The Bridge Kingdom (The Bridge Kingdom #1)(93)

She swung and slammed against Aren. Instinct had her wrapping her legs around his waist, her arms protesting as his weight dragged against her. Then he was reaching up and gripping the rope.

The sea hurled against them once more, driving them both against rock, and Lara choked and sobbed, knowing she couldn’t hold on any longer. Knowing that one more wave would pull her free.

And it was coming, froth flying toward her. Just before it reached them, the rope jerked and they were rising. Faster and faster. They rotated and swung, Aren pulling himself up so that her legs, still wrapped around him, eased the pressure on her arms.

“Do not let go.” Blood trickled down a cut on his temple. “You will not let go.”

They bumped against the side of the bridge, and Lara whimpered as she was dragged along the rock, but the pain fled in the face of relief as hands grabbed hold of her clothing, hauling her up, laying her down on the solid surface of the bridge. Gasping, she rolled on her side, puking up endless amounts of seawater until all she had the strength for was resting her forehead against the wet stone.

“Lara.” Arms pulled her upright, and she turned only to collapse against Aren’s chest, clinging to his neck. He was shaking, yet the feel of him against her was more comfort than the solid land beneath her feet.

No one spoke. There were men and women all around them, she knew, but it was as though she were alone with him, the rain from the coming storm pattering against her cheek.

“Aren?” Ahnna’s voice broke the silence, the distant boom of thunder echoing his name. “I didn’t mean . . . It was . . .”

Lara felt him stiffen, felt his anger even as he said, his voice cold, “Get back to Southwatch, Commander. And if I see your face before War Tides, rest assured that I won’t hesitate to fulfill Ithicana’s contract with Harendell.”

Lara turned in his grip in time to see Ahnna jerk as though she’d been slapped. “Yes, Your Majesty.” Without another word, she walked away, her soldiers following on her heels.

Rising on shaking legs, Aren pulled Lara with him. “We need to get back to Midwatch. The storm is coming.”

But as her heart thudded inside her chest, Lara knew that he was wrong.

The storm was already here.





32





Aren





Pulling off the boots he’d borrowed at the barracks, Aren slowly stripped his sodden and torn clothing, leaving it in a pile on the floor while he eased across the dark room to the wardrobe to retrieve dry trousers. The shutters rattled against the windows as the wind attacked, the rain drumming furiously against the roof, all of it drowned out by bursts of thunder that shook the house to its foundation. The air was full of the sharp, fresh smell of ozone, blending with the ever-present scent of damp earth and greenery that he associated with home.

Boom. The ground beneath his feet reverberated, the pressure changing as the typhoon descended in full force. This was a beast of a storm—the sort that gave the Tempest Seas their name. With winds so wild and feral they seemed almost sentient, this storm would leave swaths of destruction in its wake, and anyone or anything caught out in the water would be wiped from the face of the earth. Ithicana was built to endure the worst the sea and sky could unleash, and indeed it was only during these tempests that Aren ever truly breathed easy, certain that his kingdom was safe from its enemies.

But not tonight.

Exhaling, he rested a hand against the post of his bed, searching for some sense of equilibrium, but it was a lost cause. Like so many other things.

Lara hadn’t said a word since they’d been pulled from the sea. He couldn’t blame her. She’d been nearly drowned. Nearly eaten. Nearly pummeled against rock. She hadn’t broken down entirely, which should’ve felt like a small miracle except that he would’ve preferred that to the emotionless silence.

Face blanched so white her lips were gray, Lara had followed numbly where she’d been led, her arms limp in his grasp as she’d been examined for injuries. No sign of her dry humor or the venomous tongue that he simultaneously loved and loathed. Just . . . nothing.

Closing his eyes, Aren rested his forehead against the bedpost because the other option was to rip it free and smash it against the wall. Fury, unbridled and burning, rushed through his veins. At Ahnna. At the bridge. At himself.

A sound more animal than human rose in his throat, and in a flurry of motion, he twisted and slammed his fist against the wall. Pain blossomed in his knuckles, and he dropped into a crouch, wanting to explode, wanting to run. Knowing none of it would do any good.

Boom. The house shuddered, and his thoughts went to the Rat King’s letter, shoved into his bag, wherever that was. The ultimatum was clear: ally with Maridrina against Valcotta or face war and blockades like those Maridrina had imposed fifteen years prior, lifted only with the signing of the treaty.

They had been the darkest of times. Maridrina had kept anyone from landing at Southwatch for two years, completely shutting down trade. Nothing was shipped through the bridge, and Ithicana’s revenues dried up entirely. Without them, there had been no way to feed his people. To keep them provisioned. To keep them alive. Not with violent storms driving fishermen from the seas more days than not. Famine had swept Ithicana. Plague, too. And the idea of going back to that . . .

The alternative was to join with a man who’d been plotting against him in the worst sort of ways. To join a war he wanted no part of. It was profoundly tempting to formally ally with Valcotta for spite. Ithicana’s coffers were strong enough to buy what the kingdom needed for a year or more with no additional revenue from the bridge. Between Southwatch’s shipbreakers and the strength of Valcotta’s fleets, Silas’s armies wouldn’t have a chance.