The Tiger Queens Read online

  I couldn’t relate the details, that I’d watched his father be butchered instead of saving him, had seen his body grow still as his spirit flew to the sky. I recalled Teb Tengeri’s words from long ago.

  You carry death in your heart, just like the vermin you’re named for. Death’s own foot soldier.

  I said nothing else to Jingue, only prayed under the cold sweep of stars that we wouldn’t soon greet Ala-Qush and the rest of the dead in the sacred mountains.

  Chapter 20

  The monastery gave us horses and supplies as Jingue had promised, and the three of us soon followed the trail of scorched Jurched villages left in my father’s wake. Death blanketed the countryside; the only signs of life we encountered amongst the burned fields and broken pens were wild dogs and bent-necked vultures feeding on the waxy and bloated bodies and horse carcasses left to rot in the sun. Unfortunate Jurched corpses spilled purple intestines through bloody gashes, and others lay sprawled facedown with arrows protruding from their backs like giant porcupine quills. The stench of decomposing flesh burrowed its way into our noses and coated our tongues so I feared I’d never taste or smell anything save death.

  Finally, we reached a town that had not yet been put to the torch, surrounded by a veritable city of felted field tents. The air was still and the wooden gates had been flung open as if in welcome, yet Mongol soldiers roamed the streets, relieving the abandoned countryside of its goats and pillaging anything that wasn’t nailed down. There were no peasants around, and I wondered then if these lucky Jurched had escaped with their lives, fleeing their beds and hovels in terror at news of my father’s approach. Instead, we’d later learn that they’d been captured and sent ahead with Sorkhokhtani’s contingent to dig up boulders to fill the moat of Liaoyang, the nearest Jurched capital and my father’s next siege target. The peasants were motivated to dig quickly, for my father threatened to use their bodies instead if there weren’t enough stones.

  I held my head high despite the caked mud and dried blood that still plastered my felts. One of my father’s soldiers finally recognized me beneath all the grime, and my name was shouted on the wind, followed by waves of men bending their knees to me. I felt Jingue’s gaze on me as I sat straighter in my saddle, proud of the honor paid to me by the people of my birth, although embarrassed that I’d never inspired such devotion from the Onggud.

  My father emerged from his camp tent at the commotion, eyes hardening as he beheld the blood-spattered lot of us. “Greetings, Khan of Khans,” I said, dismounting. “We come bearing news of your vassal state, the Onggud of Olon Süme.”

  “Unpleasant news, it appears,” he said, crossing his arms over his stocky chest. I could already hear the thoughts in his head, his plans to besiege my city and lay waste to its fields. Still, he beckoned us inside his traveling tent, away from the ears of his soldiers. “Bad news is best served over a good meal, and I just ordered a particularly fat Jurched sheep slaughtered for my dinner.”

  The smell of boiling meat made my stomach growl in anticipation, and I filled the dented metal bowl my father offered me, pouring a bit of the mutton stew into the hearth fire for the spirits while Jingue and Boyahoe prayed over their food to the god of the cross. “Tell me what happened,” my father said.

  It took far less time to relate the horrors of the attack than it had to survive them, although I skimmed over the worst of the atrocities, both for Boyahoe’s benefit and because I had no desire to relive them.

  “The Onggud have served their beki and our vassal with treachery,” my father answered as he drained the last of his broth, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “They must be repaid in kind.”

  And so Jingue’s warning would come true. New rivers of blood would run through the streets of Olon Süme, and more bodies would be piled like kindling within its walls. Although they’d kept me an outsider during my time as beki, I had no desire to see them destroyed.

  “The Onggud aren’t a clan to be annihilated,” I said, setting down my bowl. “They are my people.”

  And without them, I was no beki, only the failed daughter of a great conqueror.

  My father scoffed. “You would show them mercy after all they’ve done?”

  “A mother may punish her children, but only to teach them a lesson.” I spoke slowly, forming the words carefully. I thought of my own mother, feeling in my soul that she would approve of this decision. “Give me a contingent from your army and I’ll retake Olon Süme. But I will not raze it.”

