The Bridge Kingdom (The Bridge Kingdom, #1)(90)

Her heart skittered, her veins flooding with trepidation.

“I know you’re a spy for your father.”

Her stomach hollowed. “I was a spy for my father. I am no longer.”

“I’m going to need more proof than just your word.”

“The proof is that I’m here. With you.”

Silence.

When Lara’s nerve finally frayed, she asked, “Aren’t you going to say something?”

Aren turned to face Midwatch, tension radiating off him. “I suppose one question is obvious: Did you pass any information back to him that I should know about?”

“I’ve given him nothing.” Because she hadn’t. Not one single thing. Not with all those damnable pieces of paper still sitting in his desk, waiting for her to destroy them.

He exhaled a long breath. “I suppose that’s something.”

Something.

The need for him to know the reason behind her actions burned in Lara’s chest. “Serin and my other teachers, they lied to me. All my life, they lied about the nature of Ithicana, about the relationship between your kingdom and mine. They painted you as a dark oppressor that used its power over trade to suppress my people. To control them. To starve them. All for the sake of profit. They told me that you killed merchants and sailors for no reason other than that they’d come too close to your shores. Not just killed, but maimed and tortured for sport. That you were a demon.”

Aren said nothing, so she continued. “They made me believe that doing this would save my people. That it was righteous. Now I understand that that’s why they kept me locked up in the compound—so I might never learn the truth. And they believed you would keep me similarly contained so that I would have no chance to learn the truth until it was too late.”

“And what is the truth?”

What was the truth? Lara had no delusions that she was a good person in the way of someone like Marisol. She’d killed Valcottan warriors brought to her compound for no reason other than it was their lives or hers. Learned countless ways to torture, maim, and kill. She’d stood by while the servants who’d cared for her and her sisters since they were children were murdered in cold blood. Had watched while the man who’d been like a father to her slit his own throat out of misplaced guilt. She’d lied and deceived and manipulated, and nearly doomed an entire nation. Good, she was not.

Yet neither did she believe that she was evil. She’d condemned herself to this fate in order to save the lives of her sisters, whom she loved above all things. And once here, she’d followed through with her mission on the belief she was saving her people. Noble motivations, perhaps, except she wasn’t entirely certain that they absolved her of guilt. Knowing what would happen to Ithicana, she’d still written instructions on how to destroy it. She’d made that choice. All she could do now was try to atone. “The truth is . . . the truth is that I am the villain.” But she would play that part no longer.

More silence.

“What are you going to do with me?” she asked.

“I don’t know, Lara.” With his words, the tension between them ratcheted up. “I’ve . . . suspected for some time now, but hearing you say it . . . I don’t know.”

A frantic fear fluttered in her chest. A fear that she’d lost him. That he hated her. That he’d never forgive her.

“I didn’t give him anything, Aren.” She so desperately wanted to salvage what was left between them. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Haven’t done anything?” He whirled around to face her. “How can you claim that? How can you say you’ve done nothing when, from the moment we were married, you’ve been plotting to stab me in the back? Everything you’ve said, everything you’ve done, everything between us has been a damned lie. A way to manipulate me into trusting you so that you could learn Ithicana’s secrets, then use them against us. All while I, like a bloody fool, was trying to win you over.”

It was the truth, but it wasn’t the sum of it. Because during that time, she’d grown to care about him and his kingdom, to understand their plight, and still she’d chosen to destroy them. Had written every detail she’d learned on those pages, a strategy for invading Aren’s homeland and stealing away the bridge his people so desperately needed. It had only been sheer luck that one of those pages hadn’t made it into her father’s hands.

“Did you care at all?” he demanded.

“Yes. More than you know. More than I can explain.” She shoved the hair that had blown into her face out of her way, grasping for words to make him understand. “But I didn’t think there was another way. I believed the only chance my people had was for me to win them the bridge. My whole life has been dedicated to giving them a better future, no matter the cost to me. Surely you of all people can understand that?”

“It’s not the same.” His voice was cold. “The better future you envisioned was built on the backs of Ithicanian corpses.”

Lara closed her eyes. “Then why didn’t you just kill me once you knew? Why did you bring me to Vencia, if you suspected? Why did you risk so much?”

Aren scuffed his boot against the bridge, staring at Midwatch. “I realized that you’d been misled. And if the truth gave us a chance, then it was a risk I was willing to take.” He let out a ragged breath. “I followed you that night when you walked up to the palace gates. I pointed an arrow at your back, and I . . . I almost did kill you. If you’d taken one more step, I would’ve.” His hands were shaking, the tremor of movement holding her attention like a vice. “But then you turned around and came back. Back to me.”