Page 39 of Humans Don’t Have Horns (A Crown of Blood and Magic #1)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Lian

Siean sent me a message that she had arranged a meeting for her and me with our brother Nikanor.

He will not come to the Mongan camp, but he did agree to meet in a neutral spot near the River of Tears.

The meeting point is only half a day’s ride, and meeting with Nikanor is not something I can pass up.

Siean’s messenger brought us three horses, a gift from the Queen of Renya, the Generous Queen, he called her. Truly the Renyans’ heads can be so far up their own asses sometimes that it’s remarkable they manage to breathe fresh air at all.

Shana brings me a Mongan warrior uniform. I won’t ride on a sidesaddle, so that’s the most fitting outfit. “Let me paint your lips,” she pleads.

I can’t help but laugh at her whiny tone. “That is the worst thing you could do while going to meet Aldonian men.”

“Exactly,” she agrees. “It will piss them off.”

“Maybe next time,” I snicker while adjusting the leather straps of the shirt. Yeah, wearing a Mongan outfit to such a meeting is also not the best. But I refuse to wear the Renyan gown my sister sent.

In the past few days, Shana and Kala have become good friends of mine.

They both take after Bahar with their jovial natures.

It’s impressive and inspiring, really, the ability to be full of mirth when there are so many reasons not to be.

But while Kala and Shana share a nature and look as only twins can, I’ve come to learn they are extremely different.

Kala likes to joke around, but she is fierce and assertive.

She’s a respected warrior and natural leader.

Shana is sweet and funny, and while she’s very lively and even loud, she becomes extremely shy in the presence of Mongans outside her circle.

She’s never been shy with me, and I suspect it is mainly because she was too distracted by how strange she found me.

Now I think she’s just gotten used to me.

“Why don’t you ever wear uniforms yourself?

” I ask her as she starts braiding my hair.

I think hair and clothes are her greatest passions.

Making things beautiful. Her own hair is always carefully styled.

Today her black hair is all braided to her left side, revealing the wooden earrings on her right earlobe.

“I can’t fight. I faint at the sight of blood. It’s awful, Lian. I can’t even serve the Goddess because so many of the rituals involve blood,” she says in dismay.

“A Mongan who faints at the sight of blood. That’s almost like a Kozari being allergic to gold,” I muse, and she huffs a laugh.

“It is.”

“You shine so brightly in other ways. You know that, right?”

But she only gives me a rueful smile. Then she busies herself with braiding my hair into a crown. “The Cursed Queen.” She gives me an impish smile, thinking herself witty when she’s done. I shake my head at her but don’t bother with a reply.

Emek and Daton enter my tent. As usual, Emek doesn’t bother with small talk.

“Why wouldn’t he come here like Siean and Dahav?

” she asks warily. I can feel Daton’s eyes on me, but his face gives away nothing.

I’ve been aloof since the night I arrived at camp, and now he is always tense and guarded around me.

“He’s Aldonian and not yet king. It’s complicated,” I say. I can’t help but chew my bottom lip. A jittery reflex Daton’s nearness triggers in me these days.

His eyes darken. “Especially if he thinks we’re contaminated,” he growls. He probably does think that. After all, he spent his entire life as a follower of the True Religion.

I sigh, “I haven’t spoken to him in twelve years. I don’t know what he thinks. But he also hasn’t spoken to me in twelve years, and mistrust is natural.”

“I’m coming with you,” he states. It’s not a request, it’s an order from a warlord.

“That’s not a good idea” I tell him, shaking my head. It’s impossible to miss how apprehensive his presence makes the Puresouls. But that’s not why I don’t want him there.

“I’m going,” he insists at my reluctance. “The area is full of Aldonian soldiers, and the demichads attack more every day.”

“Fine, you and Niska can come with me to the neutral camp,” I reply. He looks surprised at my consent or that I mentioned her, but there is no way I’m going with him alone. I barely manage to stand with him in the tent with Emek and Shana without having my heart trip over itself.

***

Nikanor is a handsome man. He’s tall and broad, yet his face has delicate features. His short red hair is tidy. He wears a formal white Aldonian military uniform decorated with golden ornaments. On his back is the famous Aldonian arch, and on his left hip lies a box of arrows. The perfect prince.

