A River of Royal Blood

by Amanda Joy

  The wrongness of it thrummed beneath my skin, discordant and harsh against the sound of the chatara drums.

  Only when a boy with a vaguely familiar face joined me, his hands coming around my waist to spin me to and fro, could I sink into the heat of his touch and the rush of being no more than a girl dancing with a boy.

  The truth—that this was as false as the facade I wore in the Queen’s Palace—was too thorny and painful to touch.

  I threw my mind and body into the music, drank a few welcome sips of ouitza, and let the heat of him leak into me, forcing everything else away.

  Princess no more, I swore. Just an ordinary girl dancing in the Patch, not the ill-suited Rival Heir. Princess no more.

  Those words went on echoing in my head even after I stopped dancing. Hours later, I ended up where my night began, letting the moonlight wash over me while I waited for Falun on the stoop. I strung together a song beneath my breath; I barely knew what it was about. Just a boy, a girl, and a boat where the Red River met the Silvern Sea.

  Air stirred beside me. “Fal,” I said, “would you ever be with someone common? Not for a night, but forever? Jessypha wouldn’t like it, but—”

  When the blade kissed my neck, the rest of the words died on my lips.

  Princess no more.

  I laughed even as ice slid through my veins. Blunt fingers ran through my curls, jerking my head back, and the dagger bit into my skin until hot blood dripped down my neck. My eyes rolled up to find a man staring at me, a fixed smile on his face.

  “I need to get a good look at you,” a rough voice grated. A hand replaced the knife, smearing the blood down my neck and chest in a sickening caress. “Wouldn’t want to kill the wrong Princess.”

  The words echoed in my head, distorted by panic. Kill the . . . kill the wrong Princess?

  All the air punched out of my chest as I stared at him. I sucked in a breath and did the only thing I could think of: I screamed.

  CHAPTER 4

  THE ASSASSIN GRINNED as he slapped me hard across the face, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Now, we can’t have any of that. I won’t have our time together cut short.”

  A tremor rolled through me as pain flared in my jaw. I tried to pull away, but his grip on my neck wouldn’t budge.

  I recognized his crooked nose, that smile that didn’t touch his eyes. The man I’d thought was a City Guard was apparently an assassin in a stolen uniform. The realization made me cold down to my bones. How could I have failed to see what was so obvious now? The cold of the grave lingered behind those muddy brown eyes.

  “I was hoping you would put up a fight, little Princess.” He stroked my cheek with his thumb. “How disappointing.”

  I bit his hand and foul blood flooded my mouth. He cursed as I scrambled away. I spat out his blood and stood, drawing my belt knife. I was thankful that he hadn’t bothered to disarm me. Such hubris would be to my advantage.

  The assassin pulled a short sword from a scabbard strapped to his back. I recognized the blackened steel forged in the Deadened Jungle, folded and re-formed a hundred times to make it unbreakable. Soldiers in the Queen’s Army carried the same. “So you do have teeth. I worried after our encounter last night.”

  “Why not just kill me yesterday? Why follow me again tonight?” It would have been easy for him to slip a knife between my ribs last night. Or just moments ago when he’d first approached. He could’ve slit my throat and been far away from here by now.

  “My patron prefers discretion,” he said, staring hungrily at the ebon blade. “And I prefer a slow death to a quick one. Don’t you?”

  Fear dragged wicked claws down my back, but my fury kept it at bay. I refused to die in this forgotten street, discarded like trash. He would regret not killing me when he had the chance.

  The assassin darted forward with chilling speed, our blades ringing with discordant music. I gritted my teeth, arms burning with the effort of holding back his blows. With his reach, and much longer blade, it would be over soon if I didn’t disarm him quickly.

  I slashed at his sword arm, but he dodged with sinuous fluidity, opening a shallow wound on my wrist. I backed away, knife still raised but wavering as I fought the pain. The assassin didn’t let me get far. He pressed forward, swinging his blade almost lazily. I feinted, and when he dodged, I slammed the hilt into his wrist. The assassin’s eyes widened as his sword fell.

