Page 3 of The Bridge Kingdom (The Bridge Kingdom 1)

Lara wanted to reach for her knife—howdarehe grieve them when he’d done nothing to save them—but a thousand hours of training commanded her not to move. He bowed low to his king. “For Maridrina.” Then he pulled his knife across his own throat.

Lara clenched her teeth, the contents of her stomach rising, bitter and foul and full of the same poison she’d given her sisters. Yet she didn’t look away, forcing herself to watch as Erik slumped to the ground, blood pulsing from his throat in great gouts until his heart went still.

The Magpiestepped around the pool of blood and coming fully into the light. “Such dramatics.”

Magpie wasn’t his real name, of course. It was Serin, and of all the men and women who’d trained the sisters over the years, he was the only one who’d come and gone from the compound at his leisure, managing the king’s network of spies and plots.

“He was a good man. A loyal subject.” There was no inflection in her father’s voice, and Lara wondered if he meant the words, or if they were for the benefit of the soldiers watching the proceedings. Even the most stalwart loyalty had its limits, and her father was no fool.

The Magpie’snarrow eyes turned on her. “Lara, as you know, Majesty, was not my first choice. She scored close to the bottom in nearly all things, with the lone exception of combat. Her temper continually gets the better of her. Marylyn”—he gestured to her sister—“was the obvious choice. Brilliant and beautiful. Masterfully in control of her emotions, as sheclearlydemonstrated over the past several days.” He made a noise of disgust.

Everything he said about Marylyn was true, but it wasn’t the sum of her. Unbidden, memories flooded through Lara’s mind. Visions of her sister carefully caring for a runt kitten, which was now the fattest cat in the compound. Of how she’d listen quietly to any of her sisters’ troubles, then offer the most perfect advice. Of how, as a child, she’d given names to all the servants, because she’d thought it cruel that they should have none. Then the visions cleared, leaving only a still body before her, golden hair crusted with soup.

“My sister was too kind.” Lara turned her head back to her father, her heart skittering in her chest even as she challenged him. “The future Queen of Ithicana must seduce its ruler. Make him believe she is guileless and sincere. She must make him trust her even as she uses her position to learn his every weakness right up to the moment she betrays him. Marylyn was not that woman.”

Her father’s eyes were unblinking as he studied her, and he gave the faintest nod of approval. “But you are?”

“I am.” Her pulse roared in her ears, her skin clammy despite the heat.

“You are not often wrong, Serin,” her father said. “But in this, I believe you were mistaken and fate has intervened in order to rectify that mistake.”

The Master of Intrigue stiffened, and Lara wondered if he was now realizing that his own life hung in the balance. “As you say, Majesty. It seems Lara possesses a quality that I’d not considered in my testing.”

“The most important quality of all: ruthlessness.” The king studied her for a moment before turning back to the Magpie. “Ready the caravan. We ride for Ithicana tonight.” Then he smiled at her as though she were the most precious of things. “It’s time for my daughter to meet her future husband.”

3

Lara

Flames lickedthe night sky as the group departed, but Lara only risked one backward glance at the burning compound that had been her home, the blood-spattered floors and walls blackening as the fire consumed all evidence of a plot fifteen years in the making. Only the heart of the oasis, where the dinner table sat encircled by the spring, would remain untouched.

It was still almost more than she could bear to leave her slumbering sisters surrounded by a ring of fire, unconscious and helpless until the concoction of narcotics she’d given them wore off. Already their pulses, which had been slowed to near death for a dangerous length of time, should be quickening, their breathing obvious to anyone who looked closely. If Lara found excuses to linger to ensure their safety, she would only risk discovery, and then all of this would be for naught.

“Don’t burn them. Leave them for the scavengers to pick their bones clean,” she’d told her father, her stomach twisting into knots until he’d laughed and acceded to her macabre request, leaving her sisters slumped over the table, the slaughtered servants forming a gory perimeter around them.

That was what her sisters would wake to: fire and death. For only if their father believed them silenced did they have any chance at a future. She would carry their mission forward while her sisters made their own lives, now free to be masters of their own fates. She’d explained all of it in the note she’d slipped into Sarhina’s pocket while her father ordered the compound swept for survivors. For no one must be left alive who might whisper a word about the deception that now journeyed toward a wedding in Ithicana.

Their journey across the Red Desert would be fraught with hardship and peril. But at that precise moment, Lara was convinced the worst part would be listening to theMagpie’schatter the entire way. Lara’s mare was laden with Marylyn’s trousseau, while she was forced to ride pillion behind the Master of Intrigue.

“From this moment forward, you must be the perfect Maridrinian lady,” he instructed, his voice grinding on her nerves. “We cannot risk anyone seeing you behave otherwise, not even those His Majesty believes loyal.” He cast a meaningful glance toward her father’s guards, who’d formed the caravan with practiced ease.

Not a single one looked at her.

They did not know what she was. What she’d been trained to do. What her purpose was beyond the fulfillment of a contract with the enemy kingdom. But every one of them believed she’d murdered her sisters in cold blood. Which made her wonder how long her father would let them live.

“How did you do it?”

Hours into their journey, the Magpie’s question pulled Lara from her thoughts, and she tightened her white silk scarf across her face, despite the fact his back was to her. “Poison.” She allowed a hint of tartness to enter her voice.

He snorted. “Aren’t we bold now that we believe we are untouchable.”

She ran her tongue over her dry lips, feeling the heat of the sun rising behind them. Then she allowed herself to slip into the pool of calm her Master of Meditation had taught her to employ when strategizing, among other things. “I poisoned the soupspoons.”

“How? You didn’t know where you’d be seated.”

“I poisoned all, save those set at the head of the table.”

The Magpie was silent.

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