The Bridge Kingdom (The Bridge Kingdom, #1)(26)

“No.”

“Then I will.” She whirled around, keen to use a dramatic display of empathy to get a closer look at the small craft on the beach, only to find herself face-to-face with three of Aren’s soldiers. “Let me pass.”

None of them moved, but neither did they reach for their weapons. Lara glanced over her shoulder, taking in the twin stone structures with solid doors and no windows, which guarded the mechanism for lifting the chain. She suspected they were always guarded. Yet her eyes were drawn from her assessment to the handful of sailors who, against all odds, were within reach of the gap leading to the cove. But several of them were floundering, the heavy waves washing over their heads.

“Please.” Lara shouldn’t care whether the Amaridians lived or died, but she found that she did, the shake in her voice genuine as she said, “This is cruelty.”

Aren’s face was dark with anger. “Cruelty is what those men would’ve done to my people if they’d managed to get past our defenses. Ithicana never asked for this. We never invade their lands. Never slaughter their children for sport.” He pointed his finger at the sailors, and bile rose in Lara’s throat as another was jerked beneath the waves, the water frothing red as the shark tore him apart. “They brought war to us.”

“If you let them die, are you any better?” There were only three sailors left, and they were close. Except fins trailed in their wake. “Show some mercy.”

“You want mercy?” Aren twisted on his heel, reaching into his quiver even as he turned. Three blurs of black fletching, and the remaining sailors sank beneath the waves. He rotated back to face her, knuckles white where they gripped his bow.

Lara dropped to her knees, closing her eyes and feigning distress even as she sought her own inner focus. Ithicana was showing its true colors. Not peaceful courtyards and soothing hot springs, but violence and cruelty. And Aren was its master.

But she would be his doom.

“Wait for the winds to die, then pick off those hanging from the rock,” Aren ordered his soldiers. “The last thing we need is one of them finding their way in at low tide.” Then boots thudded past her, and he went down the steps to the hidden beach.

Lara stayed where she was, smiling inwardly as the Ithicanians gave her and her moral outrage wide berth even as she considered Aren’s words: a way in at low tide. A way into where, was the question. Into the cove? Or had he been referring to a far greater prize?

The winds died, the sun retreated behind another bank of clouds, and the rains returned, soaking her to the bone. But she did not move. In stoic silence, she watched the soldiers push the boats out into the water, sail beneath the bridge, and methodically shoot the sailors who’d managed to cling to the ropes through the entire ordeal, their lifeless bodies falling to the ocean below.

She said nothing as they returned, only marked the meandering route they took, which was too purposeful to be without design, the necessity revealed as the tides reversed, the waters trailing away to reveal the deadly traps beneath the surface. Steel spikes and jagged rocks, all intended to destroy any approaching vessel unaware of the correct path.

The tide hit its lowest point, and Lara started to rise, convinced she’d seen all there was to see. Then a shadow at the base of the nearest bridge pier caught her attention. No, not a shadow. An opening.

Her heart sped, and it was a struggle to keep a smile from her face as elation filled her. She’d found a way into the bridge.





11





Aren





“Amarid’s queen must truly be desperate to be crewing her ships with this sort.” Gorrick flipped over the corpse that had been pulled from the ocean, blood seeping into the white sand. It was missing a leg, courtesy of one of Ithicana’s sharks. It was also missing its left thumb, but in that, the sharks were blameless. For the missing digit combined with the brand on the back of his hand indicated that this man had spent some time in one of Amarid’s prisons for theft.

Kneeling down, Aren examined the dead soldier’s threadbare uniform, the elbows worn through on both arms. “All convicts, you say?”

“Those that we could get a look at.”

Standing, Aren frowned at the mist-covered waters of the cove. The Amaridian navy was well acquainted with Midwatch’s shipbreakers, but the vessel had sailed right into their path, making them easy pickings. Perhaps an ancient ship with a crew of convicts was all the Amarid Queen had been willing to risk on the tail end of storm season, but still . . . What was the point?

Aren turned back to Gorrick. “Write a report and have it sent to the Watch Commanders informing them that raids have come early.” Then he strode up the path toward the barracks, having no interest whatsoever in returning to his house.





“Wife chase you out already, Your Grace?” Jor was lounging next to the fire, a book in one hand. “She didn’t seem too pleased with the Ithicanian form of mercy.”

That she had not.

Lara had sat and brooded on the cliff edge until he’d wondered if he needed to get someone to drag her back to the house. Then abruptly she’d risen, trotted down the steps to the beach, and stormed past him without a word, the guards he’d posted on her looking as though they’d rather be swimming with sharks than watching over their new queen. About an hour later, Eli had arrived with a letter written by Lara to her father, and now, Aster’s comments fresh in his ears, Aren was debating whether or not to send it.