Page 33 of Humans Don’t Have Horns (A Crown of Blood and Magic #1)
Chapter Twenty
Siean
Bina and the others are waiting for me by the horses. “I’ve prepared a horse for the princess, Your Majesty,” says Roshem. He’s such a pathetic replacement for Didia, rest his soul.
“She’s not joining us.” I reach for my horse and stroke his forehead.
“She refused?” Bina turns to me, aghast.
“I didn’t ask her.” I roll my eyes at her.
“But why not?” she exclaims.
“Because, unlike you, I don’t ask questions I already know the answers to,” I answer impatiently.
“But—but she couldn’t possibly stay with them. It is one thing to be kidnapped, but to choose to stay with the Cursed Ones,” she cries, appalled. The men of our entourage look at anything but us.
“Well, that’s how it is. Who knows, maybe she’ll squeeze out some little Cursed Ones and make me an aunt,” I state cheerfully because Bina looks like she’s going to have a stroke. Oh Goddess, please make it so. I’m so tired of the old hag.
An aunt . I wonder what colors such a baby would have.
I’ll probably never get to see it anyway.
Every time the Butcher glances at me, I see in his eyes that my life is hanging by a thread.
He must really love her if I just walked out of that tent unharmed.
No way he’ll ever let me near a child of his.
And it’s not like she can stand me either.
Doesn’t matter. I don’t like babies anyway, and I’ll probably be the world’s shittiest aunt.
“Siean, how can you say such a thing of your sister? Your own blood. Your mother’s soul would weep from the sky for such abomination.”
I do a theatrical search of the sky for my dead mother’s tears. Nope, no tears. But she’s right on that one. After all, my mother was a purist, through and through. Everything she did was for the glory of Renya. To free Renya from the grip of Aldon. A noble cause indeed. One I once died for.
But truly, it should be of no surprise. She was utterly devoted to the Goddess.
To Renya. Her dream was to serve as a sister of the Goddess in one of the hidden temples.
But she gave up on her dream, on everything that was her, and married Rod.
So she could serve as the highest Renyan spy.
So she could serve Renya, as instructed by the former queen and king.
Why else would she marry her enemy? Aldon was never an ally in my mother’s eyes. She believed Renya should rule Amada, the Goddess to be worshipped by all. To her, the Aldonians were no better than maggots, with their false god and never-ending thirst for power.
She was so deeply religious that she left her home to live among them and married her enemy’s king. Why else would she let him show her off as his prize in front of his drooling royals? Why else let him mount her like a dog in heat and fill her with his unworthy seed?
In the Aldonian way, he loved her. But in Renya, we don’t consider such things as love. Possessiveness and ownership are not considered love. Women are not prized mares to show off, mount as their owner pleases, and kill once he dies.
But my mother’s sacrifice was not for nothing.
She served her country truly. She plotted and spied and became an asset.
She served the former queen and king until their last breaths.
When Tilil became queen, my mother served her.
Her loyalty wasn’t to her parents. It was to the Goddess, to the people.
But when she learned of the use of the Mongans’ horns, she was horrified that those of her own blood would act so repugnantly.
For what greater sin can there be against the Goddess than to unmake her sentence?
Only the Goddess can decide who lives and who dies.
The immortality drug is an abomination. It is a challenge to the Goddess herself.
And my mother also understood that the ones in pursuit of immortality care not for the people.
They care not that the poor starve, that their sacred gift for healing stagnates.
They care only for themselves, for their youth.
So she arranged a coup. She attempted to replace Tilil with me.
But she was betrayed. And Tilil found out.
She never realized Rod had developed a dependency on Tilil.
That he was consuming the immortality drug himself.
Therefore, his alliance was with Tilil. When he realized his wife and daughter were slowly being murdered, he didn’t intervene.
Unlike his wife, he wasn’t a fanatic. If he had been, he wouldn’t have consumed the immortality drug to begin with. He was simply a coward. He still is.
But Mother’s crusade against the immortality drug was never for the sake of the Cursed Ones. The truth is she couldn’t care less about them. If she’d seen how Lian and the Butcher looked at each other, she would have stopped at nothing to end it.
