By far the best thing about her new life was that she was no longer confined within a court and expected to regard that as desirable. She had the horse that she had ridden to the winter quarters of the horde and an endless supply of mares and geldings for remounts, should she require them; and the horizon itself was the extent of her boundaries.
The shan-yu, she realized very quickly, had wanted only a princess to seal his treaty with Emperor Yuan Ti and to gain face among the tribes. When he realized that the bride that fate had brought him was no mean rider or archer, however, he showed the delight of a man who received his first great-grandson in his arms. Indeed, Silver Snow thought, he treated her like a favorite grandchild, not a wife, in all but precedence among the women of the Hsiung-nu.
She was his nightingale, skilled in singing and talk of the court. That she was no fragile creature, but one able to savor the life of the Hsiung-nu increased her value in his sight. On those evenings during which she did not sing to Khujanga in the privacy of her yurt—Willow nearby to replenish supplies of hot wine, or the mare’s milk that the shan-yu, despite his admiration for all things Ch’in, evidently preferred—she listened to his tales of the grasslands and the steppes, the long rides far to the west, where, he told her, rose the Roof of the World; the wild raids for sheep and horses and, occasionally, wives; the battles with the other tribes.
On such occasions, the age that filmed his eyes and occasionally restricted his awareness of what went on in his camp to what lay immediately at his feet fell from him, and he was young again, strong again:
“And, lady, when Edika, my father, died, my mother contrived that I, of all the princes that he sired, should approach the body first. Thus, by right, I became shan-yu, but those sons of Erlik fought me for it tooth and nail. Yet, I prevailed, through the will of the Heavenly Majesty; that, and my bow and the strength of my men’s arms. And still, I rule, and shall do so for many years more.”
“Then he would laugh. From laughter, he would pass to coughing, and from coughing to thirst. Silver Snow would be quick to pass him the skin of mare’s milk or to coax him prettily to drink the brews into which Willow had carefully sprinkled doses of healing herbs: herbs to strengthen the heart and keep clear the lungs. As he sipped, once again, Silver Snow would sing.
Once, he brought a son to hear her or to amuse her with tales of a hunt or battle. Prince Vughturoi came, but, after that one time, never again. Later on, Silver Snow found herself searching for the shadow that had stalked, keeping guard, outside her tent during her journey hither. That discovery angered her, and she turned her attention back to pleasing her lord and preparing the letter that she hoped, somehow, to send to her father.
“Ah, he had a son here, did Chao Kuang. Did you know that, lady?” asked the Hsiung-nu chief one night.
Silver Snow glanced down into the tiny, delicate cup that she held. Her cheeks suddenly flamed, and her hands grew cold. “Thus I had heard, Most Heav—”
“Ah, what did I command you to call me, child?” Khu-janga raised a gnarled, scarred fingertip and shook it indulgently at her.
Each day he gains strength, and his mind clears. Each day is a victory , she thought, but knew that time was her enemy. Nevertheless, as a general does with troops who know themselves to be outnumbered, she summoned confidence. Willow knew much of herbs and had learned much more of medicine and alchemy in Ch’ang-an; she might well preserve the shan-yu for years.
“Husband!” Silver Snow corrected herself with the demure smile that she knew Khujanga liked. “Thus, as I said, I had heard, and would willingly pay my duty to an elder brother. ”
“He was weak, sickly, my wife said, and he knew it. When his mother died, he knew that he speedily would be a burden to someone else. Thus, one day, he rode out, away from the host. Whether his horse fell upon him, or he simply rode away from the clan, we never knew. But it was in a season of great sickness. I myself think that he chose thus to die that other and fitter youths might eat their fill, and I honor him.”
And thus Strong Tongue lets you believe, thought Silver Snow sorrowfully. You honor him, yet you see him—or what I fear may have been him—on that vile little drum of hers. Should I ever truly be the queen that they hail me as, I shall have that thing buried. . . and perhaps her alongside it.
That evening, she saw the shadow flicker upon the outer wall of her yurt; and if her laugh rang the more musically, and her song the sweeter, she did not know it. Nor did Willow make her any the wiser. As the days of winter wore by, Silver Snow grew more and more amazed at the changes in her maid. Because of Willow’s lameness, Silver Snow had always thought of her as a more sickly creature than herself. Now, however, in the manner of a canny beast who has evaded one trap—albeit at some cost to herself—Willow thrived. Her hair grew thicker, longer, and more lustrous, and her skin became less sallow.
Where does she go? thought Silver Snow. For the endless herds of horses and sheep made no outcry; no child announced her presence; and no hunter swore to have a new fox cap by spring. Yet, at dawn, Willow was always asleep upon her pallet at the foot of Silver Snow’s own bed-place, her fingers twitching, her eyes moving beneath flat lids, as if, deep in dreams, she hunted, wild and free. Thus far, Willow had not confided in her, and Silver Snow forebore to press her.
Silver Snow had completed yet another letter. Perhaps when a thaw came, some bold riders might deign to journey east, there to give her message, most carefully painted upon the finest silk, to the nearest outpost of Ch’in’s army for transport back into the Middle Kingdom. She felt certain that this letter would encourage Li Ling and her father; in it, she spoke of the shan-yu 's renewed offer to defend the Middle Kingdom’s borders.
And perhaps, one day, such riders might even dash up to her yurt, bearing a message in reply.
With a high heart, she went to the great tent of Khujanga, saluted him, and took the pile of cushions close to him that her rank—and his fondness for his latest treasure—demanded that she enjoy.
To her surprise, however, Prince Vughturoi was missing from the assembly. She was wondering how she might find out why he was not present when Khujanga spoke.
“My younger son has ridden forth with those of his men that have a mind to look in and, perhaps, study the flocks of the Yueh-chih.” That sly observation from the shan-yu drew a laugh from his assembled tribesmen.
A journey across the plains in the full of winter? That was not bravery, thought Silver Snow, but folly—and Vughturoi was anything but a fool. Then she saw the complacent smile of Strong Tongue and realized that it was not folly, either, but policy. The shaman’s policy. Put into the old man’s thoughts the notion that the once-rebellious Yueh-chih must be observed, and Vughturoi, who was an obedient son, would fare out to do so. Then, once he was far from the camp . . . well, many sicknesses stalked the plains in the winter, and the shan-yu was old. Let him die, when Vughturoi was gone; and who was there among the Hsiung-nu with a strong enough following to oppose her plans, which called for her own son Tadiqan to seize power, the old shan-yu 's possessions . . . and his wives.