Naamah's Curse (14 page)

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.”

I
t 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 mother. 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
.

A burly fellow wearing a curved scimitar at his belt ducked inside to fetch the general when we arrived. We dismounted and waited until General Arslan emerged.

Bao’s father.

I could see the resemblance in the strong line of his brows, and most of all, his eyes. They were set at the same angle as Bao’s, and they held the same proud spark in their dark depths. Although an old scar bisected the general’s right eyebrow and dragged down his lid, his eye glittered fiercely beneath the drooping lid. The men exchanged customary Tatar pleasantries about cattle while I waited nervously.

“This is Moirin,” Batu said at length, speaking slowly for my benefit. “She is a guest under my roof.” He nodded significantly at the blue silk scarf I wore draped around my neck. “My wife, Checheg, has given her a gift of kinship.”

“So I see.” General Arslan’s gaze settled on me. “Moirin mac Fainche.” He made a point of pronouncing my name with care. “I would speak with you. Alone.”

“I will accompany her,” Batu said.

The general raised his left brow in a familiar, sardonic gesture. “Surely you do not question the hospitality of
my
roof?”

Batu hesitated, then shook his head, defeated. “No. Of course not.”

“Good.” General Arslan beckoned to me. “Come.”

I followed him into the
ger
. There was a youngish woman there who did not meet my eyes, and two girls no older than Sarangerel who stole curious glances at me. The youngish woman poured a bowl of salty tea and offered it to me, all the while avoiding my gaze. I accepted it with thanks. As soon as she had done the same for the general, she gathered her daughters and left.

“Let us sit.” The general indicated the table and low chairs. I sat warily opposite him. He sipped his tea and studied me, taking my measure without speaking.

Suspecting I could not match his capacity for silence, I didn’t bother trying. “You wished to speak to me?” I asked politely.

“Yes.” He took another sip of tea. “First, I wished to see you. Having done so, I understand why my son is enamored.”

I inclined my head. “You are kind to say so.”

“Have you bewitched him?” he asked in a steady tone. “There is talk of it.”