Page 45 of Humans Don’t Have Horns (A Crown of Blood and Magic #1)
Dahav gathers the Kozari lassos and agrees to negotiate with Emek for an appropriate burial for what the Mongans perceive as remains of their people. Of all the Puresouls, Dahav is the only royal Emek finds tolerable. And still, there is a long way to go until trust can be built there.
It’s still too early to speak of the future, especially with how improbable winning the battle seems. But my mind always goes there. Because beating the demichads only to wake up to the same Amada seems in some ways even worse than losing.
***
I go with Kala one morning to bring water to our circle. No Renyan water system for us. And that means everyone in our circle takes turns carrying fresh water from the nearby creek.
“Whatever happens in the end, at least we’re not in the swamps,” she groans after she dips all of her body in the bracing water.
“The problem is I only lived in the swamps before. Now, if we have to go back, I don’t think I’d be able to take it.
” She looks frightened at the mere thought.
“I mean, a shower every day. The fresh air. You get used to it really quick.”
“Things have to change,” I agree with her.
When we get back to camp, our hair still wet and our waterskins heavy, we pass near the training warriors.
It’s really only in scenes like this that I start to grasp how different Daton is when we are alone.
The man is brutal. He is a despot warlord, and he gets his warriors into a grueling routine of training during the entire day, every day.
This day I see Niska battle with three male warriors, and I stand there with my jaw slack.
She is so nimble and deft. It’s almost like watching a feminine version of Daton fighting.
And she totally kicks their asses. All three of them .
“So the Mongan men aren’t stronger than the Mongan women?” I ask Kala.
“They usually are.”
“So how—?” I ask in awe as Niska’s boot lands on one of the warrior’s throats. They practice with their axes, and all four of them are bleeding and bruised.
Kala snorts. “When you’re given your first ax when you’re five and not allowed to reenter the tent until you come back with a kill, you’ve got no other choice than to become the best.”
“He didn’t,” I gasp with horror. That’s awful.
Kala laughs at my shock. But then she bites the inside of her cheek.
“Bahar is the best Mongan out there. He really is. But I can’t help but sometimes wonder if we would have been raised like that, if my brothers would still be alive.
I don’t know. I don’t think I can ever do that to my kid either though.
” She looks so sad all of a sudden. “Come on. These waterskins are seriously heavy.”
We almost reach our circle when we see a crowd. A man and a woman are standing in front of it. Anavel, one of the Goddess’s servants, is between them. “What are they doing?” I ask Kala.
“I think it’s a Blood Oath. It’s kind of like a wedding,” she says, but I feel like she’s not being completely forthright.
I’m the only Puresoul ever to speak their language, and it sometimes seems to unsettle even easygoing people like Kala.
I get that they’re not sure how much they can trust me.
Daton is the one who usually explains things to me in the most straight forward way.
I curiously look at the ceremony. I expect to see something similar to an Aldonian wedding, but it’s not.
The bride wears regular clothes, not a white dress, and the groom wears his warrior outfit.
Anavel nicks the groom’s and the bride’s wrists.
A cut deep enough that I can see the blood pouring out of them.
Then she presses their wrists together, holds a goblet under them, and collects the blood still running.
She ties their wrists to each other with a white cloth, which soon becomes red.
She holds the goblet full of blood, and they both drink it.
Anavel shows the crowd that it is empty, and then she says to the bride and groom, “Now you are bound by blood and honor. Not even death can unbind you from each other.”
The crowd makes loud cries of joy and goes to kiss them while they’re still tied to each other.
When Kala and I return to the circle, Nehol, her partner, hands her their baby and hurries for training.
“Can you hold him for a while?” Kala asks me and hands me Kon without waiting for an answer.
He’s the happiest, chubbiest baby under the sun.
And he smiles a wide smile at me before grabbing my braid and pulling it with an unnatural force.
“Why are you holding him like that?” Kala squints at me.
“Like what?” I try to release my braid from his death grip.
“Like you’ve never held a baby before,” she says, releasing my braid from his hand. Very little help, that is, since he only grips some of my strands instead, and I yelp in pain.
“I’d never even seen a baby before your camp.” Tears of pain burn my eyes.
