A Queen of Gilded Horns (A River of Royal Blood #2) - Amanda Joy Page 0,50

slowly. “We will arrive at our first destination shortly.”

She shook her head, her snow-white hair floating around her shoulders like a cloud, and snapped her reins. “Until then, enjoy the ride.”

Clods of mud struck Baccha in the chest as she rode forward to join the others.

All riding together, he noticed their similarity. They all wore shearling-lined leather. Ysai in tall boots similar to the pair her mother favored—buttery-brown calfskin laced up to mid-thigh. Both young women wore cream woolen tights beneath a vibrant coat, made from woven cords of wool. Ysai’s was a bracing icy blue and green.

The twins were just as striking, with glittering green eyes with the vertical pupils of a cat, and pointy fox ears beside ram’s horns. Both wore their thick, kinky hair in braids down to their waists.

Baccha could barely sense Meya following at a distance. When the young male twin approached with a rope to restrain the beast, Baccha cautioned that Meya would not consent to constraints. The boy hadn’t heeded the warning, but did wisely back away seconds later as black smoke rose from Meya’s flesh. He might’ve told them that Meya had once taken a bite out of the sun and, ever since, he’d been afire inside.

As he ran, Baccha used a thread of the Wind to keep pace with the horses. He doubted his magick would have stirred had it not been in service to Ysai’s first order to follow them.

Eventually the trees thickened the deeper they rode into the valley. Baccha could smell the great wealth of magick just a handful of miles away.

His captors drew rein before a cave mouth and dismounted. In unison all three turned to watch him, eyes slit against the cool wind gusting through the trees.

Baccha did not banish the Wind immediately, instead letting it dance about his shoulders. Tendrils of blond hair snaked through the air like a krakai’s tentacles.

Ysai frowned and barked, “Retrieve the Hunter.”

She walked into the cave without a backward glance.

“What are you called?” Baccha asked when the youth approached.

“I am Enki,” he answered, and set to cutting the rope around Baccha’s wrists.

Enki stared briefly at the dried blood painting Baccha from palm to forearm, and the already-healed abrasions beneath. Its source was a deep scratch from one of the trees as he ran, a scratch that had already healed. Strangely Baccha had hardly noticed the pain. He suspected his mind was too full of magick, the coalescence with Eva, and so very many memories for certain sensations to penetrate his thoughts.

It was a troubling consideration.

Enki held the edge of a long knife to Baccha’s neck. Only briefly did he let himself imagine striking the fellow. But there was no use in that with Ysai and her accursed blood so near. All killing these two would do is anger the girl he would need in the coming weeks.

He needed to lead with charm, not violence.

So he pointed his chin toward the girl, who’d first busied herself with tying the horses to a young pine stripped of all but its upper boughs. That done, she strode toward the cave, watching Baccha with sharp eyes. “And your sister?”

Enki blinked once before answering. “You may call her Iriki. However, she may not answer.”

Baccha tried again. “Can you tell me why your Mother believes I’ve betrayed the Tribe?”

In lieu of an answer, Enki grinned like a jackal and pointed to his sister. “Iriki will take you inside.”

Baccha sighed as he picked his way across the sopping ground. He stepped lightly, avoiding melting piles of snow, even though his boots were already soaked through. These two would have been perfect members of the Hunt in centuries past. Ysai too. They moved silently across the ground and had a bloodthirsty look about them.

The foxlike girl led Baccha into the cave. Snowmelt dripped down the walls. They followed the scent of a fire, Iriki ducking around the stalactites. The stone growths winked away as Baccha reached them, clearing a path—an effect of old Godling magick Baccha barely understood—but if Iriki noticed, she was unimpressed.

After a while the cave tunnel opened to a clear pool. Ysai sat on its banks, atop shearling-lined blankets, brass lamps arrayed around her. A well-used meeting place, then, smart to have a place away from the Elderi.

Ysai sat with a delicate teacup balanced on one palm, the other hand extended in invitation. A wet smear of red on the cup’s lip caught the firelight. Baccha took in the small, satisfied smile on her lips