Page 17 of Humans Don't Have Horns
“Then you will want to make sure he doesn’t notice you, won’t you?” Tilil smiles snidely.
“Auntie, please.” Siean is now imploring.
“Enough,” Tilil barks and slams her hand on the table. “You will take her there. For you are my daughter now, and you will do as I say.” Her voice is ice, and I realize it is a test of loyalty.
When I look at Siean, I know she will escort me to Aldon. She will make sure I can’t run away and may even stay to watch while they burn me at the stake. She appears utterly under the control of my aunt. I can’t help but wonder why she is so terrified of Tilil. She is not the sister I remember, and I wish I hadn’t met her. I wish she weren’t alive because the only thing that hurts more than mourning a dead loved one is mourning a living one.
Chapter Nine
Lian
We stand outside the carriage as one of the guards ties my hands behind my back with a gilded rope and then shoves me inside. I feel the burn of the rope and realize it’s a Kozari lasso. It feels like he tied me with a rope made of fire. Siean sits next to me in the carriage while two of the guards sit outside in the front, and the other two stand outside in the back. She turns her face to the window, avoiding me. I know the ride should take around eight hours. That is how close the two capitals are. Eight hours before I’m turned into my father.
The last time I saw him was before I left for the wedding camp. The wedding was to be a small ceremony of union between the two kingdoms—Aldon and Kozari. It was meant to be officiated by a Kozari priest and two witnesses were to confirm it took place. No guests, no party. This is the practice of the Kozaries, and the Kozari king insisted on it. And the ruler of Amada acquiesced. He was that desperate for the wedding to take place.
It was the first time my father had spoken to me in thirteen years, since the day he took Nikanor away. Not that we ever had long conversations, but I wasn’t ignored. The day before I left for thewedding camp, I was called to the throne room for the first time in my life. The King of Aldon, Rod, sat on the throne, and the high priest—Rashkan—stood at his right side. My brother—Nikanor—stood at his left. They both stared ahead, not acknowledging my presence with their eyes. My guardian was genuflected behind me. A statue of Sun was behind my father’s throne, looming over him, staring me down with its cold stone eyes. The king looked ill, his face wan. Even I had heard the whispers of his decreasing health. But he sat tall, with the crown on his head and the golden royal ring on his bony finger.
He explained his expectations of me in a cold voice—an heir. “Do not show your face here until you give birth to his son. Do not bother to give birth to a daughter. He already has many,” he told me, as if one can choose the sex of her child. “Please him. Don’t give him an excuse to send you back. I tell you, girl, whatever you will endure from him, if you return without a son, you will endure far worse. Do not dare to be like your mother, girl. He is not as compassionate as I am. Forget that witch’s blood. Beg for Sun to forgive you for your vanity. Do you hear me? Remember your place. Act like an Aldonian woman and not a Renyan whore. Am I clear? Answer me. What are you to do?” His voice was not loud, but it echoed in the empty, cold hall. And I was grateful my brother wouldn’t meet my eyes. It made it easier to pretend this humiliation had no witnesses.
I wish I hadn’t answered him. I wish I had rebelled or given an answer of defiance, proof of a backbone. Maybe it’s the Nimatek that made me so docile, or maybe it’s loneliness. But in front of the man who sired me only to be disappointed with it, all I managed was to say in a trembling voice was, “To please him and give him a son, Your Grace.”
Hearing me articulate his desire released some of his tension. He seemed more reconciled with me. “Thank Sun that he doesn’t care for your colors,” he sighed, “It is crucial you succeed, girl. Aldon’s prosperity lies with that Kozari son of a bitch.”
I never understood their relationship. My father is the only kingin Amada with an army. Yes, the Kozaries are notoriously rich. And yes, their kingdom is in a mountainous area, thus more easily defensible from an Aldonian invasion. But still, why is he so dependent on their gold? And why can’t he make them cooperate with him? There are far more Aldonians than Kozaries. It makes no sense that he tries so much to please their king.
Now I’m to return with no son, not even married, and after choosing not to kill myself in Mongan captivity. There can be no reprieve, not even if my father cared, and he doesn’t. This future is delivered by the women of my family. The part of my family I have always loved, always admired. My father has never bothered to pretend he cared for me, that he would ever consider me to be more than a means to an end.
And that is why sitting here tied up under my sister’s watch hurts worse than anything my father has ever done to me. Because, as desperate as I was for his love, I always knew he didn’t love me. And yet Siean is not only my sister. She was once my best friend, my confidant, my ally in a life dominated by my father’s whims.
I must do something. I must find a way to run before we reach Aldon. If I arrive in Aldon, I will burn to death. There is no question. There is something dark between my sister and my aunt. And the way Tilil spoke of my mother, with such malevolence. I say more to myself than to my sister, who buries her head at the window, “I don’t remember Mother being vain. I mean the way Tilil portrayed her. It wasn’t at all the way I remember her. In fact, she was the humblest person I’ve ever met. She was always so good to everyone. She always treated royals and servants with the same respect. Did I just idealize her as a child might do with their parents? Is it my imagination?” I ask my sister.
