A Queen of Gilded Horns (A River of Royal Blood #2) - Amanda Joy Page 0,40
he expected at least some regret from her—about kidnapping him or stabbing him or attempting to kill her sister—but for someone to regret, they had to feel what they’d done was wrong. And Isadore did not.
“I won’t hurt her,” Isadore said, blinking those bottle-green eyes and playing at innocence. “What would be the point? If I killed Eva, one of you would be free to do away with me, and then we’d both be dead.”
Aketo turned, prepared to leave. “I can’t trust you if that’s the only reason you won’t hurt her. Pitching this tantrum, not eating . . . when you would just as soon slit her throat if we all woke up in Ternain tomorrow. It isn’t about her. It’s about you getting what you want.”
“I don’t know what you two expect from me. It’s me or Eva. That is how it is. That’s what our lives have always been.”
“It doesn’t have to be anymore, Isadore. And you know that.”
“For now. Should I temporarily convince Eva I still love her, and when everything changes back to the way it was, simply forget?”
“You could choose to remember. You could decide that everything won’t go back to the way it was.”
“You’re too old to be this naïve. You have my oath that I won’t hurt her as long as we stay here, on the Plain.”
“At least tell me why you want to see her. If you’re still so set on being enemies, then I don’t understand.”
“I’m not allowed to worry after my sister?”
“It just doesn’t make sense, Isa,” Aketo said, his magick questing after her emotions, which were slippery and hard to get a clear sense of most times. There was genuine worry but also anger. Isadore had a well of untapped rage that clung to her always; it made him wary now.
“Must it? It doesn’t make sense that she’s kept me alive all this time, but she has. And it doesn’t make sense that she still wants to be sisters, but she does.” A seed of resentment bubbled up through the swelling tide of her emotions. “I can at least repay her for that by making sure my sister is well. Does that sound ridiculous? Maybe it does, but I still want to see her. Now.”
It did actually. It was clear Isadore wanted to shut Eva out, but somehow Eva had gotten into her head.
After a long moment of wondering if he was making a mistake—maybe Isa’s magick had wormed through his thoughts while he was distracted—he opened the door again. “I’ll wait for you to dress outside. And before we go, you have to eat.”
Upon leaving the room, it was immediately clear Kelis had listened in on their conversation. He sensed her distress and sadness.
Aketo sat down to wait on the floor beside her. Kelis gave his hand a squeeze. “Too kind by half, Prince.”
He gave no reply, too busy reconsidering kindness. Here he was, trying to mend the rip in Eva and Isa’s relationship, losing himself in this human world.
He remembered Isadore’s face when she stabbed him. Her twisting rage and black sorrow and insidious magick had made his bones ache for days afterward. He didn’t know if helping them was fighting against his own interests.
He wanted to believe in Eva’s dream of peace between them, and their mutual survival, but he doubted Isadore would stop wanting the throne. Eva wouldn’t change her mind either. Much as she struggled with the weight of the crown, he knew she wanted to be Queen just as fiercely as her sister. She feared wanting it.
He was afraid that Eva’s being khimaer through blood, but not upbringing, outlook, and . . . soul was still not enough. Not what his khimaer deserved anyway. But that was the thing about deserving. No one merited justice, not really.
Theirs was not a world of weights and scales, but of blood and dust and conquest.
Chapter 9
Isadore
The skin around Isadore’s left wrist was beginning to bleed. Just a few drops beading like jewels on her skin. As this was just a minor inconvenience within a sea of discontent, she didn’t bother mentioning it to Aketo or Eva’s Captain, Anali.
The khimaer woman watched her the way a hawk might stare down a field mouse. Or a field mouse glare at a smaller, even weaker beast. Power rippled off the woman like a fine perfume, and she was a striking beauty—all that flawless deep skin contrasting starkly with her white braids and horns dangling with gold chains. And