The Bridge Kingdom (The Bridge Kingdom, #1)(27)

“I doubt she’s seen much of the way of violence before.” Aren headed toward his bunk before thinking better of it and sitting next to the old soldier. “Read this.”

Taking Lara’s letter, the older man read it, then shrugged. “Looks to me like a proof of life letter.”

Aren was inclined to agree. The letter said little more than that she was well, was being treated kindly, along with a lengthy description of his house, with a great emphasis on the hot spring. Even so, he’d read it over several times looking for code, not sure if he was happy or disappointed when he found none.

“Interesting that she doesn’t mention you. Me thinks you have a cold bed in your future.”

Aren snorted, the blurry remnants of the dream he’d had of Lara in his room, in his bed, in his arms, flashing across his thoughts. “She seems to take issue with being a treaty prize.”

“Maybe she was expecting a better-looking husband. Some people handle disappointment poorly.”

Aren lifted one eyebrow. “That’s probably the only thing that hasn’t been disappointing for her.”

Jor shook his head. “Maybe she dislikes cocky little bastards.”

“I’ve heard there are kingdoms where the people show a little respect for their monarchs.”

“I can respect you and still think your shit stinks just as bad as the next man’s.”

Rolling his eyes, Aren accepted the mug that Lia, one of his honor guards, passed him, smiling until she said, “You’re just pissed that the Rat King of Maridrina sent you a girl with an opinion rather than a brainless twit who’d”—she made a vulgar gesture—“without question.”

“Like you, Lia?” Jor said with a wink, laughing as she tossed the contents of her cup at him. Aren snatched the letter out of the man’s hand before it could suffer any further damage.

“You don’t actually intend to send it, do you?” Jor asked.

“I told her I would. And besides, if Silas is wanting proof she’s alive, it’s best we satisfy him. The last thing we need is to give him an excuse to come looking for her.”

“Lie. We can get a forger to carry on the correspondence.”

“No.” Aren’s eyes drifted across the lines of neat writing. “I’ll either send it or tell her that I chose not to. Is there anything on the surface here that we need to be worried about the Magpie seeing?”

Jor took it back, reading it once more, and not for the first time, Aren cursed having been born those few minutes before Ahnna. Those few damning minutes that made him King and her Commander, when he’d have given anything for their roles to be reversed. He was suited to fighting and for hunting and for sitting around the fire making bad jokes with other soldiers. Not for politics and diplomacy and having his whole goddamned kingdom depending on his choices.

“From the description of your fancy house, they might guess she’s at Midwatch with you. They’ll realize from her details about the jungle that we’re granting her some liberty to move about. Speaking of”—Jor lifted his head—“what was she doing running around the island? She came from the same direction as you, which wasn’t from the house . . .”

Chance would have it that Aren had arrived at the house right before Lara departed on her unsanctioned exploration of the island, and rather than have Lia stop her, he’d decided to see where his wife intended to go. “She was wandering.”

Jor’s eyebrows rose. “For what purpose?”

“Looking for the bridge.”

All eyes in the common room turned to look at them, and Aren scowled. “It was mere curiosity . . .” He didn’t know exactly why he was defending Lara, only that the things she’d said to him had struck a chord. It had been so easy to focus on the sacrifices he was making as part of this marriage that he hadn’t stopped to think of what it had cost her. Of what it would continue to cost her. The exact same things he wanted to protect Ahnna from, and why he’d pay Harendell a fortune rather than force his sister into a marriage she didn’t want. “Nearly got herself bitten by a snake, so I expect she won’t go wandering again anytime soon.”

“I wouldn’t be so confident about that,” Lia said. “When we blocked her from the boats, she looked about ready to punch me in the face. She might not be a warrior, but she’s no coward.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Jor said. “I’ll have a couple extra guards stationed to keep an eye on her when you’re not around.”

Aren nodded slowly. “Send the letter to Southwatch for Ahnna and our codebreakers to look at and get a forger to transcribe it onto fresh paper. Then send it to Maridrina.” His people knew every one of the Magpie’s codes. If she was using one, they’d crack it.

“You think she’s a spy?”

Exhaling a long breath, Aren considered his new wife, who was nothing like how he’d expected. Maridrinian kings used their daughters as bargaining chips, ways to secure alliances and favors within the kingdom and without. Lara and all of her sisters would have been raised knowing an arranged marriage to him—or someone else—was part of their future. They’d have been trained to do their duty as a wife, regardless of the circumstances.

Yet Lara had made it clear that the treaty secured her presence in Ithicana, not her compliance as a wife, and he respected that. Every woman who’d shared his bed had done so because she’d wanted to, and the idea of spending his life with a woman who was there solely out of duty was unappealing. He’d prefer a cold bed. “I’ll give her some space. I think if she’s been sent here to spy, she’s going to come to me in pursuit of information. Maridrinians aren’t known for their patience.”