A River of Royal Blood

by Amanda Joy

  “What?” I gasped.

  “Yes, child. If you had just had a little patience, or could trust the people who mean you well, a man wouldn’t be dead—and you wouldn’t have destroyed our only connection to the truth.”

  “Don’t you mean if you had trusted me?” I said. “How could you not tell me this? How dare you?”

  “Because you don’t sleep at night and can barely get out of bed in the morning. You’ve shut everyone out.” She shook her head. “You weren’t ready. And you have so much more to prepare for. You didn’t need this as well.”

  “I did need it,” I whispered, because if I didn’t whisper, I would scream. “Caring for Papa is the only thing keeping me sane.”

  Mirabel reached for me, but I backed away. She should have known I didn’t want to be touched after weeks of me flinching away from any sort of comfort. “Eva, your father is dead. He doesn’t need you to care for him. But I, and everyone else, need you to care for yourself.”

  “I tire of you deciding what I should do, what I should want, what I should know. You and Papa, you want me to be Queen, but you trust me with nothing. When you lie to me, why are you surprised that I do the same? I’m exactly who you taught me to be.”

  “Eva, please,” Mira said.

  “I need to be alone.”

  Mirabel faced Baccha, pointing a shaky finger. “What about him?”

  “I have to speak with the Princess, Lady,” he said sheepishly. He glanced in my direction. “About her lessons.”

  Mirabel turned her sharp gaze on Baccha. “My trust is wearing thin with you, Hunter. How could you let her do this after finding her outside of the Palace?”

  “My apologies, mistress, but I couldn’t very well throw her over my shoulder and run,” he said, bowing his head.

  She huffed and stalked out of the room.

  “Turn around,” I told Baccha, then proceeded to strip to my underthings. Once I was down to just a chemise, I slid under the blankets and pulled them up to my neck.

  “What do you want, Baccha?”

  “You have to start training again,” Baccha said. “You have to get used to violence again. You completely crumbled today. You just went blank. If your sister challenges you and you react the way you did today, you will die. I’ve waited long enough; it’s time for your final lesson.”

  I looked away from him. “Before my father was killed, he told me the Sorceryn who placed my binding is dead. I never told you, but it’s grown worse. The binding grows tighter and tighter every time I use magick. That bit I called up earlier is the best I can do—and even that pain is difficult to bear for long.”

  “And what?” he asked. “Does that mean you’re ready to give up your life?”

  No, I was prepared to endure whatever I must to become Queen. The binding could not compare to the pain that had become my constant companion since Papa’s death. But I wasn’t going to spent the little time I had left before my nameday on a futile lesson without getting something in return. “I’ll do it under one condition, Baccha. You have to tell me the truth, about your past and why you came here.”

  “Perfect, because that is exactly what I’d planned to do.” Baccha looked quite satisfied. “I thought it would take more to convince you than that. We have a deal, then, Princess. I’ll expect you at the Little Palace in the morning.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and left my bedchamber.

  I doused the lamps and climbed back into bed. When I closed my eyes, I saw Katro’s eyes, wild with the fear I’d asked Aketo to torture him with. I told myself he deserved it as tears wet my face, but I knew it was a lie. I didn’t bother wiping my face. I was used to sudden tears and sleepless nights, and wondering when, or if, this grief would end.

  * * *

  I stared down at the cup in my hand and tried to remember the last time my father had been in Ternain. The thin porcelain had a crack down the side, but none of the muddy dregs of kaffe left inside had spilled from it. Was it two years? Three? How long ago had someone—likely one of the men in his Kingsguard—brewed this draught for my father? Long enough for the leftovers to have dried to a tar-like sludge at the bottom. I set the cup down and backed away from Papa’s desk.

  I’d arrived at the Little Palace at the crack of dawn, hours earlier than Baccha expected me—timeliness was an unexpected advantage of not being able to sleep through the night—and had gone to the office where we had our first lesson. I was attempting to clean the desk while I waited for my escort, Falun, to retrieve the Hunter.