“What do you mean you’ve never seen a baby before?” she exclaims in outrage.
“Where would I have seen a baby? I was confined to my mother’s quarters until she died, and then I was confined to my chambers.
When Nikanor was born, they took him to a wet nurse in the countryside until he was two years old, like they do with all the royal babies.
” I look at Kon’s hand, which is full of white hair.
He laughs in mirth, and I can’t help but grin at him.
Kala frowns at me. “I guess being a princess isn’t all it seems to be, huh?”
“Well, there are the lavender oil baths, so you know, it’s not just bad stuff,” I drawl because I can’t stand the pity in her eyes. But she just looks at me somberly. Then she starts putting on her armor, and getting ready for her day of training.
“This isn’t right.” I shake my head. I know the Mongans can’t spare any warrior. Even if Nikanor had agreed to send more soldiers, Daton distrusts them completely, both in intention and competence, so he can’t rely on them in his plans .
“I should go instead of you.” I feel so guilty for not actually fighting.
Kala huffs a laugh. “Only because I like you will I ignore the insult in the idea that you could replace me in combat.” She’s been a team commander for twenty years now, and she’s Mongan. Of course I can’t replace her.
“Well, you don’t have to be mean about it.” I make a face.
“Besides, if you go into the battle, all Daton will do is babysit you.” She sniggers at me.
Emek and Bahar come out of their tent, in our direction. “You ready?” Bahar asks Kala.
“Almost.” She finishes adjusting her straps.
“What are you up to today?” Bahar asks Emek and me.
“I’m teaching Emek and the rest of the Goddess’s servants Renyan healing today.” I might as well make myself useful. “And Kon can help,” I say to the baby, now chewing on my sleeve.
“I hope you know what you’re doing. If they ever find out you’re teaching us their precious secrets, not even your sister will be able to save you from their wrath. Those assholes think so highly of themselves even the moon can’t reach them.”
We’ve been over this already. After what the Renyans did with the Mongans’ horns, giving them healing is only right.
Bahar claps his hands in excitement. “Do you have a remedy for a hangover?”
Emek rolls her eyes but can’t hide her smile, and Kala laughs.
“I think we’ll start with fracture healing.” I smile at him.
***
Amada’s words of being drenched in blood haunt me still.
I know Daton’s acts are in defense of his people, but shutting my eyes to the brutality of his tactics won’t do.
Every day, I feel closer to him, and as death blows harder onto the backs of our necks every day, I fear the price his soul will pay in the afterlife.
We lie on the ground beneath the stars, close but not touching. The warm summer night breeze caresses me, and its softness is opposite to the cold, hard soil beneath me.
“Couldn’t you at least not make them bleed to death as you kill them?” I ask him. I shared with him everything Amada told me, everything besides the reason for my punishment.
“Blood is a sacred thing,” he says while his eyes are still on the stars. I frown at him, trying to understand what it means. “Bleeding to death enables the Shavirs’ redemption. It allows them honor within death.” He looks at my baffled expression.
“So it’s not an act of cruelty but an act of mercy,” I say tentatively.
He gives me a dirty look for using the word he despises: mercy .
“I mean an act of honor.”
He smirks at my correction but nods in agreement.
Well, now I’ll never be able not to make them bleed to death.
There is no point in explaining what a long, painful death it is.
He couldn’t care less. He hates the Shavirs he kills and despises the concept of mercy.
And once he gets in his mind that one way is the honorable way, then that’s that.
I never thought someone so stubborn could even exist.
“Is that why you drink blood when you get married? Because it’s sacred?” I ask him after a long pause, mentioning the wedding I witnessed.
He turns to me, resting his head on his hand now.
“What you saw, it’s not marriage. It’s a Blood Oath.
If you give someone your blood and take his in return, there is no way back.
It’s not like the way Shavirs marry with words they can regret.
Even death doesn’t break the oath. A man who takes the oath can never be intimate with anyone but his mate. No matter what.”
“So you are still bound to Baghiva after all these years?” I frown at him. Because he was with me, or maybe it doesn’t count if it’s not full intercourse? Or maybe it doesn’t count because I’m a Shavir?