The Bridge Kingdom (The Bridge Kingdom #1)(30)
His fingers brushed hers as he passed over the deck, warm against her icy skin. Aren won the next hand.
“Since we are asking difficult questions . . .” He tapped one finger against his chin. “What’s your worst memory?”
She had a hundred worst memories. A thousand. Of abandoning her sisters to fire and sand. Of Erik, the man who’d been like a father to her, taking his own life in front of her because he believed she’d been driven to murder her own sisters. Of being left alone in a pit in the ground for weeks. Of being starved. Of being beaten. Of having to fight for her life, all while her masters told her that it was to make her strong. To teach her to endure. We do this to protect you, they had told her and her sisters. If you need someone to hate, someone blame, look to Ithicana. To its king. If not for them, if not for him, none of this would be necessary. Bring them down, and no Maridrinian girl will ever suffer like this again.
The memories triggered something deep within her, an irrational wash of rage and fury and fear. A hatred for this place. An even deeper hatred for the man sitting across from her.
Slowly, she shoved the emotions deep down inside her, but as she lifted her head, Lara could tell Aren had seen all of it play across of her face.
Give him a truth.
“I was born in the harem in Vencia. I lived there with my mother among all the other wives and younger children. After the treaty was signed, my father had all of his female children of appropriate age taken to the compound for their—for our—protection from Valcotta and Amarid and anyone else who sought to disrupt the alliance. I was five years old.” She swallowed, the vision of the memory fuzzy, but the sounds and smells sharp as though they were yesterday. “There was no warning. I was playing when the soldiers grabbed me, and I remember kicking and screaming as they dragged me away. They smelled awful—like sweat and wine. I remember more men holding my mother against the ground. Her fighting, trying to get to me. Trying to stop them from taking me.” Lara’s eyes burned, and she chased away the tears with a mouthful of brandy. Then another. “I never saw her again.”
“I wasn’t fond of your father before,” Aren said quietly. “Less so, now.”
“The worst part is . . .” She trailed off, staring at the insides of her eyelids, trying to find what she was looking for. “Is that I can’t remember her face. If I met her on a street, I’m not sure I’d even know it was her.”
“You’d know.”
Lara bit the insides of her cheeks, hating that he, of all people, would say something that would bring her comfort. It’s because of him you were taken from your mother. It’s his fault. He is the enemy. The enemy. The enemy.
A knock sounded loudly against the door, and Lara jumped, ripped from her thoughts by the interruption.
“Come in,” Aren said, and the door opened to reveal a beautiful young woman dripping with weapons. Her long black hair was shaved on the sides, the rest pulled into a tail on top of her head—a style that seemed to be favored by the female warriors—and her eyes were a pale grey. Half a head taller that Lara, her bare arms were solid with muscle, her skin marked with old scars.
“This is Lia. She’s part of my guard. Lia, this is Lara. She’s…”
“Queen.” The young woman inclined her head. “It is an honor to meet you, Your Grace.”
Lara inclined her head, curious about Ithicana’s female warriors. Her father had told Lara and her sisters that they’d be underestimated because they were women, but the women here seemed to be as respected as any man.
Lia had turned her attention back to her king and was handing him a folded piece of paper. “Season’s been declared over.”
“I heard the horns. Two weeks earlier than last year.”
Lara picked up her own letter, hoping they’d say more if they believed her distracted. Serin had written about her eldest brother, Rask, who was heir. He’d apparently fought successfully in some tourney, and the Magpie described the events in vivid detail. Not that she cared, having never had anything to do with her brother. The Ithicanian codebreaker had circled the letters that formed the code, but not, she realized, Marylyn’s code. Rereading the document with an eye for the code her eldest sister had created, Lara contained a smile as she lifted the pattern from the page. Apparently the Ithicanians were fallible, after all.
Her hidden smile vanished as she parsed the code. Maridrina receiving only rotten produce. Molding grains. Diseased cattle. Valcottan ships departing with holds full of superior goods.
Serin had explained the new trade terms that had been negotiated as part of the treaty. The elimination of taxes on goods Maridrina purchased in Northwatch, which would then be shipped to Southwatch with no tolls. On the surface, it was a good deal for Maridrina and a large concession for Ithicana. Unless one considered that it placed all the risk of goods deteriorating during transport on Maridrina’s shoulders. If the grain purchased in Northwatch rotted before it reached Southwatch, it was Maridrina’s loss and not Ithicana’s problem. And what wonder Maridrina was receiving the worst of goods when it was Ithicana who coordinated the transport. The pages crumpled slightly under Lara’s grip, and she tore her eyes from the writing as she heard Aren say, “No getting around her request, I suppose.”
Lia agreed, then inclined her head. “I’ll leave you to it.”