20.
“You’re back, Muruya. My sweet little brother— and my beloved husband.”
Her voice was refined, gentle. Norjin slipped from Mingying’s lap and tumbled onto the floor.
Caught. After fleeing so carefully, for so long—caught.
He lifted his head, trying to crawl away, and saw Zaya’s face. Something in him snapped.
Words burst out between clenched teeth, carried on ragged breath.
“You brought me here. You—you brought me.”
Zaya stared at him, eyes wide, as if struck dumb. Norjin tried to crawl toward her, but his arms would not obey.
“Damn it.”
Zaya shook her head, eyes still wide, trying to say something—but no words came. Norjin forced himself onward.
“Get out. And never come back!”
“Norjin—”Zaya was confused. She could not understand what he was saying. Her mind refused to accept it.
Mingying moved closer and gently lifted Norjin. His hand clutched at her clothing. The two of them, pressed together, looked like a painting—beautiful beyond reason.
Zaya sprang to her feet and ran, without looking back.
She didn’t know. She had known nothing. She still understood nothing.
Tears spilled as she ran. Her feet sank into the mud of the marsh, but she tore them free again and again, desperate to keep moving. She couldn’t believe she was running with her back to Norjin.
Why run? Why flee? Why not explain? Why obey his command?
She pressed her fingers to her lips and blew hard. A shrill whistle tore through the night.
Again. Please—come.
She kept whistling, gasping for breath, calling her horse.
At last, the shadow of a black horse appeared. Two more followed behind.
“Zaya.”
“Ehau.”
“Are you all right? You were too late coming back.”
“Norjin’s been caught. He’s stabbed—in the stomach. Ahead—”The words would not form.
Ehau seized her arm and pulled her up onto the horse. Zaya clung to its neck. Warmth seeped into her, and she drew a deep breath.
“Do we rescue him?” Ehau asked.
Zaya shook her head. She was calm now.
“Later. First we go home. We prepare properly—and then we take him back.”
Her eyes were hard, fixed. Ehau nodded, turned his horse, and rode.
Zaya followed. A solid resolve had taken root in her chest, and she held it close.
A smell both hateful and familiar filled the room. With several braziers burning, there was no sense of cold.
Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
I was dreaming, Norjin thought.
The scent of the steppe. Sheep fat, horses. Books and ink. Fire, mud, roasting meat. The smooth slide of silk beneath his fingers. Soft bedding. Mingying in his arms.
He squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn’t ready to wake. He wanted to continue the dream.
The thunder of warhorses. The twang of bowstrings. Arrows slicing past his face. The fierce vitality burning at his back, back to back with another.
A woman with black skin and blue-gray eyes, baring her teeth in laughter at the brink of death.
“Zaya.”
Norjin gasped awake.
A soot-darkened ceiling loomed above him. Once there must have been paintings there, but now nothing was recognizable. He tried to move and pain lanced through his side. Groaning, he tried to understand where he was.
An abandoned building, perhaps.
Stained glass. A strange man gazing heavenward, hands clasped in prayer, beside a woman draped in blue. Stone pillars.
One of the eastern churches, perhaps. Not Latin. Something older. Quieter.
He lay on a bed. Someone entered from his blind side, then left.
Someone came again. The scent of aloeswood drifted in, dragging him instantly into the past.
“You’re awake, Muruya?”
His sister stood there—terrifyingly beautiful. Behind her, an attendant carried a tray.
Norjin laughed. The movement sent pain tearing through his side, and he grimaced.
“So I’ve finally been caught.”
Mingying sat beside the bed and gently stroked his cheek.
“Caught? You merely went out and came home again,” she said, her voice cloyingly sweet.
“Yes. I left, and I returned. That’s all.”
She smiled.
“You will succeed Father and ascend the throne as emperor. You will restore our dynasty’s brilliance. You understand that, don’t you?”
She pulled back the bedding. Wrapped around his wound was cloth torn from Zaya’s deel.
Mingying let her finger slide over Norjin’s bare abdomen. When she touched the cloth, still seeping blood, she stroked it.
“I know. Hearing it every day, even a fool would.”
His breath caught mid-sentence. Mingying’s hand twisted sharply at his wound.
“Muruya. That won’t do. You must use proper language. I taught you that.”
The cloth darkened instantly with blood. Norjin gasped in pain. She did not remove her hand; her white fingers stained red.
This was not the moment to resist.
Norjin closed his eyes and let his strength drain away.
“Yes, Sister.”
Her fingers still wandered over the cloth.
“Does it hurt? If so, that’s your fault, Muruya. For making me do such things.”
Slowly, Norjin exhaled.
“Yes. I was wrong. I will do as you say. So please—remove your hand.”
His voice was flat, even, though a trace of pleading slipped through.
At last, her fingers withdrew. She replaced the bedding over his body.
“You have no appetite yet. Until you do, we’ll take this away.”
At her order, the attendant lifted the tray and backed out. As always—even eating required Mingying’s permission.
She brushed Norjin’s forehead. He was warm.
“Do you want me?”
“Yes, Sister.”
His obedient reply drew a soft laugh from her throat.
“Not yet. It would disturb your wound.”
Norjin closed his eyes. Inside his mind, he hurled every curse he could at her.
“You’re sleepy. That’s fine. Rest.”
She stroked his cheek once more and left, silk whispering as she went. Even his sister, it seemed, would not manage his sleep tonight.
Norjin tried again to recall the steppe. The dry air. The smell of grass. Zaya’s people gathered around the fire, laughing.
When he woke again, his body felt light, weak. A fever, he thought.
Mingying was clever, but ignorant. There were no signs she intended to treat the wound. Born with a claim to the throne, Norjin had been trained in every skill deemed necessary for judgment and rule.
Mingying had not.
If this goes on, he thought dimly, I could die.
In that moment, when he had awakened in Mingying’s arms, shock had driven him to the wrong conclusion. Zaya could not possibly know his relationship with Mingying. Much less that Mingying had laid a crude trap to lure him here—and that Zaya had gone along with it.
Impossible.
His thoughts blurred. Images drifted without order.
Zaya of the steppe. Dark skin. Blue-gray eyes alive with fierce light. The first woman he had ever wanted to claim. The woman whose love he had wanted.
If he had kept her there, who knew what Mingying would have done? Letting Zaya escape had been right.
They might never meet again, but—
He froze.
Zaya hated being ordered around.
What had he said? To drive her away—
“Get out. And never come back.”
The memory made laughter well up in his chest. Trying to laugh pulled at his wound, but Norjin didn’t care.
Zaya would come back.
That wild, stubborn woman.
Warmth spread through his heart, and Norjin slipped back into sleep.
