Naamah's Curse

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 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.”

I flushed. The inquiry evoked painful memories of Cillian, my lost first love. His mother had accused me of bewitching him, too. And yet this time there was an element of truth to it. “No,” I said slowly. “We are bound together, he and I. But it was not by my choice. I did not know it would happen.”

General Arslan took a thoughtful sip of tea. “Then why are you here?”

“Because we are bound together,” I said, adding, “And I love him.”

He ignored my last comment. “If it is true that you are bound, it seems to me that until you arrived, my son sought to break that binding.”

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.”