The Bridge Kingdom (The Bridge Kingdom, #1)(58)

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.

The worst of the injured went to the dozen healers stationed at Midwatch, but those needing only stitches or bandages were left in Lara’s boat for her to tend to. More often than not, one of her patients was Aren, which was the only time Taryn left her side.

“I’m starting to wonder,” she said as she applied a leech to the swelling on his cheek, smirking when he recoiled from the creature, “if you are purposefully trying to get yourself injured or if you are just that inept.”

He cringed as she lifted another leech out of the jar. “Is there a third option?”

“Sit still.” She applied the leech the way the healers had shown her, marveling at the way the swelling almost instantly reduced on his cheekbone, the engorged creatures dropping into her hands when they’d finished. Along with supplies, the healers had also insisted that she be given a better boat, returning her little canoe to its dry dock. She’d been sneaking out at nights to slowly move the vessel to the hiding place she’d selected near one of the cliffs, along with a number of stolen supplies, ready to facilitate her escape when the time was right.