Page 89 of The Traitor Queen (The Bridge Kingdom 2)

Slipping down into the bridge with Jor and Lia following, Aren breathed in the scent of mildew. He pressed his hand against the wall, the familiar texture of the bridge’s interior easing the rapid patter of his heart as the others closed the hatch to drown out the sound of the sea.

Unlike the fog, the interior of the bridge amplified sound, making it seem like the chattering Maridrinians were only a dozen paces away rather than close to a mile.

Aren walked through the darkness for several minutes, then took the sack that Jor handed him. Inside, he retrieved a tin bowl, along with three canisters, the contents labeled by etched markings on the sides. He poured two of them into the bowl, then under his breath, he said, “Go. I’ll be right behind you.”

Lia and Jor retreated to the hatch, and once they were out, he carefully unstoppered the third canister. Sucking in a deep breath and holding it, he poured the contents into the bowl, hearing it fizz violently. Dropping the canister, he sprinted back toward the opening and jumped, not inhaling until Jor and Lia hauled him onto the bridge top.

“What did you do?” Lara asked quietly.

“Poisonous smoke,” he replied. “The draft will push it toward the patrol.”

She frowned. “They’ll escape into the pier. Warn the rest of the garrison.”

“Not if we get there first.”

He moved at a near sprint down the bridge top until the island came into sight, then slowed so that his movements were silent. Crouching low, he peered down into the mist swirling around the bridge pier, listening. Jor was fastening a rope around Lia when Aren lifted his head. He held up two fingers, and she nodded. Then, weapons in hand, she dropped over the side.

Seconds later, there was a gurgle and a muffled thump.

It took a matter of minutes for Aren and the rest of them to descend, and he’d only just shoved a knife beneath the entrance to the pier to keep it from opening when muffled shouts filled his ears. Followed by the thunder of boots racing down the stairs and a thud as hands hit the door, desperately trying to open it.

The screaming lasted a few minutes, and then there was only silence.

Motioning the others back, Aren pulled his knife out from beneath the door, which popped open, spilling out smoke and corpses, the interior marked with scratches and blood. He glanced at Lara’s face as he retreated a safe distance, but if the grisly death of her countrymen troubled her, she didn’t show it.

They moved silently toward the edge of the island, pausing just before they reached it.

“How’s the timing?” he murmured to Jor.

Licking his fingers, Jor held them to the air, then shrugged. “Twenty minutes, perhaps a bit less.”

There was no way to know if the rest of his people were in position on the water. No way to signal without the Maridrinians suspecting an attack was imminent. All he could do was hope that they still trusted him enough to follow his plans. “Let’s take out the breakers.”

They broke into groups, Lara and Jor remaining with Aren as he led them through the tangle of trees and ferns and vines, the underbrush thick from eight weeks' respite from the storms. Lara moved as silently as any of his people, but Aren found himself glancing in her direction.

Scowling, he caught hold of her ankle, and when she turned, he gestured at the mask on his own face, knowing she had one tucked in her belt.

She mouthed the wordno,giving a shake of her head.

But he didn’t let go of her ankle. If any of the soldiers manning the breakers caught sight of her and shouted the alarm, all would be for naught.

Lara frowned, then shoved her hand into the mud, smearing it across her face, hiding the glow of her skin and making her seem wilder. Fiercer. Ocean-blue eyes met his, and Aren’s heart thudded hard in his chest, a familiar aching need taking hold of his body. But he only nodded and started toward the roar of the ocean.

Four soldiers sat in the cover to either side of the shipbreaker, two of them panning the fog with the disinterest of those who’d been at a tedious task too long. The other two faced inland, but they were eating a lunch of bread and dried meat, glancing up only occasionally. Jor lifted his bow, silently nocking an arrow as a throwing knife appeared in Lara’s hand.

But these men weren’t alone. Patrols moved along the perimeter of the island, groups of men with their eyes on the seas, not nearly as distracted as Aren had hoped.

Holding still as a group of men joined the four, Aren clenched his teeth, fighting the urge to attack even though he knew they were grossly outnumbered.

Then the wind began to rise.

Aren heard it before he saw it, the rustle of leaves and branches as the breeze rolled across the island. It gusted again, gaining strength, the mist swirling violently.

An alarm bell sounded from the far side of the island, and Aren smiled.

“Attack! Attack! The Ithicanians are attacking!” The shouts raced across Gamire, along with orders to move to position, the Maridrinian soldiers pulling weapons and dropping low, several scanning the mist, which remained thick on this side of the island.

The wind rose higher, and on the far side of Gamire, it would already have dissipated the fog, revealing the dozen boats full of Ithicanians panicking as their cover was blown away. Or at least, pretending to panic.

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