One of the guards lifted her off the back of Serin’s camel, and she sat on a blanket while the men set up the camp, using the time to think of what was to come.
Lara knew as much as—probably more than—most Maridrinians did about Ithicana. It was a kingdom as shrouded in mystery as it was in mist: a series of islands stretching between two continents, the land masses guarded by violent seas made more treacherous by defenses the Ithicanians had placed in the waters to ward off infiltrators. But that was not what made Ithicana so powerful. It was the bridge stretching above and between those islands—the only safe way to travel between the continents ten months out of the year. And Ithicana used its asset to keep the kingdoms who depended on trade hungry. Desperate. And most of all, willing to pay any price the Bridge Kingdom demanded for its services.
Seeing her tent was erected, Lara waited until the men had placed her bags inside before slipping into the welcome shade, curbing the urge to thank them as she passed.
She was alone for barely the length of time it took to remove her scarf before her father ducked inside, Serin on his heels. “I’ll have to begin training you on the codes now,” the Master of Intrigue said, waiting until the king was sitting before ensconcing himself in front of Lara. “Marylyn created this code, and I daresay that teaching it to you in such a short time will be a challenge.”
“Marylyn is dead,” she replied, taking a mouthful of tepid water from her canteen before carefully closing it again.
“Don’t remind me,” he snapped.
Her smile was filled with a confidence she didn’t feel. “Come to terms with the fact that I am all who remains of the girls you trained, and then I will not need to refresh your memory.”
“Begin,” her father commanded, and then he closed his eyes, his presence in her tent for propriety’s sake, only.
Serin began his instruction on the code. It needed to be entirely committed to memory, as she couldn’t bring notes into Ithicana. It was a code she might never even use, its usefulness entirely predicated on the King of Ithicana allowing her the kindness of corresponding with her family. And kindness, she’d been told, was not an attribute the man was known for.
“As you know, the Ithicanians are exemplary codebreakers, and anything you manage to send out will be subject to intense scrutiny. There’s every chance they’ll break this one.”
Lara held up her hand, ticking off her fingers as she spoke. “I should expect to be completely isolated, from both the Ithicanians and from the outside world. I may or may not be allowed to correspond, and even if I am, there is every chance our code will be broken. There is no way for you to reach me to retrieve a message. No way for me to send something through their people, because you’ve yet to swing the loyalties of a single one.” She balled her hand into a fist. “Other than escaping, which means an end to my ability to spy, just how do you expect me to convey the information to you?”
“If this were an easy task, we’d have accomplished it already.” Serin extracted a heavy piece of parchment from his satchel. “There is only one Ithicanian who corresponds with the outside world, and that is King Aren himself.”
Taking the parchment, which was embossed with Ithicana’s crest of the curving bridge, the edges trimmed with gilt, she examined the precise script, which requested that Maridrina deliver a princess to be his bride in accordance of the terms of the Fifteen Year Treaty, as well as an invitation to negotiate new terms of trade between the kingdoms. “You want me to hide a message within one of his?”
He nodded, handing her a jar of clear liquid. Invisible ink. “We’ll attempt to entice messages from him to give you the opportunity, but he’s not prone to frequent correspondence. For that reason, we should return to studying your sister’s code.”
The lesson was tedious work and Lara was exhausted. It took all her self-control not to sigh with relief when Serin finally departed to his own tent.
Her father rose, yawning.
“Might I ask a question, Your Majesty?” she asked before he could depart.
At his nod, she licked her lips. “Have you seen him? The new King of Ithicana?”
“No one has seen him. They wear masks, always, when meeting with outsiders.” Then her father shook his head. “But I have met him, once. Years ago, when he was only a child.”
Lara waited, her palms soaking the silk of her skirts beneath them.
“He is rumored to be even more ruthless than his father before him. A harsh man, who shows no mercy to outsiders.” His gaze met hers, and the uncharacteristic pity in his eyes made her hands turn to ice. “I feel he will treat you cruelly, Lara.”
“I have been trained to endure pain.” Pain and starvation and solitude. Everything that she could possibly face in Ithicana. Taught to endure it and remain true to her mission.
“It may not come in the form of pain, as you understand it.” Her father took her hand and turned it over to reveal her palm, studying it. “Be wary most of all of their kindness, Lara. For above all, the Ithicanians are cunning. And their king will give up nothing without demanding his due.”
Her heart skipped.
“The heart of our kingdom is caught between the Red Desert and the Tempest Seas, with Ithicana’s bridge the only safe route beyond,” he continued. “Neither desert nor sea bends to any master, and Ithicana . . . They’d see our people impoverished, starved, and broken before they’d ever allow trade to flow freely.” He dropped her hand. “For generations, we’ve tried everything to make them see reason. To make them see the harm their greed causes the innocent people of our lands. But the Ithicanians are not men, Lara. They are demons hiding in human form. Which I’m afraid you’ll find out soon enough.”
Watching her father depart the tent, Lara flexed her hands, wanting to wrap them around weapons. To strike out. To maim. To kill.
Not because of his words.
Dire as her father’s warning was, it was one she’d heard countless times before. No, it was the slump of his shoulders. The resignation in his tone. The hopelessness that briefly showed itself in his eyes. All signs that despite everything her father had put into this gambit, he didn’t truly believe she’d succeed in her mission. As much as Lara detested being underestimated, she hated those who mattered to her being harmed even more. And with her sisters now free of their shackles, nothing mattered to her more than Maridrina.
Ithicana would pay for its crimes against her people, and by the time she was through with its king, he’d do more than bend.
He’d bleed.
Another four nights of travel north saw the red sand dunes giving way to rolling hills covered with dry brush and stubby trees, then craggy mountains that seemed to touch the sky. They followed narrow ravines, and slowly, the climate began to shift, the endless brown dirt broken by patches of green and the occasional brilliant bloom of flowers. The dried creek bed they followed turned muddy, and several hours later, the caravan was splashing through sluggish water, but beyond that, the earth was bone dry. Harsh and seemingly unlivable.
Men, women, and children stopped working in their fields to shield their eyes, watching the group pass. They were all skinny, wearing threadbare homespun clothes and wide-brimmed straw hats that shielded them from the ceaseless sun. They survived on the sparse crops and boney cattle they raised; there was no other choice for them. While, in prior generations, families were able to earn enough at their trades to purchase meat and grain imported from Harendell through the bridge, Ithicana’s rising taxes and tolls had changed that. Now only the wealthy could afford the goods, and the working class of Maridrina had been forced to abandon their trades for these dry fields in order to feed their children.