By the next day, Norjin had developed a full fever. When he twisted his body, he felt the familiar pulling pain, but his sense of time had slipped away. He reached out, certain his hand would touch something, and grasped nothing. This is bad, Norjin thought.

  He sensed several people entering.

  He was forced upright, a bowl pressed to his lips. The sharp scent of medicinal broth struck his nose. He knew this smell. Instinctively, he turned his head away in refusal. Arms grabbed him from behind. Hands clamped around his face.

  Though his mind was clouded, his body still held a man’s strength.

  The maid restraining his arms was shaken off; the one gripping his face was shoved away.

  “Lady Mingying,” said a voice that sounded like a nurse.

  “Lady Mingying, you understand, do you not. Today is an auspicious day for conceiving a child. Though you are both of imperial blood, you do not belong to the main line. Your blood must be joined, made stronger—more pure.”

  “I understand,” Mingying replied coolly. She had heard the words too many times to count.

  She knelt beside Norjin’s bed and took his hand.

  “Mulya, drink this.”

  Once more, the bowl was pressed to Norjin’s mouth. He knew far too well what would follow if he drank it. He shook his head.

  “Lord Muryen, surely you understand as well. Please grant your precious seed to Lady Mingying.”

  The wet nurse coaxed him. Norjin almost laughed. If only you knew how often that precious seed has already been spilled on base prostitutes.

  “Mulya… please. Please.”

  Mingying’s voice sounded as though she were crying. Ridiculous. It must be the fever. His sister had always managed him, bent him to her will. She could do so again. Why plead now?

  “Mulya.”

  A cold drop fell onto his hand. Was she truly crying? Was this the inescapable fate of their siblings? One even Mingying herself could not flee?

  Norjin swallowed the broth poured into his mouth. Bitterness lingered on his tongue. He went limp, lying back. As before, his limbs were restrained.

  “Now, Lady Mingying.”

  The wet nurse urged her on. The maids watched. It was something that had happened many times before.

  Suddenly, an image surfaced: Mingying in her bridal attire. Back then, neither of them had understood what it meant. He had smiled innocently at her beauty; she had blushed faintly and smiled shyly in return.

  In those days, his sister had been in love with one of the guards. When he teased her, she had chased him in anger. They had run through the estate together, only to be scolded by the wet nurse. An ordinary pair of siblings. How had it come to this?

  He felt a weight settle low in his abdomen.

  Norjin clenched his teeth.

  There was no moon that night. Zaya, clad in black light armor and carrying a black pack, blended into the darkness, nearly impossible to spot. A faint flicker of light leaked from the eight-sided pagoda of the abandoned temple. She advanced carefully and peered inside. No sign of anyone. She gently pushed open the double doors.

  A brazier warmed the room more than expected. On the bed set at the center lay Norjin. No one else was there.

  She slipped inside and leaned over his face.

  “Alive?”

  “Alive,” he answered. “I told you not to come back.”

  “You did say something like that,” Zaya replied lightly. “Didn’t really hear it.”

  She pulled back the blanket. Norjin lay naked. Around his abdomen was a strip of cloth torn from a familiar deel, still soaked dark with blood. He must have bled again. The red-black stain stood out starkly against his pale skin.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Setting down her pack, Zaya took out salve jars and bandages. With a dagger, she cut away the old cloth, checked the wound, soaked fresh fabric with liquid from a leather flask.

  “This will sting,” she warned, pressing the cloth to the wound and wiping away the blood.

  Norjin groaned. Zaya lifted his upper body against her. She smelled of sheep fat and the steppe. Working quickly, she spread medicinal paste onto the cloth, pressed it to the wound, and wrapped bandages tightly around him, layer after layer.

  It had only been five days, yet he looked thinner. His beard had been trimmed, so someone had tended him—but not treated him. Something didn’t add up.

  She pulled out underclothes and slipped them over his head, then helped him into his deel. When she guided his arm through the sleeve, Norjin winced.

  “Legs over here. Sit. I’ll get these on you.”

  Efficiently, she dressed him, tied his belt, fastened the cords at his collar.

  “Hey,” she said softly, “why don’t you make one of those crude jokes?”

  Norjin gave a faint, crooked smile.

  “Too late to play the pretty hero now.”

  As she was putting on his boots, the lattice door beneath the stained glass opened quietly.

