“Are you well?” he asked me.
“No,” I admitted. Although it was customary in Tatar culture to deny any troubles on first inquiry, I didn’t have the heart for it. “Batu, I didn’t know, I swear!”
“I know this to be true,” he said firmly. “I have given you the hospitality of my roof. You are a truthful person.”
It made me feel better. I gazed after the departing Vralians. “What did those fellows want?”
He shrugged. “Them? They always want to talk about their gods. But they were asking about you, too.” A glint came into his eyes. “I told them you were a mighty sorceress who brought the Great Khan’s son-in-law back from death, and that there is a powerful bond between you. Do not worry, I did not speak of Ch’in. It will not cause trouble. It will teach them to respect and fear you.”
I smiled sadly. “I don’t feel very fearsome.”
Batu patted my arm. “You did nothing wrong. Blame the young man. He has been untruthful.” His eyes widened. “They did not even know he was twice-born!”
“Bao has been hiding from many things,” I murmured.
“So it seems,” he agreed.
I tried to make myself useful around the camp, but most of the work of setting up had already been done, and I was restless once more. If Checheg had been there, she would have shooed me away. So instead, I shooed myself away, saddling the uncomplaining Ember once more.
No doubt Bao would have scolded me for riding out without an escort, but I didn’t intend to make myself an easy target for any vengeful Tatar princess. I rode through the campsite with my bow held loosely in one hand, guiding Ember with my knees, gazing fixedly forward with my mother’s best glare.
Many people stared, but no one troubled me.
On the outskirts of camp, I passed a group of men slaughtering a sheep in the Tatar manner. I’d seen it done only once before, for the festival of the New Year. Two men held the sheep down on its back. A third man made a small incision in the sheep’s abdomen, then plunged his hand into the slit, reaching for the sheep’s heart within the cavity of its body and squeezing it until it ceased to beat. It was done so swiftly, the sheep scarcely had time to struggle.
I felt as though Bao had done much the same to me.
As soon as I’d passed the sheep-slaughterers, I summoned the twilight, breathing it in deeply and flinging it around my horse and myself. The world softened and dimmed in the silvery-violet dusk, easing my troubled spirits. A few seconds later, I heard a soft gasp behind me, and the murmur of voices. My passage and my subsequent, abrupt disappearance had been noted.
Well and so, let them take heed. Batu had a point; it was better to be feared and respected than despised. I smiled grimly to myself and nudged Ember with my heels, setting out at a trot.
The campsite was situated alongside a wide, meandering river. I followed its course aimlessly toward the north, riding over the twilit grasslands until the tents and gers behind me looked as small as toys. I rode until I found a flat, windswept place where I could sit and watch the river.
There, I dismounted and turned Ember loose to graze.
I sat cross-legged and tried to meditate, but my thoughts were a jumble. I could not let one thought rise from another. So instead, I concentrated on breathing, cycling through the Five Styles, willing my mind to be empty.
In perhaps an hour’s time, I sensed Bao’s presence growing closer. In the twilight, I could see the silver spark of his diadh-anam coming toward me over the plains even before I could make out his form.
He couldn’t see me, of course; but he didn’t need to. Bao knew where I was as surely as I did him.
He turned his shaggy pony loose to graze with Ember and sat cross-legged opposite me without speaking, laying his staff across his lap and settling into a breathing rhythm that matched mine. We might have been Master Lo’s magpie and his least likely pupil once more. Except that in the twilight, Bao looked different than he had before.
It wasn’t just that the spark of the divine spirit of the Maghuin Dhonn Herself shone within him. The faint shimmer of darkness that surrounded him since his rebirth was deeper here, impossible to ignore, impossible to dismiss as a trick of the light. It flickered all around him—darkness made bright, a penumbra like an eclipsed moon. Gazing at it, I remembered that there was more at issue here than the fact that Bao had left me and ridden away to find his blood-father and wed some Tatar princess in the bargain.
He had died, and been restored to life. He was twice-born, and he was learning how to live with it. And although I was angry, mayhap I owed him the chance to explain.
