A Queen of Gilded Horns (A River of Royal Blood #2) - Amanda Joy Page 0,116
walked out of the caves, leaving her new brother behind, and when they arrived at Asrodei.
A sprawling tent camp rested at the base of the fort, with at least a thousand soldiers. Isa noted the flags dotting the camp with growing dread. Dozens of banners with her mother’s sigil, a bolt of lightning wreathed in flowers, and their House Killeen sigil, a sinuous blade on a cobalt background, kicked in the wind.
After Isa mounted the lifts, she was hustled off by a team of maids, who scrubbed away the layers of grime on Isa’s skin with fretful tuts. After they’d washed her hair and given her a dress to wear—one she recognized from her closet in Ternain—she was summoned to a meeting room.
Before she could knock, the door swung inward and her mother’s voice drifted out. “I will hold you to those three weeks, General.”
Isa stiffened as Throllo strolled through the doorway, smiling broadly. He was a knife of a man, slim, and with a rich, flawless complexion like oiled teakwood. He was handsome, long boned and elegant in his impeccably tailored uniform; a crest of untamed coils was the perfect contrast with the rest of him. “Ah, there you are, Princess Isadore. The Queen and I were just discussing your daring escape from your sister.”
Isa sniffed and walked wide around the man. When she was Queen, she would deal with him.
When she was Queen . . .
The thought did not fit so neatly in her head now. She recalled the words she’d spat at Eva, You want to be Queen, don’t you?
Didn’t she?
Mother was seated at a long table filled with maps. Ivory and obsidian figurines held down the corners. Other than a guard by the door, they were alone. She wore a cream riding dress, beaded with gold moons and stars.
“Isadore,” Mother said, shock lining her face. She stared at Isa like she didn’t recognize her.
Belatedly Isa realized she’d forgotten to don her glamour. No matter now, she glamoured her face into a facsimile of the Queen’s and slid into the chair on her right side. “Mother. What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to collect you, of course,” Lilith said, twisting one of the sapphire rings on her finger. “It’s time we dealt with your sister. A coronation in the spring will be nice, don’t you think?”
Isa shook her head. “But you always said you planned to rule another five more years.”
“Yes, I once thought so, but you’re ready. You survived.”
“There was nothing to survive, Mother, besides that man.” Isa barely held on to her calm. “Eva never hurt me. Did you know Sareen hangs people for breaking curfew?”
“Oh, my Isadore,” Lilith cooed. “Do you expect the man to use a gentle hand when dealing with those khimaer? You know how they are.”
Her mother’s syrupy-sweet tone drained the last of Isa’s patience. “No, I don’t know, Mother.”
“You have been gone for months, Isa,” her mother said, reaching out to pinch her cheek, her lacquered nails biting into Isa’s skin. “Don’t tell me your sister convinced you that you deserved to be kidnapped and dragged across the country. She stole you away.”
“Only to give us a choice,” Isa protested.
“I see. You’ve been letting her fool you into thinking she is vulnerable. Look what your sister does given freedom. Slaughtering soldiers who have sworn to protect her for people she hardly knows. You think she won’t kill you? She will turn this Queendom into a charnel house if you let her, Isadore. We have to act first.”
Memory dragged Isa back to the night before Eva’s nameday.
You must strike first, Mother had said. She’d called Isa to her rooms, and was still wading through the papers on her desk when Isa arrived.
Isa had sat waiting until Lilith deigned to speak when she noticed the ring balanced on top of one of the stacks of paper. Her not-father’s ring. Is there any news from the border? Have the Dracolans made any new acts of aggression?
They were all waiting for more news on the assassins who’d killed the King. Lilith had promised to get to the truth and find out who exactly had put a bounty on Lei’s head.
Her mother looked up from her work, waving a dismissive hand. I doubt the King of Dracol will do a thing, unless we send soldiers over the border.
But how will we find out who wanted Papa dead? What if they’re targeting you next, or me?