Taryn had taken her to another building not far from the barracks, which was filled with a variety of vessels that weren’t currently in use. She’d selected a small canoe that wouldn’t fit more than the two of them, so old it barely appeared seaworthy. No one would miss this particular vessel. As they carried it down to the beach, Lara silently considered how she might secret it away for her eventual escape.
She rested her forearms on the edge of the canoe and watched the chain guarding the mouth to the cove rise so that vessels could ferry goods from the pier to the shore. Crates of food, supplies, and weapons, all hailing from Harendell. There were cages of clucking chickens, three live pigs, and a dozen sides of beef, the Ithicanians’ movements concealed by heavy mist.
The signal horns never seemed to cease their blowing. Ripples of sound that conveyed countless different messages, judging from the various reactions they incited, and not something that could be mimicked by an untrained Maridrinian soldier. Lara suspected her father would need to enlist musicians should he wish to turn the form of communication to his advantage. Taking a sip from a canteen of water, Lara rubbed her throbbing temple as she listened to the notes, attempting to memorize patterns and responses, though it would take days, probably weeks of listening and watching for her to make any sense of them.
The canoe had swung around so she was facing away from the cliffs guarding the cove from the sea, but the rattle of the chain caught her attention and she turned to watch a series of vessels enter, her eyes immediately finding Aren in one of them.
And his finding her.
She watched him exchange words with Jor, then the vessel altered its course from the beach to Lara’s little canoe. Standing, he held onto the mast as the two boats came alongside. “I suppose there’s an interesting explanation for this?”
Taryn rose, the canoe rocking, and Lara’s stomach rocked along with it. “Her Grace is of the opinion that exposure will cure her seasickness.”
“How’s that working out?”
Taryn gestured at the school of tiny fishes circling the boat, and Lara felt her cheeks warm as they both laughed at her expense. Then Aren said, “Go get some rest, Taryn. I’ll take over for a bit.”
Lara’s heart skipped as Aren settled on the seat facing Lara. He waited until the other boat was nearly to the beach before asking, “Why exactly have you volunteered yourself for this particular misery?”
Lara stared at the bottom of the canoe, which was taking on a bit of water through a tiny crack that she’d need patch. “Because. If I don’t learn to master the sea, I’ll never be able to go anywhere with you.”
“Master?” He leaned forward, and her eyes, of their own accord, fixed on his lips, heat rising to her cheeks as she remembered the feel of them against her own.
“Perhaps tolerate is a better word,” she murmured, noticing a nasty scrape on the inside of his forearm. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing. I had an altercation with a rock, and the rock came out better in the exchange.”
Part of her was afraid to move closer to him, already aware that in his presence, she’d stopped seeing and hearing what was going on around them. But, she told herself, he was also the key to seeing more of Ithicana, and that was a necessary part of her plan. “Let me have a look.”
He shifted nearer, unbuckling the greave that protected the backside of his arm. “See? Nothing of consequence.”
“It should still be bandaged.”
It didn’t need to be bandaged. Both of them knew it. But that didn’t stop her from taking hold of his wrist. Or him from supplying her with salve and a roll of fabric. The boat rocked on a series of larger waves, and his knee bumped against the side of her thigh, sending a surge of heat the rest of the way up her leg, filling her with a sensation that was decidedly distracting.
Forcing her attention on the injury, Lara picked out a few bits of rock, smeared the raw spots with salve, then carefully wrapped the bandage, but it was impossible not to notice how his breath moved the errant wisps of hair on her forehead. The way the muscles in his forearm flexed when he moved. The way his other hand brushed her hip as he gripped the side of the canoe.
“You’re knowledgeable in the healing arts.”
“Any idiot can wind a bandage around an arm.”
“I meant more what you did on Serrith.”
Lara shrugged, tying off the bandage. “All Maridrinian women are expected to be able to put their husbands back together. I received the appropriate training.”
“Practicing stitches on a cloth isn’t the same as running a needle and thread through a person’s bleeding skin. I nearly fainted the first time I had to do it.”
A smile rose on her face, and she unfastened the bandage knot, unsatisfied with it. “Women haven’t the luxury of such squeamishness, Your Grace.”
“You’re avoiding the question, Your Grace.” His voice was light, teasing, but beneath she sensed a seriousness, as though he were searching for a lie.
“My sisters and I practiced on the servants and guards whenever there was an injury. On the horses and camels, too.” That was the truth. What she didn’t tell him was that her true training came from trying to save the lives of the Valcottan warriors she and her sisters fought on the training yard. It had been a twisted way to learn. In one heartbeat, trying to take a man’s life. In the next, trying to save it. Only to take it again.
“It’s a useful skill to have around here. That is, if you’re willing.”
Buckling the greave over the bandage, the back of her hand brushed his palm, and he closed his fingers around hers. Her train of thought vanished. “I’ll help as much as I’m able to. They’re my people now.”
His expression softened. “That they are.”
Both of them jumped as something rapped sharply against the hull of the canoe, and Lara looked up to see Jor standing in the boat next to them, paddle in hand. “You ready?”
“For what?”
The older man gave him an incredulous look. “The horns, Aren. Amarid is moving south.”
Lara hadn’t heard any horns blow. Hadn’t seen the other canoe approach. Hadn’t noticed a goddamned thing while bandaging that arm. And neither, it appeared, had Aren.
He clambered out of her canoe and into the other vessel, setting them both to rocking, and then they were on the move toward the entrance to the cove. Lara stared after them, finally shouting, “How am I supposed to get back to shore?”
“You have an paddle,” he shouted back, a wild grin on his face as the wind caught at his hair. “Use it!”
From that moment, a pattern formed of Lara and Taryn coming down after breakfast to float on the water, rain or shine. At first, it was misery. The incessant bobbing up and down made Lara’s head spin and her stomach heave, but gradually the sickness began to ease, as did the surge of fear she felt stepping off dry land and into the boat.
The raids were endless, the music of the horns so constant, it seemed an endless song of war. Aren and his soldiers were continuously on the move, chasing off raiders, reinforcing defenses, and ensuring the countless watch stations and outposts were kept supplied. More often than not, their excursions turned into skirmishes, the boats returning full of wounded men and women, the faces of their comrades drawn and exhausted.