Docking the ship at the Southwatch wharf was no mean feat, and Lara’s whole body ached with tension as Aren eased the battered ship against the stone, Ithicanian crews on land using rigging attached to the wharf to tie the rocking ship down. She, Aren, and the rest of the crew disembarked swiftly, meeting an older Ithicanian man at the guardhouse mounted where the wharf met the island.
“We did not realize you were in Vencia, Your Grace.” The man bowed with more formality than anyone at Midwatch ever used. His gaze skipped past his king to land on Lara, his eyes widening as he inclined his head to her.
“Unplanned trip. Where’s the commander?”
Aren’s voice was crisp and unwavering, but his left hand clenched and then opened in a repetitive motion that betrayed him. He was not looking forward to justifying himself to his sister, that much was certain.
“Off island, Your Grace. She left this morning to deal with a conflict on Carin Island, and I expect she’ll need to ride out this storm there.”
Aren’s hand relaxed. “Tell her I’m sorry to have missed her, but we cannot linger. Have the ship stripped, then sink it.”
“As you say, Your Grace.” Bowing once again, the man continued down the toward the ship, shouting orders as he went.
Lara cast a backward glance at the battered vessel. “Why sink it? Can’t you just . . . repaint it?”
“No time to return it to safe harbor before this storm hits. The sea will tear it apart and sink it anyway if we leave it here, which could cause problems with other ships trying to make port. Ahnna will cut my balls off if she has to deal with cleaning up that sort of mess.”
“I get the impression that she’ll be reaching for her knife anyway when she discovers where you’ve been.”
He laughed, his hand falling against her lower back to guide her up the path. “A little luck on our side that we missed her, then.”
“Will she let it go?”
“Not a chance, but hopefully she won’t feel inclined to follow us all the way to Midwatch to voice her opinion on the matter.”
“Your bravery is inspiring.”
“We all have our fears. Now let’s get inside before the rain hits.”
They didn’t linger in the Southwatch market, which would’ve been a disappointment to Lara if she’d hadn’t burned with urgency to return to Midwatch. The market was a series of large stone warehouses, plus one smaller building that Taryn told her was where all the trade was conducted. She longed to see what was inside those buildings, what sort of goods had come from Harendell, Amarid, and beyond, and what would depart from her own homeland. Just as she now found herself longing to talk to the Ithicanians who lived and worked here on Southwatch. To know them in a way she, out of necessity, hadn’t allowed herself to before.
Because now they felt as much her people as the Maridrinians she’d left behind. On the heels of that realization came a deep and unceasing shame that she, who was their queen and whom they believed to be their defender, had nearly put them on the funeral pyre. Men, women, and children. Families and friends. Most who were innocents dedicated to no more than living their lives—those people, as much as Aren, would’ve been the individuals she’d have betrayed if her words had reached Serin and her father.
With that knowledge burning in her heart, she was glad when Aren and his guards led her into the yawning black mouth of the bridge.
The Bridge. How she hated the cursed thing, which was the source of every bit of despair in her life. With every step she took down its stinking length, she wished it didn’t exist. Wished she’d been sent to Ithicana with no agenda beyond being a wife. Wished she was not her wicked, lying, and traitorous self. But wishes were for fools. Which was perhaps fitting, because her foolish self lost all grasp of logic whenever her sleeve brushed against Aren’s, every time his gaze fell upon her, every time she remembered the feel of his hands on her body and how much she desired them there again.
There was no day or night in the bridge. Only endless musty darkness. The storm caused a moaning sound within the tunnel, sometimes little more than a whisper, and other times a deafening roar that forced the group to stuff cotton into their ears. It was like a living beast, and by the end of their first day of walking, Lara was half convinced she’d been consumed.
She could not stay in Ithicana, even if she wanted to. And she did want to. More than anything. But her entire relationship with Aren had been built on a lie, and if she told him the truth, what were the chances he’d forgive her? He loved his people too much to allow someone like her to remain his queen. Neither was keeping it a secret an option. Her father would make her pay for her betrayal. There would be no happily-ever-after. Not for her.
Reluctantly, a plan formed in Lara’s mind. Her first order would be to destroy the papers with her planned invasion. Then she’d wait for a clear night, and make a run for her hidden canoe and supplies. All that would be left would be to sail toward revenge. Because she fully intended to make her father pay for what he’d done to Maridrina. What he’d intended to do to Ithicana. And what he’d done to her. Plotting the variables distracted her. Took away the tightness that gripped her chest every time she realized she’d never see Aren again.
From time to time they encountered groups transporting goods. Bored donkeys pulled carts filled with steel, fabrics, and grain southward. Men with handcarts transported crates of Valcottan glassworks northward. And once, after following a stream of spilled ale for several miles, they passed a wagon full of barrels headed north. Jor had jokingly put his head under the leaky barrel until Aren kicked his feet out from under him, then informed the man driving to quit making a mess of his bridge.
Sometimes there were merchants in the caravans, but always they were flanked by Ithicanian guards wearing masks. Before encountering any of them, her own group would don identical masks, and Lara idly wondered what the merchants would think if they knew the rulers of Ithicana had passed them in the darkness.
They made camp in the bridge two nights in a row, eating cold rations they’d picked up at Southwatch with only water to drink. The guards took rotating shifts on watch, everyone sleeping with only their pack for a pillow and their cloaks for blankets. Privacy was nonexistent, and by the third day of walking, Lara was almost frantic to be free of the place.
“Home sweet home,” Jor said, and the rest of the group stopped, silently watching while the captain rested both hands against pressure points on the bridge wall. A soft click filled the air, and a door-sized block of stone swung inward on silent hinges, revealing a small chamber with an opening in the floor.
Jor stepped inside and looked down. “Tide’s still too high. We’ll have to wait a bit.”
“I’m taking Lara topside,” Aren abruptly stated. “The rest of you wait down here.”
No one said anything, Taryn and Jor silently opening the hatch in the ceiling. Aren boosted Lara up, then hauled himself outside. Leaving the hatch open, he walked several dozen paces down the length of the bridge. Lara followed, stopping next to one of the thick steel rings embedded in the rock that the Ithicanians used for their zip lines.
The storm had been short, ending on their second day in the bridge, although another was brewing on the horizon. For now, the sky around Midwatch was clear and sunny, the water below a tranquil blue. The fresh air and open space instantly relieved the oppressive pall the bridge had cast.