The Bridge Kingdom (The Bridge Kingdom, #1)(64)
“No more mistakes, Commander.” Aren took her arm and stepped toward the boat where his own guard waited. “And do us all a favor and keep your cock in your trousers and your eyes on the enemy for the rest of War Tides.”
“My eyes are on the enemy. She’s standing right there.”
Temper frayed past repair, Aren turned and slugged the man in the face, knocking him out cold. Then he turned to the girl-soldier. “You’ve just been promoted to Acting Commander of Kestark until another can be chosen. Do let me know if anyone gives you any trouble.”
Lara helped him and the guard push the boat out into the water, then hopped in, sitting in her usual spot, the most out of the way she could be in the small vessel. Aren sat next to her, but there was no space for conversation, all of them forced to row hard to get past the break line, the wind against them.
The squall was coming in hard from the north, lightning dancing across the blackening sky, and the vessel rose and fell on swells that grew with every passing minute. Lara’s back was to him, but Aren could feel the fear radiating from her, knuckles white where she gripped the edge of boat. She kept her composure until a freak gust caught the sail. Lia and Gorrick flinging their weight onto the outrigging was the only thing keeping them from capsizing. That tore a scream from her throat. Lara had thrown herself unarmed into battle, but this . . . this was what terrified her. And Aren found himself unwilling to subject her to it.
“We need to get off the water!” he shouted at Jor, spitting out a mouthful of seawater as a wave washed over them. Jor signaled to the boat carrying the rest of his guard, then he scanned their surroundings and pointed.
Sail lowered, they rowed hard, heading for one of the countless landing points hidden throughout Ithicana.
The rain fell in a deluge, making it almost impossible to see as they wove between two towers of limestone and into a tiny cove with cliffs on all sides. From the top of one of the cliffs two heavy wooden beams reached out over the water, ropes with hooks dangling from each of them. Lia lunged, catching hold of one of the hooks and clipping it to the ring mounted at the stern of the vessel.
Aren passed his paddle to a white-faced Lara. “If we get too close to the walls, push the boat away.”
She nodded, holding the wooden paddle like a weapon. Behind him, Taryn waited until the boat swung around to the right angle, then jumped, catching hold of a rope hanging from the cliff, climbing swiftly to the top.
“Aren, get over here and help.” Jor and Gorrick had removed the pin holding the mast in place and were struggling to heave it out of its base. Aren stumbled over a seat, then caught hold of the mast and added his strength to the effort. The mast popped out right as a violent swell lifted the boat, sending both mast and Gorrick tumbling into the water.
Aren fell backward on his ass, leaving only Jor standing, the old man shaking his head in disgust. “Why does this never get easier?” He reached down and clipped the other line to the boat, while Aren helped the swimming Gorrick lash the mast to the side.
An exhausting eternity later, they finally lifted the second boat onto shore with the winch, where they tied it down, the lot of them trudging around the bend of rock to where the safe house waited.
The interior of the stone building was mercifully dry and free from gusting wind. After assigning two of the men to first watch, Aren slammed the wooden door shut with more force than was necessary. Without fail, his eyes went immediately to Lara, who stood at the center of the room holding the bag full of supplies.
“Are there many of these places?” She turned in a circle.
There wasn’t much to see. Bunks made of wood and rope lined two of the walls. Crates of supplies were piled against the third wall, and the fourth was mostly taken up by the door. His guards were all pulling off their boots and tunics to dry, then turning their attention to their weapons, which all needed to be sharpened and oiled.
“Yes.” He tugged off his own tunic and tossed it on a bunk. “But as you noticed, they’re a damned pain in the ass to use in the middle of a storm.”
“Will the storm sink the rest of the Amaridian fleet?” she asked, and the guard chuckled, reminding him that everyone was listening.
“No. But they’ll move out into open water rather than risk being driven up onto a shoal or against any rocks. Will give us a bit of respite.”
One of her eyebrows rose. “Not the most comfortable respite.”
“Now, now,” Jor said. “Don’t be so swift to discount the comforts of a safe house. Particularly a Midwatch safe house.” He went over to one of the crates, prying open the lid and looking inside. “His Grace has fine tastes, so he ensures anywhere he might have to spend a night is stocked with only the best.”
“Are you complaining?” Aren sat on the bottom bunk and leaned back against the wall.
Jor extracted a dusty bottle. “Amaridian fortified wine.” He held it closer to the lantern on the singular table and read the label. “No, Your Grace, I am most certainly not complaining.”
Popping the cork, Jor poured a measure into the tin cups Lia set out, handing one to Lara. He held one up. “Cheers to the Amarid vintners who make the finest drink of the known world, and to their fallen countrymen, may they rot in the depths of the Tempest Seas.” Then the old soldier cleared his throat. “And to our own fallen, may the Great Beyond gift them clear skies and smooth seas and endless women with perfect tits.”