Warm breath brushed his skin. Norjin opened his eyes slowly.
Leaning over him was a dark-skinned girl with the same blue-gray eyes as Zaya. The moment his focus sharpened, she sprang back.
Twelve, maybe thirteen. She stared at him from a distance, frozen.
“Who are you?” Norjin asked.
“I’m Ilha.” The girl stepped closer again. “So you really are white. You’ve got an amazingly beautiful face.”
At her frank assessment, Norjin gave a wry smile.
“Did you come just to gawk?”
Her face flushed red at the question.
“No, it’s not like that. Zaya said she’d be late today, so Grandmother told me to come in her place.”
“Where’s the old woman?”
“Her back’s hurting. She went to see the healer.”
“Seriously?”
Norjin reached for the fur draped over the blankets.
“Oh, I’ll—”
“It’s fine.” He pushed himself upright and wrapped the fur around his shoulders. He could finally sit up on his own now, though standing without help was still difficult.
“Can I touch you?” Ilha asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and peering into his face.
“I don’t know what you’re expecting, but it’s not proper for a child to go patting a grown man’s body.”
Ilha frowned.
“I’m not a child.”
“Of course not,” Norjin said with a grin. “That’s exactly what children say.”
“I’m already thirteen,” she protested.
“Still thirteen,” Norjin dismissed lightly.
“So where did Zaya go?”
“She went with Ehau and the others to buy arrow fletching from the nearby locals. They’re running short.”
“With barely a common language between them, they think they can just get it handed over? That sort of thing is my job.”
“But you can’t move.”
“Even if I can’t move, I can at least teach them what to say. That’s a lot better than waving their hands around.”
Ilha propped her elbow on the bed, resting her chin in her palm.
“So… are you Zaya’s lover?”
The blunt question made Norjin smile despite himself.
“You’re old enough to say things like that—at least when you’re still a child.”
“You are, right? Zaya’s taking care of you in her own tent. Lucky. I want a lover too.”
She said it dreamily.
“So how did you woo her?”Ilha folded her arms on the bed and laid her head on them, gazing up at him.
“Maybe she was the one who wooed me,” Norjin said lightly.
“Zaya used to sit on the hills with Taghray a lot, watching the stars together.”
Taghray.
Norjin searched his memory.
After arriving at Batu’s ulus and being introduced to his family, Norjin remembered waiting in Queen Boraqchin’s tent while preparations were made for his guest quarters. At the time, besides Boraqchin, there had been two men near Zaya. One was Dogon, whom he knew. The other must have been Taghray. That man had given Norjin a brief nod before striding out of the tent, looking busy.
“That does sound picturesque. Did Taghray come around often?”
“Not all the time, but he used to come a lot. They went riding together, hunting, just the two of them.”
“So they were pretty close.”
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“Everyone thought Zaya was going to marry Taghray.”
“He’s a catch.”
“He’s kind of an uncle, though. A cool uncle. Oh, and once Zaya followed him on one of his journeys.”
“Followed him?”
“She went without telling anyone, so Boraqchin scolded her really badly. After that, she stopped talking about Taghray.”
The words hit like a bomb. Norjin froze for a heartbeat, then carefully let out his breath so Ilha wouldn’t notice.
“Huh. Wonder what happened.”
“I don’t know, but everyone said—”
By the time the old woman returned from her treatment, Norjin had already coaxed most of the story out of Ilha.
Though Zaya had said she’d be late, she returned near dusk. She didn’t look to be in a good mood. Watching her from the corner of his eye, Norjin pushed himself upright.
“Oh, you’re awake?” Zaya came over.
“More or less. Finally.”
“I need to change your bandages.”
“No need. The old woman already did.”
“Let me see.”
“I said it’s fine.”
“It’s not fine—hey!”
Norjin protested, but the blankets were stripped away in moments. After checking the bandages, Zaya seemed satisfied and covered him again.
“Give me a break,” Norjin groaned. “Try being in my place. Every time, my most important parts end up on display.”
“Hmph. The fact you can even joke about that means you’re doing better.”
“Thank you for your understanding,” Norjin said, wincing but smiling.
Small steps. Always small steps. Next time, he would absolutely demand clothes. Even if only the bottom half.
