The Mongoliad: Book Three

being forgotten, about being left alone, night after night.”

Jachin thought of the ruin of Gansukh’s tent, of sleeping alone amid that wreckage, and nodded.

“Toregene is lazy,” Jachin said, a smirk curling her lips. “She is. She thinks everything will come to her because of her station. That her son will become Khagan after Ogedei is gone, but she doesn’t understand him.”

“Not like you,” Lian said politely, sensing some sort of comment was expected of her at this point. “You are always thinking of what is best for the Khagan.”

“A true wife always does,” Jachin purred, eyeing Lian. “As I am sure you think about Gansukh.”

Lian’s breath caught in her throat. “Gansukh?” she asked.

Jachin smiled at Lian. “Oh, you don’t need to be so coy with me. I know you are thinking about him. It is so plain on your face.”

“I-” Lian tugged at the hem of her jacket, finding something to do with her hands. “My Lady, I would not presume to think that such a proud warrior as Gansukh would want me.”

Jachin laughed. “He’s already had you, Lian.”

Lian blushed. “That is not what I meant, my Lady. I am a slave. I am owned by Master Chucai, and-”

Jachin waved away Lian’s words as if they were nothing more than minor annoyances. “The Khagan may do anything he pleases, Lian. He could simply tell Chucai that you are no longer his.” She laughed, clapping her hands delightedly. “Oh, wouldn’t that make him so angry!”

“Who, my Lady?”

“Master Chucai. He thinks he is in charge of the Khagan, and not the other way around.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “The Khagan detests him. He told me himself. Just the other night.”

“My Lady…” Lian began, unsure what she should say. Her heart was unexpectedly racing in her chest. Freedom from Chucai. Could it be so simple? It would be easy enough to convince Second Wife of her desire to be with Gansukh, that such a union could only be accomplished by releasing her from bondage. Jachin, inveterate romantic that she was, would be delighted to be instrumental in the consummation of her relationship with Gansukh (beyond the mere physical one they already enjoyed). Also, there was the perverse joy that would come with seeing Chucai put in his place by the Khagan.

“My Lady is most kind to think of my happiness,” Lian murmured. Would that be enough? she wondered.

“It is done,” Jachin said. “I will tell the Khagan tomorrow. He will be ready to agree to anything after I have…” She trailed off, and her handmaidens giggled behind her. Jachin smiled broadly, entirely too pleased with herself.

“I… I am in your debt,” Lian said.

Jachin clapped her hands delightedly. “I am going to take my bath now,” she announced. “I must prepare myself for a very important audience with the Khagan.” She smiled at Lian. “You should prepare yourself as well,” she said with a wink. “For when the hunters return. And later, you and I can share stories about our men.”

“Of course, my Lady,” Lian dipped her head and remained in the submissive pose. It was an old trick that worked well with some of the ladies at court. Pleased with the gratitude proffered by slaves they would wander off, not realizing that it was they who had been dismissed by the servants and not the other way around. It worked in this situation too, as Jachin, humming happily to herself, wandered off toward her ger, her handmaidens trailing behind.

Lian watched the four ladies depart, her mind racing once more. A debt to Jachin would never be paid in full; Second Wife would constantly remind Lian of what she had done. Regardless of her freedom from Chucai-of her relationship with Gansukh-she would not be free of Jachin. In which case, wasn’t she still a slave?

Her hand drifted to the tiny bulge in her coat.

What if she left the empire instead?

Cnan waited and waited. She grew tired of waiting, slept, and woke, wondering if the Khagan was ever going to leave his camp. She hid her horse not far from the Mongol camp, and donning a dirty robe and a rose-colored scarf that she had pilfered the last time she had crept into camp, she wandered into enemy territory once again. She stayed among the maze of ger and wagons that belonged to the merchants and staff that served the Khagan. There was a mix of ethnicities among this rabble, and when someone did pay attention to her, she seemed no more or less exotic than those around her.

There was a bustling urgency in the camp, and she knew the Khagan was finally leaving. As more and more of the camp drifted toward the center where the Khagan’s ger was located, she wandered toward the cages where the prisoners were held.

Haakon was still there.

She didn’t reveal herself. Not yet. It would give the boy unreasonable hope if she made contact with him. She didn’t know when she was going to try to free him, nor exactly how she was going to get him away from camp. She needed a little time to think yet, and nightfall would come soon enough.

That was when she would free the young Northerner.

She found an unattended pot hung over a fire pit, and she scooped out its contents into a wooden bowl. She pilfered a half loaf of bread that lay forgotten near a pair of wooden benches, and squatted down behind a half- assembled wagon to stuff the food into her belly.

She still had to wait, but at least she wouldn’t be hungry.

The Khagan’s camp was in the most isolated location in all of the empire, and there was no friendly Chinese village for hundreds of miles. Lian knew that fleeing now was a fool’s choice, but the isolation worked in her favor. There were fewer guards with the Khagan here than there were at Karakorum, and most of the trackers were away with the Khagan at this time. When the Khagan returned, there would be a celebration that would last several days. If she was lucky, no one would really notice she was gone until it was too late to track her.

Except Gansukh.

Would he come after her?

Part of her hoped he would, but she shoved those feelings aside. She had to escape. She had to do it now.

She knew Jachin was taking a bath, which meant the ger used by her handmaidens would probably be empty. After slinking in and stealing a few articles of clothing and a bag to carry them in, she wandered toward the makeshift pasture on the northern side of the caravan, intending to investigate the possibility of stealing a horse-a dangerous proposition, especially given the punishment for horse thievery among Mongols-but as she caught sight of Gansukh’s lonely ger one last time, an idea occurred to her.

She didn’t bother unlacing the flaps this time; she simply used her knife to cut through the ties. Inside the smell assaulted her, but she breathed through her mouth, ignoring the worst of the acrid reek. Munokhoi had broken everything that could be broken and taken his sword to the rest. She rummaged through the wreckage until she found Gansukh’s store of extra supplies: needle, thread, candle, cloth, sharpening stone, flint.

Working quickly, she arranged everything that would burn readily along one wall of the ger, piling the furs and the straw from Gansukh’s sleeping mat on top. Her hands shook slightly as she used the flint, and it took her three tries to coax a steady flame from the slightly damp straw.

The flames were tiny and threatened to go out as she watched. She blew on them a few times until they grew steadier. As she stepped back to the flaps of the ger, she watched the flames. They weren’t going to go out, but it would take a little while before the pile really caught. Long enough for her to be nowhere near the ger when it started to burn.

As she turned to leave, she heard voices outside the ger, and she carefully peeked out. Two Torguud were wandering nearby, arguing about the evening meal. They noticed nothing amiss about Gansukh’s ger, though more likely they hadn’t even looked. They