“Get in,” he shouted at her, the sail rising. “We need to go.”
But Lara didn’t answer.
Dread filled him, and Aren spun around. “Lara!”
She was still there. Still swimming. But she looked up, meeting his gaze. “Goodbye, Aren,” she said, and let go of the boat, aiming toward shore.
Instinct took over.
Aren lunged, reaching down to catch hold of her belt and haul her out of the water. Her ankles caught on the edge and she fell backward, landing in his arms.
“What are you doing?” She twisted in his arms so that they were face-to-face, their legs tangled together in the bottom of the boat.
What was he doing?
Unsure of the answer, he said, “It’s time we went home.”
45
Aren
There hadn’t been a chance of him leaving her behind.
Aren told himself it was because the beach had been swarming with soldiers, that he’d done it to keep her from being caught and killed. That he hadn’t had a choice. But the real reason was that when the moment had come to let her go, he hadn’t been able to do it.
“She would’ve been fine.” Jor cast a glance over to where Lara slept, the slow rise and fall of her chest visible in the growing light of dawn. “The waves would’ve pushed her right back to shore.”
“Into the arms of waiting soldiers.”
“Better the arms of Maridrinian soldiers than ours. Keris could’ve manufactured an excuse to keep her alive long enough for her to escape. You think you’re going to be able to manage the same?”
There was little response Aren could give to that because he knew that he’d pulled Lara out of the frying pan only to cast her into the fire. The plan was to sail directly to Ithicana to meet up with what remained of the Midwatch garrison. And there was a good chance his soldiers would try to kill Lara on sight.
And Aren wasn’t certain what exactly he could do to stop them.
“We should return to Maridrina’s coast tonight,” Jor said. “We can drop her off and let her make her own way.”
“We don’t have time. The calm season is almost over, and we need to attack before the first storms hit.” Aren dropped a net into their wake, his stomach grumbling with hunger, most of the supplies Zarrah had provided them abandoned on the beach. “And there’s too much chance of being caught by a patrol. We’ll stay in open water.”
“Patrols are out in open water, too. And there isn’t a chance of us outrunning them in this Maridrinian hunk of junk.”
“I said no.”
Jor spit into the water. “You’re going to get her killed. You might get yourself killed as well just for bringing her back into Ithicana.”
Fastening the net to the back of the boat, Aren turned to find Lara awake and watching him. “I’ll figure it out.”
She shook her head, but said nothing, only rolled onto her side, pulling a piece of sail canvas over her shoulders.
Yet for all his words, no ideas came to him as they sailed north, eventually reaching the outskirts of Ithicana. Once there, avoiding detection had required all his attention as they crept through secret—and dangerous—routes between islands, hiding beneath the cover of fog while trying to avoid being wrecked on the endless hazards lurking beneath the waves.
By the time they reached the island where Jor believed the Midwatch garrison was hiding, all three of them were salt-stained and weary, nerves and tempers stretched to the limit.
“Stupid Maridrinian piece of shit.” Jor kicked at the fishing vessel. “I’m going to burn this the second I have a chance.”
Aren didn’t answer, only looked to Lara. “Put your hood up. I’d rather have an opportunity to talk to them before they recognize you.”
The slight flex of her jaw was the only sign of her nerves as she pulled her hood up to conceal her hair and face, a knife appearing in her hands only to disappear again a heartbeat later. He drew his own hood up, not wanting his people to recognize him before he was ready, either.
Taking the paddle that Jor passed him, he added his strength to the effort of driving the boat into the narrow gap in the rock, the clifftops overhead concealed by mist. There were no sounds but the cries of birds and the splash of water against the rocks, but he knew his people were up there. Knew they were watching. And, given they were in a Maridrinian boat, that arrows were probably pointed at their heads.
They made their way deeper, the cliffs high enough now that no sunlight reached the water. But Aren still noticed the large finned shape swimming beneath them, tracking their progress. The shark rose, its head lifting out of the water so that it could look at them, and then it slipped back into the depths.
“Bad omen,” Jor muttered, but Aren ignored him, easing the boat around a bend, the cliffs falling away to reveal a small lagoon with a dozen Ithicanian vessels pulled up on the tiny spit of beach.
Lifting his paddle from the water, Aren allowed them to drift toward shore, picking out movement in the trees a heartbeat before his soldiers appeared, weapons trained on the boat. His stomach clenched at the sight of their ragged appearance, clothes patched where they weren’t torn, hair unkept, and many of the men sporting thick beards beneath the leather masks they wore.
But their weapons gleamed sharp and bright.
“Point those somewhere else.” Jor climbed out of the boat. “You bastards all know who I am.”
Not a single one of them lowered their weapons.
“Get out of the boat,” one of the men said, his familiar voice making Aren cringe. “Slowly.”
They obeyed, getting out and standing in the knee-deep water.
Jor stepped up onto the beach. “Who’s in command? Hopefully someone with more sense than you brainless fools.”
“I am,” the other man responded, pulling off his mask. Though he’d recognized his voice, Aren still cursed the sight of Aster’s face. Not only did the old man begrudge Aren for replacing him with Emra as commander of Kestark garrison, Aster had mistrusted Lara from the beginning and had never let the sentiment go.
“We haven’t heard from you for weeks, then you arrive in a Maridrinian boat,” Aster said. “How are we to know this isn’t a trap?”
“It’s not a trap.” Aren pushed back his hood, and gasps of surprise echoed from his soldiers, more of whom stepped out of the trees with their weapons lowered.
“Your Grace!” Aster’s eyes widened. Then they narrowed again, his focus going past Aren’s shoulder. “That better not be—”
Aren knew Lara had removed her hood because every weapon abruptly lifted. Moving quickly, he stepped between them and his wife. “You want to kill her, you’ll have to kill me first.”
“The bitch is a traitor,” Aster snarled. “She deserves to die a thousand times over. You said so yourself before you were taken. I said so from the moment she stepped onto our shores.”
“I know more now than I did then,” Aren answered, seeing motion out the corner of his eye and knowing he was being surrounded. “She freed me from captivity. I owe her my life.”
“And she’s apparently been working her own brand of magic on you ever since.” Aster made a vulgar gesture. “No other explanation for you bringing her back to Ithicana. The witch has a hold on you.”