The Bridge Kingdom (The Bridge Kingdom #1)(101)
The entrance to the sea cave grew as the boats approached, barely enough clearance for the masts as they drifted inward, the darkness obscuring whatever lay within.
Lara’s heart thundered in her chest, realizing that she was witnessing something that no other outsider had seen. A place that was wholly the domain of Ithicana. A secret greater, perhaps, than even those of its precious bridge.
A deafening rattle made Lara jump. Aren’s hand rested against her back to steady her as everyone’s eyes adjusted to the dimness. Blinking, she watched in awe as a steel portcullis covered with seaweed and barnacles lifted into a narrow gap in the rock of the ceiling and the three boats were gently washed into a tunnel that bent to the right. Gripping the sides of the boat, Lara held her breath as Taryn and Lia rowed them inward, the tunnel opening into an enormous cavern. Sunlight filtered down through small openings in the ceiling to dance across the smooth water, and the floor of the cave seemed within arm’s reach, though Lara suspected it was far deeper.
Moored to the walls were dozens of boats, including the large ones she’d seen evacuating the village on Serrith Island. Half-dressed children swam among them, their shrieks of laughter audible as the rattle of the portcullis descending behind them faded away. There were shouts of recognition as the children caught sight of Aren and his guards, and the lot of them fell in like a school of fish around the boats. Jor laughed, pretending to swat at them with a paddle as they made their way to the far end of the cavern where steps carved into the dark rock led upward.
The children’s voices filling her ears, Lara allowed Aren to help her out of the boat, her legs unsteady beneath her. What was this place?
Her sweating hand resting on Aren’s arm, Lara walked up the stairs toward the sunlit opening, her heart pounding in her chest. Together, they stepped out, and a gust of briny wind caught at Lara’s hair, tearing it loose from its braid. The brightness bit at her eyes, and she blinked, half to clear the tears and half because she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
It was a city.
Covering the steep slopes of the volcano crater, the city’s streets and houses and gardens all wove seamlessly into the natural vegetation, all of it reflected in an emerald lake which pooled in the basin. Releasing Aren’s arm, Lara turned in a circle, struggling to take in the magnitude of this place that shouldn’t, that couldn’t, possibly exist.
Men and women dressed in tunics and trousers went about their business, and countless children ran amok, likely enjoying the respite from poor weather. There were hundreds of people, and she had no doubt that many more could be found within the structures that were built into the slope, made from the same solid material as the bridge. Trees and vines wrapped around the homes, their roots digging deep into the earth, the greys and greens broken by countless blooms every color of the rainbow. Metal chimes hung from tree branches, and with every breath of wind, their delicate music filled the air.
Every bit a king surveying his kingdom, Aren said, “Welcome to Eranahl.”
36
Aren
It was the worst storm season Aren had ever seen.
Typhoon after typhoon lashed Ithicana, sea and wind and rain battering the fortress that was Eranahl, keeping it even more isolated than normal. The city was forced to dig into its supplies, and it would be a mad dash to restock the vaults before War Tides descended and the city’s population tripled, those living on the islands close to the bridge coming to take shelter from the inevitable raiders. They’d bring supplies with them, but with months of only limited clear days to fish and gather, they’d be running lean themselves.
Which meant the bridge would need to provide.
Yet it had been painfully easy not to think about the looming dangers in the intervening months since he’d brought Lara home to Eranahl. Easy to sit around the table with his friends, drinking and eating, laughing and telling stories into the darkness of the night. Easy to lose himself in a book without the anticipation of horns calling warnings of raiders. Easy to sleep late in the morning, his arms wrapped around his wife’s slender form. To wake and worship the curves of her body, the taste of her mouth, the feel of her hands on his back, in his hair, on his cock.
There were days it felt like Lara had been with him all his life, for she had wholly immersed herself in every aspect of his being. In every aspect of Eranahl. He’d feared that she’d struggle to integrate herself with his people and them with her. But within a month, she’d learned the name of every citizen and how each of them was related, and Aren often found her working with the people, helping them when they were sick and injured. Most of Lara’s time was spent with the youth of Ithicana, partially because they held fewer of the biases against Maridrinians than their parents and grandparents and partially, he thought, because it gave her a sense of purpose. She started a school, for while her asshole of a father might have treated her poorly, he hadn’t scrimped on her education, and her efforts to share that knowledge won her more hearts than even her heroics at Aela Island.
Lara made his friends hers, going toe to toe with Jor over who could tell the worst jokes, drinking and eating and laughing as she delved into their lives, her hand tucked in Aren’s as they waited out storm after storm. Never did she reveal more than cursory details about her own life, but if anyone noticed, they did not comment. And Aren himself had stopped digging, had stopped asking who had inflicted her scars, inside and out, content that if she wished to tell him, she would.