19.

  Only a few days earlier, from this very rise, Norjin had stood counting the tents of the rebel settlement under Alek’s guidance. Now, spread out below, the place was nothing more than the aftermath of battle—rubble and scattered corpses. From fire pits lit as decoys, thin strands of smoke drifted east.

  Norjin drew a half circle on the ground, then radiated six lines outward from the settlement. Next, he added three more arcs. With a stick, he pointed to the center.

  “This is the settlement you see below. From here, we comb through each section enclosed by these lines, one by one.”

  The remaining members gathered around him, staring at the pattern drawn in the dirt.

  “The area closest to the center—sixteen to thirty-two paces out. You’ll find women’s footprints, children’s, cart tracks, all mixed together. It’s closest to daily life.”

  He pointed to the middle arc.

  “This is the boundary. You should see signs of mounting and dismounting here. Roughly forty-eight paces.”

  Then he pointed to the outermost arc.

  “This is the important part. Fewer footprints. What remains should all be headed in a single direction.”

  “So the one who came from that direction is the commander,” Eshau cut in.

  “Maybe,” Norjin replied flatly.

  “So where’s the most likely spot?” Zaya asked.

  “At this stage? Nowhere,” Norjin said.

  “Just say it already. I want to deal with this cursed business and go home.”

  “Don’t get mad if I’m wrong,” Norjin said, pointing to one section. “Here.”

  The grass there grew chest-high, the ground hidden beneath it.

  “Wetland. Probably traces of river flooding. The low ground makes it harder to notice someone approaching. Whoever taught them an unorthodox method for the plains is definitely an outsider. And that person doesn’t want their location known.”

  Everyone turned to look where he pointed: a sea of yellow earth and gray grass.

  “Yeah, that makes sense,” Eshau said. “Can’t afford to be betrayed and attacked from behind.”

  “Especially if they were paying people off,” Norjin added.

  The group nodded.

  “I’ll check it myself. No objections,” Zaya declared.

  “Thought you’d say that, Princess,” Norjin said, offering a tired smile.

  “I’ll go with her,” Eshau said.

  “You’re with the Hoboro group,” Zaya shot back. “This sort of thing is my specialty. You know that.”

  “This isn’t a lost sheep,” Eshau argued.

  “That’s enough,” Norjin cut in. “I’ll stay here. Finish your assignments and report back.”

  Still arguing, Zaya and Eshau headed toward the horses. Before long, they split off, each moving to their posts and carefully examining the tracks. From the rise, Norjin watched them advance with measured caution.

  By evening, most of the sections had been cleared.

  “Where’s Zaya?” Eshau asked, drinking kumis.

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  “Not back yet.”

  “That’s strange. It shouldn’t take this long—”

  Before he could finish, Norjin was already running.

  As expected, the ground below was marshland. Mud splashed wetly under the horse’s hooves. Zaya’s path was easy to follow—the grass flattened where she’d passed—but the sky was turning ominous. Fog began to rise, clouding the view.

  Ahead, a black horse came into sight—Norjin’s horse, standing riderless.

  Zaya had wanted to tell him quickly about the abandoned shrine she’d found ahead. She’d checked cautiously, but sensed no one. A crumbling octagonal stone tower stood there, with a half-burnt structure beside it. Judging it too dangerous to investigate further, she had turned back.

  I’d hide men here, Norjin thought.

  Just then, he spotted Zaya’s horse ahead. She waved casually. Relief loosened his breath—

  “Prince Muruyen!”

  Jurchen.And a name he had cast away.

  Norjin twisted toward the voice on reflex. Something punched into his side. He looked down to see the shaft of a short spear protruding through a gap in his armor. Grabbing it to stop another thrust, he swung his sword, mowing down the grass. The attacker fled.

  Gritting his teeth, he pulled the spear free. Strength drained from the wound. His hand reached for the horse’s mane and grasped nothing. His body slid from the saddle and hit the ground with a wet smack.

