Page 14 of The Traitor Queen (The Bridge Kingdom 2)

Both Cresta and Bronwyn nodded in agreement.

“Father needs to pay,” Sarhina said. “And I for one would take great satisfaction if he were made to pay with what he trained us to take in the first place. Because knowing you as I do, your plotting isn’t limited to rescuing Ithicana’s king.”

Lara gave her wry smile, then shook her head. “But he is key. For Ithicana’s sake, I have to get him free.” And for her own sake. “But it will be dangerous. He’s locked up in Father’s palace in Vencia, surrounded by guards at all times. The Ithicanians have tried multiple times to get him back, but everyone they’ve sent so far has been captured or killed.” Seeing the cocky glint in Bronwyn’s eyes, she added, “They’re good fighters and even better spies, Bron. That they haven’t succeeded means it might be impossible.”

If anything, the glint in her sister’s eyes only grew. “We were trained to do the impossible. And for better or worse, what you accomplished proved we are more than capable.”

“Father and Serin know I’m coming for Aren. And Serin, especially, knows everything I’m trained to do. How I think. Ithicana didn’t have that advantage.”

Bronwyn tilted her head sideways. “Did you come here to convince us to help or dissuade us? Because it’s sounding distinctly like the latter.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Lara could see Ensel watching them intently, reading their lips. So she turned to look at him directly. “Your lives aren’t worth less than Aren’s. And neither is the life of that baby in your belly, Sarhina.”

Ensel’s jaw tightened, his gaze shifting to his wife, the pair exchanging wordless conversation. Then he exhaled and gave a short nod.

“Some things need to be done,” her sister said, “no matter the risk. I don’t want my child growing up with this legacy, Lara. I want them to be proud of their mother. And their aunties.”

Chewing on the inside of her cheeks, Lara considered arguing further, but instead said, “You need to stay out of the fighting. I want your word on that.”

Abruptly, Lara found herself flat on her back, her chair having been yanked out from under her with a quick jerk of her sister’s foot under the table.

“You are such a bitch,” Lara muttered, rubbing the back of her head while Cresta and Bronwyn laughed.

Sarhina circled the table, then bent down so that they were nose to nose. “I’m in charge, Your Majesty. Understood?”

Lara glowered at her, then smiled. “Understood.”

“You two,” Sarhina said to Cresta and Bronwyn, “eat your fill, then pack your things and hit the road. It’s time the Veliant sisters had a little reunion.”

11

Aren

The wind gustedthrough the garden, rustling the manicured rosebushes and sculpted hedges before whistling away through the cornices adorning the wall, leaving behind thecreak creakof the ropes from which the corpses swayed. There were eighteen of them now. Eighteen Ithicanians dead in the attempt to rescue their king. In the attempt to rescuehim.

He didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserve their lives. Not when all that had befallen Ithicana was the result of the choiceshe’dmade. Lara might have been the one who wrote the letter with all its damning details, but if he hadn’t trusted her, if he hadn’tlovedher, she’d never have had the power to harm his people.

Yet still the bodies swayed, a new man or woman added to their ranks every few days. Sometimes a longer stretch would go by, and Aren would foolishly hope that his people had given up. Then Serin would arrive with another struggling form in tow, and Aren would retreat into himself, the only way he could stand to sit through the things Serin subjected his people to without giving up every secret Ithicana ever had.

Emra’s corpse was little more than a skeleton picked dry by the crows, unidentifiable except by his memory. But the fresher bodies watched him with empty eye sockets, familiar faces blackening and bloating with each passing day he was chained to the stone table in this garden of hell.

From which there was no escape.

Though God knew, he’d tried. A dozen of the guards bore black eyes, broken noses, and one a necklace of bruises courtesy of the chain linking Aren’s wrists. He’d killed another after managing to take his sword but had been immediately overpowered by a dozen more. All it had netted him were bruised ribs, an aching head, and more security surrounding him day and night with never a moment of privacy. He was regularly searched for anything he might use to pick the locks of his manacles, forced to sleep bound to a cot under a brilliant lamplight so there was no opportunity to free himself using the cover of darkness. The only piece of cutlery he was allowed was a goddamned wooden spoon.

He’d exhausted every trick that he knew in desperate attempts to escape, when the logical strategy would’ve been to bide his time. But logic meant little when every day that passed saw more Ithicanians tortured and killed in their attempts to free him.

Which left Aren with only one alternative: to take himself out of the equation.

He stared at the stone of the table, gathering his will, feeling his heart thunder in his chest. Sweat ran in a torrent down his back, the fine linen they’d dressed him in saturated.Do it,he silently commanded.Get it done. Don’t be a damned coward about it. If you’re dead, Ithicana will have to move on without you.He leaned back as far as his chains would allow, and took a deep breath—

“The wives are starting to complain about the smell. Can’t say that I blame them.”

The voice startled Aren enough that he jerked, his chains rattling as he took in the blond prince he’d met the day Emra had died, a worn book tucked under the young man’s arm.

“It’s a terrible practice,” the prince said, squinting up at the bodies lining the walls, their putrefying flesh crawling with insects. “Never mind the smell; it invites flies and other vermin. Spreads disease.” His attention shifted back to Aren. “Though I expect it’s far worse for you given that you know them, Your Grace. Especially given they died trying to break you free.”

This was the last topic of conversation Aren wished to discuss, the sight and smell andknowledgebad enough without idle words to go along with it. “You are . . . ?”

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