  I kicked it away, smiling.

  “Don’t think you’ve won just yet, Princess,” he whispered. Soft golden light began to emanate from his body. I squinted against the brightness, cursing my mistake. I had forgotten to watch for his magick.

  He rushed me, smelling of storm clouds and the scorch of lightning. Beams of light exploded from his body, as if he wasn’t calling magick, but was made of it.

  He sent us both crashing to the ground. I dug my knife into his shoulder a moment before my head struck the paving stones with a sickening crack. My belt knife hissed against the ground as it left my hand, disappearing in the shadowed alley. The assassin straddled me. He didn’t seem to notice the blood soaking his collar as he gripped my neck, choking me.

  I clawed at his hands, my vision tunneling until his face was all I could see.

  With darkness gathering, the Blood Moon like a halo behind him, I suddenly smelled magick. The bitter scent of bloodberries and ripe plums perfumed the air as long-dormant power swelled within me.

  The wound on my wrist still spurted blood and every tattoo it touched became warm.

  The assassin sensed the change, his grip tightening as he leered over me. “You will not save yourself. You’ll die here alone. After I dispose of your body and kill your companion, everyone will believe you’ve run away again.”

  No.

  I couldn’t die and leave Falun to face him. I would not die.

  The dark lake in my mind began to churn and froth as my magick came to life. As much as I dreaded this, I had always known my power lived deep in those waters, like a torpid beast waiting for me to call it to shore. So when the lake offered its magick, writhing and red as a sunset, I took it.

  My hands became painfully hot, my tattoos glowing scarlet. Somehow I sensed his pulse, discordant beside mine. With the last of my strength, I pressed my hand to the wound I’d given him earlier on his collarbone, sticky with drying blood, and thought, More.

  Bleed, I wished. Die.

  Beneath my fingers, the wound . . . widened. Hot blood sprayed from the assassin’s neck.

  His eyes met mine. There was a flash of accusation and wonder, and then he was gone.

  His blood washed down my body, leaving a burning path with every tattoo it touched, stirring more magick than I’d ever felt before.

  The edges of my mind pulled taut like animal skin over a drum. I drew each hand through the warm coating and the pressure mounted even further. My ears popped, pulse echoing like thunder.

  This was my magick, of marrow and blood.

  If that power cut his neck, this would have cleaved all the flesh from his bones. Revulsion rolled through me as I upended the contents of my stomach.

  I shuddered, pushing his body off me, and crawled until I wasn’t touching that spreading pool of blood. I knew I needed to get up, find Falun, and return to the Palace, but fatigue made me feel like I was wading through mud. Head swimming, I drew my knees to my chest. I could still see the assassin’s eyes as darkness dragged me under.

  How could you? they seemed to say, but it wasn’t the assassin’s voice I heard.

  It was mine.

  CHAPTER 5

  I WOKE TO the rasp of a blade being tended.

  I sat up, head throbbing, and pulled back the silken canopy around my bed. At my desk, Falun ran his broadsword over a whetstone, face hidden by a tangle of waist-length scarlet hair. Mirabel stood near the door, handing an old woman in a gold healer’s
tabard a bowl of pink-tinged water. Strips of wet linen hung over the edge, spotted with blood. She slipped a few coins into the healer’s wizened hand and shut the door behind her.

  Only then did I notice the fresh bandages covering my left wrist up to my palm. I flexed my fingers, marveling at the slight twinge of pain.

  At least there wouldn’t be any lasting outward effect from last night, but inside everything had changed. Even though the assassin needed killing, that didn’t stop the oily slide of guilt in my stomach.

  A man was dead by my hand.

  Shivering, I wrapped a blanket around me and left my bed.

  “You’re awake,” Mirabel said, an unusual eagerness in her gaze. “The healer said you’d sleep for hours yet.”

  “Er, good morning.” I looked at Falun, hoping he would give some indication as to what happened last night.

