A Queen of Gilded Horns (A River of Royal Blood #2) - Amanda Joy Page 0,32

her back. The lustrous plumage continued up her shoulders and neck, almost like a collar. He could tell by the boneless splay of her legs, moving her now would only make the pain and injuries worse.

She was a dream turned suddenly, and terribly, to a nightmare.

Steeling himself, he gathered her upper body in his. He had no choice but to breathe the sweet scent of her blood. Wildflowers, smoke, and bitter oranges drizzled with honey. Perhaps if he’d been raised by his father, who was bloodkin, he would not be so horrified at the way his stomach twisted with hunger.

But he’d grown up with only khimaer; their noses wrinkled at any sign of his fleeting desire to drink blood.

With Eva cradled between him and Falun, Osir ushered them to the teakwood door.

Aketo didn’t worry about intimidating the pair. They weren’t the sort to be impressed by the gnashing of teeth. Instead he listened to the steady thump of their heartbeats and, at every stutter, scanned their expressions.

If they did have more treachery in mind, he saw no indication. Still he sketched out a vague plan as they walked, Eva’s breath coming in flinching, labored gasps.

It would have to be the man, Osir, first. They would crush his throat. Aketo had kin who were speakers, the sound of their voices able to drown out any resistance instantly.

As soon as Falun walked through the doorway, it slammed shut behind them. Aketo took in the dim brick-lined hallway they’d entered. The ceiling was at least fifty feet high, lit by hanging copper lamps too far up to brighten this place. Still, the fires within them cast shards of starlight upon a gleaming jet floor. There were more carvings on the inner walls, each more florid than the next. Etchings of grand leafless branches climbing the walls reminded him of ghosts.

They arrived at another nondescript door, unadorned but for a single flowing palm-size character he recognized immediately. It was twin to the symbol on the sword Eva was gifted by her father months ago with Khimaerani on its hilt. Old noble khimaer families used these symbols, iktar, to denote their surname.

Nbaltir. A royal name and a dead one, or so he’d thought then.

However living in hiding might have broken these people, against all odds they were still alive.

The woman stepped around them and heaved the door open. Airy sunlight filled the corridor, turning dust motes to fireflies.

A tree-lined path opened up beyond the doors, paved with flagstones smoothed by time. Above, the branches intertwined, creating a canopy dotted with fluted yellow blossoms. Some part of him wondered how flowers bloomed here, when life did not easily thrive on the Arym Plain, but mostly he did not care.

“Welcome to Nbaltir, our home,” Osir said as the doors swung shut behind them. “This way.”

In the distance Aketo finally glimpsed the huge red-stone building that must have been their home. Its design was similar to the akelae he’d seen in Ternain—the single-story homes that opened to a central courtyard—yet was built on a much grander scale. Part homestead and part palace, it was four stories and all hard angles and columns, but for its central domed ceiling and two towering pillars tipped in spires of gold.

Broad acacia trees dotted the grounds around the home, blackbirds and azure thrushes winging through their upmost branches. There were tilled and untilled fields behind the home and a small herd of spotted goats roamed the viridescent grasses.

With no time to stop and admire, Aketo was glad when Osir continued forward, leading them down the path until they came to the home’s marble facade.

A kind-faced khimaer woman stood before wide, unadorned doors. Her face fell when she caught sight of them, her amber eyes assessing and tight. She looked at least twenty years his senior and was petite. Narrow shoulders curved inward beneath white-and-black wings held tight to her back. Her face was a seamless blend of human and owl, with amber eyes and a pert nose above a sharp beak.

He nearly stumbled with relief as she rushed forward, chattering in rapid Khimaeran, “Oh, you fools! What has happened? What have you done?”

Falun, still wary, inched back at her sudden approach and Aketo remembered the fey likely did not speak Khimaeran. “Are you the healer?” Aketo asked, switching to Common.

She nodded emphatically. “Yes, I am Tavan. Please come inside.”

Tavan led them through a tiled walkway and into a courtyard with broken paving stones that crunched beneath their feet. After a few sharp