A Queen of Gilded Horns (A River of Royal Blood #2) - Amanda Joy Page 0,25

before he could crush them.

“As this trip was not ordered by the Mother, I have more say in how I spend my time.” That and he was stalling, afraid to face Moriya after so flagrantly disobeying her.

“Imagine my surprise, catching your scent in this morning. It has been more than a hundred years since your last visit.”

“I’m sorry, my dear. The Mother’s orders were quite explicit. I was to reach the capital as soon as possible.”

Lyse took this in with a slow blink. Though she was raised in the Ilbani Citadel until age nineteen, her mother sent her north to find Baccha when her magick seemed too unwieldy a beast to tame. Lyse had found him, and the Tribe. She’d spent the next forty years there, learning from him and the Elderi, as well as becoming fiercely devoted to their cause. “And your orders now are less strict?”

“Just marginally less demanding than usual. And I figured while I still have a mind to think clearly, I had to visit my great-child.” About a week after he left Ternain, he’d felt that familiar pull that meant Moriya wanted him home. It began small, a near-imperceptible tightness in the back of his head, but now he wished he’d requested a second drink before leaving the dining hall. Still it was less painful than in years past when he’d been called back to the mountains.

Lyse’s brow furrowed, clearly doubtful about his intentions. “And why is that?”

“I need to beg a favor of you, Aunt Lyse. I am sure Moriya must’ve told you she sent me to Ternain. Do you care to hear my story of what happened there?”

So he began to tell Lyse about the last months of High Summer, and Eva’s nameday, and the unmistakable scent of ancient magick that wafted from her skin as she glowed like a sunburst and changed.

And how for the briefest moment, the oaths binding him weighed like chains around his neck. Just as they did whenever Moriya and the previous Mothers of the Tribe ordered him about. He recognized the scent of Eva’s magick the moment she shifted.

The oldest magick of all. Queen’s magick.

Gods, a half-human girl with Queen’s magick. Oh, how the Elderi would rage and quake at that news.

When he finished, Lyse’s eyes had brightened to a pale brown. Her hands were clasped in her lap and her lips moved silently, savoring the story.

This was why he’d come to Lyse. Her gifts of earth magick were certainly the most powerful magick she possessed, but at her heart, Lyse was a story spinner. One whose words had a way of catching fire. What fell from her lips to her acolytes who spread it around the common areas of the inn stuck.

If Eva ever found out he’d done this, she’d likely try to skin him alive. But he knew the power in a story—and since no one else was inclined to tell Eva’s, he would make sure the world knew.

“Will you tell the story of Myre’s future Queen, Lyse?”

A smile cracked her face. “Ah, but just because she has the magick does not mean she will be recognized as Queen.”

“Who better to unify us?”

Lyse’s gaze cooled. “Unity is not our goal, Great-Father. It is freedom for all Myre’s people.”

Baccha resisted the urge to groan. Idealism made his teeth ache. “Moriya will see the practicality in this. A girl who is both human and khimaer, a girl who already has a strong claim to the throne.”

Lyse squinted at him. “And when you were in the South, did you receive any . . . news?”

Unease crept over Baccha’s skin. Lyse’s voice was like water rolling over smooth stones, but he caught her hesitation. Her worry.

“No, I passed reports through an apprentice in the Temple. I never received any replies.” Typical of Moriya, who would never share her exact plans with him.

“I’m so sorry to tell you this, but Moriya is dead. She was shot in a raid a few months ago. The wound didn’t kill her, but she took ill on the journey home. A fever claimed her the night they returned to Ariban.”

Over the roaring in his ears, Baccha heard one thing: A few months ago.

Meaning Moriya had died when he was still in Ternain, solely focused on the Princess.

“I could have saved her,” Baccha said, stomach turning over and over. “If she hadn’t sent me back to Myre.”

He was going to sick up. He had finally found a young woman of khimaer blood to put on