The Tiger Queens Page 26

  “You need to leave your tent more.” Shigi fingered a gold hoop at his ear. “Jingue arrived this afternoon.”

  “What?” My arms fell to my sides. “And you’re only telling me this now?”

  Without Shigi and his ability to speak Turkic, I’d know little of what went on around me, a problem I sought to rectify by slogging through his lessons on how to speak the tongue-twisting language.

  “He’s here, although I haven’t yet laid eyes on him.” He swatted away the dog nuzzling his leg. “And Jingue aside, Enebish is only a few years younger than you, and you’ve publicly insulted her mother.”

  “I have my tiger sword if she threatens to kill me.” I gave a mischievous smile. “Or in case she throws a bowl of millet in my face.”

  Shigi sighed, knowing better than to argue. “It would serve you right to get pelted with a bowl of that foul porridge they all love.”

  I wrinkled my nose. The boiled millet I’d been served when the sun had risen this morning hadn’t been fit for a starving dog to eat. I knew, because I’d tried to feed it to the dogs, but they’d only growled at me.

  A grinning Boyahoe and sulking Enebish entered my tent as the sun began to set, casting a glow of the softest gold on the walls of my ger. At first I thought perhaps Jingue had managed to avoid me yet again, but then a man dressed in a thick brown deel with close-cropped hair and a single braid down his back ducked inside. He was my age, perhaps a winter younger, with a narrow jaw and deep-set eyes. Unlike most men, he wore no sword, beard, or mustache, yet his bearing was regal. This was the heir I still hoped to supplant with my own sons, the man who would become Olon Süme’s future Prince of Beiping if I failed.

  I stepped forward, my hands tucked inside my sleeves. “You must be Jingue.”

  “I am,” he said. His Mongolian was accented, but not unpleasantly so. His eyes flicked over me and I waited for him to speak again, or at least to bow, but he only crossed his arms, as defiant as his mother and sister.

  “I see you share your family’s manners,” I said, giving him a false smile and taking some small satisfaction as his eyes widened. “Please,” I said, addressing his siblings and gesturing to the feast Shigi and I had set out. “Sit with me and eat.”

  The Onggud delicacies of roasted bear paw, duck soup, and flat rice cakes pounded with bean sprouts awaited in golden bowls engraved with flowers and scrolls—a design Shigi had informed me was borrowed from the Tanghuts—along the low table. Only hooved animals should eat anything green, but the Onggud grew sprouts in their windows and sold them in the market, along with a foul assortment of sickly sweet melons, bushy stalks of celery that smelled like grass, and brown mushrooms with clods of earth clinging to their stems. I’d sooner starve than eat anything that grew from the dirt.

  Boyahoe stepped forward first and sat on one of my mother’s rugs, offering a chipped-tooth grin from one big ear to the other until his sister slayed him with a glare. Enebish looked to Jingue, then slowly followed suit at his stiff nod. I plastered a gracious smile on my face.

  “Do you have rice balls?” Boyahoe asked after he and his siblings had prayed over their food, thanking the god of the cross for the meal they were about to eat while I sat silently. My husband’s youngest son leaned forward with both hands on the table as he scanned the platters. His Mongolian was stilted but understandable. “Rice balls are my favorite.”

  “I don’t think so.” I glanced at the spread of food, wishing I’d thought to send Shigi to learn all their favorites. It was too late now.

  I worried at Toregene’s necklace against my throat, praying to her god and the Eternal Blue Sky to see me safely through this night without any mishaps on my part. Right now I’d welcome Enebish throwing a bowl of porridge and its opportunity to laugh with these hostile creatures my husband had spawned.

  Jingue leaned forward, squinting as if nearsighted. “That emblem on your necklace,” he asked. “You worship Christ?”

  My fingers stilled. “I respect the god of the cross,” I said, flustered by his question until I noticed a similar token at his throat. “As everyone should.”

  Unconcerned with talk of gods, Boyahoe shoved his hair from his eyes and stuffed a hand into his pocket. “Yesterday I ate so many rice balls that I was sick, but my mother made more this afternoon.” He retrieved a ball glazed with what looked like honey and peppered with bits of wool lint from inside his deel. “Do you want to try it?”

