The Tiger Queens (48 page)

I stepped inside the Golden Ordu, anticipating the fight within. Instead, silence greeted me.

Güyük looked down on me from the Horse Throne, and in the center of the tent and tied to a thick spruce pole was Toregene.

“Leave while you still can, Fatima,” she wheezed. “Go now.”

“Release her!” I lunged forward, but Güyük’s guards grasped me from behind. I clawed and bit at them, but they held me fast. A thick tangle of hair obscured Toregene’s face, but already a purple bruise blossomed around her right eye and blood dribbled from the corner of her mouth. “What have you done to her?” I screamed.

I’d worried that Güyük might continue to hunt me; I’d been a fool to think he wouldn’t turn on his own mother.

Güyük leered at me, then leapt out of his chair as fast as a tiger. He leaned in so close I could smell the ginger on his breath. “It’s you I wanted, Fatima of Nishapur.
I
should have ruled these past years, but instead
you
sat by her side and whispered poison against me into her ear. Do you know what she said when she came in here? That I should never have been crowned Khan. Where do you suppose she got that idea?”

Perhaps some demon possessed me then, for my fury boiled over. “You come from a line of vile conquerors, but your mother was too softhearted to see you for what you were: a foul, conniving beast unfit to gather dung, much less rule an empire.”

I should have expected the blow, but the white surge of agony at my temple made me stagger and I’d have fallen back had it not been for the guards holding me. Toregene screamed something at Güyük, but I couldn’t make out her words over the Khan’s bellow.

“Take her away,” he yelled. “The Saracen bitch shall suffer for her crimes against me. Tear her apart bit by bit until she begs for death!”

I struggled and Toregene screamed, but the last thing I saw as they dragged me away was the delicate ring of poet narcissus I’d planted outside the Golden Ordu, their innocent white blossoms stretching toward the sky and tinged with the color of blood.

The Princess of the
Hearth

1248 AD

YEAR OF THE YELLOW MONKEY

I
was born on the blackest winter night during the new moon and thus had been content to spend my life in the shadows cast by those around me.

Until now.

My entire world had been consumed with pulling my sons up to the height of great men. I was the daughter, wife, and mother who played music and clasped her opinions tight to her breast, but in truth, my
buree
and my horse-head fiddle kept me from going mad all these years, watching my husband drink himself to death while first Ogodei, and now Güyük, corroded the majesty and might of the Mongol Empire.

I crumpled Shigi’s hastily scrawled message in my fist. I’d not cried when Tolui had gone to the sacred mountains—my husband’s death had been a blessed relief—but this news from Karakorum threatened to bring me to my knees.

I’d spent the day alternating between playing my
buree
to clear my mind and wearing out my knees before the gold cross in my traveling chapel tent. My sons and I respected all the major religions of our people, the followers of Abraham, Buddha, and Muhammad, but it was Christ’s waters that I’d accepted at my baptism years ago. I still hoped to one day convince my sons to convert, but for now there were more pressing issues.
I hadn’t prayed like this since the day I’d rejected Ogodei’s proposal that I marry Güyük. Christ had guided me then, and he guided me now.

We were halfway home after leaving Güyük’s
khurlatai
. Now I wondered whether I’d ever again see the familiar hills and valleys of our lands.

I stood and stomped my feet to persuade the blood to move in my legs, then crossed the well-worn path from the holy tent to my own, pausing only briefly to wave to my sons sitting outside their own
gers
, the smoke from their wives’ cooking fires climbing lazily into the sky.

Möngke set down the stick he was whittling and ambled over, trailed by Kublai. Mothers aren’t supposed to have favorites among their children, but every woman knows that to be a lie. Kublai was my secret favorite, the son most like me. I would have Möngke as Great Khan, for he was the first to fall from my womb, but all my sons would receive worthy holdings.

Möngke settled next to me, sitting a head taller than me, with his thick eyebrow quirked in question. My eldest son was not a pretty man, but he had a solid mind, as did all my children. Teb Tengeri, Genghis Khan’s shaman, had seen great things in store for my firstborn and had named him for the eternal stars, but it was Borte Khatun who had seen the entirety of my sons’ stories in her cracked bones and the flames of the fire.

“Keep this one close,” she had said, pressing Möngke into my arms after his birth, his skin smeared with blood and dark clots from my womb. “But raise all your sons well. One day they shall rule all the lands under the Eternal Blue Sky.”

And so I had waited all these years. Now our wait was over.

“What’s happened, Mother?” Möngke folded his legs beneath him, while Kublai drifted over. Patience did not come easily to my eldest, but I’d managed to beat a little into him, as a good mother should.

I set about warming a bone cup of goat milk over the fire. “What makes you believe something has happened?”

“Your scowl has scattered the clouds,” Möngke said, gesturing upward.

