Heir of Beasts

Ch. 2.3- The Smoke of Summer Bonfires

First things first:

1. I am not dead.
2. It has been for-fucking-ever. Sorry. 
3. Yes, there will be more updates.
4. If you stuck with this story even though it has been sitting here neglected for two literal years, thank you, and I hope you like where it's going next. 

I'm back, baby. If anyone has forgotten what this book is about, think of three angry ferrets in a dress fighting a corrupt politician while a boy wearing only flowers runs around an island with an angsty ambassador while his mother attempts to raise an army and retake their country and restore their family honor yada yada yada. That is the past several hundred pages summarized succinctly.

And O'otani, I am very sorry I left you at the altar for this long. You never even wanted to be there to begin with, and it was wrong of me. Please don't kill me in my sleep. 

______________

         "I wonder," I say as I look out over the crowd. "How many of these well-wishers were at my execution? How many of the women who shake their sweet wrists in my direction cried out hang her, hang the bitch? How many of their husbands screamed their voices hoarse calling out break her pretty little neck?"

"O'otani-" Kaza mutters.

"How many of those children who throw flowers at my feet," I ask "sold sweet rolls and handcrackers at my hanging to make a few coppers?"

"I'm sure they didn't-" Kaza says, at the same time Manit replies "quite a few, I suspect."

"At least one of you Noraya men knows how to tell the truth," I mutter. Kaza barely alters, but I can tell my words have wounded him. His smile looked pained from the start, but it was my pain he seemed to feel. His usually empathetic eyes grow colder and more guarded, and for a second I almost regret speaking harshly.

"The people have always been fickle and easily led," he replies. "Some of them wanted you to fade with the smoke of summer bonfires because they saw you as the emblem of a dying dynasty. Some still fly your flag in their hearts. Does it really matter which is which, when the city has already fallen?"

"Yes," I reply quietly. "Yes, it matters, because I loved them once."

Manit chuckles. He's a quiet man, a serious man, so the sound is strangely discordant. "You never loved us," he says, some mirth still clinging to his inflection, "we were nothing to you Amarins but grains of sand in the desert. Nothing but something to stand on so you could raise yourselves up."

"That is not tru-" I say, but before I can finish the last word he's cut me off with a wave of his hand.

"No, you're right," he says. "Maybe you did love us, in the way a man loves a dog. You cared enough to throw us bones so long as we worshipped you as gods, but as soon as we tried to stand up and walk on our own two legs you disowned us as Vasayaste curs."

"We did not-"

"Oh, you did," he continues calmly. "Be honest with yourself, O'otani, just this once. Did you ever think of us as smart, capable, worthy? Did you ever once look at one of us and think we were as good, as great as you?"

"No," I snap back sharply, "of course not! How could I? How could I compare the direct descendants of Aramizsa Ketoi, the Brightest Sun of Suumaral, the Conqueror of Hroi and the founder of a millenia of prosperity with the descendants of, what, some anonymous goatherd? A silk weaver? You think that just because a few of you got rich on whore's gold and Lirium silver you're suddenly worthy of every honor under the desert sun?" I laugh, a jagged sound that makes Kaza flinch. Or maybe it's just a bump in the road. "We were chosen to rule for a reason, Captain."