Gansukh reflected on the hunting technique typically used by the Khagan. “I fear it will...” He paused, all too aware of the other man’s enthusiasm. “It will be fantastic,” he amended, clapping Tarbagatai on the arm. Privately he was relieved to have another day in the camp. Another chance to draw Munokhoi out...
Tarbagatai smiled, losing the consternation that had been clinging to his face. “We could... practice,” he said, trying to appear nonchalant. “To be sure that we are ready for tomorrow.”
“Practice?” Gansukh asked.
Tarbagatai gestured at the bow slung over Gansukh’s shoulder. “Our archery. You have your bow with you. You wouldn’t have to borrow one this time.”
Gansukh touched the horn-and-sinew shape of his father’s bow. “Oh, yes, I suppose,” he feigned a look of sudden realization, “but I am supposed to pick flowers with some of Second Wife’s attendants this morning. They wanted someone along to ensure no wild animal disturbed them.”
“Of course,” Tarbagatai said, clearly crestfallen. “Very well, then, Gansukh. Perhaps some other time.”
Gansukh kept a straight face until the mountain archer had turned his back and started to walk away, and then he relented, releasing the laugh that was clamoring to get out of his mouth. “I am joking,” Gansukh said in response to the hurt look on Tarbagatai’s face. “I would enjoy a rematch. I think that is an excellent idea.”
Tarbagatai guffawed. “When I saw you with your bow, I hoped you would,” he said, grinning and ducking his head like a tongue-tied boy talking to his first courtesan.
“Yes, we do think alike, don’t we?” Gansukh said, “A free afternoon. Good weather. It is a perfect opportunity to match our skills once more.” He offered Tarbagatai a guileless smile, and he let it stretch wider in response to the other man’s grin. He felt a twinge of shame for lying to Tarbagatai, but he couldn’t admit to the mountain archer the real reason he was carrying his bow and sword with him around camp.
One more day.
He hoped it would be enough.
Jachin was uncharacteristically quiet when she returned from the Khagan’s ger. Lian shooed the other attendants out of Second Wife’s sumptuous ger and attended to the distracted woman herself. She helped Jachin out of her silk gown and into her favorite robe. It was plain and unadorned—not the proper costume for the Khagan’s second wife—but she knew it was warm and soft. Its simplicity also allowed Jachin to put aside her role as wife of the Khagan, and Lian suspected Jachin wanted some respite from the burden of her office.
Let us just be girls, she thought as she quietly combed out the snarls in Jachin’s long hair.
“Do you love him?” Jachin asked suddenly. She had said nothing since Lian had sequestered the two of them in the ger, quietly accepting Lian’s ministrations. Lost in thought.
“Who, my Lady?” Lian asked quietly. Her hands had hesitated for only a fraction of a second with the comb.
“The Khagan calls him young pony. That one. What is his name?”
“Gansukh, my Lady.”
Jachin turned her body and looked at Lian. “Do you love him?” she repeated.
“I am but a humble attendant to the Khagan’s court,” Lain demurred, dropping her head into a more submissive pose. “I would not assume to love a proud Mongol warrior.”
Jachin grabbed her chin and raised her head. She peered intently at Lian’s eyes, and Lian was surprised at Jachin’s expression. She had thought Second Wife would have been angry or annoyed at her refusal to answer, but what she was in Jachin’s own gaze was a frank honesty, a plain desire for companionship, for understanding.
“Yes, my Lady,” Lian said quietly, gently removing herself from Second Wife’s grip. “I do.”
Jachin dropped her hands to her lap, fussed with them for a moment as if she didn’t quite know what to do with them. “Does he love you in return?”
“I... I think so,” Lian replied.
Jachin nodded. She gestured for Lian to give her the comb. “Turn around,” she said. “I want to brush your hair.” Jachin’s face was composed, her lips firm. Lian complied, and she sat quietly as Second Wife took out the ornamental sticks in her hair and began to brush it. “Tell me about him,” Jachin said.
Lian did—haltingly at first, but the words came more easily after a while. Jachin even laughed lightly when she told the story about the dancer in the market and the bells.
“?gedei loved me,” Jachin said quietly when Lian finished. “Once.” She gave a tiny laugh, choking back some other emotion.
“I know, my Lady,” Lian said. She glanced down and noticed two dots of moisture darkening her robe. She carefully wiped her cheek so no more tears would fall.