Page 22 of The Traitor Queen (The Bridge Kingdom 2)

Lara

The sisters were stayingin small groups throughout Vencia to avoid attention, but their meeting place was the workshop in the rear of a jewelry merchant’s store, the Maridrinian proprietor also a spy for Ithicana.

They slowly filtered in out of the rain, dressed in their various costumes, some pretending to be highborn patrons, some fellow merchants, and others servants or suppliers. The room was soon full, damp cloaks draped over the backs of chairs and the wooden floorboards tracked with mud and water. Once everyone was seated around the table, including Jor and Lia, Sarhina raised her hand, calling for silence.

Which meant they all heard the door to the shop slam open and an old woman snap, “Anyone could walk in here, Beth. At least lock the goddamned door when you have a meeting with the most wanted women in Maridrina going on under your roof.”

“Shit,” Lara muttered, her eyes flicking to Jor’s in accusation.

He only shrugged.

“Where is that traitorous little bitch we call a queen? I saw ten blue-eyed princesses waltz their way inside, but not her. Has fate delivered me some luck and killed her off?”

Sarhina’s shoulder bumped against Lara’s. “Whoever she is, she doesn’t appear to be your greatest admirer.”

Swallowing hard, Lara turned to the doorway to the front of the shop, watching as Nana appeared, resting age-spotted hands on her hips, water dripping from her clothes to pool at her feet.

“You didn’t honestly believe I was going to let you handle this job without supervision, did you, you conniving little twit?” The old healer pulled off her cloak and tossed it at Jor. “Not given your prior history of botching things up.”

From behind Lara, there was the scrape of chairs pushing back, blades hissing out of sheaths as her sisters rose. Sarhina stepped between Lara and Nana. “Mind your tongue when you’re speaking to my sister, old woman, or you’ll soon find yourself without one.”

A scowl on her face, Lia moved to Nana’s side, hand on her weapon. But Aren’s grandmother only scoffed. “Quite the army you’ve assembled, Lara. A pack of pretty faces and a pregnant woman.”

Sarhina pantomimed a sorrowful pout. “One night of passion and I’ve been evicted from the pretty-face pack? It’s so unfair. Is it the belly? Or the spots? I’m told they’ll both disappear when the baby comes.”

Nana was not amused. “You’ll be next to useless for this task, girl. Get yourself home and concern yourself about what’s growing in your belly.”

“Idecide what to concern myself with, woman,” Sarhina answered, her voice light and unconcerned. “And at the moment, it’s the pimple on my cheek andyou.”

Sarhina’s words were more intimidating than the arsenal standing behind them. But none of this, none of the bickering and threats, would doanythingto see Aren freed. Lara rested a hand on her sister’s arm, drawing her back. “This is . . . Amelie. She’s Aren’s grandmother.”

The grandmother who hadn’t forgiven Lara for her mistakes and likely never would.

If it had been up to Nana, Lara would’ve been executed within the hour of arriving in Eranahl, probably by way of being fed to the sharks the Ithicanians held so dear.

“His grandmother and the only person in this room who’s familiar with the layout and security within the inner walls of that palace,” Nana replied.

“We were all born there,” Bronwyn said. “Spent the first five years of our lives there.”

“Childhood memories!” Nana stomped through the room to take a seat at the head of the table. “I spent a year in that harem spying for Ithicana.”

“A yeara hundred years ago?” Bronwyn looked Nana up and down. “Which gives you an octogenarian’s memory of the place.”

“Watch your mouth!” Lia jerked her knife out, eyes bright with anger.

Bronwyn tapped her own knife against her chin, smiling devilishly. “Who are you again?”

Lara met Jor’s eyes and he gave a clipped nod, seemingly the only person present as frustrated as she was. “Enough,” she said. “Everyone here wants the same thing, and that’s Aren freed. We are at a disadvantage regarding the layout and security of our father’s inner sanctum, but perhaps our collective knowledge of the place will be enough. If we work together.”

“A big maybe.” Sarhina said. “At this point, we’ll be going in blind. Not only are we unfamiliar with the guard patterns and defenses, we have no idea where they are keeping Aren or his patterns during the day. The only way this works is if enough of us go in to overwhelm his guards, which will be no easy feat. And a group of strange women wandering around the inner sanctum checking behind every locked door is not the path to success. We need someone on the inside.”

“We’ve tried buying servants.” Jor took a sip from the flask he’d extracted from his pocket. “For one, they’re difficult to reach. Only a handful are allowed free passage in and out of the palace, and those are either too loyal or too afraid of Silas to be turned. We thought we had one, but he gave us garbage information that got two of my best killed.”

“What about the guards?”

“Silas’s cadre members are loyal to the core.”

“Then we need to infiltrate the palace ourselves,” Sarhina said. “One of us hired as a servant, perhaps.”

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