“And I’ll find her in Tsarepheth?” he mocked. He regretted the sarcasm instantly, knowing it for the ineffectual, misdirected anger of a thwarted child.
“You’ll find wizards in Tsarepheth,” she said, continuing as if he had spoken in a much milder tone, which made him feel all the more shamed. “And if anyone can find a woman stolen by ghosts, it is my master Yongten-la. Besides, I have the poppy juice, and I have the extract of willow, and I have the blue-gray mold that saved your life this time—and if you sicken again when you are alone, I cannot guarantee that you will live through it. And you will be no good to your Edene dead of a fever.”
He stared at her. She stared back.
Slowly, so she could not mistake his capitulation for agreement, he placed his hands palm to palm before his breast and bowed to the wizarding woman. He would have turned away, but she cleared her throat and said, “What are the horses called?”
He almost said, horses. But she was trying to mend a trespassed boundary, and it would be childish—and churlish—to stop her.
“Her name is Buldshak,” he said, gesturing to the rose-gray. He pointed to the liver-bay with his chin. “And her name is Bansh.”
“Bansh? It’s not a word I know. What does that mean? Something like ‘Fearless’ or ‘Sword of the Wind’?”
Temur looked down at his feet. “‘Dumpling,’” he said. “It means ‘Dumpling.’”
But Samarkar didn’t laugh—or she didn’t laugh cruelly. Instead she looked at the bone-thin mare and said, “She likes her dinner, I take it.”
* * *
With Temur’s infirmity and the time it took to exchange news with Hrahima, they weren’t walking until the sun was a handspan into the sky. At first, Tsering led the mares and mules, and Samarkar walked ahead with Temur and Hrahima, out of the dust. But after they had been walking and filling the gaps between strained silences with even more strained conversation for some time, Samarkar dropped back beside Tsering. She held her hand out for the lead rope, forcing a smile.
“I talked to Temur,” she said.
Tsering handed her the rope, stepping more quickly for a moment in order to pass in front of her and change places so she would not be between Samarkar and the bay mare. “What about?”
“I pointed out that one rider could move faster than four walkers and five animals. He’s agreed to loan you the gray tomorrow, when she has had a night to rest, so that you can ride on ahead and warn Songtsan and Yongten-la of the danger.” Samarkar looked down at her hands. “We agreed it should be you, because you are lighter than I am, and he is still weak and ill. He begs you, however, to care for the mare.”
Tsering looked down at her hands in that way she had, hiding a smile. But when she glanced back up, her brow was quizzical. “He’s a plainsman,” she said. “What’s in it for him? Why would he want to protect a Rasan city?”
Samarkar paused to consider what she would say next. “The ghosts are his people,” she said. “Or so Hrahima thinks. And I think they attacked the refugees from Qarash, too, before they destroyed Qeshqer. They”—she lowered her voice—“took somebody from him. A wife? I’m not sure. Anyway, he’s determined to find her. I convinced him that Yongten-la was his best resource, and who knows? Maybe it’s true.”
“I see.” Tsering folded her arms before her for a stride or two, then let them swing at her sides to mark her pace. “You are right. Word must reach Yongten-la as soon as possible. And you are also right that I am the most able to carry it.” She turned her head slightly. “What if the ghosts beat me there?”
From farther up the road, as if speaking to herself, Hrahima said, “The Steles of the Sky are underlaid by salt.”
“Pardon me?” said Tsering.
Hrahima’s ears flicked back to them. Samarkar wondered just how good her hearing was. “Under the Steles of the Sky, wizard. There is salt. Salt in great quantities. The ghosts will not pass through.”
Tsering looked at Samarkar. Samarkar raised her eyebrows.
“Of course,” Tsering said. “Still, I think some haste is called for.”
* * *
Once Tsering left them, the days of the journey began to blend together mercilessly. Thanks to Hrahima, who spent most of the days ranging out away from the horses in order to keep herself awake, and who did not sleep well by night, they ate more meat in more varieties than Samarkar had ever considered possible, even as a princess of a royal house. This was a blessing, because she and Tsering had not brought food enough for a round trip, Temur’s supplies were exhausted, and what little they had had, she had insisted Tsering take, for swift travel. But the rich diet did not sit well with her; it bound her up and led to other troubles. Temur seemed to adapt to it well, though, so she chewed the meat and drank the broth and comforted herself that when they reached the Citadel, she would be able to fill her tea bowl not only with tea but with butter and noodles.