Zaya finished preparing for sleep, sat cross-legged on the felt spread over the floor, and propped her chin on one hand. She looked as though something weighed on her mind.

  “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” Norjin had been quietly enjoying the sight of Zaya sitting motionless like a carved statue, but at last he spoke.

  “Hm. Ah. Don’t you think Taghlai has been acting strangely?” Zaya said.

  The moment Taghlai’s name left her lips, each syllable struck Norjin square in the chest. A clean ambush.

  He held his breath, let it out slowly, then drew in a short, careful inhale. He steadied himself before prompting her to continue.

  “Strange how?”

  “I can’t explain it clearly. But something’s off. He feels… stretched too tight.”Zaya looked directly at Norjin.

  “You haven’t done anything to him, have you?”

  “Me?” Norjin said. “I’m the one tied to a bed, watched by an old woman and Ilha, not even allowed to go to the latrine alone.”

  “If you can go without support, then go,” Zaya deflected. “No one’s watching you.”

  “If I could, I would,” Norjin muttered.

  “What on earth could Taghlai be worrying about?” Zaya said, sinking back into thought.

  “What kind of work has he been given?” Norjin asked.

  “The west. Western trade and negotiations. Before winter, he apparently went around several western cities.”

  This time, Norjin fell silent.

  From what Yelü had told him, Batu was said to be lenient in his treatment of captives and conquered lands.It was not mercy for its own sake. Repeating destruction and slaughter might bring immediate spoils, but the dead did not return to life, and once a city was completely destroyed, it took time before another could rise in its place.

  The empire had grown too large to survive on pastoral cycles and plunder alone. It had to shift from simple destruction to extracting regular income from territory. Norjin understood this; Yelü had explained it to him more than once.

  And yet, the ruthless thoroughness shown toward the rebels east of the Volga—an operation Norjin himself had taken part in—suggested Batu was no ruler guided by reason alone.

  Those who resisted were crushed utterly. Their destruction served as a warning to others, suppressing rebellion and encouraging submission.

  If Batu intended to minimize losses in war while squeezing out steady revenue for as long as possible, then he was an exceptionally capable ruler.

  Before coming to the Jochi ulus, Norjin had worked as Yelü Chucai’s personal assistant.He knew how much Yelü had struggled over taxation and tax systems.

  The foundations of Yelü’s methods were drawn from those once used by the Jin dynasty. Norjin remembered learning the outlines, at least.

  To secure regular income, one had to understand the land itself. Population. Production. Trade networks. What to tax, and what not to tax. How much to levy.

  And above all, the roads.

  Without safe, maintained roads, regular collection was impossible. That was why Yelü had improved infrastructure while establishing collection stations—work only possible because he had been granted extraordinary trust and authority by Genghis Khan and ?gedei.

  Did Batu place that level of trust in Taghlai?

  A western campaign meant folding many cities into the empire. Naturally, most would resist.

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  Batu would have to choose which cities to make examples of and which to preserve. Destroying cooperative cities was pointless. If a city were to be made an example, it needed enough influence to matter—but insufficient military strength to retaliate.

  f Taghlai was trying to gather information on western cities while also devising post-conquest governance and laying the foundations for a proper tax system—

  “No wonder he’s unraveling,” Norjin said.

  Zaya looked at him, puzzled.

  “Unraveling?”

  “If you pile several people’s worth of work onto one person, the serious ones are the first to break,” Norjin said, breaking his thoughts down for her.

  “That sounds unbearable. His desk was covered in documents—so many that some were stacked on the floor,” Zaya added.

  “That means the work isn’t moving,” Norjin said flatly.

  “Unprocessed documents pile up. Finished ones get bound and put away. At least, that’s how it’s done in Karakorum.”

  His words carried weight; he had worked within the imperial bureaucracy.

  Yelü’s own workspace had been much the same, though his responsibilities were broader. Whether it was Yelü’s nature or simply a lack of time, processed and unprocessed documents were often mixed together. Norjin had gone so far as to organize them himself—only to be scolded again and again for touching things without permission.

