A Queen of Gilded Horns (A River of Royal Blood #2) - Amanda Joy Page 0,53

the South, so I can at least thank you for that.”

Baccha gasped, “You plan to go into Myre!”

Really this was perfect. The most difficult part of his plan would be persuading any Elderi to step foot into Myre. Each Elderi swore to never return to their homeland unless the khimaer had a sure path to freedom.

It was meant to protect the race, for they knew if they failed, they all would die. And worse, the khimaer still dwelling in the Enclosures would pay in flesh and blood.

“I swore to my mother that I would see us home.” Ysai’s gaze jerked from his, blinking rapidly. When she faced him again, her eyes were wet with unshed tears. “It’s as you said. No other time has the Queendom been so vulnerable. While the Queen chases around her daughters, we will strike—freeing the khimaer before we claim the capital.”

“And how will you do that without being slaughtered? What about the Queen? The Rival Heirs?”

Her expression shifted suddenly, from grief for her mother to a broad, hungry smile. In the firelight, her silver hair glowed and light flashed off her pale white horns.

“That is where you come in, Hunter.” She dragged one sharp nail across her wrist until blood welled. She held it over his cup again and glared until Baccha tipped back his head.

“Now tell me the exact nature of your relationship with Princess Eva.”

With his will locked away in a box in the far reaches of his mind, Baccha leaned in close and explained.

Chapter 11

Eva

I walked the lakeshore in my mindscape. Every ten steps, the still water bubbled and frothed until it belched up magick.

I couldn’t be sure how much time passed while the weapons in my blood magick arsenal made themselves known to me. First arrows pulsing with crimson effulgence shot from the depths like jumping fish. Then daggers slim as spindles, and perfect for throwing.

The marrow magick was stranger: animal skeletons danced along the top of the water, snapping their teeth and creating a rattling music when they moved. Each was silhouetted in silver-white light that made my pulse race and drew me back into the memory of my first lesson in marrow magick. The night Baccha and I hunted down the antelope, I severed the poor beast’s horns to harness its speed and animal instincts, and they’d glistened with the same hazy luminescence. Marrow magick was no less brutal than its counterpart, and this lurid display upon the waves only further emphasized that.

No matter how many times I crossed the shore, only red and white magick emerged.

Blood and Marrow.

All this magick at my disposal without fresh blood or bones to call them forth.

I’d been ignoring my magick and my mindscape with near-religious fervor for the last six weeks. It only occurred to me now that I was stuck here, but clearly breaking the binding had changed things. While I’d hid from my magick—expecting another burden when whatever khimaer gift I’d inherited emerged—my mindscape had flourished. Alongside the lake and the river that appeared when my magick and Baccha’s coalesced, there was a balmy jungle and fields of flowers.

There was no rest to be had in this place. My first and last attempt at sleep had failed. Every time I shut my eyes, I woke in a different corner of the jungle, the trees blurring around me. I couldn’t recall why I’d made my way to the lake, but my feet were leaden, caked in mud up to my shins. It seemed I’d been walking along the shore for hours.

Or days.

Or years.

No matter how long I walked, the khimaer magick I’d been dreading discovering never showed itself.

I contemplated another glimpse into Baccha’s head, but I felt safe near the lake. When it grew dark, I lay beneath the heavy boughs of the encroaching jungle, as close to the shore as possible, watching a sky that had no moon, just thousands of stars.

But all of that ended when I felt a sudden yank on my center. I stumbled forward, arms slapping at the water as my knees sunk into the waves. I gasped as the pull came again, dragging me deeper into the water.

I fought the pull for a moment longer, but gave in to it when my chest began to ache from lack of air. I gasped, expecting to be choked by a mouthful of silt and water.

Instead I drew in a sharp breath and opened my eyes to find Isa’s staring at me. With a shriek, I shrunk from