Page 53 of The Traitor Queen (The Bridge Kingdom 2)

If it was him taking her back, she was wasting her time. It didn’t matter if the letter reaching her father had been a mistake; the consequences were the same. And it was all the result of her lies, her deception, her manipulation. The woman he’d fallen in love with didn’t exist—she was just a mask Lara had chosen to wear for a time. He didn’t know her. Didn’t want to.

Liar,a little voice whispered inside of his head.Look at yourself! If you weren’t both half dead, you’d probably be between her legs!

Anger fired through him, and Aren pulled his arm out from under Lara’s neck and sat up. Searching around in the darkness, he found her dress, which was dry, and rested it over her sleeping form. Then the winds abruptly died, the barrage of projectiles attacking their shelter ceasing their assault.

The door was outlined by faint light, and he eased it open, blinking at the brightness of the early morning sun, watching as the wall of sand and storm moved steadily west. Entirely different than the typhoons that battered Ithicana, but no less deadly.

Shutting the door behind him, he assessed the place where Lara had grown up.

There was red sand everywhere, piled high enough to cover parts of the stone buildings at the perimeter of the compound, but his gaze went immediately to the trees and foliage, which seemed so out of place in the wasteland of the desert.

As was the smell of water.

Aren walked between the buildings, which were soot-stained, some of the doors shattered or charred. But he didn’t pause to investigate, his thirst driving him forward.

Reaching the trees—battered and leafless trunks thanks to the storm—he found the spring that fed the greenery, though it was nothing more than sandy soup. Scooping out sand until a pool of water formed, he drank from his cupped hands, gagging on the grit even as he relished the feel of the tepid liquid on his tongue. Only when his thirst was quenched did he proceed to the center of the oasis, where he found a large table surrounded by toppled chairs nearly buried by sand. Scattered silverware peeked out, glinting in the sun, and there were broken plates and pieces of glass strewn about.

Curious, Aren stepped closer, but his foot caught something in the sand and he tripped, nearly falling. Reaching down to untangle his boot, his hand froze as he realized what he had stepped on.

A desiccated corpse.

Swearing, he pulled his foot free of the bones and fabric, but as he lifted his head, he realized the body wasn’t alone. Everywhere he looked, bones protruded from the sand, the scene no longer appearing like an abandoned party, but like a grave.

He searched the surrounding buildings, the contents smashed and burned, and found more bodies. Dozens of dead, the fire not hot enough to consume the evidence. Despite having seen more than his fair share of corpses, this place made his skin crawl.

“Aren!” Lara’s voice reached his ears, and he stepped outside, blinking in the bright sun. “Aren, where are you?”

Let her panic,the angry part of his conscience whispered.Let her think you left, that you don’t need her.

Then he saw her coming down the path wearing only his shirt and her boots. She was moving slowly, a blindfold still wrapped around her eyes. What was wrong with her?

“Aren!” Her arms were outstretched, reaching for the sides of buildings for guidance, but her boot caught on a rock and she tripped and fell. She was up again in a flash, but from the way she swayed he could tell she was disoriented. Lost. “Are you all right?”

The anguish and fear in her voice made his chest tighten. “I’m fine, Lara. Stay still. I’m coming.”

Striding in her direction, Aren carefully removed her blindfold, grimacing at the sight. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut, the skin around them red with scratches, the tears streaking her face full of sand and blood. “Can you see at all?”

“Not well.”

Memory of the storm flooded over him, of her covering his face, including his eyes. Of her leading him to safety while her own eyes suffered the price. “Let me have a look.”

Not that he was entirely sure how to help her. Eyes were delicate things, and while he was handy enough with setting bones and stitching wounds, this wasn’t something he knew much about. But at the least they needed to be flushed, and he could manage that. “I found the kitchen in my exploration. Should have what we need to clean you up.”

Taking her hand, he led her through the pathways, trying not to notice the texture of her skin beneath his. No longer buffed and polished the way it had been when they were in Ithicana, but dry and calloused. Even so, the shape of her hand, the way it curled around his, was achingly familiar. He dropped it the moment they reached the kitchen.

“Stay here,” he muttered. “I’m going to get some water.”

The sand was beginning to settle in the spring, but the water was still murky. He filled a kettle and a pot, carrying them back. After a bit of thinking, he went to one of the buildings where he’d seen the remains of dresses and retrieved an armload of silk. With repeated attempts, he was able to filter the water through the fabric until it ran clear, then he boiled it on the stove, setting the kettle aside to cool. “You told me once that your father had everyone who knew of his plots killed. Is this where it happened?”

She turned her head away, wiping at her cheeks. “Yes.”

“Did you help him kill them?”

“No.” Her voice was toneless. “But neither did I do anything to save them.”

Aren watched her, waiting, seeing the slight twitch of the muscles in her jaw. The faintest furrow in her brow that he now knew meant she was considering whether to tell the truth or to lie.

Lara sighed. “My father came with his cadre to retrieve the girl Serin had chosen to marry you, which was my sister, Marylyn.”

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