“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.”

FOURTEEN

Bao, your father is a bit… scary.”

“Yes,” he agreed, not sounding particularly displeased by it. “I think so, too.”

I shivered. “He wants you to stay.”

“I know.” As we walked through the campsite together, Bao and I behaved in a circumspect manner, making sure to keep several feet of space between us. It didn’t matter. He was near enough that our diadh-anams whispered together. It felt at once odd and familiar. “But I am going.”

“How?”

“How is the problem.” He paused to watch a pair of wrestlers engaging in a practice bout. I’d been wrong, the formal games had not yet begun. “The Great Khan has informed me that he has no intention of allowing me to leave his daughter. But if I won one of the contests, I would earn the right to ask him for a boon. He would not like it, but he would be honor-bound to grant it.”

I felt relieved, remembering the ease with which he had dispatched his opponents the other day. “Well, then! Fighting is what you do best, right?”

“Fighting, yes.” Bao looked somber. “But there is no fighting that suits my skill in the contests. Only traditional Tatar sports. Horse-racing, archery, and wrestling.” He pointed at the two men grunting and straining for purchase as they grappled with one another. “They have been doing this all their lives. I do not think I can beat the best of them.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “Armed with my staff, I would gladly take on any man here with any weapon he chose. Unarmed, I am very good in a brawl. But I’m not a wrestler, Moirin.”

I believed him. Gods knew, Bao wasn’t given to false modesty. He wasn’t given to idle boasting, either. If he said he could do a thing, he could. If he said he could not, it must be true. I swallowed my disappointment.

Horse-racing was out-and archery, too. I’d seen Bao ride, and while he was skilled enough, I was a better rider. If I couldn’t win against the young men of Batu’s tribe, there was no way Bao could win against the best here. And he had become a stick-fighter because peasants were forbidden edged weapons in Ch’in. He had no skill with a bow.

I did, though.

I contemplated that fact in silence for a moment. It was a daring enough notion that it made me sweat with anxiety at the mere thought of it. “Bao… in the archery contest, do they shoot on foot or from horseback?”

“Both,” he said. “There are three contests. Two for the short bow-one on foot and one on horseback at a full gallop. One for the long bow on foot. But, Moirin, I’m not-” He paused, gazing at me with a speculative gleam in his eye. “You are. Do you think you could outshoot a Tatar?”

I licked my lips, finding them dry. “Not on horseback, no. But on foot I held my own against Batu’s folk.”

“Against men?” Bao asked. “Because there are no contests only for women.”