“What I brought back was a plan and the allies to see it through.” Aren forced himself to remain calm despite the terror building in his gut. He’d known that it would be difficult to convince his soldiers to accept Lara’s presence, but with Aster in command, it might be impossible. “Valcotta has agreed to help us retake the bridge and drive out the Maridrinians.”
His soldiers shifted, weapons wavering, and he noted how thin they all were. Little more than skin and bone. It couldn’t be much better for those in Eranahl.
“Ahnna has likewise secured the support of the King of Harendell. In conjunction with their navies, we’ll conduct a coordinated strike against the garrisons. Then we’ll hunker down and let the storms take care of the rest of them.”
“As if that’s so easy.” Aster rocked on his heels, eyes flicking past Aren, then back again. “We spent months trying to retake those garrisons, and all it earned us were dead comrades.”
“That’s because before we were scattered,” Aren said. “This time we’ll be more strategic. This time we won’t lose.”
Aster shook his head, as did several of the others. Unconvinced, yes. But also afraid. This invasion had taken its toll.
“Perhaps you might consider what will happen if you don’t fight. Eranahl is starving. If we don’t retake the bridge, the city will have to be evacuated come storm season, and it won’t be people returning to their homes. It will mean people fleeing to Harendell or Valcotta, or wherever the wind takes them. And without its people, Ithicana is no more.”
“Maybe that’s how it has to go.”
Aren shook his head. “If any of you believed that, you would already be gone. And yet here you stand.” Knowing he was taking a risk, he strode forward so that he stood among them. “We have one chance to take back what’s ours. Hear me out, and then make your choice.”
Picking up a stick, Aren began to trace shapes into the sand, slowly drawing Ithicana by memory. “This is what we’re going to do.”
The plan that had been building in his head poured from his lips, and weapons slowly lowered as he explained to his soldiers how they’d retake the bridge. How they’d retake their homes. How they’d retake their kingdom. By the time he was finished, the sky was beginning to grow dark, and his throat was dry and parched. “Well? What do you say?”
“It’s a good plan,” Aster admitted, scratching at his beard, but then his eyes went back to Lara, who stood silently next to Jor. “How does she factor in?”
Before Aren could answer, Lara spoke.
“You all have cause to hate me,” she said. “I came to you as a spy for Maridrina. I deceived you. Manipulated you. Conspired to betray you.”
The soldiers shifted, expressions grim, but they were listening.
“My father raised me on lies so that I’d hate Ithicana. So that I’d hate you enough to dedicate my life to your destruction. But when I came to understand his deception, I turned my back on my father’s schemes. Except that means little because the damage was already done.” She paused, then added, “I’m not here for forgiveness. I’m here to ask you to allow me to fight because I assure you, I hate my father more than any of you ever could.”
Aster spit on the ground at her feet. “You deserve a traitor’s death.”
“I know. But allow me to avenge the harm done to Ithicana instead.”
Aren kept quiet as his soldiers stepped back, heads together, and debated Lara’s request. Cold sweat trickled down his spine because he knew that they had every right to ask for her death.
Why did you bring her here? he silently demanded of himself. Why didn’t you leave her on that beach?
Aster stepped away from the group. “You still consider her your wife?”
Yes, Aren thought, but he shook his head. “No.”
“Queen?”
“No.”
“She leaves as soon as this is done?”
Aren didn’t hesitate. He couldn’t. Not if he wanted to get Lara out of this alive. “Yes.”
Aster exchanged long looks with several of the other soldiers, and then he nodded and pulled a horn from his belt, tossing it to Aren. “I think you best tell Ithicana you’re home, Your Grace.”
Taking a deep breath, Aren raised the horn to his lips, then he called his kingdom to war.
46
Lara
In true Ithicanian fashion, there were no delays.
And for that, Lara was profoundly grateful. For three days and nights, Aren strategized with Jor and Aster, horns blaring constantly as the plan was conveyed the length of Ithicana, the soldiers scattered across all the tiny islands massing together, careful to conceal their movements with darkness or mist. The Midwatch garrison swelled to close to three hundred, and every time another boat arrived with more soldiers, Lara clenched her teeth, knowing what was to come.
Not threats.
Not attempts on her life.
Not further requests for Aren to execute her.
What they gave her was the truth, and that was a far worse thing. One after another, they’d sit down and tell her what they’d endured because of the Maridrinian invasion.
Because of her.
Aster had been the first. “My girl Raina was part of your brother’s escort through the bridge.” His voice was flat. “Your people slaughtered her, then hung her corpse beneath the bridge to rot with her comrades.”
Lara blanched, but Aster wasn’t through.
“They killed my nephew. But not before they made him watch his wife die. I know it because their son witnessed it from where he was hidden in the jungle. We found the boy and a few of the other children half-starved, living off the scraps they could find in their burned-out village. Living with the corpses of their parents because none of them were big enough to move them.”
Lara threw up, guts heaving even when her stomach had run dry. “I’m sorry.”
He only looked at her with disgust. “My wife and other children are in Eranahl. Haven’t seen them in almost a year. Don’t even know if they’re alive, only that if they are, they’re hungry. Scared. And I can’t get to them.”
“I pray you’ll see them again.”
He only shook his head at her. “Likely not in this life.”
A female soldier had been next. “My three boys are in Eranahl. It has always been a sanctuary. But now . . .” Her voice cracked. “I left them there.”
“It was the right choice. They are safer there than they are here.”
The woman shook her head slowly, eyes full of hate. “They shouldn’t have been in danger at all.”
A boy, sixteen if he's a day, had followed. “They’ve got my sister as a prisoner on Gamire Island.” His hands balled into fists. “Do you know what your people do to prisoners?”
God, but she knew. “We’ll try to get her back.”
“You mean we’ll get what’s left of her back.” He spit in her face. “Traitor.”
She lost count of how many of them spoke to her, but she didn’t forget any of the names, which marched through her thoughts every time she closed her eyes, sleep a near impossibility beneath the burden of her guilt.