  “They won’t accept you,” my father said, shaking his head. “They must be cut down, and their bodies burned so their ashes feed the grass.”

  With Ala-Qush dead, the rebels would need a new leader. Though bold, they wouldn’t be so audacious as to place someone from outside my husband’s white-boned lineage in the Great House. That left two candidates for the new Prince of Beiping. Fortunately for me, both were inside this tent.

  “They will accept me,” I said, squaring my shoulders, “if I marry Jingue.”

  Both men drew sharp inhales. I didn’t have the courage to face the revulsion I might see in Jingue’s expression, so I tipped my chin to my father, daring him to defy me. He only nodded after a moment, stroking his long mustache. “That is a sound approach.”

  “Boyahoe must remain with you while we march on Olon Süme.” I wouldn’t present the rebels with a choice of who might lead them, nor would I put my stepson in further danger.

  “How old are you, boy?” my father asked Boyahoe.

  “I’ve seen eleven summers.” Boyahoe trembled in his seat, his eyes almost as wide as his ears over his untouched bowl of stew. My youngest stepson had been taught that Genghis Khan was a brutal and bloody conqueror, but he’d soon find my father was also a charismatic leader, a trait I hoped Boyahoe might one day learn to emulate.

  “I’d say you’re old enough to learn the ways of war,” my father said, slapping his own knee while Boyahoe’s eyes grew even larger. “I’d already killed my first man by your age.”

  I refrained from mentioning that that man had also been my father’s brother. Instead, I dared to face Jingue, my heart thudding at his blank expression. “I’d have you, Jingue, son of Ala-Qush, as my husband,” I said, drawing a deep breath. “But will you have me?”

  The silence might have lasted only moments, but to me it seemed an eternity. Jingue finally sighed and rubbed a hand over his haggard features, his forearm still wrapped in a dust-stained bandage. “Life never brings the expected when you’re around, does it, Alaqai?”

  “You don’t have to agree,” I said, my cheeks flushing as my ire rose. “I’ll ride on Olon Süme alone if I have to.”

  “I don’t doubt that you would,” he said, holding up a tired hand to stop my tirade. “But that won’t be necessary. I’ll take you as my wife, Alaqai, as you’ve commanded.”

  The smile that jumped to my lips died just as quickly at the emptiness in his eyes. Jingue would make a worthy Prince of Beiping, and I’d dreamed of him in my bed countless times, yet he agreed to marry me now only because he had no choice. The joy at what should have been a glorious moment fled, leaving my heart hollow. I turned to my father, my voice flat. “When will the men be ready to ride?”

  My father laid his hands on my shoulders as he’d often done to steady me when I was young, then pressed his forehead to mine. “You shall have your men at first light, tarvag takal,” he murmured. “But first we must see you married.”

  * * *

  My first marriage took place under the shadows of lies and half-truths, my second under the stain of war and revolt. Yet despite the circumstances, I was determined not to come to Jingue dressed as a refugee.

  I sought out Enebish amongst the other Onggud healers housed within my father’s tents. She’d just finished packing Jingue’s wounded arm with a honey poultice, and both of them glanced up with hooded expressions when I entered the h
ealers’ tent, a sure sign that they’d been discussing me.

  “Thank you, sister,” Jingue said, avoiding looking at me. He passed by me with the sweet tang of honey, and Enebish watched him go.

  “Did Jingue tell you how he was injured?” I asked.

  Enebish busied herself rolling a tidy pile of wool bandages and packing her box of ointments. “Only that he earned it during the riot, after our father’s death.” Her fingers stilled. “He told me he’s to marry you tonight.”

  I hesitated, then sighed. “I hoped you might help me find something to wear.” I gestured to my filthy deel. “I could just wear this . . .”

  She folded her hands primly over her medicine box, her lips pursed. “I can scarcely see your face under all that grime. My brother should greet his bride swathed in silk, not wearing the blood of other men and a layer of dust from days spent traveling on the road.”

  I clenched my teeth. “Does that mean you’ll help me or not?”