A glance overhead revealed an empty sky as blue as an agate stone. It might have hailed grasshoppers or rained fire and I wouldn’t have noticed.

“Also,” Kublai said, his lips curled in the crooked grin I loved so much,
“I told Möngke that an arrow messenger delivered a letter to your
ger
this morning.”

I chuckled at that. Kublai always had a joke on the tip of his tongue, but his eyes were as sharp as those of a Kazakh eagle on the hunt.

“I must return to Karakorum,” I said, lifting my palms to stifle their protests. “Güyük has arrested Fatima, and Toregene . . .” I drew a steadying breath and handed over Shigi’s crumpled message. Kublai smoothed it on his lap and my sons quickly scanned the slanting Uighur script. They’d have understood a letter written in any of the empire’s nine languages, for I’d insisted that my sons be able to read and speak Mongolian, Uighur, and Mandarin, yet it didn’t escape my notice that Shigi had chosen to write his letter in Uighur, the language Güyük was least likely to intercept and read.

“Toregene Khatun is missing?” Möngke’s features twisted into a scowl. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t either,” I said. “Shigi rides to warn Alaqai, and I must write to Batu—we may need his support if Güyük has overstepped himself.”

Yet according to Shigi’s message, my nephew had already overstepped himself, committing terrible atrocities against Genghis Khan’s mandates. After Korguz’s death, Toregene had dismissed the laws forbidding torture and executions, and now it seemed she and Fatima had suffered the consequences.

“I will write to Batu,” Kublai said, “and we can travel together to the capital.”

I gave a derisive scoff. “
We
will do no such thing. The letter to Batu must come from my hand so as not to cast a shadow on either of you.”

Batu Khan was Jochi’s only surviving son, the eldest of Genghis Khan’s grandchildren and the respected leader of the Golden Horde. Like me, my nephew had wisely chosen to remain in his lands, patiently consolidating his power and biding his time. Childless and tainted by Jochi’s impure blood, Batu had pledged his support for my sons and withheld his presence from Güyük’s
khurlatai
based on that pledge and his loathing for Güyük after their fight in Rus. If the time came, I knew I could count on Batu and his Golden Horde for assistance.

Kublai crossed his arms before him. “So you will write to Batu and then remain content to spend your days making cheese and beating felts?”

I arched an eyebrow at him, a smile playing on my lips. “No,” I said. “I shall return to Karakorum to see for myself what Güyük has done.”

“Absolutely not,” Möngke argued. “It’s far too dangerous.”

“I have outlived my husband and all the rest of the sons of the Great Khan, and most of his daughters, too,” I said, my cup of milk forgotten beside me, growing cold as my tone gained heat. “I am not about to perish in Karakorum.”

“And if Güyük decides to arrest you as well?”

“He won’t.”

Möngke pounded his fist onto the earth beneath him. My overly cautious son. I hoped such a trait wouldn’t hinder his rule. “You can’t know that. At least promise you’ll take a guard with you.”

“If it will soothe your worries, of course.” I crossed my arms before me, under the flat breasts that had once suckled my sons, and drummed my fingers over my arm. Outside of my chapel tent, a Spirit Banner of black horsehair twitched in the breeze. As Princess of the Hearth, I’d guarded the Spirit Banner of Genghis Khan since Borte had flown to the sacred mountains. Oghul Ghaimish had demanded the banner after Ogodei’s death, but I had claimed an angry wind spirit had carried it away. Her glaring lack of intelligence, and her husband’s negligence, had showed themselves when neither questioned my claim.

“I know that look,” Kublai said, his face mirroring my smile. “It means that our mother will soon get what she wants.”

“I will indeed.” I looked up at the red dusk striding across the sky. “It’s time to gather Batu and your brothers. The final fight for this empire is about to begin.”

*   *   *

I whipped my horse until a thick lather covered her flanks and my bones threatened to shatter beneath my skin. At my back, my golden saddle arch was decorated with two hares, the rabbits symbolizing the long life and legacy my sons would continue long after my death. The guards and I passed a herd of wild horses on the way to Karakorum, a lone
takhi
stallion
with his mares and foals galloping free along the grasslands and making my own mare pull against her reins as if challenging them to a race. Farmers from Cathay, Persian merchants, and Mongol herders all streamed away from the capital with burlap sacks strapped to their backs or pushing carts piled high with saddles, basins, and food.

“You’re going the wrong way,” one called to me, a merchant dressed in emerald silks coated with dust from the road. His wives trailed behind him, all covered by veils that reminded me of those Fatima used to wear. “Turn around now, while you still can.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Haven’t you heard?” He shook his head. “The Great Khan seeks to purge his court of his mother’s influence. There have been many executions; the capital is no longer safe.”

