A Queen of Gilded Horns (A River of Royal Blood #2) - Amanda Joy Page 0,88
on a large rock.
Eyes shut, Baccha’s mind stepped into the Wind.
Well, he didn’t step exactly, but it felt like that. Like his mind had undone its tether to his body so that it could be carried on the Wind. For the first years of the life, being carried away on the Wind was the only way he came in contact with other people. From a mountaintop not far from here, he’d let his mind wander for hours, venturing to the South, where fey built great kingdoms, calling upon the elements to carve out cities in the highlands.
As he’d done before, he coasted on a chill Far Winter gale, flying south. Seeking Eva’s scent.
The truth was that not all scents were unique to one person. Certainly, some particular combinations of smells might only belong to one person, but more often than not, one had to look beyond the various aromas and discern the true essence beneath.
When Baccha first caught Eva’s scent—untamed ferocity, blood oranges, and ancient power—he thought he must have been mistaken. She was far too close.
He’d expected to find her much farther south. What could she be doing in the mountains near the border?
It occurred to Baccha that he should have asked Eva what exactly she was up to the last time he checked in on her.
Baccha followed the faint scent, seeing through the Wind’s eyes until he reached a sizable camp, just over the Dracolan border, not a hundred leagues from where Baccha currently sat. Dozens of men and women in soldier white—perfect camouflage for Far Winter in the A’Nir—sat around cook fires.
He spotted Falun at one, stoking the flames with a belt knife, while the young woman sitting next to him plucked feathers from a quail.
Baccha continued his search, winging through the trees around the camp, before he came to an abrupt stop. At the center of the camp, there was a long table with two maps spread across it. One depicted the A’Nir with marked trails through mountain passes and the other he did not recognize, showing the layout of a strange city. Eva leaned over the first map, shifting an enamel paperweight. He read the words on her lips: “Sher n’Cai.”
Aketo and the Captain of her guard, Anali, stood on either side of the Princess, all three watching as an older man with a jackal mask hooked to his belt gestured at the second map.
Eva looked up, scanning the tree line, with nostrils flaring. Scenting the air.
It had never occurred to the Hunter once in his hundreds of years that his scent was likely carried on the Wind. Fool that he was.
Baccha’s eyes flew open, and he found himself sitting by the stream, legs folded up beneath him. He fought to make sense of what he’d seen—Eva in the mountains, in the company of soldiers, scouring maps, and intent on the Enclosure. But there couldn’t have been more than forty people in the camp. Not a force large enough to mount an insurrection.
Did Eva have nerve enough to try to spark a rebellion?
A slow smile spread across Baccha’s face. The Elderi would want to know about this and, he hoped, help. He climbed to his feet and made for the camp.
Chapter 22
Isadore
Among all the indignities Isadore had suffered since becoming and unbecoming her sister’s prisoner, stumbling through knee-deep snowdrifts in ill-fitting boots, while Eva and Aketo worked together to guide them up a mountain, their making eyes at each other whenever the other wasn’t looking was absolutely the worst.
It had taken two weeks to reach the mountains and two more after that to reach the base of the one where the Enclosure perched. Journeying with General Mateen and his soldiers made for much smoother travel than their first months on the run. The battalion had plenty of extra horses—Isa had quite missed riding—and they broke camp each morning with quick efficiency.
Isa was surprised she’d even been invited on today’s excursion. When Aketo came to her tent yesterday to ask her to come on this trek up the mountain, she’d immediately said yes. They were to look for a cave that served as a secret entrance to the Enclosure. Only a small group would actually sneak into the Sher n’Cai. The rest would wait in the mountains until they decided to strike at the General who governed Sher n’Cai. Isa didn’t want to be left with soldiers she barely knew. And a small, buried voice inside wanted to know whether a chance still existed for peace—no,