I will never say that to Lian. She is determined to idolize our mother. I can give her that. An idol. I wish I had an idol.
***
An hour’s ride brings us to our camp, east of the Cursed Ones’.
I go directly to my tent, and everyone in my way hurries to genuflect.
I haven’t quite gotten used to it. All that reverence, and “yes, Your Majesty,” “anything you wish, Your Majesty,” “Your Majesty is so wise.” No wonder Tilil was so full of herself.
My tent is the largest in the camp. The fabric is all silver. Its shape reminds me of a circus tent. But I don’t dare tell that to my people. They’d be heartbroken, thinking they had failed Her Majesty.
At least the inside looks good, with lavish carpets and a bed large enough for a threesome, as I made sure of last night. Bina follows me inside, so I go straight to the wet bar and pour myself a full glass of wine. I gulp it like its water, bracing myself for what’s coming.
“I’ve been waiting for you to be in a less testy mood for this conversation,” Bina says in a tight voice.
“Me being not testy while you are in a room is an oxymoron. So out with it.”
“You still blame me for everything,” she sighs.
“Yep,” I answer and throw myself onto the couch, putting my feet on the table in the most unroyal manner possible.
“Your mother never did anything against her will. She wanted to take your aunt down,” Bina tells me.
I shut my eyes, feeling my headache intensify.
My mother would never have gone ahead with the dumb coup if Bina hadn’t promised the support of the council.
But Bina’s political abilities are average at best. She’s not a bad person; just inept.
And it cost my mother and me our lives. Rutanna never got a second chance, and I’m so angry at her and miss her at the same time.
“Just say what it is you came to say,” I demand of Bina. Because there is no point discussing the past with her.
“You need to get married,” she blurts out. I open my eyes and stare at her. Has she finally lost it?
“Not going to happen,” I say curtly.
“Be reasonable, Siean. You need an heir.”
I can’t help but laugh at that.
She sighs and raises her hands in frustration. “Your position at the council is too weak. If you don’t get a powerful family as your ally, you’ll soon be dead. You know this,” she cries in frustration.
“I’m not marrying a man, Bina.” I shudder. The mere idea of lying with a man is as appealing to me as pubic hair on a soap bar.
“Is that what it’s about? You can have as many lovers as you want. It’s even easier this way. Your husband won’t need to worry about bastards,” she says.
“Men,” I slur, “even Renyan men, have a tendency to try to control their wives. I’m not giving some power-lusting royal power over me. Tilil never got married, and she ruled for twenty years.”
“You’re not Tilil, Siean. You won’t murder the families of your opposition. You won’t send the decapitated children’s heads to your opponents. She remained on the throne because she was a cold-hearted psychopath. And that’s not who you are. Pretend it as you may.”
My head throbs. It’s like knives are stabbing it.
The withdrawal from the immortality drug takes its toll on me.
In the beginning, everything hurt. The bones, the muscles, the skin.
Aging nine years in one month is hard on the body.
The headaches didn’t pass, and Bina isn’t helping with them either.
A servant walks inside. “Healer Anya Shoki said you asked for her, Your Majesty.”
My headache is only going to get worse. “Bring her in,” I tell him. “You’re dismissed,” I wave Bina off. I’ve had enough of her for the day, for a lifetime.
I go to the wet bar and pour myself another glass of wine.
“Your Majesty,” Anya says, giving a curtsy as she enters the tent.
“Good news. You’re the new head of the royal healers,” I announce to her.
She blinks in surprise. I haven’t spoken to her in a month.
She looks the same. Beautiful in the same way.
And I look nine years older. Not a sixteen-year-old anymore, but a twenty-five-year-old woman.
For the first time in years, Anya and I look the same age.
What does she think of it? I can’t help but wonder.
I’ve never been pretty. I’m not ugly, but my nose was always a bit too long and my forehead a bit too high. My indigo curls are mostly untamed. But Anya – with her big aqua eyes and soft, matching aqua hair – is perfect. And she gets more beautiful every year. Fuck my life.
“Why?” she finally asks gingerly.