  “So noisy… and it’s just a rat again.”

  Mingying stood there, so beautiful that Zaya froze.

  “Mingying,” Norjin said calmly. “She’ll be gone soon.”

  “Norjin!”

  If I don’t drive her away properly here, this stubborn woman will come after me again. No matter what price that makes me pay.

  “Don’t make me say it twice. Go. Don’t ever come back.”

  At the coldness in his voice, Zaya involuntarily stepped back.

  Mingying sat on the edge of the bed, resting her hand on Norjin’s shoulder, and smiled at Zaya in triumph.

  “A coarse black rat from the steppe. How pitiful.”

  Zaya faltered.

  Mingying was flawless—her hair, her clothes, not a single opening. Her hairpin caught the candlelight and glittered. Standing close together, Mingying and Norjin looked like a matched pair of striking beauty. It felt impossible to wedge oneself between them.

  Zaya, by contrast, wore a black deel and black light armor dulled gray with dust. Her fur hat was the same. The braids slipping from beneath it were roughly done, loose strands sticking out. Her face must be slick with sheep fat, now pale with dust.

  Mingying pulled Norjin’s head toward her.

  “Is this child what you want? Once you’ve seen his skin even once, you won’t be able to stop wanting him, will you?”

  The image of Norjin’s pale body flashed through Zaya’s mind. Her heart leapt.

  Seeing her shaken, Mingying pressed on.

  “As his sister, I raised him after our mother died. I know everything about this child.”

  “That’s enough,” Norjin cut in.

  Mingying smiled faintly.

  Sister…

  Zaya remembered him saying that. And another word she did not want to hear. “One must explain things plainly to those beneath us. This Mulya is the rightful heir of the Jin imperial line, destined to be the next emperor. And the child born between Mulya and me, his rightful consort, will carry an even purer blood—proof of the dynasty’s eternal glory.”

  Zaya could not make sense of it. Jin? She’d heard of it. A country far to the east, already destroyed—or so she thought. Wait. A child between the two of them? Siblings?

  The animal, festering intimacy thrust upon her sent nausea clawing up Zaya’s throat. Mingying smiled as if seeking agreement, meeting Norjin’s eyes.

  “Now leave. Just because Mulya favored you once doesn’t make it anything more than a passing amusement.”

  Suddenly, a powerful impulse surged within Zaya, impossible to suppress. What she and Norjin shared was not what this woman claimed. She didn’t know what to call it, but it was not something born of a single night’s indulgence.

  “Shut up,” Zaya shouted, shaking with rage. “Mulya, Mulya—who cares about Mulya?”

  She screamed.

  “You ask who I want? I don’t want Mulya.”

  “What I want is Norjin. A man of Karakorum.”

  At her words, Norjin, who had been looking down, snapped his gaze up at her.

  Zaya hurled the powder charge she had been clutching into the brazier. It burst, ash billowing up as white smoke filled the room. A sharp whistle rang out.

  Before he could think, Norjin’s body moved. He grabbed Zaya by the waist and slammed into the double doors, bursting outside—only to collapse, overcome by pain.

  Zaya’s horse appeared. She hauled Norjin up and pushed him onto the saddle, then mounted herself and kicked hard. The horse surged forward. Clouds, grass, everything flew past.

  She didn’t know if it would work. She trusted the wordless coordination they had shown in battle against the Kipchak. Without speaking, Norjin would know what to do.

  And he did.

  Zaya smiled—while feeling something thick and sticky cling to the hand she had wrapped around his abdomen.

  When her vision finally cleared, her brother was already gone. Handmaidens scurried in frantic confusion, and guards were in hot pursuit of her escaped sibling. For the first time since she could remember, no one was looking at her.

  She took a step forward. From the distance, the frantic shouts of the guards echoed. She descended the stone steps of the Eight-Sided Tower, the cold night air wrapping around her. No one challenged her. No one held her back.

  Her foot moved forward again. Then another step. She couldn't stop anymore.

  Mingying ran. She ran simply because her legs moved. Her hairpin fell away, her hair grew disheveled, and her shoes slipped off. Still, she kept running.

  In the distance, the surface of a river glimmered. Her feet did not slow. She entered the water and went on. But at last her strength failed, and the waters of the Volga closed over her.

  That night, for the first time that year, the Volga froze.