I shifted in my chair. “I do not believe that is exactly true, but I cannot speak for Bao. It may be that there are truths of his heart he has not shared with you.”

He raised that eyebrow again. “Of course there are. I am not so foolish as to believe he came seeking me with an open heart. But he came seeking knowledge of himself, and he has found more than he expected.”

“Yes,” I said. “And now he is ready to leave.”

The general folded his hands atop the table. “I do not wish to lose my son,” he said in a formal tone. “When I lost my wife, I spent many long months searching for her, and many months avenging her loss.”

“I know,” I murmured.

“I did not take another wife for a long time,” he continued. “When I did, she gave me nothing but daughters. I have yearned for a son.”

“The Emperor of Ch’in is content to take pride in a daughter,” I observed.

“Yes.” The scar tissue on General Arslan’s right eyelid tightened. “So it is said. The warrior princess who descended from heaven in a dragon’s claw to reunify the Celestial Empire.” His eye twitched. “It is rumored that you are more than passing familiar with the tale.”

I held my tongue—and my breath, too.

“Of course, that means that there is a good possibility that the same holds true for my son,” he mused. “So I will not pursue these rumors. You might wish to tell Batu that his young tribesmen are not discreet when their tongues are plied with airag.”

I let out my breath in a sigh. “I am sorry for the loss of your first wife, for it seems you loved her very much. And I am sorry that your second wife has not given you sons. But Bao’s choice is his own to make, and I swear to you, all the magic in the world could not sway him against his will. He is very, very stubborn.”

“I know.” Unexpectedly, General Arslan smiled. It lent his scarred face a sudden roguish charm, and I found myself smiling in response. “That is one of the reasons I know he is my son.”

I laughed.

“Moirin mac Fainche.” He leaned forward, his smile fading. Intensity returned to his eyes. “What offer can I make you that would persuade you to leave, and leave my son in peace?”

“None.” I swallowed the laughter that died in my throat. “I’m sorry, but there is none. If Bao bade me go, I would go. But he carries half of my soul inside him, and so long as I live, I will yearn to be with him.”

The general leaned back in his chair. “You claim this matter of his death and rebirth is true?”

“I do.”

“Let me see it, then.” He gestured. “Your magic.”

I shook my head. “No.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

I took a deep breath. “Because it is a gift of the Maghuin Dhonn Herself, and a sacred trust given to my people to hold. Because I have let myself be used unwisely in the past. I will not perform tricks to satisfy your curiosity.”

“Will not or cannot?” General Arslan eyed me speculatively. “The Vralians tell a tale about one of your kind, you know. He was either cursed or sainted. I am not certain.”

“Both,” I murmured.

“Can you take on the form of a bear?”

I didn’t answer.

“I think not.” He pushed his chair decisively away from the table. “I think that although there may be a kernel of truth to these tales, you are weaker than you pretend. And I will ask you one last time, Moirin mac Fainche. Will you go from this place and leave my son in peace?”

“No,” I whispered. “I can’t.”

The general inclined his head. “So be it.”

I rose to my feet, leaving my tea untouched on the table. “Is that all? Are we enemies, then?”

“No.” He drained his bowl of tea noisily, then shoved it away as though it had offended him, his face stony. “But we are not friends, either.”

FOURTEEN

Bao, your father is a bit….. scary.”

“Yes,” he agreed, not sounding particularly displeased by it. “I think so, too.”

I shivered. “He wants you to stay.”

“I know.” As we walked through the campsite together, Bao and I behaved in a circumspect manner, making sure to keep several feet of space between us. It didn’t matter. He was near enough that our diadh-anams whispered together. It felt at once odd and familiar. “But I am going.”

“How?”

“How is the problem.” He paused to watch a pair of wrestlers engaging in a practice bout. I’d been wrong, the formal games had not yet begun. “The Great Khan has informed me that he has no intention of allowing me to leave his daughter. But if I won one of the contests, I would earn the right to ask him for a boon. He would not like it, but he would be honor-bound to grant it.”

I felt relieved, remembering the ease with which he had dispatched his opponents the other day. “Well, then! Fighting is what you do best, right?”

“Fighting, yes.” Bao looked somber. “But there is no fighting that suits my skill in the contests. Only traditional Tatar sports. Horse-racing, archery, and wrestling.” He pointed at the two men grunting and straining for purchase as they grappled with one another. “They have been doing this all their lives. I do not think I can beat the best of them.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “Armed with my staff, I would gladly take on any man here with any weapon he chose. Unarmed, I am very good in a brawl. But I’m not a wrestler, Moirin.”

I believed him. Gods knew, Bao wasn’t given to false modesty. He wasn’t given to idle boasting, either. If he said he could do a thing, he could. If he said he could not, it must be true. I swallowed my disappointment.

Horse-racing was out—and archery, too. I’d seen Bao ride, and while he was skilled enough, I was a better rider. If I couldn’t win against the young men of Batu’s tribe, there was no way Bao could win against the best here. And he had become a stick-fighter because peasants were forbidden edged weapons in Ch’in. He had no skill with a bow.

I did, though.

I contemplated that fact in silence for a moment. It was a daring enough notion that it made me sweat with anxiety at the mere thought of it. “Bao….. in the archery contest, do they shoot on foot or from horseback?”

“Both,” he said. “There are three contests. Two for the short bow—one on foot and one on horseback at a full gallop. One for the long bow on foot. But, Moirin, I’m not—” He paused, gazing at me with a speculative gleam in his eye. “You are. Do you think you could outshoot a Tatar?”

I licked my lips, finding them dry. “Not on horseback, no. But on foot I held my own against Batu’s folk.”

“Against men?” Bao asked. “Because there are no contests only for women.”

I scowled at him. “Aye, against men!”

