Zaya tried to turn her face away, but Norjin’s hand did not loosen.

  “Since when?” he asked. “Keeping something like that from me… I’m impressed.”

  A memory rose in Zaya’s mind. The moment Batu had introduced Norjin as a guest. He had stood there in a deep-blue deel, tall and composed. Somehow she hadn't wanted him to notice her, and had tried to hide behind Batu’s other wives and children.

  “Do you remember before we left for the western campaign?” Norjin continued. “You came to me rather passionately that night. Thinking about it now… you’re not the kind of woman who can do something like that with a man you don’t love.”

  Seeing the triumphant look on his face made Zaya’s cheeks burn.

  "You're insane."

  Zaya shook off his hand. What was I thinking, letting him look so smug?

  “I remember things well. And I understand things quickly,” Norjin said. “Even so, that's not something a man forgets."

  His arm slipped around her waist. Zaya turned instinctively—and his lips were suddenly on hers.

  Zaya closed her eyes. Her body trembled with the promise of pleasure.

  Take me… just as you said you would…

  But then Norjin pulled away.

  “You said ‘take me,’” he said.

  Zaya’s eyes flew open.

  “I did not!”

  “Yes, you did. I heard it clearly.”

  Norjin was smiling, a wicked smile.

  “Don’t mock me!”

  Zaya grabbed at him. Caught off guard, Norjin lost his balance and fell to the floor. Zaya straddled him.

  She pulled open the front of her deel and tore off the undergarment beneath it. Her well-shaped breasts were suddenly bare. A pink scar ran diagonally across her skin, and the old arrow wound on her shoulder looked raw and painful.

  “You’ve got the wrong idea,” Zaya said. “I’m not the sweet little innocent you think I am. I’ll show you exactly what kind of woman you’re trying to make yours.”

  She tore open the walnut buttons of Norjin’s deel.

  “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? This. Loving each other like this.”

  “Loving each other?” Norjin said dryly. “How unromantic.”

  Zaya slid her hand inside his underclothes. Her cold fingers tingled against the warmth of his body.

  “Take it off. Let me see you. Let me touch your skin.”

  She pushed Norjin’s deel from his shoulders and stripped away his clothing almost roughly. Pressing her chest against him, she traced her lips along his throat. Her hand slipped through the slit of his garment, sliding lower along his body.

  “Zaya. Stop.”

  “Do you want me to?” she asked softly. “Truly?”

  She lifted herself slightly.

  “Don’t stop,” Norjin said. “Please.”

  He pulled her close and held her tight. His lips brushed the scar on her chest, then slid down to her breast. Zaya gasped and arched back. Norjin’s hands moved beneath her, grasping her waist and lifting.

  Before she could even react, Zaya lost her balance, her face pressed against Norjin’s chest. Norjin slipped out from beneath her.

  “Damn it,” Norjin muttered. “You’re unbelievably stubborn.”

  Straightening his deel, he looked down at her.

  “I’ll take you,” he said coolly. “When I decide to.”

  With that, he shrugged into his deel and stepped out of the tent.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Zaya remained sitting on the floor, stunned.

  “Who are you calling stubborn?” she muttered. “You’re the stubborn one, Prince Muryen.”

  After stripping Torzhok of everything of value, Sarnai’s unit began preparing to move south.

  Among the prisoners forced out again and again to haul loads, Yakov finally spotted Elina. Their eyes met, and they managed to exchange a faint smile. Both of them had grown thin and ragged, but they seemed alive and unharmed. For the two of them, that alone was enough.

  For a moment it seemed that they would be marched south together.

  Instead, Elina, her daughter, and several other women of rank from Torzhok were transferred to a different detachment.

  The new commander was also a tall woman. Her skin was even darker than General Sarnai’s, and her blue-gray eyes had something almost Viking about them.

  At her side stood a man of breathtaking beauty.

  A man dressed as a priest approached Elina.

  “My name is Father Stephan,” he said. “I will serve as interpreter.”

