The Bridge Kingdom (The Bridge Kingdom #1)(85)

Aren had far more in common with the latter group. Since he was fifteen, he’d been venturing out of Ithicana. Ostensibly, it was to spy. To learn the ways of his kingdom’s pseudo-allies and clear-cut enemies, but there was no denying that he also used the trips to step away from the ceaseless burdens that came with his title. Vencia had always been his favorite, and he’d rode out a dozen or more typhoons drinking and gambling and laughing in one common room or another, more often than not with a local girl to warm his bed, no one believing him to be anything other than a son of a successful merchant.

While the Kingdom of Maridrina was a thorn in Ithicana’s backside, the Maridrinian people had long been friends to Aren, which created a certain conflict. He was not supposed to like them, but he did. Liked how they haggled and argued about every damned thing; how they were brash and brave, even the most cowardly of them prone to picking fistfights to defend a friend’s honor; how they sang and laughed and lived, every one of them with grand ambitions for more.

Vencia itself was a beautiful place, a hillside of whitewashed buildings with blue roofs that always seemed to gleam as he approached from the sea, its streets thrumming with people hailing from every nation, north and south. A metropolis that thrived despite its king, who ruled with an iron fist and who used taxes to all but plunder his own people.

No, if Maridrina found itself a new ruler and Aren wasn’t the king of his own kingdom, he’d be happy to make a life in Vencia. Sometimes he wondered if that was half of what his council feared about opening up Ithicana’s borders and allowing its citizens to leave: that they’d see how bloody easy life was in other kingdoms, and never come back. That Ithicana wouldn’t be conquered, but rather slowly fade from existence.

Except he didn’t think that was how it would go. There was something about the wild thrill of living in Ithicana that spoke to the souls of those born to it, and neither people nor kingdom would ever willingly let each other go.

Aren’s thoughts were interrupted by a shadow falling across his table.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” a nasally voice said. “I hope you’ll forgive me for interrupting your breakfast.”

Aren’s fork hesitated halfway to his mouth, and it took a great deal of effort to swallow his mouthful of eggs. He lifted his head. “I’ve been called a great many things in this room, but never that.”

The Magpie gave a thin smile and took the seat across from Aren. “I appreciate the game as much as anyone, Your Grace, but perhaps we might forgo the pretense that you are anyone other than the King of Ithicana.” His smile grew. “For expedience’s sake.”

Aren set down his fork and leaned back in his chair. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jor and Gorrick lift their heads, Serin’s face deeply familiar to them. But they’d only seen Maridrina’s spymaster from afar, because never, never, had their cover been compromised.

Every Ithicanian spy knew going into enemy territory that if they were caught they should fall on their own sword before giving up their kingdom’s secrets, and Aren had no doubt that everyone with him would do just that. Except, perhaps, for the woman upstairs.

“It’s the scar on your hand that gave you away.” Serin jerked his chin toward Aren’s left hand, which rested on the table, the curved white scar from an old knife fight clearly visible. “Along with the mask, you always wore gloves when you met with outsiders. But not at your wedding, which of course I was in attendance for. Such a dramatic ceremony it was.”

Gorrick stood, yawning, then strolled over to the bar as though to sweet-talk Marisol. His friend smiled and laughed as she polished the glass she was holding, but a heartbeat later, she’d disappeared from the room. To find Taryn, who’d secure Lara.

If that was even a possibility.

God, he was a fool for lowering his guard. For believing that it had ended last night when Lara hadn’t gone into the palace. Perhaps that had only been a ruse, and even now, his Maridrinian wife was spilling out everything she’d learned to her father’s lackeys.

“Not like you Ithicanians to make a mistake.” Serin lifted his hand to get a servant girl’s attention. “We, of course, suspected that you paid our shores visits from time to time, but not until now did you so blatantly announce your arrival.”

Aren’s eyebrow rose.

“It was the steel, you see. It was marked at Northwatch for transport through the bridge over a year ago, and yet the load somehow arrived in Vencia only yesterday, offloaded only this very morning. And via a ship claiming to have come from Harendell, not from a Southwatch ferry.”

Fuck. Ahnna was going to kill him if he managed to survive this.

“I’d suggest that it was an amateur mistake, but this isn’t your first visit to Vencia, is it, Your Grace?” Serin accepted a coffee from one of Marisol’s girls. “You seem far too comfortable for it to be your first time.”

Aren picked up his cup, eyeing the spymaster. “I’ve always had a fondness for Vencia. Plenty of attractive women.”

Serin gave an amused sniff. “I would’ve thought those days would be behind you now that you’re a married man.”

“Perhaps they would be if you hadn’t sent me such a harridan.”

The coffee in Serin’s cup quivered, and the tiny man set it down swiftly to hide the reaction. Apparently, Lara had not stuck to the spymaster’s plan in her methods of seduction. Which was probably a good thing, because Aren suspected he and Serin had quite different tastes when it came to women.