“The negotiation didn’t go well, did it?”
Zaya snorted.
“Don’t jump to conclusions. I got the number we needed.”
“That’s good. Hopefully they’ll give more next time.”
Norjin grinned. Zaya was far too straightforward. She had probably just demanded the fletching and paid for it—barely a negotiation at all. That might work once. Maybe. But not twice.
Zaya studied his face for a moment, then sat down beside the bed.
“I know you’re good at drawing information out of people. You even got details from those cautious Kipchak east of the Volga.”
“You wanted to take me along, didn’t you?” Norjin said, dropping the grin and smiling at her instead.
“I’m not that cruel.”
Norjin resisted the urge to pull her closer. Not yet.
“Why not take Taghray with you next time?”
“Taghray?” Zaya hesitated. “Well… it is his job.”
She looked troubled, searching for reasons she could say aloud.
Norjin could guess the one she wasn’t naming. He didn’t touch it. He only needed to remove one weight.
“When you’re stuck inside working all the time, you want to get out once in a while.”
Zaya laughed.
“Sounds like you took plenty of breaks in Karakorum.”
She looked at him like she knew far too much.
“All right. I’ll ask Taghray.”
She looked a little lighter and set about unpacking her supplies with brisk efficiency. Watching her, Norjin thought:
She doesn’t realize it.
Why I know about Taghray.
Why I said his name.
Zaya—what is Taghray to you?
Fine.
I’ll send you his way, Taghray.
Don’t waste it.
Taghray’s workplace had no central hearth. Instead, desks were arranged throughout the tent, his subordinates working quietly at each one. The space hummed with activity—reports from the west being compiled, traders and negotiators coming and going.
This mission concerned whether the Rus’ princes would accept Batu’s terms of submission. None had given a favorable answer, as expected. Batu’s demands were harsh—but more than that, the Rus wanted time. Batu did not. Taghray understood them well; he had dealt with them many times before.
Only Bulgar, a trading city, had responded immediately—with a counterproposal. But what Batu wanted was not negotiation. He wanted submission. Taghray had made that clear, even without naming the exact timing of the western campaign—only that it was near. Even so, they behaved as they always did, assuming there was room to bargain. Habit was dangerous. It dulled any sense of urgency.
He felt the pressure mounting.
People who had endured long, brutal winters, stacking stone and building cities. Endurance made them closed off, but once they opened up, they were warm. Their explosive joy at the first signs of spring was contagious.
The stench of waste was overwhelming everywhere, yet once accustomed, it barely registered outdoors.
Blond girls wearing flower crowns, dancing hand in hand. Rosy-cheeked maidens harvesting baskets of apples the same color as their faces, laughing brightly.
The food was good too. Black bread, porridge, stewed root vegetables—so many flavors compared to Mongol fare. Passing cups of mead, stepping outside drunk to see black trees under the stars, a shining river, a church. He didn’t care for their gods, but he liked how they believed. High and low alike prayed modestly.
All of it—he wanted desperately to preserve.
Taghray rubbed the crease that had settled permanently between his brows.
Zaya appeared at the entrance of his tent. Spotting him, she came over to his desk. She used to visit often; now it was rare. Perhaps she was mindful of others’ eyes. One day, she would come openly again.
“Busy?” she asked carefully.
“What’s wrong? Should we talk outside? No—here’s fine.”
He pushed aside the documents and faced her.
She asked if he could help negotiate with the locals for arrow fletching. Taghray agreed immediately.
“When you’re stuck inside working all the time, you want to get out once in a while.”
Zaya smiled. “So I’ve heard.”
“So you’ve heard? Someone else said that too?”
“Well… you know. That official from Karakorum. Norjin. He was badly injured, and things got complicated, so we’re taking care of him.”
The official from Karakorum.
Taghray recalled Boraqchin mentioning someone from Karakorum—a pale man in a deep indigo deel.
“Norjin,” he said. “Things got complicated?” Zaya stood.
“It’s a long story. Tomorrow, then.”
Watching her leave, a dimple appeared on Taghray’s left cheek.
That man—inside Zaya’s tent?
Might be time to give him a warning.