  “Boyahoe—,” Jingue began, but I held up a hand to silence him, forcing myself not to cringe at the lopsided ball and managing to smile instead.

  “It’s thoughtful of you to share,” I said, taking the sticky treat from him and taking a bite off the corner, doing my best to avoid the biggest piece of lint.

  Suddenly Jingue lunged forward and knocked the remainder of the rice ball from my hand. “For the love of Christ,” he yelled, his brows twisted in anger. “Don’t swallow it!”

  I stared at Boyahoe, then at Enebish’s seething expression. A sudden burning on my tongue was followed by a burst of panic and a desperate roaring in my ears. I spit the half-chewed rice into my hand and dragged the back of my sleeve across my mouth. Horror clenched like a fist around my heart, and I shuddered at a sudden gust of cold air, as if death itself had brushed against me.

  “It’s rolled in gu poison,” Jingue said. “Made from the toxins of a centipede and a scorpion after they’ve devoured each other. A single drop would be enough to make you ill; several would kill you.”

  And the entire ball had been rolled in the concoction. This was the fulfillment of the warning of the dead marmot on my doorstep.

  I gulped wine and swished it round my mouth, spitting into a clean cup and repeating the process several more times to be safe. My tongue still burned, but that was better than my entire body feeling the lick of invisible flames. “How did you know?” I managed to gasp.

  Jingue grimaced, his eyes hooded. “My mother happily informed me of your impending death upon my arrival. She meant it as a gift.”

  I almost laughed then, for the homecoming gift I’d overheard Orbei planning was no camlet hat or embroidered deel, but my still-warm corpse.

  Jingue and his family had much to gain from me frothing at the mouth and vomiting up my lifeblood, but I didn’t have time to ponder why he’d saved me. My tent door opened and Shigi burst inside, sword drawn. “Alaqai!” His chest heaved and he kept his blade tucked close to his body, ready to attack. “I heard yelling. Are you all right?”

  “I’m still alive, despite Orbei’s best efforts.” I ignored his confusion and whirled on Boyahoe and Enebish then. “You both knew of this?”

  Tears streamed down Boyahoe’s face and he stared up at me with eyes like brown river stones. “I didn’t know,” he whimpered. “My mother promised me a whole plate of rice balls if I gave it to you. She made me swear not to eat it and set Enebish to watch me to make sure I followed her directions.”

  Because no one would suspect death delivered by a child with hair that fell constantly into his eyes.

  Enebish remained silent, her insolent expression proving her guilt.

  I looked to Shigi. “Bring Orbei to me.”

  He hesitated but gave a curt nod when my eyes flicked to where my tiger sword lay on my bed, partially hidden under a camel-hair blanket. Enebish stood to follow him, but I blocked her path. “Don’t even think about it,” I said. “You don’t breathe unless I allow it.”

  Her hands curled into fists and I thought she might challenge me, but she resumed her place next to Boyahoe. A stifling silence filled the ger. Dampness spread under my arms and a strange kind of singing filled my ears, drowning out all other thoughts.

  I could do this. I would do this.

  Shigi reentered the tent, prodding a scowling Orbei before him. Her stiff-backed carriage reminded me of another woman, although that was where the similarit
ies between Orbei and my mother ended.

  “I understand you sent Boyahoe with a gift for me tonight,” I said, keeping my voice level, as if discussing the quality of the lambs this year.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.” Orbei’s children drew closer to her, like soldiers to their general.

  “Don’t play coy,” I chided. “It doesn’t fit a woman who dabbles in poison and murder.”

  “You poor girl,” she said, her voice practically a purr. “I fear you must be addled as well as the daughter of a rampaging murderer.”

  “You sent Boyahoe here to poison me,” I said, my voice rising.

  She shrugged. “If I did, it would be a death you deserved.”

  “Perhaps, but I didn’t die,” I reminded her. “And in return, you’ll receive only what you deserve. From this night on, you are childless, a barren spinster. No one will ever call you Mother, just as no one shall care for you in your old age.”

