The Bridge Kingdom (The Bridge Kingdom, #1)(82)

Jor cursed as he, too, realized which way Lara was going. “We need to stop her.”

Aren sidestepped a drunken pair and moved into the shadows closer to the buildings. “Not yet.”

The farther they climbed, the fewer people filled the street, but Lara hadn’t once looked back. As though it hadn’t even occurred to her that he might have her watched.

“What are you doing, Aren?” Jor hissed.

“I need to see if she’ll betray me if given the chance.”

But what he hoped was that the truth had turned her. That, now awake to her father’s deception, she’d turn her back on whatever purpose she’d been set to. If she was the sort of woman he believed, no, prayed, her to be.

She kept walking toward the gate, the guards flanking it regarding her with bored interest, a lone youth of no concern to them. Aren stopped in the shadows where the guards wouldn’t see him, pulling a single arrow from his quiver. The bow was his own, but the wood felt strange and unfamiliar beneath his sweating fingers.

Jor reached for his weapon. “Let me do this for you.”

Aren stepped sideways, nocking the arrow as he shook his head. “No. I brought her into Ithicana. She’s my responsibility.” Lara wasn’t slowing, and the guards at the gate perked up as she approached.

One of the guards called out to her. “What are you about, boy?” Lara didn’t answer.

Again, Jor tried to take the weapon. “You’re half in love with the girl. You don’t need this on your conscience.”

“Yes, I do.”

She stopped a dozen paces from the heavy iron gates.

“State your purpose or be on your way,” the guard shouted.

Aren slowly drew the bow, aiming the arrow at the center of her slender back. At this range, it would punch straight through her heart. She’d be dead before she could damn him, and Ithicana, more than she already had.

Aren’s heart was wild and frantic in his chest, hot sweat mixing with the rain running down his back. As he blinked, he saw her fall. Saw her blood spill out in a pool around her. Saw those cursedly beautiful eyes of hers lose their spark. Then he blinked again and she was standing motionless in the darkness. She took a hesitant step forward. His arm quivered.

Another step.

The bowstring dug into his fingers as he slowly began to straighten them, knowing that despite having no choice, he’d never forgive himself for killing her.

Her body rocked and his heart skipped. Then lightning flashed and Lara whirled, sprinting away from the gates. Jor jerked Aren deeper into the shadows as she passed, heading back into the city. He took a step to follow before everything he’d eaten for dinner rose in his throat. Bracing a hand against the wall of the building, Aren puked his guts out onto the street.

“Follow her,” he managed to get out. “Make sure she gets back safe.”

Only when Jor had disappeared down the street did Aren rest his head against the slimy wet stone. A half a second. That had been the difference between her running into the night and her lying dead on the street. Half a second.

The stench of vomit filled his nose, but that wasn’t what made his eyes burn. He scrubbed at them furiously, hating the King of Maridrina to the depths of his soul. The alliance between Maridrina and Ithicana made a mockery of the word, for it felt Aren had no greater enemy than Silas Veliant.

“You,” someone shouted. “No loitering. Get on your way!”

Casting one backward glance at the palace where Lara’s father slept, Aren melted into the night.





28





Lara





“Whiskey,” Lara muttered at the barkeep, easing onto a stool back at The Songbird, water dripping from her clothing to pool on the floor beneath her.

The barkeep eyed her with amusement. “Can you pay, boy?”

“No,” she snapped. “I intend to drink it and then run out the back.”

The amusement in his eyes fled, and he leaned over the bar. “Listen, you little—”

“Darling, can you bring up some more wine from the cellar?” Marisol appeared from nowhere. “I’ll handle this.”

Shrugging, the barkeep strode toward an open door behind the bar. Once he was gone, Marisol pulled a bottle from beneath the bar and poured a generous measure into a glass, which she pushed in front of Lara. “I don’t know how they do things in Harendell, but I’m not in the habit of getting children drunk in my establishment.”

Lara gave her a cold stare, drained the glass, then pushed it back in front of the other woman. Then she reached into her pocket and retrieved a gold Harendellian coin and slammed it on the bar. “Make an exception.”

One eyebrow rose. “You are a charmer, aren’t you, Your Majesty.”

“Do you bestow titles on all your patrons?”

“Only on women with eyes of Veliant blue who travel in the company of Ithicanian spies.”

There seemed little point in trying to dissuade her. “Either pour and talk at the same time, or shut up. I’m in no mood.” No mood for anything but to silence the questions that spun wild through her thoughts as she tried to come to terms with a world that seemed turned upside down. And certainly in no mood to make small talk with Aren’s former lover.

Marisol poured, then set the bottle down next to the glass. “I saw you when you passed through Vencia on your way to Ithicana.” She rested her elbows on the polished wood. “The curtain was pulled back in the carriage, and I caught just a glimpse. You looked like you were going to war, not to be married.”