With a sigh, I released the twilight, letting the daylight world return.
Bao’s lips parted at my sudden appearance, but having known I was there all along, he showed no other sign of surprise. I tilted my head to indicate I was listening. He nodded in acknowledgment and cleared his throat. “First of all, it would have been a grave discourtesy to refuse such an honor from the Great Khan. Second, I did not seek it out, Moirin.”
I stayed silent.
“You remember Master Lo’s snowdrop bulbs?” he asked me. “Well, I took them. I made a tonic like Master Lo prepared.”
“I know.” I wasn’t very good at holding my tongue. “I heard. That’s how you bribed your way into General Arslan’s favor.”
“My father’s favor, yes.” Bao fidgeted with his staff, frowning a little. “It’s true, you know. Although the truth isn’t exactly what I expected it to be. I thought… I thought that mayhap that once I gained his trust, I would avenge my family’s honor.”
“But it’s complicated,” I said in a neutral tone.
“Yes.” He straightened his back. “For now, it is enough to say that my father claimed me with pride, and I allowed it. When the Great Khan Naram visited his most loyal general, he was intrigued. He wished to see the fighting prowess of which my father boasted. He wished to sample my famed tonic. I obliged.”
“And the Great Khan was pleased,” I noted.
“Very pleased,” Bao agreed. “So pleased that he insisted on giving me his youngest daughter in marriage.”
I scowled at him. “Bao, you are the stubbornest person I’ve ever met, and now that Master Lo is gone, I do not think there is anyone under the sun who could make you do a thing if you did not wish it. You’re a clever and skilled liar. Don’t tell me you could not have talked your way out of it.”
“I’m not,” he said mildly.
I waited.
Bao sighed. “Moirin, you possess a gift the likes of which no one outside your strange bear-folk has ever seen. You possess a strange beauty the likes of which no one has ever seen. You are descended from three different royal lineages. And I’m nothing but a simple Ch’in peasant-boy—or at least I was. Do you think I don’t know it matters?”
I looked blankly at him. “You’re the one who insisted on referring to yourself thusly! What did I ever say or do to make you think it mattered to me?”
“You didn’t need to say anything!” His voice rose. “Gods, Moirin! Do you know how much gossip I had to endure in Terre d’Ange? I know your history as well as my own. Better, maybe.”
“So?”
“So there was that lord’s son in Alba, the one who died.” He began to recite a litany of my lovers, ticking them off on his fingers. “And I am sorry, because I know you cared for him, but he was a lord’s son. High-and-mighty Lion Mane, that Raphael de Mereliot, what was he? Some kind of nobleman. His sister ruled a city, anyway. When you quarreled with him, you bedded the Crown Prince, didn’t you?” Bao raised his brows at me. “That’s what they all said. And when you quarreled with both of them, the White Queen herself.”
I flushed. “Aye, but—”
He cut me off, lowering his voice to a fierce, hushed whisper as though someone might overhear us. “And I am not sure how to count the fact that a dragon decided you were a worthy mate for the heir to the throne of the Celestial Empire, but I am quite sure it does count, e
ven if the Noble Princess was not particularly pleased with his choice. There is no place for peasants in your history, Moirin.”
“You’re not as clever as you think,” I muttered. “You missed one.”
It was Bao’s turn to look blank. “Who?”
“No one important.” I drew up my knees beneath my Tatar coat, wrapping my arms around them. “His name was Theo, I think. He drove the coach that brought me to the City of Elua. By the way, I have not kept count of the bored wives you claim to have bedded, although I am grateful for all they taught you.”
“It’s not the same.” Bao eyed me. “A coach-driver?”
I nodded, resting my chin on my knees. “In the stables along our route, yes. It was after Cillian’s death. I took comfort in it.”
“But you spurned him in the end,” he said uncertainly. “Right?”
I shook my head. “Not I, no. It was his choice.”
“He spurned you?” Bao shot me an incredulous look. “What an idiot!”
Despite everything, I laughed. “You’re a fine one to talk!”
