Page 12 of The Traitor Queen (The Bridge Kingdom 2)

None of them spoke, the four sisters facing each other in taciturn silence, the only sound the wind blowing through the pines. She was an outsider now, Lara realized. No longer one of them, not really. Was it because of what she’d done? Or was it because the past year and a half had changed them as much as it had changed her?

Unsurprisingly, Sarhina broke the silence. “You said Marylyn is dead. Was it Father who killed her?”

A sour taste filled Lara’s mouth, and she swallowed hard. “No. I killed her.”

The tension between the four of them mounted, Cresta and Bronwyn shifting uneasily, hands drifting to their weapons, then away again. Only Sarhina stood unmoved. “Why?”

“Father sent her to kill me the night he took Ithicana. She threatened my hus—the Ithicanian king. And she threatened the rest of you.” Her pulse roared in her ears, each word needing to be ripped from her throat. “The way she was acting . . . the things she said . . . It had to be done.”

Sarhina’s eyes narrowed, a crease forming between her brows. “Why would Father want you dead? Surely your . . .successesoutweighed that bit of duplicity you pulled back at the oasis?”

“Probably wants her deadbecauseof her successes.” Cresta’s fingers played over the hilt of her sword. “He didn’t need her anymore, and weallknow how fond he is of tying up loose ends.” Lifting her hand, she drew one finger across her throat.

“It was because I betrayed him.”

Three sets of blue eyes latched on to her, all of them filled with disbelief.

“Betrayed him how?” Sarhina asked. “You didexactlywhat you—whatwe—were trained to do. You infiltrated Ithicana’s defenses and created a strategy to defeat them. A strategy that was clearly effective, given that Ithicana is broken, its king a prisoner, and our father wholly in control of the bridge.”

Lara’s heart beat an uneven staccato in her chest, her breath coming in fast little gasps that didn’t seem to fill her lungs. There was no pride in Sarhina’s voice over what Lara had done, but rather condemnation.

They knew.

Knew that they’d been fed lies most of their lives—that Ithicana was no more the power-hungry oppressor than Maridrina was the starving victim. Knew that Lara was no hero for having saved her nation, but rather a bloodstained conqueror who’d captured a war prize.

“Lara?”

The words she’d prepared to explain what had happened between her and Aren disappeared from her head, leaving her opening and closing her mouth like a fool.

But Sarhina had always been able to tell what she was thinking. “You fell in love with him, didn’t you? The Ithicanian king? Told him what you were sent to do and tried to undo the damage you’d done, and Father found out? Something like that?”

“Something like that.” Lara sat on the damp ground, trying and failing to quell the nausea twisting in her guts, even as a hot tear trickled down her face. “I screwed up.”

“Not entirely surprising. You manage your emotions about as well as Bronwyn executes a rear knife attack. Like shit.” Sarhina eased herself down onto the ground in front of Lara. “You screwed up, and now Father has both your kingdom and your husband in his clutches.”

“That’s the sum of it.”

Sarhina gave her a knowing look, then shook her head. “And let me guess, you’re here because you need our help getting them back.”

10

Lara

Sarhina and her husband,Ensel, lived in one of the small cabins that made up Renhallow. Their home was made of felled logs that had been cunningly fitted together like pieces of a puzzle, effectively warding off the chill of the air. It smelled of woodsmoke and pine, all the furniture handcrafted by Ensel and made comfortable by blankets woven by his mother, who lived in the neighboring home. The clean wooden floors were covered with rugs in dark greens and blues, and the main room was dominated by a heavy wooden table, its surface nicked and scarred but polished to a high shine.

It felt oddly comfortable for a place she’d never been, but Lara swiftly determined that the comfort came from the fact it was her sister’s house, Sarhina’s touch visible in countless ways. Jars in perfect rows, pots hung just so, and boots with their heels all lined up as if by a ruler. Sarhina took comfort from order, and Lara took comfort from her sister, so it felt right to settle at the kitchen table across from her.

She and Sarhina watched while Bronwyn set a kettle on to boil, the firelight turning her brown hair to bronze. Cresta appeared from outside with an armload of wood, kneeling next to Bronwyn as she stoked the flames, her red hair hanging in a thick braid down her back. The pair were close in the same way Lara and Sarhina were, though they couldn’t be more different. Bronwyn was tall, brash with her words and open with her feelings, whereas Cresta was tiny, sparing with her words and only readable when she wanted to be.

“Where do you two stay?”

“With Ensel’s mother,” Bronwyn answered. “She needs the help and we need the roof, so it’s a perfect arrangement.”

“Where are the others?”

“No idea. Seemed best that we didn’t all know where each other were, in case Serin caught any of us.”

“Wise. I assume you have ways of reaching each other?”

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