  He shouldn’t have had time to go hunting with me. Zaya hugged herself.

  “He shouldn’t have had time to go hunting with you,” Norjin said, as if reading her mind.

  Zaya paused. She hadn’t told him she’d gone hunting with Taghlai.

  “How do you know that?” she demanded, glaring at him.

  “Ilha told me,” Norjin said lightly.

  “Ilha… hold on. You mentioned her just now. Why does her name keep coming up?” Zaya pressed.

  Norjin began to grin.

  “She’s not someone worth being jealous over. She’s still a child.”

  “What?” Zaya snapped. “Of course I’m not jealous. I’m going to sleep.”

  She turned her back on him and pulled the bedding over herself. She heard Norjin’s low chuckle.

  Really. Zaya felt irritation at Norjin’s arrogance—and fear for Taghlai’s situation, growing quietly in her chest.

  Morning came.

  As usual, Zaya went to Boraqchin’s tent as usual. Norjin summoned his attendant again and finished dressing himself. He felt remarkably well today. Before long, he might even manage a trip to the latrine on his own. He had sent the old woman to the healer early. Sitting on the bed, waiting, he heard a calm female voice outside.

  “May I come in?”

  “Please,” Norjin replied.

  A woman entered, followed by Ilha. Ilha’s cheeks were flushed, her expression sullen.

  “My name is Arna,” the woman said. “Ilha’s older sister.”

  Now that she mentioned it, the resemblance was clear. Arna looked about the same age as Zaya—perhaps slightly older. Her build would appeal more to Ehau than to Norjin; she was fuller through the shoulders and chest.

  “The old woman told me Ilha has been causing trouble,” Arna said.

  It seemed Norjin’s message had reached its mark.

  “I said I wasn’t causing trouble!” Ilha protested desperately.

  “She wasn’t,” Norjin said.

  “See!” Ilha perked up at once.

  “‘Trouble’ isn’t quite the word. ‘Confusion’ is closer. That’s why I asked you here.”Norjin gestured for them to sit.

  Ilha lunged toward the bed where Norjin sat, but Arna caught her by the back and pulled her away.

  “We won’t stay long. I wouldn’t want to disturb your recovery. But I had to make her apologize.”

  “Arna…” Ilha pleaded, eyes brimming with tears.

  She had clearly been scolded at length—hardly undeserved. It would become troublesome for her eventually, but it was already a problem for him.

  “Honestly, my body has recovered quite a bit. I’ve had enough help. There’s no need for anyone to come anymore,” Norjin said.

  “That’s a lie! You can barely move!” Ilha shot back.

  Norjin spread his arms.

  Dressed in a persimmon-colored deel with a blue-green sash, boots on, seated upright on the bed—there was no opening in his posture. His face was composed, his back straight, his manner relaxed yet commanding. There was even something regal about him.

  Arna felt a flicker of danger deep inside. She understood why Ilha was infatuated. Even if Ilha were an adult, this was not a man she could handle.

  Arna set her right hand on her hip and walked slowly toward Norjin. Reaching the bed, she placed her left hand on his shoulder, twisted her body, and looked down at him.

  “I’ll come instead,” she said, her voice damp with intention.

  “That sounds delightful,” Norjin replied, catching her gaze from beneath his lashes.

  Arna narrowed her eyes slightly, smiling in challenge. Norjin met her gaze with a knowing smile.

  “Sister! That’s awful—how could you!” Ilha screamed and fled the tent.

  Once she was gone, Arna sighed and stepped back.

  “I’m sorry. If I didn’t do that, she wouldn’t give up.”

  “Don’t,” Norjin said. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting on the back of his hand as he looked up at her. “I almost let myself believe you.”

  Arna imagined his hand sliding up her back. A shiver ran through her at the look he gave her. She lifted her chin sharply.

  “I’ll pass. Zaya would tear me to pieces,” she said with a faint smile, then left the tent.