All that time in Aldon, he avoided any contact with me, including on the very few public occasions I saw him. But now he smiles at me. A royal smile. Seeing him like this, I can’t help but remember him as a child, loving and carefree.

Then I recoil at the memory of the day he was taken from us.

The cries, the blood. The helplessness. He was only six when he was taken to the palace.

What did he have to do to survive? I know I should hold no grudge for his cold shoulder all these years, yet knowing isn’t enough.

I needed him. Everyone outside of Aldon knew of the Nimatek, so he must have known as well. I was so lonely. A shadow of myself.

“Sister.” He nods, his hand behind his back. My baby brother, at the age of eighteen, is a head taller than me.

Siean then lunges at us and hugs us, crushing us together.

Nikanor chuckles. And I can’t help but laugh.

She has a huge smile on her face, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve seen her smile since we were kids.

Her eyes water, and she brushes the tears away, mumbling to herself, “Fuck, I need a drink.” Her smile is all gone.

She crashes into a seat at the dining table at the center of the tent as if the spontaneous display of emotion robbed her of all her energy.

Nikanor and I sit by her sides. The tent is full of opulent Renyan carpets and furniture. A servant pours sweetened strawberry wine and brings us traditional Aldonian cookies coated with cinnamon and sugar. They burst with the flavors and smells of a home that is not a home.

“We drank an obscene amount of wine as children.” Siean smiles impishly. “Do you remember?”

“It’s not our fault every Renyan prayer requires a sip of wine,” I laugh in response.

Nikanor doesn’t approve of our mirth. “It’s an adverse custom to give wine to children,” he grunts.

“It’s only a sip. It can hardly harm.” Siean frowns at his rebuke of Renyan customs.

“Nikanor, tell us everything of you, and miss nothing.” I try changing the subject and lightening the mood.

He smiles at me warmly and holds my hand. “I’ve been missing my sisters.” Then he holds Siean’s hand also, and she, in reaction, stops frowning and smiles at him. “Soon I will be king, and there will be no need to miss one another any longer.”

We talk for hours. The conversation is like a delicate but complex dance, constantly avoiding sad memories and disagreements.

It is a joyful and exhausting experience.

How different it is in the company of Mongans.

It is never tiresome. It is painful at times because there is so much pain there.

And still, the camp feels more like family than sitting here with my siblings.

In the warm tent with the delicious smells and pleasant smiles, I realize the family I had is forever lost to me.

“I need to get back before dark,” I tell them in a soft voice. “Shall we address the reason for our gathering?” I ask Nikanor. “Do you have the king’s support for being here?”

“Since Siean confiscated the Cursed Ones’ extract, his years and sickness came with a vengeance.

He is mostly unconscious and never leaves his bed.

I am the acting king, and any day now, I will be crowned,” he says.

That is very good news for us. My father can no longer act as an obstacle to our task.

“Does that mean you’ll lead Aldon’s army with us against the demichads?”

“Us?” He raises an eyebrow.

“We must all fight. All Puresouls and Mongans,” I explain.

“Siean told me of the prophecy.” He scoffs, “My warlords think it’s a joke. My priests say it’s blasphemy.”

Whatever his men tell him, he must know he can’t defeat the demichads alone. All of Amada knows now that the Aldonians lied for a century when they claimed they had defeated the demichads. No one will submit to their lead on this. Not even Siean.

He does know it, as his following words show.

“But I will let you lead, sister. In the end, you are an Aldonian princess, and the demichads are the greatest foe we have.” Then his face turns harsh.

“But I will not let the Cursed Ones make my men sacrilegious. I will not risk the purity of their souls, for life is temporary, but the soul is eternal.”

I snap at that, forgetting any diplomatic inhibition, “They are not contaminated. They are human, just like us.”

He looks perplexed and glances at Siean as if she can explain my words. But she keeps her face blank. “Humans don’t have horns, Lian,” he scolds me.

“Humans don’t have white eyes or hair either, yet here I am,” I retort. I notice that Siean is looking at me with commiseration.

“You compare yourself to them?” he roars.

“Now that is blasphemy, and I will pretend it was not said by you.” His voice is icy as a glacier.

I wonder again why Amada chose me but gave me so little guidance.

Without my brother on our side, humanity will vanish.

Twenty-two years as an Aldonian princess taught me little of value.

But I do know how to deal with Aldonian men.