  This was my first time visiting the Little Palace since returning to the capital. I’d planned to begin going through his possessions as soon as I was back in Ternain, but every time I began to consider it, some other meaningless task drew my attention. It was the sheer volume of objects my father collected that daunted me. There were rugs from the weavers in Korsai; sculptures of Godlings and magickal charms; cherik game sets and weapons of every sort. It would require a year just to take stock of it all and decide what I wanted to keep and what to send to his family’s home on Arym Plain.

  I didn’t have a year.

  With just two days left until my nameday, I might not even have a week.

  After my nameday ball, I doubted Isadore would wait long. Tradition would hold—there were never challenges on an heir’s nameday—but a reprieve of just one day held little comfort. I’d started to imagine when and where she would do it. At Court in the coming days, most likely, so we could put on a grand show.

  My only choice for now was to avoid her. I could challenge Isadore, but only a fool rushed death. However our fight began, it would end with one of our lives cut short. I couldn’t best my sister yet and I needed to live to find out who else was involved in Lady Shirea’s plot. I would avenge my father.

  After that I could become Queen.

  A knock sounded at the door, but Baccha never waited for permission to enter a room. He strode inside, wearing leather breeches, knee-high, gold-tooled boots, and a white cotton tunic. His golden hair had been woven into a loose braid and he drank from a steaming mug of tea.

  He said nothing as he walked to the table in the center of the room and collapsed into a chair, his limbs splayed out like a well-fed cat. “Aren’t you going to join me, Princess?”

  I sat across from him and folded my arms across my chest. “I’m waiting, Baccha.”

  Baccha let out a bark of laughter. “Is that any way to greet a man who spent the last four weeks trying to think of a way around an oath that has held for nearly two hundred years?”

  “I don’t yet trust that you’ll hold up your end of our bargain.”

  “Well, be assured I have found a solution. The oath forbids me from speaking of it, but it can’t interfere with my thoughts.” At my blank look, Baccha simply smirked and shut his eyes.

  Then I understood—our mindscape. At the lake we could speak freely without ever saying a word.

  When I appeared on the shore, water lapping at my toes, Baccha wasn’t in his usual place beside me, but his voice rang clear in my mind.

  I was born far north of here, in the forests of the A’Nir Mountains.

  Where are you? I wondered. I left the lake and walked toward the treeline.

  Baccha’s tart annoyance came through the bond. I am in my region of our mindscape. You’re free to join me, if you can. Do you want to hear the story or not?

  Get on with it, then. I entered the woods, searching for signs of movement. Every step I took seemed to span miles, the trees blurring around me. It was like running with the wind, but smoother.

  I was born at the base of a nameless mountain. My mother and father, whoever they were, must have been too preoccupied to care for me. I didn’t leave the forest on the side of that mountain for the first hundred years of my life. Instead I wandered and tested the limitations of my magick, until a khimaer magick-work
er from the South camped near my home. He sought me out just like you did, by sensing my magick. He was not what anyone would call a positive influence. He taught me about Akhimar and how to fight and to learn other magick, and told me that I was not like most people who lived in the realm. And that most of the ageless ones, Godlings like me, had either died off or worked for the Queen in the South. He said the Queen wanted him to work for her as well, because she wanted every powerful magick-worker in the Queendom under her thumb. We formed the Hunt together to reject the Queen’s rule. It lasted for a hundred years until we were caught. The Queen at the time was named Onaye. She was from the ibasi tribe, had wings like an eagle, and she could call fire. Onaye was fearsome; even the Hunt could not stand against her. To pay for my crimes, she gave me a choice: I could return to my mountain in exile, or pledge my sword to the crown. Unwilling to return to isolation, I swore on my blood that I would follow her and every rightful Queen that came after. An oath that would cause my magick to betray me if broken.