  She closed her eyes, as if gathering strength for her reply. “Yes, Alaqai. It means I’ll help you.”

  Together we spent the afternoon wandering through empty Jurched houses and rifling carefully through the many abandoned and brightly painted chests until we found what we were looking for. The green silk deel was wrapped in yellowing paper and embroidered with reclining dragons, and a cloud of dust and the hopes of a bride from long ago billowed from it when I shook it out.

  “It’s lovely,” Enebish said, her eyes warm as she fingered the soft silk. “You’ll make a beautiful bride for my brother. Once you’ve had a thorough bath, that is.”

  I almost dropped the deel at her compliment, but Enebish’s expression was sincere. With a ragged fingernail I traced the silk dragons, their coiled tails and the fire billowing from their mouths. “I expected you to spit and hiss when you learned I was to marry Jingue,” I said.

  She acted for a moment as if she hadn’t heard me. “Sometimes we’re forced to make difficult decisions,” she finally said. “I may not agree with all your choices, but this marriage will save my family and my people. Our people. That makes me happy, as I believe it does Jingue.”

  “You don’t know your brother very well,” I muttered, but Enebish only smiled. “Will you come with us back to Olon Süme?” I asked.

  “If you think it best,” she said, her gaze dropping.

  “You’d prefer to remain here instead, to continue patching up my father’s wounded soldiers?”

  She lifted her shoulders. “Perhaps one day I’ll ache to marry some noble dressed in camlet and bear his children, but for now I enjoy my work here, setting bones and sewing wounds for men who need me to save their lives, and not their vanity.”

  There was nothing else she might have said to convince me to let her have her way. I’d not deprive Enebish of her happiness in this life, especially as her work assisted my father. “Then you shall remain here,” I said.

  “Thank you, Alaqai.” She gave me a mischievous smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever said it before, but I’m sorry we tried to kill you when you first came to Olon Süme.”

  “I accept your apology, late though it is.” I laughed. I knew not whether Enebish was more daughter or sister, but against all odds, she’d become a part of my family all the same.

  “Now, go put this on,” Enebish said. “And I’ll find some hairpins for those stubborn tangles of yours.”

  Enebish rifled through more chests and I draped the emerald deel across my chest, a waterfall of green silk that ended in a froth of golden dragons. “Thank you for letting me borrow this treasure,” I whispered to its unknown owner, wondering if she was still alive and on her way to Liaoyang, or beyond that, the Northern Capital. I would return the priceless outfit after the ceremony, and perhaps one day she would come home to find it folded differently than she’d left it, and scented with fresh hopes.

  I prayed for victory and happiness with Jingue, yet I didn’t discount the very real possibility of failure.

  Enebish and I hummed traditional wedding songs while I tied the coordinating deep yellow silk sash around my waist in a simple knot and she plaited my hair into a makeshift boqta, an elaborate pile of coils my clumsy fingers never would have managed. Finally, I carried my tiger sword with me, for tomorrow I would be transformed from a bride into a warrior beki intent on reclaiming her right to rule.

  My father was waiting when I emerged into the gray haze of twilight, his smile deepening the creases that fanned from the corners of his eyes. Shigi and the Four Dogs of War flanked him, and the purification fires burned as bright as the flames that had devoured my ger in Olon Süme. I was struck by the incongruity of a wedding on a field of battle, some grim joke of mischievous spirits.

  “I wish your mother could witness this,” my father said, low enough so only I could hear. “Instead, Shigi shall transcribe everything to share with her one day around the hearth fire.”

  Shigi beckoned for my sword then, and I cocked my head in question, but he only waggled his fingers in response. I relinquished the blade, opening my mouth to protest when he tucked it into his own belt. “You’ll have it back come morning,” he murmured, threading something in my hair. “Your very wise uncle doesn’t want you to be tempted to use it on your new groom. After all, you do have your father’s temper.”

  I made a face at that, then touched the new ornament he’d placed in my hair, trying to discern its design.