“Peace, Moirin. For you, I am willing to swallow my pride. I only wanted to be certain.” He flashed a grin at me. “I know you are a very good archer. Do you remember in Shuntian when that fellow interfered in my fight with Ten Tigers Dai, and you shot the hat clean off his head? Even a Tatar would think twice at taking that risk.”

It made me smile. “Well, I was angry—and it was at close range. I don’t know if I could beat the best here, Bao. Probably not. Do you think they would even let me try?”

He rubbed his chin. “Maybe. I do not think there is any rule forbidding a woman to compete against the men, it is only that women are not strong enough to draw a bow hard enough to shoot as far as a man.” He glanced sidelong at me. “If you won, they would say it was magic.”

“Like as not,” I agreed.

Bao’s gaze was candid. “Would it be?”

I opened my mouth to say no, then paused, frowning. “Truly? I don’t know, Bao. I’ve been shooting for the pot since I was a child in Alba. My skill is fairly earned.”

He followed my thoughts. “What about your bow? Is it charmed?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “My uncle Mabon made it for me. My mother said he had a gift for working with wood.” I shrugged. “I don’t know if she meant an ordinary knack, or a gift of the Maghuin Dhonn Herself.”

“Your mother wasn’t very talkative, was she?” Bao observed.

It was true, and I laughed. “No.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He gave a dismissive wave. “They will claim it, but they cannot prove it. I have seen your bow, and there is nothing remarkable-looking about it, nothing to suggest it is charmed in any way. Actually, it looks quite primitive.”

“Nonetheless, it is a very fine bow,” I said with a touch of indignation.

“So it is.” Bao’s expression turned grave. “Moirin, this might be our best course. If you fail, the worst that will happen is that your opponents will gloat. And I think they might permit it in the hope of that outcome. Are you at least willing to try?”

I eyed him. “Are you sure you’re not a wrestler?”

“Very,” he said with regret. “Given a few more months’ time, I might become one. I’m good at learning such skills. Now?” He shook his head. “As little as I like to admit it, I stand no chance of winning.”

I sighed. “Then I will try.”

“Good,” he said simply.

We walked together in silence for a time, keeping our careful distance from each other. Folk in the camp steered away to give us a wide berth, no one willing to start trouble so long as we were discreet. Giving the lie to appearances, our diadh-anams twined with one another, flickering and teasing, rising and falling joyfully in a private celebration. It was a sensation in some ways more intimate than a touch, both pleasurable and unnerving.

“Strange as it is, I am learning to live with it,” Bao said presently. “Now that you are here, it is not entirely unpleasant.”

I did not need to ask what he meant. “Yes, I know. Bao…..” I halted. “I would like to speak with her.”

His brows shot upward. “Erdene?”

I squared my shoulders. “Yes. I would like to apologize to her. I owe her that much, at least.”

His expression turned dubious. “Moirin, I think it is very wonderful that you always wish to do what you think is right and honorable. But it is not always what people want. Erdene is angry, very angry. Believe me, I have tried to apologize to her many times already. She is not ready to hear it.”

“Mayhap she is ready to hear mine,” I said.

“Mayhap,” he said doubtfully.

She wasn’t, at least not at first.

I called on the Great Khan’s daughter later in the day, taking Oyun and one of the other young tribesmen as an escort. Erdene made me wait a long time outside her ger before deciding to honor the laws of hospitality and allow me to be admitted. She did not go so far as to offer me the traditional bowl of tea, for which I was just as glad. By the look on her face, it would have likely been poisoned.

It felt strange being in the dwelling she shared with Bao. Although I hadn’t known it at the time, the ger to which he had led me that first day belonged to another family who had vacated it willingly at the request of the Great Khan’s son-in-law. It embarrassed me to think on it.

Here, I saw signs of Bao’s presence. There was a string of dried snowdrop bulbs hanging from the framework, their number diminished since I last saw them. The square of embroidered black and white magpies I had given to him was unfolded in a deliberate display on a bed.

That, I thought, was Erdene’s doing. Bao would not have flaunted it. She wanted to remind me they shared a bed.

Having granted me admission, Erdene sat stiffly on a chair, several attendants around her. She did not invite me to sit.

“Greetings, your highness,” I said politely. “Do your cattle prosper?”

A flicker of irritation crossed her face. “What do you want, witch?”

So much for pleasantries. “I come to offer an apology,” I said in a steady tone. “My actions have caused you pain. I am sorry.”

Erdene’s nostrils flared. “Then undo it! Undo your magic and give me back my husband!”

“I cannot undo it,” I said softly. “And Bao is not mine to give. His choices are his own to make.”

Her mouth hardened. “You lie.”

“No.” I shook my head. “My father once told me that the gods use their chosen hard. I believe it is true. I believe it is also true that the gods are careless of those whose fates are crossed by their chosen.”

In a flash, Erdene rose from the chair and launched herself at me, plucking a dagger from her sash. It was so quick and unexpected, it took me utterly by surprise. She planted the tip of her dagger against my throat, grabbing my hair with her other hand. “I do not want to hear you speak! One more word, and I will cut out your tongue!”

I forced myself to breathe slowly and calmly—the Breath of Ocean’s Rolling Waves, the most soothing of all the Five Styles. The Great Khan’s daughter was a head shorter than me, but there was a great deal of strength in her small, sturdy figure.

Her grip on my hair tightened, the point of the dagger digging into my skin. “Do you understand?” she asked fiercely, her voice trembling. “Do you, o chosen one?”

I gazed at her without speaking. There were angry tears in her wide-set eyes. Gods, she was young! No more than sixteen.

Erdene pressed the dagger harder and I felt a warning pin-prick of pain as the tip pierced my skin. “Do you?”