  It was the second time I’d wagered against Orbei, and I wondered whether it would be the last.

  She gave a sharp inhale and glanced at me. “You won’t lay a filthy finger on my children—”

  “My children,” I corrected her. “You forfeited your privilege as a mother tonight. You will return to the family of your birth. You shall approach the Great House only with my express permission.”

  I’d banish her to the Great Dry Sea if I could, but I knew my husband would never stand for that. There was a general outcry behind me, but I twisted Orbei’s arm behind her back, surprised at her frailty. “Agree,” I whispered in her ear, “else I’ll slaughter your children one by one and send the bloody pieces of their bodies to you in carved golden boxes.”

  She craned her neck to search my eyes, as if seeking out the lie in my boast. I didn’t know myself if I told the truth or not, but she needn’t know that.

  “It’s your choice,” I whispered amidst the cacophony of Enebish’s yelling and the dogs’ howling. Only Jingue remained stonily silent. “Tell them to do as I say and then leave the way you came. Otherwise, I can guarantee this will be the last time you’ll see them whole.”

  “You filthy Mongol whore,” Orbei hissed. “Ala-Qush will never stand for this.”

  “But he’s not here now, is he?” I turned so my back faced the children. “I have more blades than you can count hidden in this ger,” I lied. “And I won’t hesitate to use them on your children.”

  The fire in her eyes banked and her body slackened. We both knew she had lost.

  She stepped back, brushing her deel where I’d touched her, as if contaminated. “Our esteemed beki is your new mother,” she said, her voice rising over the melee to silence Enebish and Boyahoe. “As such, you must forget your old mother. It is in all our best interests to obey the beki in this, as in all things.”

  I gave a minute nod. Her words were scarcely sincere, but they would suffice.

  Enebish muttered something to Boyahoe, sullen but obedient. I was suddenly glad they were younger, lest I have a rebellion on my hands.

  And then there was Jingue. He’d remained silent this entire time, standing almost a head taller than all the rest. I wondered if he’d curse his decision to save me one day, if perhaps he already wished he’d let me die.

  Teb Tengeri had once called me a foot soldier of death, yet tonight I’d narrowly escaped losing my soul to the sacred mountains. Instead, I’d punished my greatest rival and succeeded in placing all the potential heirs to my throne under my control.

  Now I just had to keep them there.

  Chapter 18

  “You did what?” Ala-Qush roared louder than a winter wind the following morning.

  My husband had returned early from his supposed dealings with the border patrols, smiling and laughing with his men as he approached the Great House until his gaze fell on me leaning against its wooden wall and playing my buree. Enough shock flickered over his features that I wondered if he’d expected to return home to find my body already cold. His timing was both convenient and suspicious, giving me the strength I needed to withstand the onslaught of his fury as he dragged me into the Great House.

  “Orbei had to be punished,” I said after I’d recounted the events of the evening, shaking him off and lowering my voice so he had to stop blustering to hear me. I sat with my hands folded around the flute, wondering how much the walls of the Great House muffled the conversation for all those listening at the door. The two stray dogs sat at my feet, their unblinking eyes trained on Ala-Qush. “I am your wife and beki. It is my honor and duty to raise your children.”

  “You’ll do no such thing.” He slammed his fist onto the wooden table and I forced myself not to flinch. One of the dogs growled deep in his throat.

  “I’ll do whatever I please.”

  “I’ll not have this strife in my household—”

  “And I’ll not fear poison at every meal!” My temper finally erupted. It was difficult to think straight after spending a sleepless night for fear of waking to find a knife at my throat. I’d lain with my tiger sword at my side and made the children remain in my ger so I might keep an eye on them, only to discover after I ordered Enebish to a makeshift pallet that Jingue had disappeared. I doubted whether I could have won a fight with Ala-Qush’s eldest, especially as I owed him my life.

  Anger rolled in thick waves from Ala-Qush, yet I pressed on. “I’m sure you knew nothing about Orbei’s plot,” I said. “Despite my death being a convenient solution to all your problems.”

