Page 47 of Humans Don't Have Horns
“Could we speak alone, Your Grace?” she asks me in her singsong voice, which starts to annoy me greatly. There is something so artificial about it. Her men don’t wait for my answer and leave the tent. Emek raises an eyebrow at being dismissed, while Daton seems relieved. He’s been brooding even more than usual since the Kozari messenger arrived yesterday, which we didn’t discuss. Because I’m a coward.
“We’d be very thankful if you could provide us with some water, Your Grace,” she says in a regular voice once we are alone. I sense that the way she carries herself and speaks outwardly masks a person that, for Kozari men, might be highly displeasing.
“I think you can drop the ‘your grace’ thing,” I drawl while pouring water into a cup for her. “We both know I’m no longer a princess.” She gives me a hard stare as if I have offended her but says nothing. I probably did. I’m definitely spending too much time with the Mongans. Their ways are rubbing off on me.
She sits on the rug, drinking, and curiously looks at our surroundings. How alien it must be for her. So different from her sumptuous palace. “You don’t remember us? We were to be your daughter,” she says. She would have been if I’d married Ashar. A stepdaughter.
“I’m afraid I remember very little of those days.” I sit down on the carpet in front of her.
“Because of the Nimatek?” she asks. My cheeks heat in embarassment. It seems everyone in Amada knew I was sedated but me. How could I have been so blind? What else was I blind about?
“You arrived at Amora a month after our mother died. You said you would be our friend.” She watches me with such intensity, itmakes me feel exposed and vulnerable. I get the feeling she picks up on every expression or emotion. She’s so young. If we met when she was eight, she must be fifteen now. Yet there is something very mature about her. As if during her short time in Amada, she managed to gather more life experience than she should have.
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember.” I bite my lip in frustration. She hums in understanding.
“Will you be our friend now, Your Grace?” We both speak Aldonian, but I feel as if we don’t speak the same language. I don’t understand what she is getting at. Why does she refer to herself using the royal we? I know it’s protocol, but for Goddess’s sake, it’s just the two of us. And why does she insist on treating me as her equal in status? She is a queen, and I’m a ruined Puresoul woman. She knows this. And most of all, why would she come here by herself? The Kozaries are known to be difficult and shrewd negotiators, with very little respect for outsiders. Other Puresoul royals included. Her behavior is irregular, and it puts me on edge.
When she speaks again, it comes out a bit choked. “You lifted a great shadow from us,” she says, eyeing me intently. I want to tell her to stop speaking in riddles, but then understanding dawns on me, and a chill runs down my spine. Does she know of my part in Ashar’s death? How long have the Kozaries been watching us?
“You set us free. You awakened courage in us we did not know existed. Please don’t be upset.” she urges. “We came here because we need to continue what you started, to free us all from the shadows.”
I struggle to breathe under the weight of her words, the responsibilities lurking within them. I almost ask her how many women were burned for my actions. How can I ever live with the answer? I can feel the undercurrents beneath us and know we will never name them. Maybe we don’t need to.
After long moments of silence, the queen begins a new conversation. A more practical one. “The demichads raided three mining towns in the past week. The supply of gold has been halted,” she tells me.
The continuous supply of gold is essential for her hold on power.The first woman to rule Kozari can’t risk disruption in the supply for her lords. I know from the Mongan scouts that the demichads raided more Kozari villages, but she doesn’t mention them. They are insignificant in the course of things. Whatever means she took to become queen won’t help her without gold. She needs the demichads defeated.
There is a ghost of a smile on her face as she watches me decipher her words. And then she tries, I think, to maintain leverage as she says, “Of course, my lords think the idea of you as the leader of this campaign is ridiculous—offensive, even.” And I take that as a direct threat that the Kozari support is only through her and not widespread. “Some have even sent a delegate behind our back to your brother, asking him to lead the campaign.” To my brother and not to Rod. My father’s condition is well known, it seems.
“And what was Nikanor’s answer?” I ask.
“To our understanding, he has been vague but not vague enough for them to despair of their efforts. Yet it seems he doesn’t openly challenge you for now,” she offers.
Aldon’s cooperation will be the most difficult for sure. What she tells me is encouraging. It’s the most that could be expected for now. Siean is proving herself an important and effective ally. Stopping Nikanor from actively challenging me is not a trivial accomplishment, and I am sure it is her doing.
“You have a lot of knowledge of my affairs. A disturbing amount, if I am truthful,” I say wryly.
“Let us always be truthful, as good friends should, Your Grace. There can never be too many friends for women like us.” She is compelling, but it is exhausting to try to understand her. What does she mean by “us” while she has obviously been spying on me?
“Now, this is our offer,” she says. “Our lords will be at your service for the campaign against the demichads. Unfortunately, our army was disbanded as the Renyan army was a hundred years ago. So our fighting skills are limited. But we will be at your service for whatever use you choose. In exchange, you will defeat the demichads, and our submission to Aldon and its false religion will end.”
“I can’t negotiate for Aldon. I have no position there.” I clench my jaw. She knows this.
“Whatever your position will be in the future, will you commit to a free Kozari?” she demands.
“I have no objection to this,” I acquiesce.
“We are afraid that’s not enough, Your Grace.” She has no leverage here. She needs the demichads defeated, and she has just shown her cards. She can’t go to Aldon for help, not if she wishes to free herself from its rule.
“You expect me to fight for you?” I frown at the idea.
“Isn’t that what friends do?” She smiles at me sweetly. I have no interest in Aldonian imperialism. I have no love for the True Religion. But I don’t like committing myself to vague paths. Once I give my word, I can’t go back. And I’m not sure I can trust her. She speaks in riddles, she holds back many unspoken things, and I don’t trust Kozaries to begin with. Their honor is limited to their own. Not even with the King of Aldon did they feel obligated to respect agreements. But then, she doesn’t trust me either. How could she? She doesn’t know me.
“I agree, but with one condition,” I say finally. “You will stop the manufacture of Kozari lassos, gather all the existing Kozari lassos, and give them to the Mongans.”
It is an extremely high price for my vague endorsement, but you can’t begin negotiation with the final price you are willing to settle for.
“Agreed,” she replies promptly.
