The Bridge Kingdom (The Bridge Kingdom #1)(70)

It smelled like him.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Lara drew upon every lesson her Master of Meditation had ever taught her, measuring her breath and clearing her mind, but sleep wouldn’t come, so she sat, the blanket wrapped around her legs.

There was nothing in the room to distract her. No books or puzzles. Not even a deck of cards. The sparse quarters of a soldier, not a king. Or at least, not of the sort of king she’d believed existed. The quarters of a leader who did not hold himself above his people. Who wore their hardships like his own. Because they were his own.

Please be alive.

The door swung open, and Lara jerked around to find Taryn standing in the doorway. “They’re back.”

She followed the other woman at a run down to the cove, her chest tight with fear. It was fear for herself, her mind screamed. Fear for her mission. Fear for the fate of her people.

But her heart told her otherwise.

The sand of the beach shifted beneath her feet, and Lara squinted into the darkness. A faint voice called out, then the chain rattled, clearing the entrance to the cove.

More splashing, waves thudding against hulls and paddles carving through the water. But above all of that, Lara picked out groans of pain. Her heart skipped.

Please let him be alive.

The cove turned into a flurry of activity, boats full of bloodied men and women drifting in, those on shore tying them off and helping the injured onto land. Her eyes skipped over their shadowed faces, searching. Searching.

“Will you goddamned hurry it up?” Jor’s voice. Lara wove through the efficient traffic, trying to find the soldier. Finally, she spotted both him and Lia crouched in the bottom of a boat, a slumped figure between them.

“Aren?” Her voice came out as a croak, her feet abruptly rooted on the spot.

The pair reached down, and relief flooded her veins as Aren batted their hands away. “Get off me. I can damn well get out myself.”

He stood and the boat wobbled, both Jor and Lia easily catching their balance, but Aren nearly going over the side.

“Enough of your pride, boy,” Jor barked, and between him and Lia, they dragged their king onto land.

Lara couldn’t see what was wrong with him in the dark, the lanterns casting shadows that appeared like bloodstains, only they shifted and moved. Then Aren turned, and the lantern behind him revealed the outline of an arrow embedded in his upper arm.

“Get out of my way.” She shoved two soldiers to the side and ran toward Aren.

“What the hell are you doing down here?” Aren pushed Jor away even as he stumbled. Lara lurched forward and caught his weight, the hot tang of blood filling her nose. “I can walk on my own,” he muttered.

“Clearly.” Lara’s body quivered with the effort of holding him upright as they navigated the sloped beach to the treeline, the path leading to the barracks dimly lit with jars of algae.

Dragging Aren into the barracks, she eased him down on a bench. Throwing aside her sodden cloak, she pulled one of her knives and cut away his tunic, dropping the ruined garment on the floor. Then she knelt next to him, her eyes taking in the injury.

The arrowhead was buried deep in the muscle of his upper arm, the shaft having been broken in half by someone at some point, the wood stained dark with blood.

“Goddamned Amaridians.” Jor’s voice seemed distant to Lara, every part of her focused on Aren’s breath against her neck, hot and ragged.

Lifting her face, she met his pain-hazed gaze. “We can’t pull it out—we have to push it all the way through.”

“Every moment with you is such a delight.” A faint spark returned to Aren’s eyes. “Sorry I missed dinner.”

“You should be.” She struggled to keep her voice even. “It smelled very good.”

“Missing the food isn’t the part I’m sorry about.” He lifted his uninjured arm, fingers brushing against the large diamond still adorning her ear, sending a tremble racing through her.

“Brace yourself on me.” She pushed his hand away before her composure was totally shot. “The last thing we need is you squirming and making the injury worse.”

Aren huffed out a pained laugh, but took hold of her waist with the hand of his uninjured arm, his fingers digging into the muscles of her back.

“This will hurt,” Jor warned, taking a firm grip on the arrow. Swearing, Aren dropped his head against Lara’s shoulder and she pulled him against her, knowing she wasn’t strong enough to keep him steady if he struggled.

“Relax,” Jor said. “You’re being a baby.”

Lara murmured into Aren’s ear, “Breathe.” His shoulders trembled as he inhaled and exhaled, and she knew his attention was on her. His fingers flexed, then slid from her waist to her hip. “Breathe,” she repeated, her lips grazing the lobe of his ear. “Breathe.” As she said the word the third time, she met Jor’s gaze.

He pushed.

Aren screamed into her shoulder, shoving against her so hard that Lara almost went over backward, her boots skidding against the barracks floor. Blood splattered her face, but she held on, refusing to let go of him.

“Got it!” Jor said, and a second later, Lara’s knees buckled and she fell back, Aren landing on top of her. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved, Aren’s breathing labored in her ear, his body pressed against hers. She held him, clung to him, an irrational desire to hunt down and destroy those who’d done this consuming all other thought. Then Jor and Lia were hauling him off her.