10.

  Perhaps it was the lingering heat of summer. The steppe that day was hot enough to scorch the skin. With scarcely a tree in sight, the sunlight beat down without mercy.

  Boraqchin had told Zaya to show Norjin how to apply the grease properly—he was using far too little. Reluctantly, Zaya made him sit, took out a small jar of ointment, and began spreading it over his face. Ehau settled down on the ground as well, pulling from his robe the piece of wood he was still working on.

  His hands were still wrapped in cloth. Because of the injuries to his hands, he had been assigned to lighter work alongside the children—bundling dried meat into measured portions and other such tasks.

  “You need to put on quite a lot,” Zaya said. “Otherwise, you’ll burn badly. Cover everything that’s exposed.”

  She instructed him as she worked. Today, unusually, Norjin did not make any jokes. He closed his eyes obediently, turning his well-shaped face toward her as she rubbed in the sun salve made from sheep fat.

  “It smells good,” he said.

  “We add perfume from my tribe.”

  “Your tribe?”

  “Zaya—”

  She was about to answer when Taghray appeared, calling out her name. He was smiling, but there was something shadowed in his expression. He was dressed for travel.

  “Taghray, are you heading west again?” The words came to her without effort.

  “Yes. This time I may be gone a while.”

  “To Rus’?”

  “Yes. I’ll be going as far as Suzdal.”

  Suzdal. The place that held memories. Zaya felt her face grow warm.

  “I see. Be careful,” she said, deliberately cool, not wanting her feelings to show. Perhaps too cool.

  “Zaya.” Taghray seemed about to say more, but noticing Norjin and the others, he broke off. “I’ll be going, then.”

  He turned his back to her and walked away.

  As Taghray’s back disappeared, Zaya turned back to Norjin. He had one eye open, watching Taghray.

  “That your type?” he said. “Doesn’t look like he could ride you. Or is it you riding him?”

  “What did you say?”

  “I think I’d be a better ride.”

  Norjin closed his eyes again, his face returning to the seriousness it had worn before Taghray arrived. It looked almost deliberate. Zaya’s brows twitched sharply. Instead of applying more ointment, she grabbed his face.

  “Say that again.”

  “Ungh.” With his cheeks pinned, even Norjin couldn’t form words.

  Ehau burst out laughing.

  “You two are something else,” he said.

  “Ehau, you take over,” Zaya snapped, and stalked off toward the back of Boraqchin’s tent, clearly annoyed.

  “All right, I’ll do it,” Ehau said.

  “Don’t. I’ll do it myself,” Norjin replied.

  Ehau laughed again.

  “So what are you to her?” Norjin asked.

  “As you can see, we’re from the same tribe,” Ehau said. “Zaya’s mother was our leader. Now Zaya is. Our tents are set along the outer edge of this ulus. We didn’t start out here.”

  Where the tribe had begun, what journeys had brought them to this steppe—its history was passed down to children in song. Any child of the tribe could sing it by heart. Ehau was no exception. He was just about to mark the rhythm and begin when a soldier ran into Borokchin’s tent.

  “General Subutai has arrived with his forces!” the soldier shouted.

  The old general Subutai had appeared on the Kipchak steppe, leading his army.

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  Back when Chinggis was still known as Temüjin, Subutai and his brother had joined his forces. In those days, Temüjin had not yet sought the world. He sought only survival.

  Through battle after battle, the Subutai brothers rose to prominence, eventually becoming part of the highest command, known as the Four Steeds and Four Hounds. What set Subutai apart was not courage, but the design of war itself.

  How to end it quickly. How to minimize one’s own losses. To that end, he crossed mountains and deserts, stretched feigned retreats across hundreds of kilometers, then encircled and annihilated his enemies. He adopted new equipment, such as siege carts, whenever it served speed. And as a warning meant to prevent future resistance, he enforced destruction and plunder without mercy. These methods remained unchanged even after the empire was built. In the west, they shattered the Rus’ princes at the Kalka River. In the east, they brought about the final collapse of the Jin dynasty. He was less a professional soldier than a craftsman of war.

  Now, with Chinggis gone and Subutai the last survivor of the original Four, he was past sixty—and still vigorous.

  At the sound of Subutai’s name, Norjin’s body shuddered.

  “Who’s Subutai?” Ehau asked casually.

  Norjin did not answer. He stood abruptly and left the tent without even looking back.

  For Norjin, Subutai was a face he could never forget.

  Subutai had been the general commanding the force that destroyed Jin. The memory was burned into his mind. On that day, the people of the city had been deliberately gathered, their murmurs filling the air. His father, once a hero of the Jin dynasty, had been named successor by Emperor Aizong. He was seized during the ceremony, still wearing the robes prepared for his enthronement. His head was cut off. Then it was displayed.

