“A most prudent and wise choice,” Chucai said, nodding in return.
Gansukh took his leave, making his way to the head table, where he placed his package on the table in front of a chair to the right of the lavish seat intended for the Khagan. He sat down, bending uncomfortably around the belt, before he realized who was sitting directly across from him.
Munokhoi.
He only had a moment to return the jaghun commander’s glare before a swift drop in the noise level in the long hall signaled the arrival of ?gedei Khan. It took some time for the Khagan to make his way through the press of people—during which time Munokhoi continued to stare at him—and as ?gedei approached, Gansukh noted with some relief that his hands were empty. For the moment, he wasn’t drinking.
From this vantage point, Gansukh had a better angle on the table where Namkhai sat and tried to see who was sitting next to him. It was Lian, and he watched her lean forward in appreciation of what Namkhai was saying. She laughed at his apparent cleverness, and Gansukh frowned. Had she witnessed the wrestling match? He did not dare try to catch her eye—not with Munokhoi watching.
“Gansukh.” ?gedei clasped him on the arm, as much to steady himself, Gansukh realized, than as a friendly gesture. His breath stank of wine. “A mighty effort this morning.”
“I am humbled, Khagan,” Gansukh said, dragging his attention away from Lian. What do I care, anyway? She isn’t any part of what I am here to accomplish.
“A toast,” ?gedei called, gesturing for his short servant with the tray of tiny cups. “A toast to our wrestlers!”
“Please, if I may, a moment, Khagan.” Gansukh held up a hand to stop the servant’s approach. He gulped as all the conversation around them suddenly died, and for a second his courage threatened to depart. Respect, he thought, locking his knees. Demand it. Earn it.
He picked up the package from the table. “Earlier today,” he said, “I saw the Khagan drinking from those tiny cups, and I wondered why you bothered. They hold so little wine. They are not worthy of your greatness, your magnitude under the all-covering sky.”
?gedei’s eyes seemed even more unfocused than they had been the night Gansukh had visited him in his chambers. His pupils were black holes that might swallow everything—the light, the sound, the very air in the room. His mouth was starting to twist as if he were about to lunge forward and bite at Gansukh’s neck.
“I was sent here by your brother,” Gansukh continued. “Chagatai wants you to stop drinking—”
He was interrupted by a bray of laughter from across the table. “It’s the little nursemaid,” Munokhoi sneered. “Come to tell us how wine is bad for our health!”
The same suspicion was apparent in ?gedei’s face, and Gansukh knew he was perilously close to losing the Khagan’s attention, much as he had failed so badly the first day he had arrived in Karakorum. He turned his back, his spine tingling, then tore the paper off his package. With a spin around again that made the chamberlains gasp and the guards shove a step forward, he lifted the object…and revealed his gift to the Khagan.
“Chagatai said I should insist that you only drink one cup of wine a day, and here I find you drinking how many? Twenty? Thirty?” He raised his empty hand, holding the thumb and forefinger close together. “Tiny cups. Cups for children and monkeys! Just this size. Who brings such cups before the Khagan and does not perish of shame?”
He raised the cup—the wide-mouthed, enormous cup he had accidently bought at market the other day—extending it toward ?gedei, and then he slammed it down on the table with a resounding clank. “My duty is to my lord—Chagatai Khan—and the empire. He says one cup a day. I say that the Khagan should do as he pleases. You, yourself, told me this when I first came before you: the Khagan asks permission of no man. The Khagan is beholden only to himself. Drink, if you so desire; it is not for me or your brother or any of these people assembled here to say otherwise. But if you are going to drink, the great Khagan must drink from a great cup—a vessel worthy of your vastness, your magnitude, your all-conquering might.”
?gedei’s mouth moved like he was chewing a piece of gristly meat. He looked around the table, blearily surveying the faces that turned away from his, and then he spat. And belched.
The utter silence was suddenly broken by the rasping steel hiss of blades being drawn—the guards anticipating violence, eager to carry out the Khagan’s fatal bidding.