  Did you hate her for it? I asked. I was still roaming the trees. Unlike when we hunted the antelope, in the mindscape sunlight pierced the canopy of branches overhead, and the loamy forest floor was soft beneath my bare feet.

  In the beginning, no, Baccha continued. I’d tired of the constant violence of the Hunt. Traveling the realm taught me there was more to living than hunting prey. I believed that if I fought for the crown, it would feel . . . cleaner. But it was worse. I cut more throats for the Queen than I did with the Hunt. I fell in love, had a daughter, and learned to mourn, all while straining at the bonds of my service. By the time I met Raina, I hated the Queens.

  I took one last step and came to a clearing. At its heart was a huge tree, with hundreds of spindly, leafless branches all answering the wind’s call to dance. Baccha lay beneath it, his golden hair spread out beneath him. He didn’t stir at my approach and continued his story as I joined him.

  There was one lie I told you, Eva. I learned of Raina’s plans days before I brought her to the Palace. I believed my oath would end without a rightful Queen. I only changed my mind when I realized Raina’s intentions weren’t just to exact revenge, but to claim the throne. I couldn’t risk a woman as cunning as Raina controlling Myre’s fate, but I failed to thwart her plans. That night after I found the dead Queen, I confessed my betrayal to her daughter. She asked what I would do to repay my sin.

  She asked me, Would you serve us again, Hunter? You won’t be working toward a Queen’s ends this time, but for the preservation of our people. I agreed, not realizing that she had a different oath in mind, one not susceptible to betrayal. The oath was sworn thrice over in blood: mine, that of a descendant of Queen Onaye, and in the blood of one of my grandchildren. I swore to never speak of our agreement and to follow the descendants of the last Queen until they could retake the throne. That is all I have done since the Great War: follow orders I did not agree with and could not explain to anyone. Until now.

  Baccha sat upright. What do you think of my legend, Princess? Did it live up to your expectations?

  His voice in my head sounded deceptively light, but I could feel grief to match my own through the bond. Both grief and a rage so potent it made my teeth ache.

  I’m sorry. It was all I could offer, but not nearly enough. The khimaer Queen’s descendants, they still live? In the Roune Lands?

  Baccha nodded.

  What was the order that sent you back to Ternain? I held my breath. I was certain I would not like Baccha’s answer.

  Sure enough, he wouldn’t meet my eyes, and his voice in my head was like a whisper. I was sent to gather information on the Queen.

  I opened my eyes and was back in my father’s office. I clenched shaking fists. “I knew it. I knew I couldn’t trust you.”

  A moment later, Baccha’s eyes flew open. “You can trust me, Eva. I swear that I will not let any harm come to you from my actions.”

  “That isn’t your decision, though, is it? What if they ask you to kill me next?” Baccha hung his head but did not answer. Just as I expected. He couldn’t control his fate or mine. “Did I really stumble upon you that day, or did you plan it, Baccha?”

  What better source than a desperate Princess cursed with the rare magick he possessed?

  He shook his head. “I’d planned to keep my distance from anyone connected to the throne. I was told not to risk discovery. Believe me, you were an unexpected complication. One that will likely result in pain for me.”

  That gave me pause. “They punish you?”

  His expression softened. “It doesn’t matter. There is nothing you can do to change it.”

  “Couldn’t you just . . . stay here?” I hated the small hope in my voice. “Remain in Ternain after my nameday. Help me win the throne.”

  “It is not as simple as that, Princess. I’ve been locked in dungeons and sailed to the lands beyond the Isles. I’ve even infiltrated Dracol’s Court. Built into the oath is the ability to summon me from anywhere. When they call, I must answer.”

  I understood. I didn’t even blame him. Not for this betrayal and not for what he’d allowed Raina to do. Surely he had already paid that debt with his enslavement. But the meager trust we had built in the past weeks was gone. Even if he hadn’t used me intentionally, I’d brought him to the Palace and with me to Court. I’d given him all he needed.

