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.
Marcus and his soldiers keep their eyes on the shadows, where bandits might hide within the barricade. We skirt the edges of the roadblock without incident.
Anxiety tastes like iron on the back of my tongue.
Or that could just be the fact that I’m gnawing nervously on my cheek.
“Halfway there,” Marcus says, suddenly appearing at my side.
I jump. He moves as quietly as a cat.
“Stay alert,” he adds.
“Do I look like I’m not?” I attempt a grin.
“It’s my job to keep you on your toes. Keep an eye out.”
I glance behind me at Dietan. He simply nods, reassuring me that everything will be all right. At least we’ve made it this far.
We pause for brief break. A few loaves of bread and waterskins are passed around. The things I would do for my kitchen and a hot meal right now.
None of us bother sitting. We huddle together on the side of the road, our bags secure between our feet as we stand in a tight circle.
Dietan breaks his loaf in half and hands a piece to me. I muster a smile and thank him.
“Here. Come see,” he says, pointing to a gap in the buildings, where there’s a narrow view of the canyon below us.
Dawn breaks over the canyon. In the night, it looked like a river of shadow, but in the brightening daybreak, the canyon is a muted ribbon of pink and gold.
The rocks below gleam like starlight, their faces as sharp and beautiful as diamonds.
The wind strikes the canyon at an angle and sends eerie music up the rock walls, like blowing on the lip of a bottle, like the world itself is singing.
The sunrise warms my face, and I can’t help but let out a tiny gasp as I take in the view.
It’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
“Not bad for a death-defying journey,” Dietan says, glancing at me with a soft smile that makes my heart skip a beat. The brilliant light of the sunrise reflects off of the prince’s perfect features, illuminating him in an ethereal light. It’s maddening how handsome this man is.
The wind blows a strand of my hair free from my cap and into my face. He reaches out to brush it away when a woman’s voice cries out from ahead. “Pickpockets! My coin purse is gone!”
Instinctively, his hand goes to the small of his back where his knife rests, and disappointment washes over me.
“We shouldn’t stay here any longer than we have to,” Marcus says, striding over to us. “Get ready to move.”
I steal one last look at the view. I’m transfixed by the combined beauty of the canyon and Dietan. I make myself a silent promise: when times are better, I’ll come back here to see sunrise again. Possibly with Dietan by my side…
But then I remember that I mustn’t feel hope where he is concerned. He’s just pretending to care about me. That was the deal.
…
After several uninterrupted hours, something strikes me in the back of my shins.
It’s a child’s red ball.
Two floppy-haired boys in ragged clothes chase after it through the crowd. They laugh and weave between the travelers. Even here, with war looming, these kids have found a moment of joy—a chance to just be children.
Dietan picks up the ball and holds it out to the smallest boy, who laughs behind gapped teeth. I don’t remember a time where I was ever that carefree.
“Thanks, sir,” the boy says, running a quick lap around Dietan.
A flash of movement catches my eye—the boy’s hand reaching for his dagger, slipping it from its sheath. But Dietan is too fast. He spins, quick as lightning, gripping the boy’s wrist and retrieving the blade. “Good try.”
“Don’t know what you mean, sir.” The boy sniffs.
“You’ll need to be faster if you want to rob me.” Dietan releases him, and the boy bolts.
“Slick,” I say, genuinely impressed by his cat-like reflexes. “He had fast fingers. But you were faster.”
“I’m not completely useless.” He smiles back, tucking the dagger back into its sheath.
Marcus steps up beside us, glancing at our entourage. “I reckon that boy isn’t the only thief around here.”
Everything we own is strapped to our backs or slung over our shoulders.
The soldiers form a loose blockade around me and Dietan, with guards behind us pressed two deep. It’ll be harder for thieves to target us if we move quickly. Marcus leads, parting the crowd with his elbows and his commanding presence.
The sun arcs across the sky. The massive bridge stretches endlessly into the mist.
The fog thickens, obscuring everything beyond the soldier in front of me. For an instant, I lose track of our party, and my heart begins to race. When the fog clears, they’re right by my side, and relief washes over me.
We walk for another day as the sky turns purple once more. The crowds slow, choking the walkway. “People are setting up for the night,” I observe. My feet hurt, and I am more tired than Shepard Belmis ever made me feel.
Indeed, travelers pitch tents in the road and throw tarps over carts to create shelter. As we weave through the masses, we find ourselves pressing up against the others who have given up for the night, claiming spots to camp.
“Should we stop?” Marcus asks. “Draw our men into a circle and fortify for the night?”
“No,” Dietan says firmly. “Not yet. It’s too crowded. There are too many eyes looking in our direction.” He points out an emptier patch of the bridge far in the distance. I hope my legs don’t give out before we get there.
Marcus issues orders, and the soldiers reluctantly keep moving.
As the sky deepens, makeshift shelters and sleeping bodies on the walkway slow us to a crawl. Only a sliver of the moon lights our way and more fog rolls in. We can barely see in front of our noses.
Rough-looking men linger at the edge of the road, watching travelers pass. I point them out to Marcus. “Spies?” I quietly ask. “Or lookouts?”
“Probably both,” Marcus says. “Best to double our pace and move onward.”
He signals to the soldiers to pick up speed, but it’s nearly impossible.
The road is clogged with campfires, tents, and carts. We pick our way through groups of travelers huddled around their flames, their hoods pulled low. We tread carefully around others who are fast asleep.
We’re making our way through a dense cluster of encampments when several travelers suddenly rise to their feet.
“I’m so sorry to have disturbed—” I begin, but then I see a flash of metal.
These men are armed.
It’s an ambush.