A River of Royal Blood

by Amanda Joy

  CHAPTER 34

  BLACK CLAWS CURLED over my fingertips, wet with my own blood. A growl vibrated through my chest. I tried to sit up and realized my head felt heavier than it usually did. Tentatively I ran my fingers over my face—no changes there—then over my scalp, and I jumped as the claws scraped against horns. Like the antelope horns, these spiraled up to sharp points. Unlike the antelope horns, they forked at the midpoint, stabbing backward. I felt up to the top, not breathing the entire time. My claws clicked against them and I snatched them away, afraid I would cut them.

  Another scream built in my chest, making it impossible to breathe.

  “Eva?” Baccha reached toward me.

  I flinched away.

  A strangled noise from the other side of the room made me look up. The sound hardly escaped Isadore’s mouth before I shifted into a crouch. She stood next to Aketo, the point of her long knife pressed to his throat.

  I made a noise between a whine and a growl. “Let go of him.”

  “You stay back,” she said, “or I will kill him.”

  I glanced at Baccha. He nodded and reached for my hand. My claws slid along his palm when I let go, drawing blood.

  I jerked away from him, but Baccha just shook his head and dropped his hand so that one of the wolves could lick his wounds.

  Nothing made sense—who or what I was, why I was—but I understood that knife against Aketo’s neck. I understood that it was there because of me.

  My sword was only a few feet from where I’d fallen. I picked it up and leveled it at my sister once again. “I, Princess Evalina, challenge you for the title of True Heir.”

  Isadore bent down and reached under the bench to retrieve another long knife.

  She didn’t smile or gloat. All the wind had gone out of her sails. She looked hollow, broken somehow, and she would look at me only out of the corner of her eye. Even so, there was steel in her voice when she said, “Let’s begin.”

  I let out a breath, and then Isadore shifted her blade and stabbed Aketo in the chest. He and I screamed as one.

  In that moment of distraction, Isadore struck, lunging forward with both of her knives outstretched.

  If she had any fear of me, of this new version of me, it didn’t show. When I blocked the strike of her blades, she spun, one blade striking me across the stomach, raising a line of fire.

  I hissed and danced out of her reach, looking for Baccha and Aketo. I glanced over my shoulder, even though I knew it would cost me. Baccha had pulled Aketo from the bench and was busy cutting him free. His eyes were only half-open and blood spilled down his clothes like a splash of crimson paint.

  Red washed over my vision.

  “Go,” I called. “Get him out of here.”

  With my back turned, Isadore’s knife bit deep into my shoulder.

  I swung the sword as I spun, but Isadore avoided the blade, using the guards on her knives to shove me away.

  Isadore came toward me again, but I ducked her blades, slamming the pommel of my sword into her stomach. I twisted my sword upward, striking just where I knew she would be. She raised one knife, holding me just inches from her neck.

  I could hear her heart beating and knew I was stronger. I flexed my arms and pushed her own blade down to her flesh. Isadore bared her teeth in a grin. Her eyes met mine—flaring so bright that light emanated from them—and I was lost.

  Every bit of my will melted away as she pushed her desires into my head. She blew through me like a scorching wind, like a storm. In the haze of her power, I realized she’d been holding back for years. The beauty she displayed at Court had been a parlor trick. This was a crushing, expansive power—poison coaxing me toward death.

  When I looked up, a crown rested on Isadore’s head: sharp red rubies like tiny hot knives, her golden hair falling like flames around her delicate face. She glowed from the inside out, looking like Mother, but so much more.

  She was the Queen. How hadn’t I seen it before?

  I lowered my sword and fell to my knees, swaying toward her like a flower in the sun.

  I gasped as she gripped the back of my neck in an iron grip. Her other hand went for my throat, gentle yet holding a blade painted in blood.

  There were tears in her eyes, glittering like diamonds.

  My beautiful sister, why should she cry?

  Suddenly howls rent the air, shattering Isa’s voice inside my head, and I remembered myself.

