The Bridge Kingdom (The Bridge Kingdom, #1)(86)

“We could send you another . . . perhaps one with a kinder, gentler disposition.” Serin’s eyes flicked to Marisol. “I see you have a fondness for blondes. I can think of just the princess for you. She was my first choice, but fate conspired against me. Against both of us, it would appear.”

Aren’s curiosity over why Lara had been chosen flared once again before being pushed aside by concern for his friend. Marisol had been linked to him; that meant she was in danger. “Tempting. Unfortunately, such practices are frowned upon by my people. I’ll have to content myself with what you sent me.”

“Speaking of Lara, how is she? It’s been some time since we received word from her, and her father has grown . . . concerned.”

Aren’s mind raced. If the steel hadn’t been unloaded and processed until this morning, it was possible they’d only been under the Magpie’s scrutiny for a matter of hours, all of which Lara had spent passed out in a bed upstairs. Alternatively, this could be a ruse to distract Aren while the Maridrinians secured their princess. “She’s well enough.”

“Her father would like some proof of that.”

“When I return home, I’ll suggest she put pen to paper. But I must warn you, Lara isn’t the most . . . obedient of wives. She’s more likely to tell me to shove both pen and paper up my ass.”

Serin’s brow crinkled. “Perhaps remind her of her father’s enduring concern for her welfare.”

Aren rested his elbows on the table. “Cut the shit, Magpie. We both know your master cares nothing for his daughter. He got what he wanted, which was free trade on steel and weapons. So what else is it you’re after?”

Waving his hand as though to dispel the tension, Serin gave him an apologetic smile. “Appearances must be maintained, you understand. Frankly, you can slit the little bitch’s throat and my master would care not; what he does care about is your commitment to the alliance between our kingdoms.”

“He has his steel, as per our agreement. What more does he feel he deserves?”

A sage nod. “It’s true you’ve held to the letter of the agreement, as have we. What I’m referring to is more . . . the spirit of the agreement. The treaty was for an alliance of peace between Ithicana and Maridrina, and yet you continue to host and trade with our greatest enemy in your market at Southwatch, allowing them to purchase the goods Maridrina so desperately needs. My master asks that you reconsider this practice.”

“You want me to cut ties with Valcotta?” Cut ties with the kingdom that provided close to a third of the bridge’s revenues every year? Valcotta was no ally, but neither were they Ithicana’s sworn enemy the way Maridrina had been in the past. Yet if Aren did what Serin was asking . . . “I’ve no interest in going to war against Valcotta.”

“Nor is my master asking you to.” Serin slid an embossed silver cylinder across the table, the lacquered seal Maridrinian blue. “He merely requests that you cease supplying them in their war against us.”

“They’ll retaliate, and war will be on my doorstep whether I asked for it or not.”

“Perhaps.” Serin took a mouthful of his coffee. “But if Valcotta attacks your lands, rest assured that Maridrina will retaliate against them tenfold. We do not take kindly to those who interfere with our friends and allies.”

Words of support, but Aren heard the threat beneath them. Do as my master says, or face the consequences.

“Think on it, Your Grace.” Serin rose to his feet. “My master looks forward to your written response detailing your commitment to our friendship.” The thin smile returned. “Safe travels back to your homeland, and please, do give Lara my regards.”

Without another word, the Spymaster of Maridrina left the common room, the door slamming shut in his wake. Picking up the message tube, Aren quickly scanned the contents before shoving it into the bag by his feet, then met Jor’s eyes from across the room.

Time to go.





30





Lara





Lara woke just before dawn, a blanket covering her from toe to chin, a glass of water sitting on the bedside table, and her head throbbing with the worst headache of her life.

Moaning, she rolled over to bury her face in the pillow. The events of the prior night were hazy, but she remembered them well enough for her cheeks to burn as she recalled Aren catching her before she could fall smack on her face. The way she’d curled into his arms as he’d carried her up the stairs. The things she’d said. The things he’d said.

Sitting upright, Lara eyed her boy’s clothes, which she’d slept in, the boots sitting on the floor next to her bed the only garment that Aren had removed from her after she’d passed out.

Her knives.

Looking around frantically, Lara threw the pillows onto the floor, her heart settling and a faint smile rising to her lips as she saw the blades resting there. Apparently Aren had noticed more of her habits than she’d realized.

Picking up the water, she opened the shuttered windows and looked outside: clear skies and only a light breeze ruffling the laundry hanging from the line across the street. They could go home today.

Home. Shaking her head sharply at the slip, Lara drained the glass in several long gulps, and pulled on her boots. The room was decidedly devoid of dirt, so she used a bit of soot from the lamp to complete her disguise before shoving her few belongings into her bag and stepping out into the hallway.