The Bridge Kingdom (The Bridge Kingdom #1)(53)
He probably did need it, but Aren waved the flask away. His team, the green-faced Lara in tow, had returned to Midwatch just prior to dawn, and the entire day had been spent in preparation for the inevitable Amaridian attack. Now, there was little to do but watch the weather. With the winds still high, the raiders would be unlikely to attempt a landing, but a light squall like this one wouldn’t last. And it certainly wouldn’t be enough to drive the ships back to the safety of Amaridian harbors. “I’m going to take the next patrol.”
Jor lifted one eyebrow. “You already did your shift.”
“I need to move. You know the sitting drives me to madness.”
“It’s a cold rain. You’ll be regretting your decision halfway around the island.”
“Regret,” Aren said, picking up his cloak, “is currently my middle name.”
“You’re particularly whiney tonight.”
Scratching his cheek with his middle finger, Aren lifted a hand to acknowledge the soldier who’d just come in from walking the perimeter, then started to the door.
“Might as well go with you. Just in case you give up halfway and run to the comfort of the fancy house.”
“I wouldn’t count on it.”
The driving rain was, in fact, freezing, the wind tearing at the hood of Aren’s cloak until he gave up on covering his head. They walked in silence for a long time, more focused on keeping their footing on the slick rocks and mud as they traversed the cliffs overlooking the sea. More than a few soldiers had fallen to their deaths, and despite the series of shitty days he’d had, Aren didn’t care to join their ranks.
When they reached the first lookout, both of them casting their eyes out over the storm-tossed waters, Jor finally said, “You were right to stand your ground with them yesterday.”
“Maybe.” Aren’s thoughts drifted to the meeting at Eranahl, to the hard faces of his Watch Commanders as they had arrived, weaving their way through the evacuees disembarking from their ships, supplies and crying children everywhere. Most disorganized evacuation in recent history, he’d heard muttered more times than he could count. He was inclined to agree with the sentiment.
“It’s the council’s duty to question you. They pushed your mother constantly, especially about this. She learned to know when they were giving good advice and when it was their fear talking—when to stand her ground and when to concede.”
Aren extracted his spyglass, scanning the blackness for any lights on the horizon marking a ship. “You think I was right to stand my ground on this?”
The only sound was the wind howling and the waves slamming against the cliffs below. “I don’t know. I’m not sure there is a right choice in this, Aren. All paths lead to war.” Jor leaned back on his hands. “But what’s done is done, at least so far as the battle facing us is concerned. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to take a piss.”
The older man silently disappeared into the jungle and then not so silently did his business. Aren remained crouched on the rocks, shoving his hands in his pockets to warm them. With the evacuation mostly complete, his people had answered the annual call to arms, everyone between fifteen and fifty either at or on their way to their assigned garrison, the only exception being families with small children, who only sent one parent. Able bodies fought. Those unable played other roles, whether it be watch duties, dispatching signals, organizing supply drops, or managing the complex task of ensuring every one of the hundreds of outposts were appropriately manned. Ithicana didn’t have civilians during War Tides. It had an army.
An army that was furious that Amarid had caught them with their trousers down at Serrith. An island that just happened to be under Aren’s watch.
Over and over, he replayed the War Tides council meeting in his head, seeing a hundred things he could’ve done differently. Said differently.
“I understand you took heavy losses at Serrith, Your Grace.” Watch Commander Mara’s voice echoed in his head. “That’s twice Amarid has sneaked up on you, and War Tides has only just begun. The pretty Maridrinian girl must be quite distracting.”
Everyone in the room had shifted uneasily, Lara the crux of the barb, not the losses. They knew that Serrith was a nightmare to defend, the proximity of the bridge to the beach allowing vessels to hide beneath it while launching landing craft, rendering the shipbreakers useless. It took manpower and preparation to hold off an attack, and even then, with heavy fog, the soldiers stationed there would only have had a few minutes—the time it took for the longboats to reach the beach—to mount their defense. Which would’ve been enough if the man on watch hadn’t fallen asleep at his post. A mistake the soldier had paid for with his life.
“I understand she was with you when the attack happened. In the bridge.”
There’d been no hope of keeping that quiet. Not with all the evacuees from Serrith now in Eranahl. Gossip moved faster than a tempest in Ithicana. The only saving grace was that Aster was late to the meeting. If the Watch Commander knew what Lara had seen, the old bastard would burst a blood vessel. “It’s never been my intention to keep Lara locked up. You all know that.”
Yet neither had it been his intention to bring her into the bridge or for her to see how his military used it to fight their enemies. But watching her panic in the boat, gasping for breath and shaking uncontrollably . . . He hadn’t been able to take it. He wasn’t about to admit that in front of these battle-hardened men and women whose respect he needed to earn.