For a long moment, she debated what to do, but it was a short debate. Aren was her heart, and she would always put him before reason. Lara flung open the door, only to stop in her tracks as she discovered Nana standing outside, hand outstretched as though she’d been about to open it.
Except gone was Aren’s irritating, harridan of a grandmother, and in her place stood Amelie, former spy and harem wife, dressed in swaths of green and gold silk. “Delia is with her nurse,” she said. “Jor is with them. I’ll smooth the Maridrinians’ ruffled feathers—you go.”
But before Lara could move, Amelie’s hand closed on her arm. “You fought hard for Ithicana once before, girl. Fight for us again.”
Lara nodded once, then broke into a sprint through the halls of her house and stepped out into the storm.
Wind lashed across her face, the rain it carried hitting her with such force it was like being pelted by rocks, but Lara ignored the pain in favor of scanning the ground for clues to where Aren had gone. The ground was covered with puddles, torrents of water running downhill toward the sea, but she caught sight of a fading boot print in the mud and instantly knew what direction he’d gone.
Hiking up her skirts, Lara broke into a run. Mud flooded into her sandals and squished between her toes, rain gluing the blue silk of her dress to her skin as she headed in the direction of Midwatch’s tower.
Covered with fallen branches and debris, the trail was more river than pathway. The trees themselves were shredded, leaves everywhere, and it felt as though she were running through a battlefield,fear as much as exertion causing her heart to thunder. A branch tore loose from above and fell right in front of her. Too close to stop, so she jumped, her dress catching and tearing. She nearly lost her footing, her ankle twisting, but panic Lara couldn’t quite justify refused to allow her to slow her pace.
Or perhaps it was justifiable, given everything they’d fought and bled for was slipping through her fingers.
The wind grew worse the higher she climbed, and Lara winced as debris whipped into her, leaving scratches across her arm. But through the rain and dark shadows, the thick stone tower reared ahead of her. “Aren!”
No response came, but it might be because he couldn’t hear her over the storm. She stumbled into the tower, sodden sandals slapping against the stone steps as she circled around and around, exploding out onto the top.
To find her husband sitting on the rough stone, staring at crude drawings some Maridrinian soldier had carved into the wall.
“I told Lia to have this fixed,” he said, staring at the drawings. “Twice.”
There were countless such reminders of the endless months Maridrina had held Ithicana in its grasp, and erasing them had not been a priority. Scraping mud off her sandal, Lara walked to the wall and smeared it across the drawings, hiding them from view. A stupid and impermanent gesture, but the tension in Aren’s shoulders released and his eyes moved to her.
“You’re bleeding.” He was on his feet in a flash, reaching for her.
“It’s nothing, just a few scratches.” Her pulse was roaring in her chest, and Lara shoved away the fears trying to drown her, because she’d found him. He wasn’t lost to her.
Not yet.
He bent to examine her arm, rain turning her blood watery and pink. “You shouldn’t be out in this storm. It’s getting vicious.”
“You shouldn’t have left me.”
Aren lifted his face to meet her gaze, rivulets of rain running down his cheeks and his hair whipping in the wind. “I’m sorry. I felt like I couldn’t breathe in there.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Standing on her tiptoes, she wrapped her arms around his neck, her hair swirling and sticking to her face. “We are all at our limits.”
Aren slid a hand down over her backside, then lifted her into his arms. Holding her close, he carried her over to sit next to the wall of the tower so that the worst of the wind was blocked. Together they sat and listened to Ithicana’s tempests scream and rage, the blackened sky crisscrossed with endless lightning.
“Is he right?” Aren finally asked. “Is refusing to concede to Harendell benefiting only my own pride? Am I just another variation of Silas or Petra, flush with my own importance?”
“No.” Lara twisted in his arms so that her knees were to either side of him. She cupped his cheeks, feeling the roughness of stubble against her palms. “You are nothing like either of them, and none of what you have chosen to do in this situation is a matter of pride, because all of it is about preservation. Preservation of Ithicana, its people, and our way of life.”
“Is it, though?” His eyes searched hers. “Is fighting a war we are likely to lose the right choice for our people? Or is it better if I give it all up to Harendell? Let them rule, let them protect the bridge, let them protect the people?”
Lara drew in a steadying breath. “Except they only care for two of those things. All Alexandra wants is the bridge and the income that will come with controlling it. All she cares about is commerce and satisfying the ruling class who stand to benefit from it. She won’t use that revenue to support Ithicanians. At best, she’ll hire them at a pittance to work for the crown, but it will be endless toil with people cast away when they can no longer serve. We live life differently here, and it will be our people who are forced to change and adapt, not Harendell. Not Alexandra. If she takes control, our people will loseeverything they’ve worked to build and become little better than slaves to a foreign monarchy, because where can they go? To flee to Maridrina or Valcotta means starting over with no wealth and all the wrong skills, and if you think that won’t cost countless lives, you are deluded, my love.”
Aren closed his eyes, nodding slightly.
“It’s never been about the bridge. It’s just a structure, a tool.” She stroked his cheek. “It’s always been about the people, and that is who we must fight for. Who we must die for, if need be.” Her breath caught. “Delia’s legacy isn’t a crown. It’s the people around her who have cared for her and the children she’ll grow up with to fight alongside. To run to Valcotta would mean stealing that from her.”
“But it will be safe.”
Lara shook her head, for though there was an allure to that dream, she knew better. “Ask Keris how safe it is. There is danger everywhere, Aren. We can spend our lives running toward a sanctuary that doesn’t exist or we can stand our ground and fight for our home.”
“But how can we win?” He leaned his head back against the rough stone. “Sarhina has given up all her power to help us, and we’ve heard nothing from Zarrah. It feels like we stand alone in a way we never have before.”