  I waited for him to deny the accusation, to protest that he’d known nothing of Orbei’s intentions, but he only leaned on the table, the tension in the room making it difficult to breathe. “I won’t allow you to harm my children,” he said.

  “I’m nothing if not benevolent,” I said, pausing. “Provided that there are no repetitions of last night. You’d be hard-pressed to explain my death to my father, especially after the account Shigi transcribed last night. Rest assured that word of recent events will make it to my father’s camp if anything happens to me.”

  “Fine,” he barked, then turned and slammed the door behind him. I waited until his footsteps had ceased pounding the earth, then slumped into a chair with my heart thudding in my ears. The dogs laid their heads in my lap and I stroked their ears with shaking hands.

  Only sixteen, and I was already beki. And now I was a mother as well.

  * * *

  It was precisely because I owed Jingue my very breath that I sought him out that afternoon. I didn’t care to be beholden to anyone, least of all the young man who stood to gain the most from my downfall.

  I searched for him first outside the Great House and then traipsed down Olon Süme’s narrow streets. Glaring mothers and wide-eyed children cowered when they saw the bow and the quiver of arrows slung on my back, and merchants turned up their noses at my plain deel and sturdy boots. Craving air that wasn’t tainted with the stench of unwashed humans, I rescued Neer-Gui from Ala-Qush’s stable of long-legged horses and stalls of dirty hay. My poor gelding was unaccustomed to being penned, but I had no desire to let him roam free and find him on the doorway of my ger as I had the dead marmot. Together, we left the city walls and passed through the herds of straw-colored camels and into the hills. I snagged a handful of the season’s last striped gooseberries from an obliging bush and let Neer-Gui graze below; then we left the established path to stalk hares with the first patches of winter fur on their clumsy back feet. I nocked my arrows with practiced ease and let them fly. I wished I could aim my bow straight at Ala-Qush’s miserable heart, but unfortunately, starting a war with the Onggud didn’t seem like a good way to please my father.

  Toregene would tell me that her god had spared me from death for some greater purpose, and I chose to believe that purpose was tied to my role as beki, although I hadn’t worked out exactly how. It seemed I was beholden not only to Jingue for my
life, but also to Toregene’s long-suffering god.

  Neer-Gui and I returned from the hills with two rabbits strung on my saddle and a smattering of itchy pink welts on my neck that made me wish I’d thought to rub squirrel grease on my skin to repel the insects. My heart almost broke when I had to leave my horse in the stable, his eyes pools of sadness as he nuzzled my shoulder.

  “I know,” I said, stroking his mane. I’d taken it out of the leather thong Ogodei had teased me about and felt a pang of homesickness as I thought of my laughing older brother. “I wish we’d never come here, too.”

  Kicking pebbles from my path on the way to my ger, I passed buildings sacred to Olon Süme’s people: squat Nestorian churches with rough wooden crosses nailed to their doors, a Saracen house of worship with men facing west on silken prayer rugs, and several dilapidated buildings where yellow- or red-robed children recited the wisdom of ancient sages in words I couldn’t understand. Nothing here was familiar, certainly not the magnificent rooster that cackled as I passed its perch, and I found I hated the town more and more with each passing day. Even to my untrained eyes, the buildings looked worn and shabby, like old crones buffeted too long by life and the winter winds. The door to one cross-marked building yawned open and I peered inside, drawn by the melodious language spoken by the teacher.

  It was Jingue.

  He stood before the pupils—all boys—while reading a passage from an open book. He asked a question and the class answered in perfect unison, like a flock of geese flying south for the winter answering the call of their leader.

  This was a world I would never belong to.

  Jingue glanced up and his eyes met mine; then he raised his hand. I caught sight of Boyahoe as the children stopped their recitation, but Ala-Qush’s youngest ducked his head as if hoping to become suddenly transparent. I stood rooted to the ground, my fingers still sticky from the gooseberries, my skin mottled with mosquito bites, and two dead hares dripping blood onto the ground from my belt. Compared to Jingue, with his freshly shaved face and spotless white robes, I was nothing more than a heathen from the steppes.