“Attack!” Aren shouted from behind her, but Lara barely heard, losing herself to this one piece of the battle.
Raising her sword, she stabbed the man who’d slapped Taryn, then rotated to attack the other soldiers surrounding the shipbreaker.
She was outnumbered ten to one, but Lara had never let bad odds stop her before.
Two of them charged, and she ducked beneath one blade, then parried another, keeping between the men and Taryn, who was using the sword to free her bound wrists.
Then Aren was there.
He sliced open the guts of a soldier before twisting to punch another in the face. It was all she had the chance to see before the Maridrinians attacked.
She relied on speed rather than strength, anticipating strikes and moving out of the way only to dance back in for the kill. But she was handicapped by the need to protect Taryn, to keep them away until she was free and could fight.
One of the men punched Lara, and she stumbled, barely evading a strike to her knees. Rolling, she came up to her feet, her eyes latching onto one of the injured soldiers as he lifted his knife.
Holding his guts in with one hand, he stumbled toward Taryn, rage in his eyes.
“No!” Lara threw herself into the man’s path.
Pain burned down the side of her leg, but she ignored it, raising her weapon to block any downward strike.
Only to see Taryn stab the soldier in the face.
The other woman pulled the weapon loose, watching dispassionately as the man fell. Then she met Lara’s gaze, arm wavering as she lifted her sword. Ready to strike.
Lara didn’t move.
But Taryn only said, “Killing you won’t change anything,” and without another word, she ran into the fray.
49
Aren
Gamire was liberated.
It was one island out of dozens, but the victory felt as sweet as any he’d ever had. The Ithicanian prisoners who had been kept on the island were, if not well, at least alive, and Aren had allowed them the satisfaction of executing their captors.
“We thought you were dead,” he said to Taryn, filling her cup with wine, noticing how the hand that held it trembled. “Lia saw the stone hit your boat. You went under. Didn’t come up. If we’d known you were alive—”
“I managed to swim to the cove.” Her words were toneless. “They decided I had more worth as a prisoner than as a corpse.”
And Maridrinians were notoriously hard on their prisoners. Aren knew that firsthand. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Why is she here, Aren? Why isn’t she dead?”
“A lot has happened that you don’t know about. Things have changed.” He exhaled in frustration. “Lara saved your life, Taryn. Despite everything she’s done, can you at least be grateful for that?”
It was the wrong thing to say. A stupid thing to say. Aren knew it the moment the words exited his mouth, though Taryn confirmed it by tossing her wine in his face.
“She ruined my life!” she screamed. “It would’ve been better if she’d stabbed me in the heart!”
The soldiers nearby had paused in their celebrations, all of them watching the exchange.
“When the war is won, she’ll leave. She’s only here to fight.”
Taryn’s hands balled into fists, and she gave a shake of her head. “Be sure that she does.” Then she stormed away through the village. Lia handed off her drink to chase after her.
“Lia will talk to her.” Jor came up next to him. “She’ll explain what’s happened.”
Except everyone around him knew that explanation, and it had changed nothing. Draining his cup, Aren turned, searching the soldiers for a sign of Lara. He’d seen her earlier helping to clear the island, but now, she was nowhere in sight. And God knew there were plenty of men and women on this island with cause to try to kill her.
He started through the village, his mind occupied only with finding the familiar gleam of blond hair. Those blue eyes. The face he saw in his dreams.
But all he saw were Ithicanians.
Unease bit in his stomach, and he turned toward Jor. “Where is Lara?”
50
Lara
It hurt.
God, it was deep, and it hurt, and even with the bandage she’d wrapped tight, blood was running hot down her leg. It took all of her willpower not to limp as they searched the village for any Maridrinians who might have survived the attack. Aren issued orders, entirely in his element.
It was working. His plan was working, and assuming Valcotta and Harendell played their parts, tomorrow Northwatch and Southwatch would fall, and Ithicana would once again hold the bridge. Aren would once again be Ithicana’s king.
But Lara would be in no position to fight if she couldn’t get her bleeding to stop. Already, she could barely walk.
Clenching her teeth, Lara eyed Aren and the rest, most of whom were gathered around the large fire in the center of the town, the intent to make it appear as though the Maridrinians were still in control of the island. Fish smoked on the grill, and several flasks were being passed from hand to hand, while one of the healers tended to the injured.
Instead of joining them, Lara limped up the pathway toward Nana’s home, sword held loosely in one hand, though she was too spent to use it. Reaching the building, she cautiously opened the door, holding the lantern to illuminate the interior.
The Maridrinian soldiers had been inside, probably searching for anything valuable, judging from the mess. The snake cages were gone, though whether Nana had released the creatures or brought them with her to Eranahl, Lara couldn’t say.
Going to the toppled shelves, she searched through the mess of jars and broken glass until she found what she needed, then set her lantern on the table and began to unravel the blood-soaked bandage from her thigh.
A fresh flood poured down her leg, and Lara grimaced as she eased off her torn trousers to reveal the injury. A clean slice just below her hip, but nearly down to the bone.
“Shit.” She fought the flash of nausea that passed over her, a mixture of fear and pain and blood loss threatening to crack her composure.
Mixing the herbs into a bowl with some rainwater, she cleaned the injury, breath coming in short little gasps from the sting of the solution. But she knew the worst was yet to come.
Her hands shook, and it took several attempts to thread the needle. Trembling, she eased on top of the table, angling the bleeding injury into the light.
“You can do this.” She hated how breathy her voice was, the world around her pulsing in and out of focus. “Just get it done.”
Clenching her teeth, Lara pushed the wound together, the injured muscle slippery beneath her fingers. Then she jabbed the needle through.
A sob tore from her lips, and she twisted to press her forehead against the table, fighting the dizziness before pulling the thread and knotting it. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the needle against her flesh again, but her hands were shaking so hard she lost her grip on the muscle.
Tears poured down her cheeks as she struggled to get it back into place, to get a grip on the needle with her blood-soaked fingers.
Then familiar hands closed on her wrists. Lifting her face, she met Aren’s gaze, the lantern light flickering in his hazel eyes.