  Subutai watched coldly from horseback, fixing the pale, breathless crowd with a hard stare.

  Norjin, still a boy and dressed in rags, was hidden among the people, powerless to do anything but witness his father’s humiliation.

  “Say farewell to Father,” his sister whispered, her voice trembling. That night, they fled Caizhou together, swallowed by the darkness.

  Subutai urged ?gedei to eradicate not only the Jin imperial house, but the Jin people themselves. To him, the Jin had been finished long before—their armies broken, their resources exhausted, their defeat inevitable. Yet they refused to surrender. Subutai could not understand them. A war already lost, yet still they fought. It was not hatred that angered him, but waste.

  Even after the emperor was executed, Subutai judged that they would continue to resist, dragging the war on and inflicting needless losses on both sides.

  It was Yelü Chucai who opposed him. The people were to be spared—but the blood of the imperial family, he insisted, could not be allowed to remain.

  Yelü Chucai had served the Jin. He knew both the court and the people.

  It was not the Jin people who refused to accept defeat, he argued, but the royal house itself.

  Remove the royal bloodline, and the people could be governed.

  ?gedei accepted his reasoning.

  Subutai carried out the task without hesitation, erasing those connected to the imperial line, and then returned to Mongolia.

  For him, it was simply the completion of his duty.

  Norjin and his sister survived by chewing roadside grass and drinking muddy water as they fled.

  Boraqchin and her maids dressed Zaya in a manner befitting a princess.

  On Boraqchin’s worktable lay the deel from before. The embroidery was still unfinished. Her foster mother meant it to be Zaya’s wedding garment. Yet today, her heart did not stir. Was it because Taghray was gone? No. Even when she thought of him, it felt the same. What was happening to her?

  “All done,” her foster mother said.

  “It’s been a while since you last saw Lord Subutai. He may be surprised at how much you’ve grown. You’ve become quite the young woman.”

  “Only on the outside,” Zaya replied, embarrassed, trying to sound playful.

  “Is everyone ready? Then let us go to the great tent.”

  In Batu’s great tent were not only Subutai, but also his uncle Orda and their kin. Batu’s generals and the chiefs of the major tribes were gathered as well. Something important was clearly about to be announced. Zaya felt tension tighten her chest.

  Batu spoke.

  “At the great quriltai, our grandfather Chinggis Qa’an’s will was proclaimed. ?gedei Qa’an has ordered the western campaign. I will take overall command, and General Subutai here will serve as my deputy. As soon as the snow melts next spring, the young men of every house will gather in the Ili Valley and march west.”

  A roar rose from the men. Zaya’s body trembled. Shown a chance to feel fully alive, she felt like screaming.

  Batu continued with instructions. Urgent meetings were arranged to discuss strategy, and that night, a feast was held.

  Leaving the feast early, Zaya found she could not bear to sleep in her late mother’s tent at the center of the camp. Instead, she headed toward her tribe’s settlement. The children would already be asleep, but the adults would still be gathered around the fire, talking or working.

  At the entrance stood the tribal banner. With no wind tonight, it hung limp, as if resting. Zaya dismounted and walked toward the central fire—then stopped.

  A pale face she did not wish to see sat by the flames.

  Norjin noticed her and grinned.

  “Why are you here?” she demanded.

  “The guest tents are noisy,” he replied smoothly. “Didn’t seem like I’d get any sleep. I’m sensitive to sound.”

  Seeing Zaya’s expression, Ehau quietly stood and slipped back to his own tent. One by one, the other men by the fire followed, rising and leaving.

  Calm down. Zaya drew a slow breath.

  “Do you understand what it means for you to be here alone?”

  Two more men stood and left the fire. Awkwardness thickened the air. Zaya grabbed Norjin’s arm, pulled him to his feet, and dragged him toward the edge of the settlement.

  “A Mongol man staying alone with his intended’s tribe, working in place of bridewealth,” he said lightly. “Don’t worry. I’m not alone. I have a servant. He’s with the horses.”

  Zaya nearly stamped her foot.

  “That’s not it. That’s not what I mean.”

  Suddenly, her back hit the post holding the tribal banner. Norjin’s face was close.

  “I came on my own,” he said. “All I’m asking is that you let me stay.”

  For some reason, Zaya could hear her heart pounding, loud and fast. Faced with Norjin’s serious expression—one she had never seen before—she nodded.

  “So, there’s a reason.”

  He stepped back and shrugged. “Good-looking men have their troubles.”

  Her brow shot up.

  “Persistent,” he added, already turning back toward the fire.

  Zaya could only stare after him, too exasperated to say anything at all.