  Isadore’s hold on me broke. My claws raked down her arm and she stumbled back.

  The wolves surrounded me, their howls mournful and aching. One voice rose above them all, Baccha screaming my name. “Eva, your magick!”

  “Call off those beasts, Eva. This is a fight between you and me.”

  I climbed to my feet and lifted the sword again, the hard edges of the bone hilt cutting into my palms. I stepped away from the wolves.

  I already had Isa’s blood dripping steadily from my fingers. And the antelope horns I’d claimed still swung from my neck. Could I even use marrow and blood magick? I had removed the binding, but doubt still lingered. Magick had never come easy to me.

  I ripped my sleeve, reaching for a blood magick tattoo.

  I wiped the blood across the tattoo and my arm burned with it, every tattoo feeling warm and alive. But I wasn’t quick enough. I lifted the sword in a two-handed grip as Isadore spun toward me, blades flashing silver and bright. I couldn’t risk her magick again. I shut my eyes and listened to the whistling of the blades, the off-kilter beating of her heart.

  Soon as I felt her near, I pivoted, bringing the blade low. Her knives struck with my sword in a jarring impact. Using the hilt, I pushed her backward, then kicked her in the chest. I reached for the energy in the horns as I heard the welcome sound of air being shoved from Isadore’s lungs.

  She bent over, coughing, and I swept her feet from under her. She landed on her back with a yelp, but was on her feet again in a moment, circling.

  The warm buzz of the horns’ power surged through my limbs.

  My eyes fell shut and I found myself back at the lake, now choppy with energy. When the blood magick rose from its depths, I took it in my hands and threw my consciousness back toward my body. I opened my eyes to find Isadore’s blades just inches away. Quick as a flash, I caught her wrist and held on even as her knife bit into my arm.

  “That’s enough, Isa.” Isadore watched in horror as the crimson power on my hands crept over her skin. “Drop your weapons.”

  I hissed in pain as she pulled one of the blades from my arm and waited till both fell to the floor. I kicked them far out of her reach.

  I could see how I could easily kill her. I could bleed my sister dry with just my bare hand on her wrist. The world narrowed to nothing but her pulse beneath my fingers. It fluttered, quick and delicate as a bird.

  Memories flooded me. My mind flashed from Isadore’s bruise blooming at my touch and her hands wrapped around my throat, to dipping our feet into the Red River, clasping her hand in mine as we were chased from the Palace’s kitchens.

  “Do it,” Isa said, her face carved in rage. “Just kill me, if you can.”

  Well, she’d always wanted to see my magick. Bleed.

  Blood sprayed as four long wounds opened on her arm, but Isa only laughed. “Is that all?”

  “How can you want this? Is the throne so important that you would race toward death?”

  “I did what we were born to do tonight, Eva. Should I have waited until you felt strong enough to challenge me? I’m not some bloodthirsty monster. I want to live. I want to become Queen—you hardly care.” She shook her head and spat out some of the blood. “I told you the truth that day at Court. I don’t know who was trying to kill you, but it wasn’t me. Probably someone who knows you’re part khimaer and thinks it’s their duty to kill you, just like it is mine.”

 
But she failed and here I was, about to kill her.

  Tears rolled down her face. “Just end it, Eva. Kill me cleanly if you can manage it.”

  I needed her to stop speaking before I accidentally killed her. It was becoming harder and harder to resist, when her words made me want to hurt her. But as I imagined the blood that would spill from Isa’s neck, Papa’s broken body flashed through my mind. The coppery tang of blood and stomach-turning reek of gore filled my nose.

  I shook my head, dispelling the memory, and ground out, “Who told you about Papa?”

  “Just kill me, Eva. One of us has to end this. Although,” she sneered, “there’s no way you can be Queen now. They’d have to break the crown just to fit it on your head.”

  Despite her words, I saw the pain and regret in her eyes. The fear.

  No, a voice whispered in my mind. No more killing, no more death.

  Just as Anali said weeks ago, we decide how to use our gifts. Regardless of the crown, the law, and the throne, this was my decision. One I would have to live with for the rest of my life.

