A Queen of Gilded Horns (A River of Royal Blood #2) - Amanda Joy Page 0,110

They sent a soldier in search of Mateen to let him know Sareen might be aware we were coming. How Sareen had gotten wind of our plan, I couldn’t fathom. Yaya promised she’d seen nothing out of order in the few soldiers who patrolled the street outside the cave that night.

There was no way to know, or any way to change it, so we set off as planned.

Dthazi led the first of three waves, heading for the General’s manor. The second wave would follow us to the manor, and the third, which Yaya led, would remain at the caves in case of a possible ambush.

I wore one of the tunics from Osir, designed with slits at the back for my wings, and sleeves rolled up to my elbows, despite the cold. I barely felt the chill, though I did notice that my breath fogged the air.

We swept through the streets like specters. Held in a tight, V-shaped formation, with Dthazi at the helm. Aketo guarded his back, and behind him were five rows of men and women armed with longbows. Anali, Falun, and I were grouped together several rows beyond the bowmen. I could hardly keep an eye on Aketo. I’d tried to persuade Dthazi to let me in that first row of khimaer, but he’d refused. You may be a skilled fighter, but you aren’t a soldier. And I’d like to keep you hidden unless I need you.

Whenever a new wave of fear crested within me, I grasped Falun’s hand.

We encountered their first patrol, ten men who nearly blended into the whitewashed walls of the town in their soldier-white uniforms, not five minutes after leaving the tunnel. Easily handled in a hail of arrows. The first stirrings of guilt churned in my stomach, but then I remembered the gallows. The rack stained black with old blood.

But after that, we didn’t pass any more patrolling soldiers. The streets were quiet. Even as we traveled closer and closer to the manor, it was deserted. A voice screamed in my head to beg them to turn back. But it wasn’t up to me.

When we reached the market without confronting any soldiers, unease hung in the air like a cloying perfume. Dthazi held up a fist and we stopped.

“We knew something wasn’t right when we left the caves. Well, this confirms it,” he called. “Any other morning, this close to the manor, the streets would be crawling with soldiers. Onward.”

We kept low and took off at a slow jog. Two more streets and we were one turn away from the manor. Icy sweat dripped down the back of my tunic, and my pulse seemed to vibrate in my bones.

Dthazi commanded three men to scout around the corner, to see how many defended the manor. When they returned, carrying news that no one was out front, that in fact the gate was open, I wanted to call the entire thing off.

But it wasn’t my decision.

Dthazi raised his fist again and we left the street, fanning out around the gate.

This was my first true look at the place, and I could barely take it in. A high wall of the same limestone bricks that made up the rest of Sher n’Cai. Behind it rose a square, three-story house made from packed clay. Half of it was obscured by snow-capped trees at the base of the home and it butted up against the sloping edge of the mountain.

By all appearances, it was deserted. Yet we would’ve been fools to expect anything but an ambush was waiting for us behind that gate.

At Dthazi’s signal, the sound of ringing metal pierced the air as we unsheathed our swords. Dthazi, who held a blade-tipped staff nearly his full height in his right hand, stamped it in the dirt. “Archers, nock. Remember, strike with magick first . . .”

At Dthazi’s side, Aketo nodded to me. Our eyes met and I knew we would fight side by side, no matter what.

Dthazi gave a sharp whistle and we rushed for the gate. I could hardly think over the clamor of booted feet, hooved and clawed, and the clang of weapons. I tried to push past everyone ahead of me and reach Aketo, but no amount of shouldering could get me past men double my size.

But as soon as the first soldiers crossed the threshold of the gate, a crack as loud as thunder rent the air.

My thoughts turned to mud. Storm magick, my mother’s magick. But I didn’t smell the salt of