“Moirin…” Bao leaned forward to take my hands in his, gazing intently at me. “All right, perhaps I was wrong about certain things. But this I know to be true. Before what happened, happened… it is as I told you, I was ready to ask Master Lo to release me from his service. I was ready to give up my life as his magpie for you. After his death…” He shrugged. “I could not bear to be herded into accepting my fate like some stupid, mindless sheep. I needed to find a way to make this choice my own. To make it meaningful, to make it a choice that counted for something larger.”
“By finding something worthy of sacrificing?” I asked. I did not fully understand the way his fierce sense of pride goaded him, but I’d come to recognize its workings.
“Perhaps,” he said simply. “I did not think of it so, but… perhaps.”
I bowed my head over our joined hands, rubbing my thumbs over his callused palms. “So everything comes around full circle,” I murmured. “The peasant-boy has become a prince. What do you want, Bao?”
“You.”
The certainty in his dark, steady gaze undid me. I wanted to believe in it. I glanced at him, then away. “How can you be sure?”
He smiled wryly. “When I first sensed you coming after me, I’ll admit, I was angry. Angry that you could not bring yourself to trust me long enough to wait. Angry that you would use all the resources at your disposal to hunt me down like a runaway dog.” He shook his head. “Never, ever did I imagine you were not travelling with an Imperial entourage. The Noble Princess would have granted you whatever you had asked,” he added. “I know she is a very private person who does not show her feelings easily, but despite the way things began, I think she came to be fond of you, Moirin.”
A memory from those last few days in Shuntian arose unbidden: Snow Tiger, kneeling over me in a bed strewn with the cushions I had asked for. I’d never grown accustomed to the hard wooden or porcelain stands that passed for pillows among the Ch’in. Are you quite sure this is enough cushions, my barbarian? she had teased me, her eyes bright with affection, her hair hanging loose and unbound to curtain both our faces with black, shining silk. When she shook her head, it tickled. Are you quite sure you are comfortable?
It was a memory I did not intend to share with anyone, even Bao. That had been a time of grace, and it was Naamah’s business.
I cleared my throat. “Ah… yes, I know. And yes, she begged me to accept an entourage. But, Bao, your anger proves it would have had exactly the result I feared—not to mention the possibility of provoking outrage among the Tatars. And unlike you, the princess respected me enough to believe me when I said I could take care of myself.”
Bao gave me a skeptical look. “That is because you were always strong for her. You showed her every kindness and gave her a shoulder to lean on when she did not know she needed one.”
That was true, and I did not argue.
“Anyway, it does not matter.” His hands tightened on mine. “Today, when I learned you came after me alone, I felt as though the earth had dropped away beneath me. Even though you were standing safe and whole before me, the thought of what could have happened to you terrified me. I do not ever want to feel it again.”
“So?” I whispered.
“I love you.” In a firm, steady tone, Bao said the words he had never before spoken to me, the words he had died without speaking. “There is a great deal we have to figure out together, but of that, I am sure. And if you will have me, it is my choice to be with you. Will you?”
“Yes.” My diadh-anam blazed and my heart sang within me, not squeezed lifeless in my chest after all. I took a deep breath, willing myself not to cry. “Yes, my Tatar prince, I will have you.”
His shoulders relaxed. “Good.”
I pulled my hands from his, wiping my eyes. “What do we do now? What about this girl, Erlene? You said you did not love her; does she love you? If so, you’ve used her unkindly.”
Bao hesitated. “Erdene. She thinks she does. She is very young, and jealous. You are right, I’ve wronged her. I will ask her forgiveness, but I do not think she will be quick to grant it. And… I do not know how one goes about setting aside the Great Khan’s daughter. I do not think it will be easy.”
Suspicion flared within me. “You’re not suggesting taking me as a second wife!”
“No!” He raised his hands in denial. “No, Moirin.” His mouth quirked. “Among other things, I do not think I would trust you with anyone’s wife, my own included. You have too many strange desires.”
I laughed.
Bao took my hand again, my right hand. With his left, he tapped his chest. “Listen.”