  He set aside his sword and tucked his hair behind the elegant points of his ears. He shook his head slightly, as if dispelling an unsettling thought, and gestured to the covered lacquer trays on the desk without meeting my eyes.

  My skin prickled. Was this awkwardness because they knew what I’d done? “I suppose I should explain what happened, then.”

  “Yes, you should,” Mirabel said, still eyeing me curiously. She sat down at the desk across from Falun, who pulled up another seat and offered it to me. It was a wide mahogany affair, large enough for the three of us to share.

  It could’ve been any other afternoon when we sat here drinking cup after cup of tea as we worked. Mirabel thumbed through her book, scrawling notes in a cipher. Falun, finished honing his sword, now oiled it. And yet, unlike any of those other times, I could feel wariness rolling off them. They wondered how I’d survived.

  “The night before last, a man in a City Guard’s uniform stopped me while I was dancing. The Guardsmen often arrest people when they raid the Patch. I managed to slip away from him and didn’t think much of it.” I shrugged. “I didn’t know he was an assassin until he found me in the alley where Falun and I planned to meet last night.”

  “If I’d stayed by your side, you would’ve been safe,” Falun said. His skin was ashen, expression grim.

  Mirabel grunted in agreement and I shot her a glare. “I am safe. Thanks to you, I woke up here, and not in the city dungeons.”

  Or, more likely, in the cells buried deep in the belly of the Palace. Mother would want me shackled before she could swoop in and rescue me, only to lock me in my bedchamber for the next two months, not for killing a man but for disobeying her by leaving the Palace.

  “When I found you, I thought I was too late,” he said, fists clenched upon the table. “You were covered in blood, but your pulse was strong, so I carried you back here and found Mirabel.”

  Thank magick for that. I trusted any healer Mira sent for wouldn’t let word of my injuries travel. “And what . . . of the body?”

  “The Captain and the rest of the guard went to collect it,” Falun said, glancing toward the door. “They returned just a few minutes before you woke.”

  It turned out most of my guard were stationed on the other side of the door, awaiting news of my health. I could’ve done without everyone knowing I’d nearly died. If I knew them well—and after three years at Asrodei, I did—now they’d all want a part in protecting me over the next few weeks. Protecting me—and pummeling me on the sparring grounds for the sake of my training.

  Falun stepped out of the room, and when he returned, Captain Anali Vala strode in behind him, her salt-white cornrows swinging. She was khimaer, with white ram’s horns framing a delicate heart-shaped face, and her skin was a cool dark brown, so rich it showed no flaws. Hand resting on the sword pommel at her hip, she walked as if no one could bar her path. She was petite, but with strong shoulders, and if need be, she could probably incapacitate all three of us with little trouble.

  Anali was the first person my father introduced me to when I moved to Asrodei. She’d been given charge over my combat training, so we’d spent hundreds of hours together. When it was time for me to return to Ternain, I’d asked her to become the Captain of my guard.

  At the sight of me, she pressed a hand to her heart and bowed her head. “Your Highness.”

  “Did you find it?”

  She grimaced. “I’m sorry, Eva. We found the alley that matched Lieutenant Malfar’s description, but the body was already gone. Someone tried to wash away the blood, but there were signs they’d dragged the body away. We followed the trail until it disappeared in the human sector.”

  “Gods damn it,” I swore.

  “That about sums up the situation. I think we can assume whoever contracted him had the body removed. I left a few of the guards in the bloodkin sector. If we’re lucky, they’ll find something.”

  “If not, I will,” Mirabel said. “Though first, I must send word to the King. If Princess Isadore is behind this, your father is the only one who can do something about it. Unless”—she arched an eyebrow—“you’d prefer to leave it up to the Queen.”

  “Of course not.” Mother would defend Isa’s innocence even if we did find proof. I’d learned that lesson before I ran away almost four years ago. “But I don’t think this was my sister.” Isadore wanted the spectacle of challenging me before the Court and didn’t consider me a threat. Killing a Rival Heir before her nameday was treason, punishable by death. “Why would she risk herself to kill me now, when she’ll have the opportunity in just two short months?”