  “Don’t you know that crown was made for khimaer Queens?” I smashed the pommel of the sword over her head.

  Isadore’s eyes rolled back and she fell to the floor.

  Someone’s hands closed around my shoulders. “She’ll survive,” Baccha said.

  “I nearly killed her. I almost wanted to do it. Baccha, why didn’t you tell me? How could you have known?”

  Baccha hesitated before spinning me around. His eyes held steady with mine. “I wasn’t certain. I suspected it when we found the binding, and I knew if anyone found out, you would be killed. I couldn’t let you break it.”

  In the silence that followed his words, we heard the sounds of swords striking each other. Only a moment later, the door crashed open.

  Anali had a bloody smear down the side of her face, but when she saw me, her face went completely blank. Her gaze tracked to Isadore’s fallen body. “Is she . . . Is Princess Isadore dead? We’ve taken care of her guards.”

  Falun stood in the doorway behind her, eyes wide as he took in the scene. It was me he stared at the longest.

  Baccha spoke, so that I didn’t have to. “Someone must see to Prince Aketo. I healed him as best as I could, but he should still see a true healer. And we need someone to carry Princess Isadore. She will be coming with us.” Baccha’s eyes slid to me. “Also, we need to get back to Eva’s rooms immediately. Unless you’d like it to get out that the Princess is khimaer.”

  CHAPTER 35

  “TELL ME.”

  Mirabel sat down heavily, patting the bun her hair was twisted into. I couldn’t stop pacing across my bedchamber, cringing each time my nails rasped against the marble. There were claws on my feet too, which I hadn’t noticed until I walked into my room. Strange, silly things kept occurring to me. Bits of lacquer still clung to my claws, which struck me as both macabre and amazing, but mostly nauseating. All my slippers would be useless and I’d need new boots, but wouldn’t the claws shred through everything?

  I turned toward her. “Isadore said that Papa was khimaer. She said Papa wasn’t her true father. And I . . . well, obviously there was truth to what she said.”

  “It . . . oh, a’daya,” she said. My daughter, in Khimaeran. “Your father wanted you to be named True Heir before you learned who . . . what he was. He didn’t want you to have to cope with both at once.”

  “So it’s true.” I pressed my palms to my eyes and stumbled toward my bed. When I saw Isadore there, blond hair bright against my dark bedspread, I paced away. Mirabel had forced a sleeping draught down her throat when we returned to my room. But I wanted to wake her so that we could question her. Who else had she told?

  My panic spiked; I began twisting Papa’s ring. “Papa told me that he placed the binding on me because of the omens. Was that a complete lie?”

  “The omens only confirmed what he knew. If your khimaer magick was ever discovered, you would have been in danger.”

  “How does this work, Mira? I thought bindings trapped magick, not—not your entire being.”

  “It is your magick, Eva. Khimaer magick is more intrinsically connected to the body—so the bind held back magick along with your form. I don’t know very much about it, so it’s best you ask Lei’s family about that.”

  “But you knew? You knew all this time that I was khimaer?” I closed my fists, my claws dragging against my palm.

  “Your father made me swear, Eva. He feared placing so much on you. I knew he was wrong, but I listened.” She drew in a shaky breath. “I thought he knew best. He was your father and I’m only . . .”

  “Did Papa only marry Mother to put a khimaer Queen on the throne?”

  “I believe there was some sort of plan, but I never learned the details. I know whatever plans were made, he did love your mother when they were first married.”

  “Who else knew? Anali?”

  Mirabel nodded. I wiped at my eyes, but they were dry—blessedly dry. “Aketo?”

  “No.”

  Well. There was that at least. But still, Baccha had suspected and all the people who raised me who had known the truth. And yet no one told me. I had never even suspected, but there were things I’d always found peculiar. Like why had Papa assigned me a khimaer nursemaid and Captain when it made Mother so angry? And why did Papa spend so much time at the Enclosures?

  And why had I never known his family?

