“I should kill you.”
Her heart fluttered in her chest like a caged bird.
“But despite everything, everything, you’ve done, I don’t have the balls to stick this blade in your black Maridrinian heart.”
The knife sliced between her wrists, cutting the cord in one clean jerk. He pressed the hilt into the palm of her hand.
“Go. Run. I’ve no doubt that you’ll make it off this island.” His jaw tightened. “It’s in your nature to survive.”
Lara stared at him, her lungs paralyzed. He wasn’t letting her go, he was . . . banishing her. “Please don’t do this. I can fight. I can help you. I can—”
Aren shoved her shoulders with enough force to send her stumbling back. “Go!” Then he reached down and retrieved his bow, nocking one of the black-fletched arrows.
Holding her ground, she parted her lips, desperate not to lose the chance to undo the damage that she’d done. The chance to fight back against her father. To liberate Ithicana.
To win Aren back.
“Go!” He shouted the word at her, leveling the arrow at her forehead even as tears poured down his cheeks. “I never want to see your face. I never want to hear your name. If there were a way to scour you from my life, I’d do it. But until I find the strength to put you in a goddamned grave, this is all I have. Now run!
”
His fingers quivered on the bowstring. He would do it. And it would kill him.
Lara twisted in the mud, sprinting up the slope, her arms pumping. Her boots slipped and slid as she jumped over fallen trees and slapped aside ferns.
And stopped. Bracing a hand against a tree, she turned. In time to see his arrow shoot past her face, thudding into the tree next to her.
She pressed a shaking hand against the line scraped against her cheek, a trickle of blood running between her fingers. Eyes fixed on her, Aren pulled another arrow from his quiver, nocked it, and aimed the barbed tip. His lips moved. Run.
She ran, never looking back again.
41
Lara
“Another.”
The barkeep raised one eyebrow over the mug he was polishing with a dirty rag, but made no comment as he refilled her glass with the swill this tap house passed off as wine. Not that it mattered; it wasn’t as though she intended to savor it.
Downing the contents in three gulps, Lara pushed the glass back across the bar. “Fill it.”
“Pretty girl like you could get herself in a bit of trouble drinking the way you do, miss.”
“Pretty girl like me will cut the throat of anyone who gives her trouble.” She gave him a smile that was all teeth. “So how about you don’t tempt fate and you just hand over the bottle.” She shoved a few coins stamped with the Harendell King’s face in the man’s direction. “Here. Saves us having to exchange any more words tonight.”
Wiser than he looked, the barkeep only shrugged, took the coins, and handed her a full bottle of swill. But even drunk, she marked his words. Her face was familiar here. It was time to find a new watering hole to drown herself in every night.
Which was a shame. It smelled like spilled beer and vomit, but she’d grown fond of this place.
Drinking directly from the bottle, she blearily scanned the room, tables full of Harendell sailors dressed in baggy trousers and those stupid floppy hats that never ceased to remind her of Aren. A trio of musicians played in the corner. No-nonsense serving women carried trays of steaming roast beef and rich soups to the patrons, the smell making her mouth water. A nod at one of the women had a bowl of soup arriving in front of her moments later.
The Bridge Kingdom Page 34