  “A jade tiger,” Shigi said. “It seems a fitting trade for your sword, at least for tonight.”

  “Go well, Alaqai,” my father said, gesturing to the tall man who approached, dressed in a brown silk deel that had likely been pilfered from another obliging Jurched trunk. Even so, the sight of Jingue made my heart trip. “This man of yours is a good one.”

  “He is indeed.” Yet I was far from good, forcing Jingue into this marriage. I offered a wan smile to my waiting groom and was surprised at the heat I saw in his eyes. Then he blinked, and the fire was banked as he held out his hand for mine.

  Without a proper wedding tent, we walked between the purification fires and down the dusty path filled with thousands of soldiers’ footprints. Jingue intoned a prayer to his god of the cross and I prayed to the Earth Mother before we entered my father’s traveling ger, lent to us for the night before we rode for Olon Süme in the morning. There was no salt tea to serve to my father’s Dogs of War, but I poured many mismatched porcelain bowls of wine, requisitioned by our soldiers from abandoned Jurched homes. Jingue and I drank from our own bowls first; then our fingers brushed as we switched and placed our lips on the imprint left by the other.

  “Your bride looks weary,” one of my father’s Dogs finally said to Jingue, his voice too loud after several cups of wine.

  “She’ll be even more weary after the groom’s through with her,” a red-nosed general hollered, prompting a roar of laughter that might have been heard all the way in Liaoyang. I was no fresh-cheeked virgin, but still my face blazed. This celebration was so different from my first wedding, the merriment heightened by the threat of a battle yet to come. I wished to laugh with them like any other bride eager for her wedding bed. Yet I was no common bride, and this was no common marriage.

  “Refill your wine bowls and leave us in peace!” I exclaimed. I craved a moment of calm to collect myself. I could have kissed the tops of Shigi’s curved boots when he began ushering everyone into the night air.

  The flap of the traveling tent muffled their voices, and I turned to find Jingue sitting on my father’s narrow camp bed, elbows propped on his knees as he stared at the wine bowl between his hands. We’d scarcely spoken tonight—only our marriage vows—and I found myself light-headed from the wine and the sudden storm of nerves in my belly.

  I turned my back and tugged with trembling fingers at the stubborn knot on my sash but was startled as Jingue threw a heavy felt blanket on the ground, causing the
fire to waver and sputter before righting itself. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said, his voice cold and flat. “You take the bed and we can leave at first light.”

  My hand fell away and for a moment I could only blink. “You’d sleep alone? But I thought—”

  Jingue laughed, yet the sound held no mirth. “You thought I’d force you to share my bed, even after you made it clear that you sought to marry me only because it was the best way to keep your beki’s headdress?”

  Then I realized the truth, that Jingue had married me in name only, obligated to an alliance to save his family and people.

  This was Ala-Qush all over again.

  Jingue tossed the remainder of his wine into the fire so the flames hissed and spit; then he set down his bowl, hard. “Rest assured that if I ever come to your bed it will be because you want me there, Alaqai, not simply because you’ll tolerate me there.”

  I stared at him, then burst out laughing. Once started, I couldn’t stop, but I grabbed Jingue’s hand when he cursed and moved to leave. He stopped when I fell to my knees. Never before had I humbled myself in such a manner, but I would do it now, for this man.

  “I want you,” I gasped, holding tight as he tried to free his hand. “I’ve wanted you since the day you returned from that cursed monastery of yours.”

  “Don’t lie to me.” He scowled as he pulled me roughly to my feet, but his eyes reflected his uncertainty in the firelight. “I’ll stay here tonight and we’ll leave in the morning—”

  I let my hands drop. “I’ll never lie to you, Jingue. I want you at my side in the Great House, and to share my tent as your wife. Most of all, right now I want you in my bed, even if it means I have to drag you there myself.”

  The silence grew too long, but then it was Jingue’s turn to laugh, a deep, throaty sound that echoed in my heart as he crushed me to him. I inhaled his scent, fresh scrubbed from the river, but still with a hint of ink and horses—before he pressed his lips to mine for the first time.