On Thin Ice (Prequel to Guild)

Chapter Thirty-Three: Little White Parka

             Spring was a dream in the Northern Icelands. Come the end of bitter winter, not a single snowflake melted. Not a single flower bloomed. If anything changed at all, it could be said that the sky grew a little brighter and the biting winds gained a muzzle when May blew in from the south. It made little difference. But at least High King Tömoriin Mongonai could see out his window now.

He could watch the snow squalls dance across his yard like playful spirits armies defeated by time had chased away long ago.

He could wait for the arrival of his long-awaited first grandchild.

A week.

Five days.

Only three days more.

After waiting twenty-three years and longer before that, those three days felt like nothing.

And everything.

"You never miss her until she goes, brother," laughed Timur, sliding in behind him and making him jump with the cultured hues of his voice. Always present, always punctual. Yet his brother always surprised him. "When she's here, you want her gone again."

"That isn't true."

"You may not, but your nerves and your aging heart appreciate the time her absence gives it to rest."

He couldn't argue with that. Couldn't rebut his brother with anything but, "My aging heart can appreciate a son."

"Grandson."

Tömoriin nodded. "Grandson."

He'd had sons. He'd had three: two of them married and one of them promised to a girl whose father should have kept him out of trouble. None of them had given him grandchildren. None of them had kept out of trouble.

Funny, that his wayward daughter had surpassed them all. Outlived virtuous Bayarlagaa and wise Tengerinkhayaa and done what they could not. Returned what Batu's reckless stupidity had lost Tomöriin and his poor wife.

Stolen.

Khutulun's ghost had adorned their sons with the beads of treachery and presented them to Hikarishi for sacrifice. The last he'd seen of Batu and Bayarlagaa had been their empty, gaping, staring skulls. Blackened bones and broken molniya. But there had been enough left of Khayaa for Tömoriin to see his eyes before they'd burned him.

And today, if Yuaa's letters spoke true, he would see them again- untouched in his memory by sorrow and fear for the first time in twenty-three years. Untainted by Yuaa's passion and mischief. By his nephew's defiant stare as after he knocked on the door and Timur whirled around to face him.

"I thought I told you never to interrupt!"

Khasan played with the tail of his stiff plait where most of his fourteen beads resided, laughing like none of them could. Not without a few drinks in them, at least. "You tell me a lot of things. I've learned to be wary of most of them."

"I thought you were off mediating between Tsasan and Nokhai, my boy. We didn't expect you back for another-"

"Three days."

"Khasan! He is your High King!"

The young man swallowed whatever words had rested on his tongue. "You told me to come back three days from now to meet Yuaa and her family. "

"Yes..."

Without warning, Khasan plunged a hand into his pocket. It made Timur flinch, made the palace guards reach for their weapons to defend their High King against what turned out to be just a tiny piece of gold- half as lustrous as Shirub Silver but twice as warm and nice. It was an ornament from a Kamakura horse's bridle, undoubtedly part of the imperial procession. "Salkhi brought me this yesterday morning. Her way of telling me they're already here." Gold clinked against the floor, rolled until Khasan's foot stomped it into submission. "You're trying to keep me out of the way."