Page 92 of The Traitor Queen (The Bridge Kingdom 2)

The soldiers nearby had paused in their celebrations, all of them watching the exchange.

“When the war is won, she’ll leave. She’s only here to fight.”

Taryn’s hands balled into fists, and she gave a shake of her head. “Be sure that she does.” Then she stormed away through the village. Lia handed off her drink to chase after her.

“Lia will talk to her.” Jor came up next to him. “She’ll explain what’s happened.”

Except everyone around himknewthat explanation, and it had changed nothing. Draining his cup, Aren turned, searching the soldiers for a sign of Lara. He’d seen her earlier helping to clear the island, but now, she was nowhere in sight. And God knew there were plenty of men and women on this island with cause to try to kill her.

He started through the village, his mind occupied only with finding the familiar gleam of blond hair. Those blue eyes. The face he saw in his dreams.

But all he saw were Ithicanians.

Unease bit in his stomach, and he turned toward Jor. “Where is Lara?”

50

Lara

It hurt.

God, it was deep, and it hurt, and even with the bandage she’d wrapped tight, blood was running hot down her leg. It took all of her willpower not to limp as they searched the village for any Maridrinians who might have survived the attack. Aren issued orders, entirely in his element.

It was working. His plan was working, and assuming Valcotta and Harendell played their parts, tomorrow Northwatch and Southwatch would fall, and Ithicana would once again hold the bridge. Aren would once again be Ithicana’s king.

But Lara would be in no position to fight if she couldn’t get her bleeding to stop. Already, she could barely walk.

Clenching her teeth, Lara eyed Aren and the rest, most of whom were gathered around the large fire in the center of the town, the intent to make it appear as though the Maridrinians were still in control of the island. Fish smoked on the grill, and several flasks were being passed from hand to hand, while one of the healers tended to the injured.

Instead of joining them, Lara limped up the pathway toward Nana’s home, sword held loosely in one hand, though she was too spent to use it. Reaching the building, she cautiously opened the door, holding the lantern to illuminate the interior.

The Maridrinian soldiers had been inside, probably searching for anything valuable, judging from the mess. The snake cages were gone, though whether Nana had released the creatures or brought them with her to Eranahl, Lara couldn’t say.

Going to the toppled shelves, she searched through the mess of jars and broken glass until she found what she needed, then set her lantern on the table and began to unravel the blood-soaked bandage from her thigh.

A fresh flood poured down her leg, and Lara grimaced as she eased off her torn trousers to reveal the injury. A clean slice just below her hip, but nearly down to the bone.

“Shit.” She fought the flash of nausea that passed over her, a mixture of fear and pain and blood loss threatening to crack her composure.

Mixing the herbs into a bowl with some rainwater, she cleaned the injury, breath coming in short little gasps from the sting of the solution. But she knew the worst was yet to come.

Her hands shook, and it took several attempts to thread the needle. Trembling, she eased on top of the table, angling the bleeding injury into the light.

“You can do this.” She hated how breathy her voice was, the world around her pulsing in and out of focus. “Just get it done.”

Clenching her teeth, Lara pushed the wound together, the injured muscle slippery beneath her fingers. Then she jabbed the needle through.

A sob tore from her lips, and she twisted to press her forehead against the table, fighting the dizziness before pulling the thread and knotting it. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the needle against her flesh again, but her hands were shaking so hard she lost her grip on the muscle.

Tears poured down her cheeks as she struggled to get it back into place, to get a grip on the needle with her blood-soaked fingers.

Then familiar hands closed on her wrists. Lifting her face, she met Aren’s gaze, the lantern light flickering in his hazel eyes.

“Why didn’t you ask for help?”

“Because I don’t have the right to ask any of them for anything,” she said between sobs, turning her face away. “It’s fine. I can do it. I just need a minute.”

But Aren didn’t let go of her wrists and held them steady as he bent to examine her injury. “It’s deep.”

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