Daughter of Xanadu - Dori Jones Yang [7]
“How?” Suren asked, with an edge of challenge.
Temur’s eyes gleamed in the firelight. “An archery contest. In one of the public courtyards. All the boys of the court. Tomorrow at noon.”
My heart leaped. Archery was my best skill. I had spent years perfecting it, both still and mounted. At an age long past that when most Mongol girls gave up, I had persisted. This could be my chance to show, in public, that I was better than any of my boy cousins. But would they let me take part?
The boys greeted the proposal with a cheer. With just a few words, Temur had made it happen. I wondered if the Great Khan himself would watch the contest. I had to find some way to compete in it.
Tomorrow, I realized with a start, would be the day before my sixteenth birthday, the last day of my childhood. If only I could compete, one last time, before whatever awaited me in adulthood.
“Emmajin! You’re back!” My mother’s voice sounded firm and joyful.
Oh, no, I thought as I entered the rooms I shared with my mother and sister, off a back courtyard in the palace. I did not want to face whatever my mother had to say now.
Mama emerged from the bedroom, her pale heart-shaped face lit by an uncertain smile. Behind her, Drolma had a look of hope mixed with doubt.
“We have good news,” Mama said.
“Too good,” said Drolma. Short and delicate like Mama, Drolma had once told me she envied my beauty, but to me such things did not matter. Unlike me, she stayed out of the sun and used creams to keep her skin light and smooth.
I did not want to hear Mama’s news. My mother had been trying day and night for years to find me a husband. I should have been betrothed long before, but I had managed to sabotage each of my mother’s earlier efforts. Although most suitors’ parents eagerly sought an alliance with the Khan’s family, now that I was nearly sixteen, many of them regarded me with suspicion as a difficult girl, past the ideal age for a betrothal. Each suitor was less appealing than the previous one. Drolma yearned for a betrothal, but by custom she had to wait for me to get settled.
Lately, Mama had been trying harder to make me spend more time with the girls and women, but I hated embroidery, dancing, and music. Drolma loved all that and had already picked out names for her future children. To me, it seemed that the women of the court did nothing but sit and gossip. I had told my mother that Suren’s father wanted me to spend time with his sons. My mother feared Chimkin, so she had let me get my way.
My father, Prince Dorji, home from the monastery for the victory celebration, emerged from the shadows behind my mother, dragging his lame foot. As much as I wished he had become a military man, I needed to show obedience and respect.
My father sat down in a Chinese-style wooden chair in the central sitting room between our family’s two bedrooms. Like most Mongols of his age, he had grown up in a ger, the traditional round white tent with a domed roof. Even though the Chinese were now our subjects, the royal family lived in a Chinese-style palace with raised beds, silken quilts instead of sleeping furs, and chairs instead of stools around a fire. I wondered what the Great Ancestor, Chinggis Khan, would think of that.
I stood before my father, trying to suppress my urge to defy him.
My father cleared his throat. “General Bayan’s top lieutenant is an excellent military man named Aju, respected by the Khan. He is back from the wars in the South.”
I perked up. I longed to hear more about that campaign.
“General Aju will come here tomorrow with his eldest son, at noon.”
I bit my lip to keep the objection from flying out. The timing could not be worse. The archery tournament would begin at noon.
“You must behave properly while they are here.” My father’s voice was firm. “Dress well, sit quietly, serve us. They will want to see if you can be a proper wife.”
I looked at my hands. To me, marriage meant only loss of freedom.
“It’s your best chance. A military family.” My mother’s eyes