  Zaya thought she saw Norjin wave. The horse slowed. Fog began to coil through the dead grass. Norjin and his horse looked as though they were floating in cloud.

  Then suddenly, Norjin twisted, slashed with his sword, vanished into the sea of grass—and the riderless horse reared once before bolting away.

  Zaya kicked her horse forward into the marsh.

  She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

  Norjin lay half-submerged in mud. She dismounted and hauled him upright, keeping his head above the surface. His breath brushed her neck.

  He was alive.

  Rain began to fall.

  She had to get him somewhere dry. Sliding her arms under his, Zaya tried to drag him—but he was too heavy. Unconscious, he didn’t budge. She stripped off his armor, soaked and weighing him down. His deel was waterlogged as well. She couldn’t see clearly, but by touch she could tell he was bleeding from the side. The smell of blood filled her nose.

  Zaya slid her own body beneath his and dragged him across her back. The marsh seemed to be pulling him downward, trying to swallow him. Inch by inch, she hauled him free. Once clear, she tore the hem of her own deel and bound his abdomen tightly.

  She felt no cold. No rain.

  At last, she brought them both into the octagonal tower of the ruined shrine.

  Catching her breath, she found a working well, filled a jar, and carried it inside.

  She needed dry cloth. Zaya removed her armor, stripped off her deel, put the armor back on over her underclothes, and tore the deel into strips with her sword.

  Now.

  She took a breath and untied the cords of Norjin’s deel. The once-clean white piping at the collar was caked with mud. The cloth she’d wrapped earlier was already soaked red. She loosened his belt and pulled the sodden garment away. Beneath the dark blue deel, the wound was clear. The belt had spared him a deep puncture.

  She stripped away the blood-soaked underclothes and packed the wound with salve from her kit. Blood kept seeping through no matter how much she wiped. She pressed cloth to it and bound it tight.

  It was only first aid. The wound should have been stitched. That wasn’t possible here.

  She removed the rest of his wet clothes and wiped his body more firmly, rinsing the cloth again and again, cleaning mud from his face and hair. Her hands reddened from the cold water. She felt nothing.

  Most of Norjin’s body was smooth and pale, like the white porcelain jars displayed in Batu’s great tent.

  Zaya went outside, took the fur from her horse, slapped its flank, and sent it running. Eshau would find it.

  Wrapping Norjin in the fur, she checked his breathing.

  All right. He was still alive.

  The sound of rain softened. Norjin’s breathing was shallow but steady. She had done all she could. Now, if only Eshau would come—

  Exhaustion washed over her. She rested her head near Norjin’s and closed her eyes.

  The clouds must have parted. Light filtered through the stained glass left in the tower, scattering colored patterns across the floor.

  The lattice door beneath the glass opened quietly.

  Sensing someone, Zaya opened her eyes—and froze.

  Stained-glass light fell over a lustrous white garment, turning it into shifting colors. A red brocade sash, embroidered with gold thread, hung gracefully at the woman’s waist. Her hair was bound high without a single strand out of place, adorned with ornate pins of gold and silver. Beneath them, her pale face was breathtaking, edged with something fearsome.

  Zaya couldn’t look away.

  If Norjin were a woman, she thought dimly, perhaps he would look like this.

  The woman made no sound as she approached, gliding forward. Zaya slid backward on the floor, trying to keep distance, unable to put strength into her legs. This wasn’t human. A demon? She desperately tried to recall a warding spell.

  The woman sat beside Norjin, peeled back the fur, and lifted him into her lap. Cradling his head, she drew him to her chest. A faint smile curved her lips.

  Norjin’s eyes fluttered open. He looked up at her—and froze in shock.

  “Mingying.”

  The name slipped from his lips. The woman smiled, slowly, like a flower opening.

  “You’re back, Muruya,” she said. “My sweet little brother— and my beloved husband.”