  “True, but we can’t rule out anyone yet,” Mirabel argued. “Your sister has more to gain from your death than anyone else.”

  Silence fell at her words. The rattle of porcelain soon filled it as Falun poured tea. I took the first cup, but even the scalding liquid couldn’t warm the frost spreading inside me. This was just the beginning. Whoever sent the assassin would try again and again until I was dead.

  Could Isadore have ordered my death? Was there so little love left in her? She’d been so smug at Court yesterday, so certain I was worthless as Rival Heir. What would make her want to kill me now?

  “There’s one other thing, Eva.” Mirabel marked something in her book and closed it. The fervor in her eyes returned as she stared me down. “You haven’t told us how you survived.”

  “I killed him,” I whispered, clasping the blanket tight around my shoulders.

  Mirabel leaned forward. “How, child?”

  I put down my teacup and drew in a steadying breath. I’d accepted that I would have to tell them. Even so, it was difficult to speak the words. “I . . . used magick.”

  Time seemed to slow as the sword slipped from Falun’s hands, ringing as it struck the marble floor. He barely noticed, worry smoothing from his face as he reached for my hand. “Brilliant, Eva.”

  Mirabel rapped her knuckles against the desk, biting back a smile. “Finally, as I knew you would.”

  Captain Anali gave no visible reaction beyond a slight widening of her eyes.

  “I knew,” Falun continued, “when I saw the body, that you must’ve found a way.”

  Bile rose in my stomach. I swallowed, gripping the edge of the table. “What do you mean?”

  “You were unarmed when I found you, but the wound on the man’s neck was neat. It could only have come from a blade or . . .”

  My magick.

  I searched their faces for fear or disgust. Falun and Anali must’ve seen all that blood in the alley, and I’d spilled it without a weapon. They simply blinked back at me, relieved. “How? How can you be so happy?”

  “Why wouldn’t we be?” Falun asked. “You’re alive and you used magick. You can win now.”

  “Win?” It didn’t feel like victory when I killed the assassin. All I felt was horror and relief sharp enough to cut myself upon. “I can’t win. I barely survived last night.”

  The only thing that had saved me was that the assas
sin wanted to toy with me.

  “Eva,” Falun began gently, “this was only the first time. You’ll get stronger, much stronger.”

  “Right, so I can become an even better monster.”

  “Nonsense,” Mirabel said. “Magick is magick—it cannot change you.”

  True, magick couldn’t alter your nature; it was merely a reflection of it. And with magick of marrow and blood, I was indeed wicked. The first time I used magick to hurt Isadore had made that clear. Only Isadore, Papa, and my mother knew about that night, but I was sure that once Mirabel, Falun, and Anali saw me wield this power, they would agree.

  I crossed my arms, trying hard to keep a tremor from my voice. “The last Queen with my magick killed her sister and set off a war. I already have to kill my sister. Has it never occurred to you that the Blood Moon rose because I might follow in Raina’s footsteps?”

  Falun surprised me by laughing. “That is absurd. No matter what the moon intends—if moons can have intentions—if you don’t want to follow Raina’s path, you need only study it and choose differently. What war would you start anyway?”

  My mind whispered an answer, that it would take a war to right the wrongs of the past, but I kept silent.

  He was right. I knew little about Raina, because I chose to avoid learning about her. She was the deeper darkness sewn onto my shadow, dogging me with every step. I’d worried I would relate to her if I knew more, but ignorance left me open to making the same mistakes.

  Suddenly I knew what I needed to do today. “You aren’t going to like this, but I need to go out into Ternain.”

  “Why?” Anali asked. “We don’t know when there will be another attempt on your life. Killers once denied usually try again, Princess.”

  “And you’ve already missed Court,” Mirabel added. “You’ll try your mother’s patience leaving the Palace today.”

  It was a risk worth taking while someone was trying to kill me. If anything held the secrets to controlling my magick, it was Raina’s past. Though there was a library inside the Queen’s Palace, the best place to dig through history was on the other side of Ternain.