  “You’re a Rus’, and yet you work for the Tatars?”

  Stephan flinched at her words, but his expression soon softened.

  “One must do what one must to live. You too must live, whatever it takes. Let us continue to pray.”

  Elina nodded. There was nothing else she could do.

  “What will happen to us?” she asked.

  “I hear you belong to the Vetrov family of Torzhok,” Stephan said. “Do you have relatives in Novgorod? Someone who could pay your ransom?”

  Elina bit her lip.

  “My husband is among General Sarnai’s prisoners,” she said. “His name is Yakov Alekseyevich. The fourth son of the Vetrov family. He handles grain trade with Novgorod. If it’s my husband, he might be able to speak with one of his partners.”

  It was not a lie. But in truth, she had no idea whether her husband actually had such connections.

  Stephan translated her words to the handsome man. The man glanced toward the unit commander, then stepped out of the tent.

  Elina prayed he would bring her husband.

  Sarnai was already mounted, ready to depart. Norjin briefly explained the situation and gave Yakov’s name. At once Sarnai ordered her young adjutant to find the man and bring him to Norjin.

  Her father’s old adjutant stood nearby, watching with his usual stern expression, leaving them little chance to exchange more than a few words. Norjin thought that was for the best. Sarnai probably thought so too.

  Once Yakov had been brought forward, Sarnai watched for a moment, then gave a faint smile and rode off.

  They might see each other once or twice during the Western campaign, but their paths would never truly cross again. This time, Norjin thought, it was truly over.

  “What a cursed town,” Batu muttered bitterly.

  After taking Tver and marching south, Batu found himself halted before a small settlement called Kozelsk. A vanguard he had sent ahead before the march on Tver had already been wiped out. The attack had come suddenly, before the advance force could even form their lines.

  Broken wheels of trebuchets lay half-buried in the mud. Fragments of shattered machines were scattered among the corpses. From the bodies strewn about, it was clear the defenders of Kozelsk had suffered terrible losses as well.

  There could not be many defenders left. Their defeat was inevitable.

  Even after such losses, Batu sent envoys.

  The reply from Kozelsk was something he could scarcely comprehend.

  “Our prince is young,” the envoy said, “but we will give our lives for him.”

  “How young?” Batu asked.

  The envoy answered without hesitation.

  “He is twelve years old.”

  Batu stared at the man. The envoy’s face was aged.

  This man had come to die for a boy young enough to be his grandson.

  “Why would you go so far in the name of a child?”

  The envoy narrowed his eyes slightly. There was pride there, and something like tenderness.

  “Here we receive the glory of this world,” he said, “and from God we shall receive the crown of heaven.”

  The sheer irrationality of it made Batu dizzy.

  “What do you think a life is worth?” he said. “My terms are not impossible. Why refuse them?”

  It was not that they did not fear death.

  They desired it. Batu could not understand such reasoning.

  The spring thaw had flooded the valleys of the Zhizdra and the Drugusna rivers, trapping the Mongol army on the watershed.

  The terrain allowed an attack from only one direction. The ground had turned to mud, making siege engines nearly useless.

  They had already been here more than two months.

  The forces of Guyuk, who had taken Torzhok, had arrived as well, along with princes Kadan and Buri.

  They felled trees, laid down logs, reinforced the ground, and assembled the siege machines piece by piece.

  Word had just arrived that the work was finished.

  Batu had to decide.

  “A heavenly crown from God, is it?”

  Batu rose to his feet.

  “Crush it. Leave nothing.”

  Sarnai arrived several days after Kozelsk had fallen.

  Her brows drew together at the sight.

  Corpses lay scattered among the burned houses.

  Among them she saw an infant, still clutched in its mother’s arms.

  She knew this was the Mongol way. Even so, the small body tightened her chest with grief.

  She ordered the Rus’ prisoners to bury the dead.

  Then Sarnai’s army turned south, riding toward the Don steppe.