Snow still lingered in the Ili Valley, but troops from the various houses of the Mongol Empire were already beginning to arrive, led by young men who would carry the next generation forward. The number of people and warhorses steadily increased, and the metallic clatter of armor began to linger in the morning mist. Tents multiplied across the valley, and the herds grew larger by the day.

  Subutai had also moved to the Ili Valley.

  When Batu told him that he would be entrusted with command of the opening phase, Subutai studied Batu’s face closely. This western campaign was no ordinary war. It was Genghis Khan’s will, a grand enterprise undertaken by the empire as a whole. Batu himself had sworn to clear the suspicions that still clung to his late father through this campaign. And yet—here was the commander, injured before the fighting had even begun.

  Subutai was exasperated, but Batu’s decision not to push himself and instead entrust the early command to his deputy was sound. He nodded, accepting Batu’s request.

  Preparations for war were intensifying in Zaya’s tribal settlement as well. Ehau drilled the troops daily, forming them into ranks and neglecting no part of their training. At times, Zaya herself joined them in armor.

  Mounted on her black bay horse, sitting with easy grace, Zaya was beautiful. So they had finally reached this point.

  Norjin could not tear his eyes away from her. Watching the rise and fall of her hips as her horse moved was deeply pleasing.

  Before he realized it, Zaya guided her horse toward him.

  “Don’t you plan to join?” she asked. “You’ll get soft.”

  “My wound still hurts,” Norjin replied. He had no intention of giving up this front-row seat.

  “Then stop staring at people like a lecher and stay in bed,” Zaya said, pointing toward the tents.

  Norjin raised a hand in surrender and headed for her tent.

  Inside Zaya’s tent, the old woman was busy mixing plants together and weaving bundles of herbs. Norjin sat down across from her.

  “Old woman, what are you making?” he asked casually. “Medicine?”

  “This is preparation for our tribe’s ritual,” she said. “It looks like a great battle is coming.”

  “A ritual?” Norjin asked. “What kind?”

  The old woman shifted only her eyes to look at him.

  “One performed only by the shaman. What is done is known only to the shaman.”

  She resumed grinding.

  “You were a shaman too, weren’t you?” Norjin asked without much interest. The old woman shook her head.

  “I was not granted that power. But my daughter was. And my granddaughter Zaya—she received it as well.”

  “Zaya?” Norjin repeated sharply.

  “What? You didn’t know?” the old woman said. “Zaya is our tribe’s shaman. Ever since we left the Valley of our Ancestors, our people have always been led by a shaman.”

  She continued calmly.

  “A shaman without power cannot decide the tribe’s path.”

  “I see,” Norjin said, nodding. The one deemed worthy inherited the leadership. It resembled Mongol custom in some ways—though that tradition had been eroding of late. Still, it was far better than deciding everything solely by bloodline. A bitter memory of his own circumstances surfaced, and Norjin brushed it aside. That’s over.

  “So what kind of ritual is it?” he asked, now genuinely curious.

  “That differs with each shaman. I’ve heard that Zaya’s mother’s ritual differed from her predecessor’s. Zaya’s will differ from her mother’s and from the one before that as well. No one but the shaman knows. These things are not inherited.”

  Ordinarily, the procedures of a ritual—the offerings, the steps—would be fixed in detail. Zaya’s tribe was unusual. Nothing was passed down. Each generation’s shaman determined the ritual anew.

  “Just because you don’t understand it,” the old woman said with an amused smile, “doesn’t mean you should underestimate it.”

  She continued, almost gently.

  “What cannot be explained by today’s knowledge does not mean it will remain unknowable forever. What looks like sorcery now may one day have its principles laid bare, and then everyone will be able to use it freely.”

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  She handed Norjin the mortar and pestle.

  “My arms are tired. Grind it until it’s smooth.”

  After giving the order, she stretched and rubbed her shoulders.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” she added. “No one is to witness the ritual. You are no exception.”

  Before dawn, Norjin woke. It was still dark. He thought of going back to sleep, but his mind was alert. He turned over and closed his eyes, only to open them again.

  Though the cold had eased somewhat, it was still bitter. With a sigh, Norjin got up, took his cloak, and stepped outside. The stars had already begun to fade.

  A sound caught his attention. He turned toward it.