Siean keeps looking out the window and speaks so quietly that I think I imagine her voice in the beginning. “She was humble. You didn’t imagine it. And she was smart, but she was naive. And that is a lethal thing to be.” What does being naive have to do with all this?
Then Siean looks me straight in the eye for the first time sinceTilil ordered her to escort me to Aldon. Her young teenager’s face is lamenting. “Do you remember Father taking Nikanor? Do you remember we hid in the closet but could see everything through the screen?”
I stare at her, not sure how to answer. I know Nikanor was taken, but that’s not the same as remembering it.
“You were there. We were hiding together. He was six at the time, and you were nine. You were old enough to remember,” she says with sudden vehemence. It is startling, given her demeanor since I found her again. “It’s vague. There are a lot of things I don’t remember,” I tell her. My memory still feels perforated most of the time.
“It’s probably the Nimatek. It can erase a lifetime of memories.” She sighs and turns back to face the window.
“How do you know of the Nimatek?” I can’t help but bristle. How is it that everyone knows what was done to me and I was the only one ignorant of it?
“They give it to almost all the royal girls until they get married. Haven’t you paid attention to the preachers? A woman is born first as a baby, she grows into a girl, and on her wedding day, she becomes a woman.” Siean’s impression of Rashkan, the high priest, is frighteningly accurate. “Alas, the few years before her marriage can be trying years. The womb is starting to develop, yet it is not yet fulfilling its fertility purpose. This time is a hotbed for hysteria. The womb attempts to take the power of the girl’s mind from the man responsible for her—her father.” She ends the reciting and huffs, “Did you actually manage to forget that bullshit? I envy you. Maybe the Nimatek has some advantages.”
“No, I—I do remember.” I heard these lectures frequently, especially as the wedding approached. “But what does that have to do with the Nimatek?” Rashkan never mentioned Nimatek. No one ever did.
“It’s their treatment for what they call hysteria, which is a code name for a woman having a mind of her own. It’s extremely effective. It makes you numb and meek yet still able to function as they wishyou to. Mother spilled mine every day and made Father believe I took it.” There’s a lump in my throat as her words of our mother’s protection hit me, how everything could have been different if she hadn’t died.
“Try to remember,” she pleads with me, imploring me to recall the night my brother was taken. Why is this so important to her? Why is this the only thing that seems to touch her? “We were baking an apple cake.” She sounds so dejected at that, as if the fact that we once baked an apple cake is heartbreaking. I guess it is, in a way. In that way of moments being lost so completely that you know in your bones you will never get to relive them. But remembering that moment, the scent of that apple cake in the oven, the scent of cinnamon too—it opens a hidden door in my mind.
I’m in the closet. Siean’s hand covers my mouth so tight that I can barely breathe. The top half of the door is hand carved with flowers, and I can see everything outside through the slits. My mother holds Nikanor, hugging him tightly, and he wraps himself around her with his little hands and legs. My father is pulling him. Nikanor is crying, calling my mom. She tries to grab him again. Rod is furious. I’ve never seen him like this before. He was always cold and distant but not violent. He hands Nikanor to one of his men, who just stand there, and then he hits my mother. Hard. Her face is bloody now. I hear a whimper. It’s mine. Siean tightens her hand on my mouth. My mother is on the ground, and he kicks her. She is curled up, and he doesn’t stop. Then he grabs her by the hair and shouts in her face, “What did you think would happen when I learned that you taught my son witchcraft? Or did you just assume I’m too stupid to find out? Do you know how I found out?” And he laughs domineeringly. “You are the stupid one, Rutanna. Not me.”
This memory is so vile that there is no wonder why it escaped me. After my mother died, I saw my brother a few times on public occasions. He was always at my father’s side and never acknowledged my presence. I never dared to approach him. What was it like for Nikanor to grow up in my father’s care after that day? He was so attached to my mother. She spent so many hours with all of us, playing,teaching, and loving. Does he remember her? Or did he prefer to forget as well?
“How did he find out she taught us Renyan healing?” I ask. But my sister remains facing the window, and she doesn’t answer. As if all she wanted was not to carry that memory alone and now that we share it, she wants nothing more to do with me. I think all three of us are lonely. We were deprived of not only our mother but also our siblings. We were left under the care of people who never cared for us at all. All of Rutanna’s children became means to an end. But I hope I’m wrong. I hope it only happened to me.
After all, Nikanor’s hair is red, and he is a man. Perhaps Rod truly loves him, truly values him. And for Siean, my aunt cared enough for her to bring her back from the dead. Didn’t she? I have no idea how she did it, but I guess it means she cared.
