The Bridge Kingdom (The Bridge Kingdom #1)(87)

To find herself face-to-face with half of Aren’s guard.

“What’s going on?” she asked Taryn, who looked strange in the simple dress she wore as disguise.

“Weather’s going to turn. Time to go.”

She was lying. There were very few things that put fear into the eyes of the Ithicanians, and the promise of a storm certainly wasn’t one of them.

Downstairs was already busy with the early-rising merchant class who were breaking their fast, but her eyes immediately found Aren sitting at the bar. Behind it stood Marisol, who, for once, wasn’t polishing a glass, her focus entirely on the man in front of her. Lara’s jaw tightened, but her jealousy fled as she remembered Aren’s words. There will never be anyone but you.

Except with all the lies she’d told, all the ways she’d manipulated him, how could she stay with him?

As Lara stood frozen in the entrance to the common room, Aren turned and caught sight of her. What looked like relief spread across his face. With a final word to Marisol, he dumped a handful of coins on the bar. Something was very wrong.

He strode across the room. “Finally decided to show yourself, cousin? Barely going to have enough time to make the run to Southwatch as it is without waiting on your primping.”

She glowered at him because other patrons were watching, but once he was within arm’s reach, he muttered, “We’ve been compromised. We need to go.”

Jor and the rest of the Ithicanians were outside leaning against the wall with false nonchalance. Despite their apparel, no one with half an eye would believe them sailors. They were too alert, and not a one of them appeared hungover. Unlike her.

“Don’t want to miss the tide,” Aren announced, and immediately they were on the move.

In the harbor, they wove through the crowd at a near run, down to the wharf and onto the dock where their vessel was moored. The Ithicanians who’d remained with the ship were already scurrying about on the deck, readying to set sail. Readying to flee. Lara’s focus sharpened, and she scanned the docks and crowds for any sign of pursuit. Aren had said their cover had been compromised, but there were levels to that statement. If the Maridrinians had discovered they were from Ithicana, that was one thing. If they’d discovered Aren’s identity—or worse, Lara’s—then they were in serious trouble.

“You’re mad, John.” The harbormaster’s paunch shook as he scuttled toward them. “There’s a storm brewing.”

Aren paused at the base of gangplank, using one hand to push Lara up. “Nothing but a squall. It will keep the Valcottans off my heels.”

“Insanity,” the man grumbled. “I’ll keep a space open for you.”

“We’ll be back before lunch. You can buy me a drink or two on my return.”

“More likely that I’ll be toasting your memory.”

Aren’s laugh cut off abruptly. Her hackles rising, Lara turned from her inspection of the darkness swirling in the east to find Serin standing a dozen paces or so behind the harbormaster, his arms crossed behind his back. Watching.

The ship rocked on a swell, and Lara staggered, her shoulders colliding with Aren’s chest, his arm reflexively wrapping around her to catch her balance, holding her against him.

Serin’s eyes widened.

“Go,” she whispered, seeing the realization dawn on the spymaster’s face. Realization that her presence in Maridrina meant she knew the truth. That the gambit fifteen years in the making had played itself out too soon. The realization that if Lara made it out of this harbor, so would any chance of her father ever taking the bridge. “Go!” she screamed.

“Raise the sails!” Aren roared.

The Ithicanians surged into action, and in a heartbeat, the ship was drifting away from the dock, the gangplank landing in the water with a splash. Aren dragged her with him as he raced to the helm, shouting orders even as swarms of soldiers descended upon them.

“Hurry!” The gap between ship and dock was widening, but not swiftly enough. “Aren, I can’t let them take me alive.” Lara pulled one of her knives from her boot. “They’ll make me talk.”

He caught sight of her knife, realizing her intentions. “Put it away, Lara! I won’t let them take you.”

“But—”

He tore the jeweled blade from her hand and threw it, the weapon flipping end over end to land on the dock. Which was filled with sprinting soldiers, the front-runners preparing to leap.

“Come on, wind!” Aren shouted. “Don’t let this be the one damned time you refuse to blow.”

As if answering the call of its master, the wind howled in from the east, the sails snapping taut. The ship lurched as three of the soldiers jumped, their arms flailing as they fell into the water instead of onto the deck.

The ship collided with another vessel with a loud crunch, the other crew shouting and swearing as they scraped the length of it, slamming into another ship, then another, as Aren used the strength of the wind to force their way through.

Soldiers ran in all directions, leaping onto ships in an attempt to reach their target, but they were too slow. Except in the distance, naval vessels were swarming with sailors making ready for pursuit.

“Can you outrun them?” Lara demanded.

Aren nodded, his eyes fixed on their progress through the crowded harbor.