A Queen of Gilded Horns (A River of Royal Blood #2) - Amanda Joy Page 0,104
that to her mother, but it wasn’t that simple. When Lilith didn’t want to deal with something, she either ignored Isa or attacked her, and unlike Eva, Isa had learned to navigate that as well as she could. She didn’t say things that would displease her mother. The last time she said something out of turn at Court, voicing an opinion that was slightly different from the Queen’s, she’d been confined to her rooms for a week.
Lilith never commanded her to stay in outright. She just stationed ten of her Queensguard outside Isa’s rooms.
Isa’s opinion would matter when she was Queen. Until then it was best not to cross her mother. “I’m not sure.”
She didn’t want to face it. When her mother found out Isa was here while they planned a rebellion, the punishment she’d dole out would not be pleasant.
“What’s it like? At Court?”
She made a noise of disgust. “I used to love it.” But then Eva returned, dredging up all the feelings of betrayal and loneliness Isa had felt at fourteen. She dove headfirst into the petty Court dramas to escape it, and longed to repay her sister in kind. But even the pliant minds of the young courtiers grew tedious, and hurting Eva wasn’t enough.
No, she’d needed to beat Eva at the one thing that mattered. She hadn’t even bothered to consider what she would do with the throne if she won it.
“You don’t miss it all?” Dthazi pressed. “Not even a bit?”
“I miss Ternain.” She missed the fey craftsfolk with shops lining the boulevards outside of the palace; the pools in High Summer; her horse, Arrow; and the freedom to do as she pleased. But Court itself? Her friendships there were shallow enough to forget. She’d gotten so used to showing the Court a reflection of her mother that she couldn’t form true bonds with any of the courtiers in her circle.
“You must have . . . what is it they’re called? . . . Suitors?”
She nodded, grinning at his affectation of ignorance.
“You’ve got to have suitors chasing you around wherever you go.”
“That is the most circuitous compliment I have ever received,” Isa said, with a small giggle that turned into a hiccup. “But yes. There were many, and whenever I tried to let a rumor spread that I didn’t want to marry until well after I was crowned, their attentions only seemed to increase.”
“You don’t sound as if you want to return.”
“Wants—” Isa hiccupped again. She’d been about to repeat a phrase she’d heard from her mother a hundred times. Wants and wishes are for children.
“Come on,” Dthazi said. “My mam will threaten me with the washing for a week if we stay out any longer.”
They went back the way they came, and once they reached the entrance, Isa had a queasy feeling in her stomach. Chalking it up to the food and the drinking, she shouldered past Dthazi when he pushed open the door.
“Wait,” he called in a sharp whisper. “Isa—”
She did not want to throw up in front of Dthazi, and darted for the nearest house. She heard the sound of laughter cut off abruptly and backpedaled, but it was too late.
Two men in soldier white stepped from behind the house. Both human, they could’ve been brothers, both of the same medium-brown complexion with neatly trimmed beards. The only difference she noticed was that one massaged the pommel of the sword at his belt, and the other actually had gone as far as to unsheathe a sinuous dagger. By their stumbling gait, they had been drinking.
The soldier who’d yet to draw his weapon drawled, “Who is this, Prince?” He spat Dthazi’s title like a curse.
She felt Dthazi come up behind her, so close she could feel the heat of him on her back. “Let me handle this,” he breathed into her ear.
Isa was already palming the thorny vines on her wrist—best for violently seizing someone’s mind—magick surging beneath her skin. She grinned at the knife-wielding soldier as both came to a sudden stop.
Their eyes rolled like those of spooked horses, lips quivering as they fought to speak.
Isa spun on her heel and smirked up at him. Isa had inherited her mother’s height, but she only came up to his chin. “What were you saying?”
He loosed a whistle. “That’s a neat trick.”
“What do we do?”
Dthazi dragged a hand across his face. “Unless that magick of yours can steal memories . . . knock them out and drag their bodies far from here?”