This isn’t just the work of thieves, which is what the local authorities continue to tell people to stave off panic. This reeks of Penrith plotting. The Usurper is cutting Alarice off from Loegria, dividing the two kingdoms as the first step of his conquest. “If we can’t cross, we’re trapped here, like everyone else,” I say, balling my hands into fists.
“What do we do?” Aren asks.
“We find a way across that damn bridge.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Aren
Marcus tries to deter us from crossing the bridge. He wants us have more guards for protection, but Dietan refuses. That man is as stubborn as an ass, but I know he only has imminent war on his mind. We must have no time to waste.
Marcus has no choice but to follow Dietan’s order. Together, they determine it will be safer to send the carriage and horses back to Evandale with some of the entourage while we walk across the bridge under the cover of night. Travelers on foot will surely attract less unwelcome attention than the target a royal cavalcade would create. Not to mention, in case there’s trouble, the heavy caravan won’t slow us down.
When the sundown bell rings, I throw my rucksack onto my back. I notice Dietan slips his signet ring into an inner pocket for safekeeping. We mustn’t display anything worth stealing—or killing for.
I’m nervous, but I try my hardest not to show it. This is an adventure, and I’m going to treat it like one. I tuck my hair up under my cap and roll my sleeves up and walk toward the outskirts of the city with the party.
Marcus instructs his men to keep their weapons tucked into their waistbands and under their shirts, so the glint of metal won’t be visible in the starlight. Dietan tucks his sword under his coat and sheathes his knife against the small of his back. My only weapon is my frying pan, which is nestled safely in my pack.
Even without the driver, valet, and aides, our party is larger than most here—ten in total. But we move quickly and quietly in the darkness.
“Let me take that,” Dietan says, reaching over to hoist my pack off my back.
“Thank you, kind prince, but I’d rather keep it on me,” I say as I pull it away from him.
“I hate when you call me that.”
“I apologize,Your Worship,” I tease.
He rolls my eyes. “I have a name, you know.”
“Yeah, you keep reminding me.”
But at least we’re bantering again. It feels…right. I’ve been so upset with him. How can he leave Lydia out there to fend for herself? We should be out there looking for her. I know he says that my safety is his priority, but doesn’t he care at all?
I knew the risks would be great when I agreed to this journey, but it feels even more dangerous now that we’re tiptoeing across the Alarician border in the dark. There’s still a large crowd jostling their way toward the bridge. If years at the Beak taught me anything, it’s that desperation makes people do dangerous things.
My heart pounds as we march up to the city gates that lead out to the bridge. They aren’t guarded, which feels wrong. A large wrought iron fence blocks the way. Signs hang askew over the gates, warning of the bridge closure, telling all who enter that they do so at their own risk. I follow Dietan, squeezing through one of the gaps in the fence. The others follow suit, and we step onto the bridge.
On Marcus’s orders, no one speaks as we join the line of people shuffling out of the city.Heads down, but stay alert, the general warned.
I watch the stream of travelers move around us. As the lights from the city gates fade, the shadows on the bridge lengthen. I can’t help but imagine Kilandrar everywhere, and fear settles in the pit of my stomach. Soon, there will only be darkness and the occasional flicker of torchlight thrown by the lanterns held aloft by fellow travelers. I urge my feet to keep moving.
The bridge is easily the largest thoroughfare I have ever encountered, yet claustrophobia is a heavy weight against my chest as the buildings on either side of the path loom three stories high, casting deep shadows onto our path. All of the windows are dark, the merchant stalls shuttered, and the only sound is the eerie howl of the wind.
The Bandai Bridge is legendary—a marvel of science and magic. But it now feels like a crowded artery of human suffering. We are swept up alongside desperate souls fleeing a war that a week ago, I barely knew existed.
My breathing becomes short and labored. I can feel Dietan walking a few paces behind me, and I desperately need his reassurance. Without thinking, I reach my hand back to touch his. His fingers ever so lightly grace mine, confirming he is, indeed, here for me.
We set a brisk pace, keeping to the periphery of the road as best we can to minimize our visibility. My heart gallops as I scan the bridge, studying every traveler and shadow. I listen for trouble, but all I hear is our own footsteps and the chatter of the crowd.
Minutes turn to hours. The crowd thins as a shadow looms in the road ahead. A toppled wooden cart sits upended in the path. It’s surrounded by boxes and luggage as if it was hastily abandoned.
A voice in my head screams at me that this isn’t what it seems.
I think it might be a deliberate roadblock—meant to slow us down and make us easy targets.
Most of the other travelers turn around when they see the overturned cart, making their way back to Alarice. The few who carry on give the cart a wide berth, as if it might come to life and attack them.