I’d spent much of my time as regent fostering agriculture in my sons’ lands, making our holdings self-sufficient and endearing the Toluid family to the people through their full bellies. Güyük was a fool to drive away all these people; Karakorum already required cartloads of food to be delivered to it daily to sustain its populace, but now those herders and farmers were fleeing. But that was the least of my problems.

I entered Karakorum to find the city whipped into a wild frenzy, like a bruised and drunken army still awake on the dawn after a brutal victory. Leering soldiers skulked in doorways, and monks slammed the doors of their temples when my shadow fell across their thresholds. A Saracen made the sign against the evil eye when my gaze met his, a motion I’d seen Fatima make countless times.

Angry red sparks flew into the air as I passed the city’s forges, and beyond them, shop windows boasted recent shipments of blue-and-white pottery glazed with images of cranes and fire, the symbols of longevity and destruction. The guards outside the palace allowed me entrance when I announced myself, and I continued past the Silver Tree toward the Golden Ordu, my old bones aching from the long ride even while the blood coursed hot in my veins. The comforting smell of horses and hay soothed my nerves as I dismounted at the palace stables. Slaves stepped forward to take my mare and I paused to stretch my back.

My spirit leapt from my flesh and I almost screamed when someone grabbed my hand and pulled me into an empty stall.

The face that stared down at me was ravaged by both grief and time, grown horribly older in the days since I’d seen him last.

“Shigi,” I breathed, my hand on my heart. “You scared the breath out of me.”

He held a finger over his lips, his sunken eyes darting from me to the door. “I didn’t think you’d come in time,” he whispered.

“In time for what?”

“She’s waiting for you,” Shigi said, glancing behind me. “I’ll take you to her before Güyük realizes you’re here.”

“Who do you mean?” I crossed my arms before me. “Your message was vague.”

“It had to be,” he said. “Lest Güyük find out I was sending missives to you.”

“You said you were riding for Alaqai.”

He shook his head. “That was before . . .”

“Before what?”

“Toregene,” he said, the misery in his face somehow expanding. “She’s dying, Sorkhokhtani.”

So she was still alive, despite my worst fears. Toregene had been ill for so long that I wished to wave away his concerns, but his face told me something was different this time.

“Take me to her,” I said.

We ducked outside and past the slaves brushing down my weary mare, keeping to the shadows as we continued toward Toregene’s Great White Tent. I’d always found comfort in shadows, but now I felt as if hidden eyes were watching us from dark alcoves as we raced toward death. Shigi hesitated when we reached Toregene’s
ger
with its snarling tiger door, as if he needed to gather strength to face what waited there.

“Where is Fatima?” I asked. I imagined her inside, bickering with Toregene while urging my heart-sister to drink an infusion that smelled of rotting earth and foreign spices. The very idea made me smile.

“Dead,” Shigi said, his gaze falling to the ground. “She breathed her last yesterday.”

“No.” I shook my head. I’d seen the elegant Persian only days ago, dressed in sumptuous silks and wafting the scent of rose with her every movement. “Not Fatima.”

Shigi’s jaw clenched. “After all she suffered, I promise you that her death was a release.”

He didn’t give me a chance to ask what he meant, only turned and pushed open Toregene’s door.

As much as Shigi had been battered by recent events, they had broken the woman who lay in the bed across from us. Toregene’s eyes were closed and her arm hung uselessly by her side, her chest neither rising nor falling. She might have been dead had it not been for the movement of her head as Shigi approached her bedside.

“Toregene,” he whispered. “Sorkhokhtani is here.”

She turned to face me, a fragile smile lighting her pale face despite the florid bruise around her eye. Her lips were stained with accumulated blood, and crimson-stained cloths littered the ground. Her fingers fluttered to beckon me forward, their deformed tips and purple nails swollen from her illness.

“Toregene,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “I left only days ago . . .”

“The world can transform in only a few days’ time,” she murmured. “As you well know.”

She was right. My life had changed the day my father agreed to marry me into the family of Genghis Khan, and the Great Khan’s mighty empire had begun to fracture the moment he breathed his last breath. So the world had changed, and now it would do so again.

“Your son—,” I started, but she didn’t let me finish.

“Güyük is no longer my son,” she said, her thin lips twisting with pain and revulsion. She fiddled with the gold bracelet at her wrist, the gift from Shigi embossed with a phoenix and demon masks. Unlike the phoenix, I knew Toregene wouldn’t rise from this day of fire and ash. “I rue the day I
brought him into this world. It would have been better if that demon had died lodged in my womb.”

“Then you would have died, too, sister.” I settled on the side of her bed and took her hand. Her silks were ruined with blood and old sweat stains, and a sheen of cold perspiration lingered on her palm and at her temples. My heart-sister wasn’t long for this world.

“Did Güyük do this to you?” I asked, but she shook her head.