“I’m going hunting today,” Zaya said, without looking at Norjin.

  “Alright,” Norjin replied, his eyes still on the book he had been reading lately.

  Zaya stepped closer to the bed.

  “Hey. What are you reading?” She took the book from his hands. It was an heirloom passed down from her ancestors, its lines of patterned script running horizontally across the pages. Even Zaya herself did not know what it said.

  “You can read this?” she asked, surprised.

  “Hardly. It’s Persian,” Norjin said. “I’ve seen things like this among the spoils taken in the war against the Khwarazm Shah. That’s all. It’s beautiful, so I look at it when I’m bored.”

  “Hm.”

  “There’s nothing else to look at once you’re gone,” Norjin added lightly, his old teasing tone returning.

  “If there’s nothing to look at, you could always examine your own wound,” Zaya shot back just as lightly. “I’m sure it’s fascinating.”

  It felt like it had been a long time since they’d spoken like this.

  “That’s already part of my routine. Tonight’s entertainment,” Norjin said. “I’m the type who saves the best things for last.”

  Zaya laughed. Somehow, it made her feel better. She handed the book back.

  “Alright. I’m heading out,” she said, smiling, and left the tent.

  The flap fell closed behind her.

  Norjin pulled his hand out from beneath the bedding. His clenched fist was still trembling. He took a deep breath and slowly opened his fingers.

  “Who is it,” he muttered. “Who are you going hunting with?”

  Lately, Taghray often found himself staring blankly at his desk. The meaningless symbols and half-finished scrawls on his documents hadn’t increased, but that didn’t mean his thoughts had come together either. If anything, he was avoiding thinking at all.

  Coming to his workplace felt heavy.

  But today was different.

  “Taghray.”

  Zaya stood at the entrance, waving.

  Taghray fastened the round button at the loosened collar of his deel and picked up his cloak. Stepping outside and running across the frozen grasslands with Zaya might change his mood, even if only for a while.

  Norjin made himself absolutely clear.

  “I’ll say this again. I have no interest in children. I have no intention whatsoever of becoming your lover. No matter how much you insist you’re an adult, a child is still a child.”

  Ilha flushed red, looking hurt. But at her age, wounds like this barely counted as wounds at all. Thinking of his own childhood brought a bitter taste back to Norjin’s mouth.

  “Then you don’t have to be my lover,” she said. “Just teach me about love.”

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  “Listen,” Norjin said, exhaustion creeping into his voice. It was like speaking to a creature that didn’t share his language.

  “Do you even understand what you’re saying?” he asked, testing her.

  “Of course I do. You’re the one who doesn’t, Darling,” Ilha shot back.

  “Don’t call me that,” Norjin snapped.

  “Then what should I call you? Doughnut boy?”

  Norjin burst out laughing and quickly clutched his wound as pain flared.

  Seeing him laugh, Ilha seemed to relax. She laid her head on the bed.

  “Hey… don’t say such cruel things,” she said softly. “I know I’m a child.”

  Norjin looked down at her head. Maybe he had gone a little too far.

  “Ilha—”

  “Doughnut boy.”

  Ilha lifted her face again, closed her eyes once more, puckered her lips, and tilted her head.

  This was exactly why girls were dangerous.

  If pushing didn’t work, they tried pulling instead.

  “If you understand that much, then good. That’s enough. Go home. I have no business with you.

  “If I leave before Grandma comes back, she’ll scold me,” Ilha said, looking up at him.

  Norjin sighed. “Then sit over there.”

  Ilha stood slowly, moved to the corner he pointed to, hugged her knees, and glared at him resentfully. Wedged tightly between a chest and a water jar, she looked ridiculous. Norjin ignored her and opened his book.

  She stayed quiet for a while, but boredom soon got the better of her.

  “Hey… you know Zaya hasn’t been coming straight back here lately after leaving the queen’s tent?”

  Norjin pretended not to hear.

  “Hey!”

  “Quiet,” he said.

  Encouraged by his response, Ilha pressed on.

  “You didn’t tell me not to talk. So I can talk, right? I know who Zaya went hunting with today.”

  Norjin glanced at her sideways. Ilha wore a smug expression, practically vibrating with the urge to speak.

  He set the book down and crooked his finger, motioning her over. Ilha scrambled to his side.

  “Details,” Norjin ordered.

  “If you kiss me,” Ilha said, closing her eyes, tilting her head, and puckering her lips.

  “Do you really think your information is worth that much?”

  Ilha hurriedly opened her eyes.

  “It is! She went with Taghray. She’s been stopping by on her way back lately too. It’s true. Hoborol said he saw them.”

  Living here, Norjin had learned that Zaya’s people loved gossip. They were always hunting for material to turn into songs and tales. The idea of being turned into one of those stories and passed down forever made his skin crawl.

  “I see.”

  Ilha closed her eyes and stuck her lips out again.

  “What now.”

  “I told you.”

  “Who pays for information they already know?”

  “Ugh,” Ilha growled, quickly crawling back to her corner and turning her back on him.

  The sky was clear and wide open today, lifting the spirit. But the wind was still sharp and biting. Zaya checked that the ties beneath her chin were secure and pulled the felt around her neck up over her mouth.

  Taghray’s dogs began to bark.

  “Zaya,” Taghray called.

  She urged her horse forward. After being cooped up in tents for so long, running like this felt especially good. She glanced sideways at Taghray riding beside her. Freed, even briefly, from his crushing workload, he looked alive again. The hunt itself didn’t matter. This feeling was enough.

  The dogs’ barking grew shriller. Ahead, a brown blur tumbled across the ground. Zaya nocked an arrow, steadied herself with her knees, and loosed it. The blur leapt once and rolled, then vanished again.

  Her mouth tightened as she rode to where it had disappeared and slid down from the saddle. An arrow lay among the frozen grass. As she moved toward it, her foot slipped.

  Someone caught her.

  “Tha—” The rest of the word died in her throat.

  Strong arms held her fast, and Taghray’s face pressed into the felt at her neck.

  “Zaya.”

  His low, muffled voice brushed her ear.

  “Stop,” she said.

  “Zaya,” Taghray repeated, not letting go.

  Why now? Tears suddenly welled up in her eyes.

  “Why,” she asked, “why did you reject me back then?”

  His grip loosened.

  She pulled away at once.

  “Zaya… I thought you didn’t understand what you were doing,” he said.

  She wanted to say something, but no words came. Warm tears fell, one by one, washing over what felt like the darkest parts of her past. Only then did she realize how deeply she had been hurt.

  Taghray gently brushed away her tears with a finger through his thick leather glove.

  “Don’t apologize,” Zaya murmured.

  “Alright,” he said. “I won’t.”

  They stood facing each other in silence for a while.

  “After that, I thought I’d wait until you went back to your tent,” Taghray confessed awkwardly. “So I went to the livestock pens… and fell asleep surrounded by sheep.”

  Zaya smiled.

  “So that’s what happened.”

  “It’s a long time ago.”

  “Yes. A long time ago.”

  They smiled at each other. It felt as though an old layer of skin inside Zaya had finally peeled away.

  Behind Taghray’s smile, however, guilt and happiness tangled together. Once again, work slipped from his grasp. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. Unfinished reports flickered through his mind. The ruin he himself had invited sat beside him now, wrapping him in a gentle embrace.