Zaya woke before dawn.

  She sat up and touched the wound on her shoulder. There was no pain. She left the bed, dressed, and put on her light armor. When she picked up her sword, a sharp ache ran through her shoulder, but it was not unbearable.

  She threw a fur cloak over herself and stepped outside. Norjin was waiting, holding her horse.

  “Why?”

  “I thought it might be about time the princess started moving again.”

  How did he know she would move today? How did he know it would be this morning? She had been turning it over in her mind the entire time her wound was healing.

  Questions swirled, but she did not want to deal with him now.

  She had been turning it over in her mind the entire time her wound was healing. Zaya ignored Norjin and reached for the horse. A sudden pain shot through her arm, freezing her in place.

  Without a word, Norjin supported her leg, lifted her, and set her onto the saddle. Then he mounted behind her.

  Again. Norjin always seemed to know what she was thinking. No—she had wanted him to steady her leg. But she had not wanted him to come with her.

  Hadn’t she?

  They rode west, leaving the tribal encampment behind.

  The sun was beginning to rise. Both horses and riders breathed white.

  Before long, the remains of a settlement came into view. It was the place they had fled to after Zaya was shot.

  She looked around. Burned tents. Broken fences. The bodies had already been cleared away, and the sheep had been driven off. Nothing remained. She had lost consciousness here. She remembered nothing. But Norjin had shown her this place. Perhaps she should be grateful.

  Norjin rode past the settlement and farther on—to where she had been shot.

  They stopped. Nothing. No one.

  The memory of pain returned, and her body trembled.

  “Farther west,” Zaya urged.

  After a while, they came upon another abandoned settlement. Its people had fled in haste. Half-dismantled tents, stakes, scattered furniture and cooking pots lay where they had been left.

  Zaya slid down from the horse. This was where she wanted to be. She drew her sword with her uninjured hand and approached a tent. She brought the blade down.

  Again. And again.

  Until she was out of breath. Shreds of felt flew into the air. She must have wandered too close to their settlement that day, without thinking. Why hadn’t she noticed? She had been careless—distracted by pretty clothes.

  Tears spilled over. She was weak. Pathetic. How could she ever lead her people like this? She slashed the tents to pieces, smashed the remaining furniture, kicked the pots aside.

  Zaya raged. Norjin did nothing but watch.

  At last, it seemed Zaya had spent herself. Her shoulders rose and fell sharply as she made her way back to Norjin. He lifted her up onto the horse once more, and they turned back the way they had come.

  She had done exactly what he had expected her to do. Zaya, a princess of the Jochid ulus. Zaya, born into a fate that bound her to lead a people handed down through generations. Her circumstances felt uncomfortably close to his own. If he had been placed in the same position, he knew he would not have been able to do otherwise. To punish his own inadequacy. To overwrite a memory he could not endure as it was.

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  Perhaps from exhaustion, Zaya leaned her weight against his chest and closed her eyes. He had never imagined she would show such unguarded vulnerability. Her lashes were still wet.

  A sudden impulse surged up within him, stealing his breath. He could take her away. Even now, it would be possible.

  Norjin forced the thought out of his mind and pressed his heels into the horse’s flanks.

  The sun was already sinking when the encampment came into view. The silhouette of a tall, dark-skinned man stood at the entrance. Norjin nudged Zaya awake.

  Ehau was waiting.

  “Where have you been?” he demanded. “You’re not fully recovered yet.”

  Zaya ignored him and went straight into her tent. Ehau turned to Norjin, waiting for an answer.

  “The princess is in a foul mood,” Norjin said with a shrug. The warmth that had rested against his chest slowly faded.

  Norjin was summoned to Batu’s great tent.

  When he entered, Dogon stood before Batu, chest thrust out, nostrils flared.

  “Do you speak Kipchak?” Batu asked at once. No unnecessary talk.

  “Enough to get by,” Norjin replied.

  Dogon cut in, jabbing a finger at him.

  “Good. From today on, you’re under my command. No acting on your own. Understood?”

  Norjin looked to Batu, bewildered.

  “It seems the local tribes east of the Volga have refused to pay taxes and injured a tax officer,” Batu explained. “They’ve even attacked friendly border peoples and stolen livestock.”

  “As you know, we march west next year,” Batu continued.“ I’d rather not leave this unsettled.”

  “Which tribe east of the Volga?” Norjin asked.

  “That’s unclear. Most of the tribes there have been friendly. Since we took control of the region, they haven’t caused trouble.”

  Dogon pointed at Norjin again.

  “You’ll find them. There are many friendly tribes in that area. We can’t just slaughter everyone.”

  He was shouting again. This man clearly had no concept of speaking quietly.

  Dogon was repeating Batu’s words. Borrowing Batu’s authority to force Norjin into obedience.

  “Dogon,” Batu said, “prepare your men. Move as soon as Norjin brings word.”

  “Yes! Leave it to me!”

  Dogon stomped out of the tent.

  “You may go as well,” Batu said, seeing Norjin hesitate.

  “…Do I really have to follow him?” Norjin asked.

  Batu smiled, amused.

  “He’s the youngest son of one of our generals. As the heir, he can’t afford to take excessive risks. He wants to make a good impression on Zaya.”

  “I see.”

  For a woman of Zaya’s position, such men around her were nothing unusual.

  “What do you think?” Batu asked with a knowing grin. What was he plotting?

  “It would be presumptuous for someone like me to offer opinions about the princess,” Norjin answered carefully. He thought of the letters from Yelü Chucai and Sorghaghtani, but Batu showed no sign of addressing them.

  After receiving permission to take one or two border people whose livestock had been stolen, Norjin left the great tent.

  It would take two or three days to reach the area where the rebellious tribe was believed to be. After gathering information and reporting to Dogon, Norjin would be gone for about a week.

  He returned first to Zaya’s encampment.

  Zaya was out of bed, seated at the table, gnawing on a sheep’s leg.

  “So?” she asked.

  “There’s a rebellious tribe east of the Volga,” Norjin said.

  “I thought people out there were pretty mild,” Zaya replied, pushing a bowl of sheep soup, flecked with herbs, toward him.

  “That’s the problem. We can’t tell the friendly tribes from the rebels,” Norjin gently pushed the bowl back.

  “So what will you do?” Zaya’s eyes glinted mischievously. Her fingertips traced the rim of the bowl.

  “I’ll identify the rebels and inform Lord Dogon,” Norjin sat at the table, placed both hands carefully on it, and interlaced his fingers, building a wall in front of himself.

  “They might not be gathered in one place,” Zaya’s fingers left the bowl.

  Norjin considered it. If they were scattered, he would have to locate them one by one and report each time. It could take longer than expected.

  “I could gather them for you,” Zaya said, “The friendly tribes and the rebels.”

  “How?”

  Zaya smiled, nudging the bowl so it tapped lightly against Norjin’s clasped hands.

  “If you hate it, you should just tell them not to serve it,” Norjin said, unclasping his hands and pulling the bowl toward himself.

  “I don’t hate it,” Zaya replied. “I’m just tired of being made to sit here while they keep stuffing me with food.” She looked thoroughly fed up.

  Norjin took a sip.

  The herbs were fresh, cutting the smell of the mutton. Not bad. Actually, good.

  “So,” he asked, “how would you do it?”