  “We have to start packing now. We have to hurry. It’s late already and—”

  “Slow down, child. Packing for what?”

  “We have to leave Ternain. You have to come this time too, Mira. I wish we had more time, but—” I cut myself off, rambling again. “I have to leave Ternain for good. Isadore isn’t the only one who knows about me and until I know who else does, I’m in danger. And we still do not know who sent the assassin and Dagon, or who else was involved in my father’s death.”

  “Your sister won’t tell you a thing, not even because you’ve spared her. She is still her mother’s child. Don’t forget that, just because you couldn’t . . .”

  There was a hint of disapproval in her voice. More than a hint, really. “Mirabel, I couldn’t. She is my sister and I love her. I won’t kill her just for a crown. And while we’re outside Ternain, there will be no one forcing us to.”

  Her eyes met mine and I could tell she was deciding how much to say.

  “I know you have to leave, for now. But there’s no time tonight. The sun’s nearly risen. Everyone in the Palace will be up in a few hours. We’ll plan; we’ll keep you secluded and pray no one notices Isadore’s disappearance. Then you can leave.”

  “Then we will leave.”

  “No, my place is here in the city, so that I can get word to you about whatever is happening in Ternain. Have you decided where you’ll go?”

  “I’ll cross the Arym Plain to finally meet Papa’s family and then I’ll go to the only place I’ll be able to blend in—the Enclosure.”

  “Ask the King’s family for advice. They’ve been hiding for generations; they’re quite good at escaping notice. And . . . they’ll know more about your magick.”

  I wasn’t too worried about that. Baccha would help me with my magick. Mostly I wanted see Papa’s family so I could understand why Papa had married Mother in the first place, and how Papa’s family came to pretend to be human. And how they managed it without being caught.

  Mirabel pulled me into an embrace. I thought, for a moment, that I felt too numb to cry. But then Mirabel whispered into my ear: “You look so beautiful, so very beautiful.”

  My head tipped down with the weight of the horns, neck straining to hold them up. It was as if I wore a heavy crown, a crown not made of gold and silver, but something heavier, older, spiraling up and up.

  Everything, all the rage and fear and confusion poured ou
t of me, onto Mirabel’s shoulder as I wept.

  * * *

  “Please, Mirabel, I only want to see her. Please.”

  I turned over, neck and shoulders aching greatly, and saw Mirabel standing in the doorway. I could see Aketo behind her, staring at me, his expression torn between alarm and shock.

  “I’ve told you she is resting now and you should be too.”

  “Aketo,” I whispered, trying to sit up.

  “Please?”

  She sighed and let him into the room. “I’ll give you a few minutes.”

  I blinked a few times and Aketo was standing by my side. His eyes swam as he looked at me.

  “Aketo.” I touched his face; a tear fell onto the tip of one of the claws. Claws I hardly recognized as my own.

  One nail caught the edge of his face, drawing blood. I wiped it away with the back of my hand and mumbled a useless apology.

  Aketo grasped my hands. He leaned forward until he was inches from my face, gold eyes like coins, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. “Please, please don’t apologize.”

  “I’m sorry she took you. I shouldn’t have left you. I just . . .” How many times did I need to say sorry? What could be enough, when he’d been taken and hurt because of me. “I am so sorry.”

  “I felt you change, Eva.” His voice took on a fervent tone. “When I saw you, I thought I was dreaming—or that when your sister stabbed me, I died.”

  I turned away from the intensity in his eyes. He cupped my face. So close, I couldn’t look away from him. We didn’t kiss exactly, but my mouth rested against his. His fingers skated over my cheeks and slid into my hair, drawing a sigh from my lips that spilled right into his—carrying something in me, not love but a kin closeness. A bond of survival, forged twice over now. It tumbled from my heart and poured right into him.

  His eyes moved over my horns. His hands were still in my hair, his thumbs close to the base of my horns. I pulled away, shivering. I didn’t want him to touch them—I didn’t want him watching them like some kind of marvel, like I was changed.