A Queen of Gilded Horns (A River of Royal Blood #2) - Amanda Joy Page 0,30

could still sense her. Echoing silence and distant pain that made his stomach knot. Her pain had to be immense for him to still sense it while she was unconscious. He had no doubt Eva’s tether to her sister was the only thing that was keeping her alive.

If he could speak, he would’ve told Falun all this. But as it was, unsheathing his sword and leveling it at the khimaer man and the presumably human woman while ignoring Eva’s spreading blood required all his concentration.

Unbidden, his thoughts circled back again.

First there were the shouts from Falun as Eva’s glamour peeled away, revealing her, claws driven into the wall, perched on one foot as she clung to a window. Then Eva was tumbling head over foot. And for a moment, she was suspended in an aura of viscous golden light—or possibly magick, he wasn’t sure—then he saw what he thought to be a white cloak unfurl from her back.

But no.

As the cloak flew wide, he realized it wasn’t fabric at all, but something much more inexplicable—long, slender bones that, between one gasp and the next, grew muscle and sinew and, finally, stunningly, dark, lustrous feathers.

All of this within the span of a few breaths where a scream shredded his throat, because she was still falling, too fast for them to catch her. Even as her wings spread wide, trying futilely to slow her descent, he knew it was too late.

When she did strike the ground, the cry from her lips was punctuated by the sharp cracks of those newly made—grown or created?—bones.

The memory of that sound threatened to upend his stomach.

But his sword arm remained steady, directed at the space between the woman and the man. Closer now—for they had not stopped when he drew his blade—he could see the khimaer man’s legs were furred and tapered to graceful hooves.

They were clothed both richly and practically, in vibrant silk tunics, the collars thick with embroidery, and supple calfskin boots that curled over their knees. Golden hoop earrings decorated the shells of their ears, along with fat diamond earrings dangling from their right earlobes. Both had skin of the same deep complexion and were nearly as tall as he was, but that was where the similarities ended.

The woman’s eyes dominated her face, wide-set above high cheekbones. Their color immediately reminded Aketo of Eva’s; the brown at the edges and bright flash of crimson around her pupil like a fire in the night.

She was long and lean, with the sort of bearing he’d come to recognize at Court. Her spine stiff, shoulders tossed back, and chin lifted. There was something in that posture that said, I expect the world to bend to my will. Eva and her sister often wielded it to the same effect.

The sword at her hip seemed to be her only weapon. Aketo noted distantly that her hands were trembling, and despite her stance, the primary feelings were disoriented confusion and dread.

The man’s face, like much of the rest of him, was broad. His arms and legs were as thick around as tree trunks, and he carried no sword, only two half-moon axes strapped to his back. White tattoos like forking, thorny branches began at his hairline and wrapped around his cheeks. His hair hung past his shoulders in locs, and white ram’s horns curled back from his brow. Heavy eyebrows drawn down over hazel eyes were his only sign of worry.

“Who are you?” Aketo snapped.

The man lifted both hands in a placating gesture. “We don’t have any quarrel with you.”

“Glad to hear it. But I have a quarrel with you. You came from up there, yes?” Using his sword, he pointed at the high window where Eva had fallen. He felt a surge of guilt from the woman.

“We don’t want trouble with you,” the woman said. “Please let us help her.”

A snarl ripped from Aketo’s throat as she tried to step around him.

“Please,” she repeated. Her guilt swelled as her eyes slid to Eva again. “It was an accident.”

The man took a tentative step, trying to get around him.

Aketo was already in motion, sword whistling as it cleaved the air. To their credit, both danced back. The woman’s entire countenance changed the moment Aketo attacked. In one clean movement, she drew her own sword. She bared her teeth as their blades met.

“Stop,” the man bellowed, his voice grinding in Aketo’s ears. “Enough.”

His voice seemed to vibrate down to Aketo’s very bones. He slumped as all his strength suddenly faltered.