  “Despite myself, I believe you don’t mean me harm, but if you try to leave Ternain, we will see how long a dungeon can hold you.” I stood and made to leave.

  “What about your lesson?” Baccha called when I reached the doorway. “You need to practice using blood and marrow magick in tandem.”

  “I think our lessons are over, Baccha.” Besides, he’d already taught something important today: to trust no one but myself.

  CHAPTER 28

  WHEN I WOKE the next morning, Mirabel had news. Katro’s mother, Lady Shirea, and supposedly both her sons had left Ternain suddenly to vacation in the North. Though I knew one was dead now. It was as clear a confirmation of their involvement as anything. Certainly they knew someone was coming close to learning what they’d done—and so they fled. There was also a card waiting in my sitting room. I nearly threw it away, thinking it was an invitation to some courtier’s event, but opened it when I saw the cobalt dagger, the sigil of House Killeen, painted on the back.

  Evalina,

  Your absence at Court is keenly felt. Many worry that you are not fit to compete with your sister in the coming weeks. I admit, I have the same concerns and I would hate for your few allies to turn away from you now. I have sent Isadore to check in on you. I know you grieve your father most deeply, having found his body, but it will be easier if we all bear his absence together.

  She hadn’t signed it, but I knew Mother’s elegant script well enough. I crumpled the note.

  I closed my eyes for a moment and pressed my hands against my thighs until I felt sparks of pain. I pushed harder and harder until I was sure the skin would bruise. When I pulled away, I could feel my pulse in every part of my body down to my fingertips.

  We didn’t meet in my rooms. That would have felt entirely too intimate. Instead, my guard escorted me to a nearby sitting room where Isadore and her guards were already stationed.

  Light filtering through the latticed windows created a lace of shadows, making the dress Isadore wore all the more ornate. It was hardly mourning white. The white brocade was thick with lace and cut expertly down the subtly curving lines of her body. Her dark gold hair was pinned up, showing off the elegant tanned length of her neck.

  It was a mourning gown fit for a ball. Or, alternatively, a mourning gown meant to outdo every single person at Court.

  By comparison, my dress was simple. A white cotton sheath falling straight to the floor, like the strips of white hanging from nearly every window in Ternain, bright against the city’s many colors.

  I
could not begin to compare to my sister’s magnificence.

  Well. That would always be true. To each their strengths, Papa would say.

  Why pretend I was anything other than what I was, when she was alone and couldn’t yet hurt me with guards just feet away? Why hold anything back?

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  She leaned away and her expression dropped into a scowl. “Didn’t you read Mother’s note? She worries, as do I.” She waved a hand in my direction, lips curling. “And clearly we have reason to. You haven’t been to Court since you returned to Ternain. Surely Papa wouldn’t want you to retreat before your nameday.”

  I didn’t flinch at the mention of Papa—a small victory—though the bloody mess of him flashed behind my eyes.

  “Court is your domain, Isadore.” I folded my hands on my lap. “I have no interest in it.”

  She wrapped a lock of hair around her finger. “Even if by some stroke of luck you manage to be named True Heir, the Court will never follow you if you refuse to take them seriously.”

  Why didn’t I just send her away? She had come here to torment me. And what was I supposed to do, just take it?

  “They aren’t the only ones who matter, Isadore. And besides that, they’d follow anyone with a crown.”

  She glared at me, eyes flinty with annoyance. “If you think that, you’re truly a fool. They, we, rule; we aren’t the only ones who matter, but we matter more than most. You’ll never be Queen if you can’t understand that.”

  I met her eyes and remembered the cake shared between us as we spilled crumbs all over her bed. Had she abandoned me, or had she prepared me for the loneliness that would be my constant companion?

  I must have gone quiet for too long, because Isadore sneered at me, leaning forward. “I see you’ve given up, without Papa to push you. I’m not surprised.”

  I shook my head, refusing to take the bait. “I’m not going to trade petty insults with you. What would be the point?”