  The flap of Zaya’s tent lifted. She emerged alone, her hair unbraided, loose waves spilling down her back beneath a fur cap. She was walking away from the center of the ulus.

  Norjin clicked his tongue. Whatever she was thinking, it was far too dangerous. He followed her.

  The path soon began to slope upward, and Zaya climbed a hill. White breath spilled from her lips. Norjin followed, alert to his surroundings.

  The deep blue of the sky gradually bled into purple. Dawn was near.

  Zaya stopped. Norjin stopped as well.

  She cast off her cloak, then her hat. Then she stripped off her light-colored deel. The wind caught the cloth. Zaya raised both arms toward the sky and stretched.

  The sun rose.

  Morning light carved her body in sharp relief, as if sunlight itself were pouring into her. The beauty and raw power of the sight stole Norjin’s voice.

  From the shadow of the rocks, a wolf appeared. As if summoned by Zaya, the beast fixed its gaze on her. Zaya noticed it too. She lowered her arms and faced it.

  A moment of stillness.

  The wolf kicked off the ground and leapt.

  Zaya slipped aside and locked eyes with it. The tension was so intense it seemed to shake the air. If I step out now, she’ll be killed.

  Norjin could not move.

  Zaya laughed.

  It was the same smile he had seen during the suppression of the rebels east of the Volga.

  Her teeth were bared, her eyes shining, soaked with the joy and sensuality of being alive.

  She feinted, turning her back for an instant. The wolf lunged. Zaya fell, seized the thick fur of its neck as it went for her throat, and hauled with all her strength. The wolf shook its head, trying to tear free—

  A red flash.

  In the next instant, its throat was slit, and blood sprayed across Zaya.

  She kicked the corpse away, pushed herself upright, and wiped the blood from her face. Then she approached the fallen wolf and gently stroked its neck.

  The strength drained rapidly from her body, and she collapsed atop the dead animal.

  Norjin snapped back to himself and rushed to her side. She was breathing. The loss of consciousness was likely from the extreme tension and focus.

  He wrapped the discarded deel and cloak around her body and lifted her.

  “So this is the ritual,” he realized suddenly. Her ritual.

  Danger suited Zaya. She lived within it. She needed to feel herself alive that way—could not give it up.

  She was alive now. The ritual’s result must have been favorable.

  A shiver ran down Norjin’s spine.

  “What a woman.”

  He carried her back toward the settlement. He had witnessed a ritual he had been warned never to see. What that meant, he had no idea. But having broken a taboo, he knew he would have to bear some responsibility toward her tribe.

  Once matters had settled somewhat, Batu sent a minor attendant to Zaya’s settlement. After much thought, he had decided there was no choice but to ask Norjin directly, rather than through Zaya.

  While waiting, Batu paced restlessly, sitting and standing again and again. When an aide announced Norjin’s arrival, he finally settled back into his chair.

  As Norjin began a formal greeting, Batu waved him to sit.

  “I dislike needless ceremony,” Batu said plainly. Then, in the very next moment, he dropped a bomb.

  “You will take Taghrai’s place. You will accompany my army and receive the replies of the western lords.”

  “I do not speak the Rus tongue,” Norjin pointed out.

  “I will assign an interpreter,” Batu snapped back.

  “I sent a letter to Lord Yelü this morning,” Batu added, fixing Norjin with a look.

  Which meant that by the time a reply arrived, the ill-omened envoy would already have been killed by a Rus lord, his corpse thrown outside the walls like a rag.

  “Zaya will protect you.”

  For the first time since entering the room, Batu saw Norjin’s expression change.

  “Would that not put the princess in danger?”

  Batu snorted.

  “You’ve been clinging to her like a fly to a horse’s tail since you arrived, and you still don’t know? She delights in danger.”

  Norjin was startled that Batu had noticed this about Zaya.

  “Delighting in danger and being exposed to danger are not the same thing,” Norjin argued.

  Batu studied him carefully.

  “Then can you stop her?”

  Norjin stood.

  “If I may answer as that fly on the horse’s tail—Her Highness protects herself. As for me, I will see to my own survival.”

  “Three days,” Batu said. “The Ili Valley.”

  “I understand,” Norjin replied, bowing. He left Batu’s office, praying that this was all the punishment he would receive for breaking a taboo.