He felt nothing. For anything. Not even this place.
Abandoning the courtyard, Aren went back inside, taking up an unlit lamp sitting on his desk and splashing the oil across the carpets. Across the bed. He went from room to room doing the same until he came across a glowing lamp. Picking it up, he held the flame to a splatter of oil, watching as it ignited. Fire crossed the room that had been Ahnna’s, burning up carpets and linens and curtains. Smoke filled the air.
He retreated through the house, setting rooms aflame as he went, and only when he began to cough and choke on the smoke did he step outside. To find Jor standing in the clearing, waiting.
“It’s done.” The old soldier watched the house, the interior now an inferno, flames licking out of the broken windows of the dining room. “The Maridrinians are defeated.”
“I heard.”
“Wasn’t much of a fight.” Jor’s voice was low.
“Tell that to the dead.”
The other man exhaled a long breath, then shook his head. “You know what I mean. For months we fought tooth and nail trying to evict the bastards, and they pushed us back at every turn. Only to concede in a matter of days?”
“We didn’t have Harendell and Valcotta as allies before.”
Jor grimaced. “Even so. Doesn’t feel right, which I expect is why you’re here burning your house down rather than celebrating at the barracks.”
Nothing felt right. Aren stared at the flames, wondering if Lara had finally awoken. If she was all right. How she had reacted when she realized that he’d left her.
Feel something! What is wrong with you?
Distantly, Aren heard the sound of horns, but he couldn’t pick out the message over the roar of the flames.
“She’ll be all right,” Jor said. “We left her everything she needed. Likely, she’s already on her way back to her sisters. They’ll take care of her.”
“I know.”
“You made the right choice.”
“I know.”
“There will be other women. You’ll find one you like—a good Ithicanian girl. Give the kingdom an heir to make everyone happy.”
There’d never be another. Not like her.
But maybe that was for the best. Maybe it was better not to care so much because then his loyalties wouldn’t be divided. He could focus on rebuilding Ithicana. On making his people strong again.
“Your Grace!” Aren turned, seeing one of his soldiers sprinting up the path toward them. He skidded to a halt, gasping for breath.
“What is it?” Jor shouted over the roar of the blaze. “Another attack?”
“Did you not hear the horns?”
“Obviously not. What did they say?”
The soldier wiped away the sweat dribbling down his face. “There was no battle at Southwatch.”
Aren’s stomach plummeted. “The signal was a false? Maridrina still holds the island?”
“No, Your Grace. When the Valcottans attacked, they found the island abandoned. And we’re getting messages that our teams are finding most of the garrisons barely manned. No sign of the Maridrinian or Amaridian fleets anywhere.”
Aren’s skin prickled with unease. “What of Northwatch?”
“We’ve sent the query, but no response as yet.”
As soon as the man said the words, Aren heard the blasts of horns in the distance, the message rippling through the signalmen and women strategically placed down the length of Ithicana.
Aren’s eyes met Jor’s. “They knew what we were planning.”
“How? Even if they’d caught sight of the Valcottan fleet moving toward Southwatch, it wouldn’t have been enough time for them to evacuate.”
“Keris.” Swearing, Aren kicked at the dirt. “He was on the beach when Zarrah and her crew came to shore to save our asses. He would have learned that the Empress had declined to help us, which meant that Zarrah was working on her own.”
“But why tell Silas? Wouldn’t it be better for Keris if his father lost the bridge?”
“To protect Zarrah. No battle. No losses. No treason. The Empress won’t be happy with her, but she’s unlikely to execute her. She might even keep her as heir, which is what Keris needs.”
But something about the situation felt wrong. They’d retaken Southwatch without a fight, but it didn’t feel like a victory. “It’s not like Silas to retreat.”
“Maybe Keris made him see reason.”
“Unlikely.” Aren knew the King of Maridrina. Knew the other man would never concede. And in that heartbeat, Aren knew exactly what Silas intended.
The bridge was not Ithicana. Its people were.
His stomach dropped.
Aren broke into a sprint up the hill, neither noticing nor caring if the others followed. All that mattered was getting to high ground.
The sun was little more than a glow in the west, casting long shadows as Aren skidded on the muddy path, his heart hammering in his chest.
Faster.
He hit the open ground at the top of the low mountain, racing toward the lookout tower. The steps were neglected, covered in debris, but he took them two at a time, hitting the top at the moment the sun set, casting Ithicana into darkness.
Aren snatched hold of the spyglass, but then his hand dropped to his side because he didn’t need it.
In the distance, glowing in brilliant oranges and reds, was an enormous signal fire. A sight he’d never seen in all his life and had prayed he never would.
Jor shouted from across the clearing. “What is it?”
“Eranahl.” The word came out strangled. “They’re calling for aid.”
54
Lara
She limped along the top of the bridge, heading south toward Maridrina.
Logically, Lara knew she should’ve stayed at Gamire Island until her injury had started to heal, or at least until she no longer felt the effects of all the blood she’d lost. There was food and shelter, along with all the medical supplies she might need.
But the thought of remaining in Ithicana without Aren was more than she could bear, so instead she’d packed what she needed and climbed the pier, not at all interested in being confined inside the bridge. Not when every breath was already a struggle.
She heard the horns relaying the message that Northwatch had been secured by the Harendellian navy, along with a series of others that she hadn’t been able to make sense of.
And what did it matter, anyway? Ithicana was free, liberated from Maridrina and her father. It was what she’d wanted, what she’d been fighting for. What she’d believed would finally lift the burden of guilt that she’d been carrying for so long and allow her to carry on with life.
Except she felt the same. Felt worse, because at least before she’d had a goal. Something she’d been working toward.
Now she had nothing left but her need for revenge against her father. But thinking about that only left her cold.
So she walked, her direction determined by the path of the bridge and nothing else. The sun slowly set in the west, but she didn’t stop. Didn’t consider where she might spend the night. Didn’t eat from her supplies or drink from the waterskin strapped to her waist.
Step.