“To my heart?” I asked uncertainly.
He shook his head. “I think we are in agreement for now. No. The other thing, the shining thing that binds us.”
“My diadh-anam.”
“Yes.” He repeated the word carefully. “Our diadh-anam.”
I closed my eyes and listened. Opposite me, Bao began breathing the Breath of Earth’s Pulse, slow and deep. I fell into his rhythm. We were together, hands clasped. My divided soul was at peace. For the first time since my spirit had been sundered, I could sense my destiny calling to me, far, far away.
So far away, it might be home.
“West,” I whispered, opening my eyes. “It’s beckoning us westward.”
Bao nodded. “I dream of bears, Moirin. I dream of a hollow hill with a wondrous, shining cave inside it. I dream of a doorway built of three slabs of stone. And I would like to go there with you.”
I flung my arms around his neck, kissing him. “Then we will find a way.”
THIRTEEN
It wasn’t easy.
By the time we returned, the campsite was abuzz with a fresh set of gossip, spurred by the tales Batu had told.
“Why do they stare anew?” Bao muttered.
“Ah…” I winced. “I daresay it is because Batu told them you were restored from death, and I am the sorceress who made it happen. Twice-born, they call you. Bao, why didn’t you tell them?”
He sighed. “I sought to begin a new life. And I did not wish to stir trouble. I have not told anyone my story since I left a very small village in Ch’in.”
“Tonghe?”
He gave me a startled look. “How do you know?”
“I followed in your footsteps,” I reminded him. “I found the village. I met your mother and your sister—and your father, too.”
Bao looked away. “He is not my father.”
“No, I know.” I fidgeted with the last remaining jade bangle on my wrist, the one the color of the dragon’s pool. “But he is a man racked by guilt and sorrow. Anyway, I liked your mother and sister very much. I have a gift for you,” I added. “A piece of your mother’s embroidery.”
“Truly?” For a moment, he looked young and vulnerable.
I nodded. “Truly.”
Bao blew out his breath. “Yes. She is my m
other. I should have asked for a gift to remember her by.”
I did not say that I had bought the piece, paying Auntie Ai’s best price because his mother could not afford to make a gift of it. Not to me, not even to Bao, her long-lost and much-beloved son. I did not tell him that I had given gifts of Imperial jade to his mother and sister—and aye, to his father who was not a father.
“It is enough that she remembers you,” I said instead. “It is a square she embroidered after your visit. You spoke of your travels with Master Lo Feng to her. It has a pattern of magpies. She hoped that it would please you.”
Bao’s dark eyes shone, this time with unshed tears. “Thank you. Your kindness is not confined to princesses and dragons, Moirin.”
Out of the corner of one eye, I caught sight of a small, stalwart figure surrounded by guards glaring at me.
Erdene, the Great Khan’s daughter.
“Perhaps not,” I murmured, tightening my reins, tightening the grip of my thighs. Ember stepped backward, picking up his hooves with precision, obedient to my touch. “But a kindness extended to one may be an unwitting cruelty dealt to another. I should go.”
“We will talk on the morrow, then.”
I nodded, turning my mount. “On the morrow. I’ll bring your mother’s gift.”
I slept, deep and dreamless. Complicated though matters might be, for the first time since Bao had died, I was at peace.
The following day brought a request for an appearance—not from Bao, but from his father, General Arslan. I was reluctant to accept it, but Batu advised me that it would be rude to refuse.
“Oyun and I will accompany you,” Batu said firmly. “I will make it clear that you are under the hospitality of my roof.”
I was reluctant to endanger him. “What happens if the general chooses to ignore that fact?”
He shrugged. “If he harms you, it will be cause for a blood feud. I do not think he will be quick to do so.”
It was not particularly reassuring, but when Batu pointed out that Checheg would have his hide if he didn’t do his best to protect me, I acceded. So it was that Batu and Oyun, one of the young men with whom I’d often raced and shot at targets, accompanied me to General Arslan’s ger.
Kushiel 03 - [Moirin 02] - Naamah's Curse Page 9
