Snow had been falling since morning.

  For a moment, Zaya considered skipping her visit to Boraqchin’s tent today. But there was little time left before the western campaign. Preparations were still unfinished.

  She led her horse out.

  Someone came running through the drifting snow. No cloak, only a deel.

  Ilha.

  When Zaya stopped, Ilha planted her feet and shouted at the top of her lungs.

  “I won’t give him up! I won’t—absolutely won’t! I’m never giving up!”

  Ilha’s voice carried from outside, echoing through the settlement.

  Inside the tent, as the old woman helped him dress, Norjin groaned. The old woman shot him a reproachful look.

  "That one’s completely overheated,” she said dryly.

  “I didn’t do anything. You know that. I was just lying there. If I were in any shape to be getting into that, I’d have gone to Zaya first.”

  “That sort of talk does you no credit,” the old woman said. She tucked the end of his sash into place, then gave his back a light pat, as if to say she was finished.

  Supported by the old woman, Norjin stepped outside the tent. Ilha was being dragged toward the tent by Arna, still shouting.

  Several tent flaps that had been slightly open were pulled shut all at once.

  Zaya gave Norjin a pointed look. He answered with a helpless shrug of an expression, but she mounted her horse without waiting for more.

  Before going to Boraqchin’s tent, Zaya headed to Taghlai’s workplace. Norjin’s words from the night before had stayed with her.

  Taghlai was capable, earnest, and deeply responsible. Even as a child, he had been kind to those beneath him.

  No matter what Taghlai said, she should not see him anymore. And yet—

  He was not there.

  With no other choice, Zaya went on to Boraqchin’s tent.

  The atmosphere felt strangely buoyant. he looks she received were different somehow—almost as if people were congratulating her.

  When she approached Boraqchin’s seat to offer her greetings, Boraqchin took Zaya’s hands and beamed.

  “Wait—what is this about?” Zaya asked, bewildered.

  “What do you mean? Your marriage, of course. You’ve finally chosen Taghlai.”

  Zaya was stunned.

  “Wait. How did that happen?”

  “He was just here. He made a formal request. Ah—Taghlai. Zaya has arrived.”

  Zaya turned sharply.

  Taghlai stood there, his face sallow, unshaven, smiling broadly. His eyes were bloodshot, as though he hadn’t slept.

  “Zaya, rejoice. Lady Boraqchin has given her blessing.”

  “Taghlai, wait. Isn’t this the worst possible time for you?”

  “The worst time?” He nodded. “Yes, I’m very busy. There’s so much to think about, but time won’t wait. So I decided to settle what’s been weighing on me first.”

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  For a fleeting moment, Zaya wondered if she herself was something to be “settled.” But this was not the time.

  Something about Taghlai felt increasingly wrong.

  She led him to a table and made him sit.

  “You haven’t been sleeping, have you? Your eyes are red.”

  “No. I couldn’t sleep last night. I was thinking about what to say to Lady Boraqchin.”

  Zaya knew instinctively that this was a lie. But she couldn’t press him now.

  “Taghlai. Please. Get some rest.”

  “I’m fine. Lord Batu trusts me. The work is difficult, but he isn’t rushing me. I have to live up to that trust. I have to try—if only for you.”

  Taghlai stood.

  “Then… I love you.”

  Smiling, he returned to his workplace.

  Zaya watched him go, her brow furrowed.

  Gifts from Boraqchin began arriving at Zaya’s tent one after another. Cosmetics. Jewelry. Beautiful bolts of cloth.

  The old woman checked each item, murmuring softly to herself.

  “Well now. Looks like wedding preparations.”

  Norjin felt his heart leap into his throat. Impossible. Had Zaya betrayed him?

  No. Calm down. Once before, he had rejected Zaya over a misunderstanding. He would not make the same mistake again. Still—what if?

  “You don’t look well,” the old woman said, noticing his face. “Would you like to lie down?”

  “I’m going to the latrine.”

  “Are you all right on your own?”

  Ignoring her, Norjin walked away. He was steadier than he’d expected. He’d manage. He threw a fur cloak over his shoulders and stepped outside. The ground was white with snow. Downy flakes drifted thickly, blurring his vision. Norjin walked slowly toward the guest tent originally assigned to him.

  Inside, the attendant looked up in surprise. He hurried him to a table, then withdrew.

  Pressing a hand to the scar on his abdomen, Norjin worked to steady his breathing. He’d made it this far. The wound had already closed. No problem. He clutched his head.

  “Damn it. Zaya is the woman set aside for me. What am I panicking for?”

  He muttered the words as if to convince himself.

  Norjin did not want to be chosen by comparison. That was why he had traded places with Ehau and eliminated Dogon. He would leave Zaya with no options but himself. Her choice was simple: choose him—or not.

  According to Ilha, Taghlai was the one man Norjin could not simply drive away. He was lodged too deeply in Zaya’s heart. Only Taghlai had to be cut away by Zaya herself. Otherwise, he would remain— even as nothing more than the ashes of the past.

  Norjin would not share Zaya with him.

  He drew a deep breath. He had pushed Zaya forward, intending for her to settle things with Taghlai. Had he misjudged it?

  Old embers catching fire again was a tale as old as time. No. It wasn’t a mistake.

  “I’m just waiting. Just waiting. I’m a man who can wait.”

  He repeated it to himself, as if willing it to be true.

  Time passed without mercy. The seasons turned.

  Subutai appeared in the section of the compound used as Batu’s office.

  “Volga Bulgaria is making suspicious moves,” Subutai said.

  “But they have already submitted to our Jochi ulus,” Batu replied. “I’ve had no such report from Taghlai.”

  Then again, Taghlai was a capable man. Batu had been helped by him more than once, and had never once had to intervene on his behalf. It was likely nothing worth reporting.

  Taghlai knew how busy Batu was. He was not the sort to send trivial matters up the chain, asking for instructions.

  “That land once drove my son off in disgrace,” Subutai went on. “I wasn’t spared either—I was slowed more than once by their ambushes, making full use of the terrain.”

  This was no idle grumbling from an old soldier. Something was there.

  Batu straightened and listened more closely.

  “But you and my grandfather defeated them. Since then, the House of Jochi has ruled them. They still whisper of the terrifying peoples of the east.”

  Subutai’s face twisted, as if biting into something bitter.

  “They were never a people who could unite as one. They fight among themselves without end. Lose once, then rise again when the chance comes. I cannot understand them. That is simply their nature.”

  As he spoke, Subutai recalled how Yelü Chucai had once corrected him for trying to apply the same reasoning during the conquest of the Jin.

  “The Jin dynasty came from elsewhere to rule that land. Execute only those tied to the imperial house, and the people will submit.”

  Yelü had said so, and ?gedei Khan had accepted it.

  That the Jin had dragged out the war without admitting defeat, causing losses, was unforgivable—but once ?gedei decided, the matter was closed.

  The Jin had since remained quiet. Perhaps Yelü had been right.

  But Volga Bulgaria was different.

  “I don’t know why kin fight one another so fiercely,” Subutai said. “But all that fighting has made them strong.”

  Batu smiled.

  “In any case, it lies along our western path,” Batu said. “We will address it—and put your mind at ease.”

  Subutai nodded.

  Yes—Taghlai should be bringing his report soon. It was time to finalize the plan. Knowing Taghlai, the report was already finished. He was likely waiting for the right moment.

  Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow, Batu would tell him to come.

  So Batu decided.