Daughter of Xanadu - Dori Jones Yang [86]
I was glad I had helped Marco. But it was bittersweet. Helping him buy goods would enable him to return to his homeland.
Soon it was time to celebrate the New Year—Tsagaan Sar, the White Festival. We stayed at Nesruddin’s Palace in Da-li to enjoy the biggest holiday of the Mongol year.
Despite our victory and the festivities, the Mongol holiday traditions filled me with sadness. Suren’s absence darkened every activity. We greeted one another with khadags, the blue ceremonial silk scarves we Mongols present with both hands as a gesture of goodwill. Each of them made me think of Suren with unbearable pain. I was sure I would never again feel pleasure on this holiday.
On the evening of the second day of the New Year, when most people of the palace had aching heads from too much airag, or sore bellies from too much meat, I found time to talk to Marco alone. He was standing on the ramparts overlooking the huge ear-shaped lake that lapped at the palace walls. This time, there was no moon, as New Year’s Day is always on the day of the new moon. The stars seemed brighter, reflected in the lake water.
“Do they see the same stars in your homeland?” I asked, startling him as I came up behind him.
When he saw it was I, he smiled. “It’s strange. The stars look exactly the same, and so does the moon. This is the only thing here that reminds me of home.”
“You are eager to go back,” I said, standing near him.
He turned toward me. “Thank you for your help,” he said. “Still, I wish I could find some way to stay.” Even in the darkness, I could see that his eyes burned with sincerity.
“There is no way. You know that,” I said, wishing it were not true.
He looked over the lake. “Yes. Of course. I understand.”
“Far from home, we are free to think different thoughts,” I said.
“And you will return home soon, to the palace.” He continued my train of thought. “I hope I have not offended you in any way.” His voice became more formal. It saddened me.
Side by side, we stared out over the water awhile. His arm was two hand widths away from mine. My heart was full of sorrow. I felt sure we would never be alone again. “Princess, you remember, in Xanadu,” he began, “I told you about courtly love, when a low-ranking man admires a lady from a distance.”
So he had been thinking of me. “A lovely tradition,” I said.
“Do you recall,” he said, “the day you shot down the eagle?”
We had not mentioned the incident since that day. “Mmm,” I said.
“You proved, so clearly, that your archery skills were as good as any man’s,” he said. “But what moved me was something different. You had a heart for that magnificent eagle.”
In the dark, I blushed, ashamed that he had noticed this weakness. Yet his voice was gentle and calm, not accusing.
“That eagle died quickly,” I said.
“That eagle soared majestically before it fell,” he responded. “That was the moment I knew I loved you.”
His words, so direct, stunned me. He loved me. He had loved me all this time, all these months. He knew that with certainty.
By contrast, my love for him had not come at a single moment. It had grown over time, from scorn and distrust, through curiosity, to something deeper, a certainty that my life was not worth living without him. I knew that now, with just as much certainty. Yet my life was not my own. It belonged to the Khan.
Marco was looking at me, hoping for a reply. “After the battle,” I began. The words stuck in my throat. I swallowed a lump and went on. “Someone told me you were dead.”
He moved to comfort me, but stopped. “You seemed angry at me that day,” he said.
“I was angry. But not at you.”
“We have one more night,” he said. He had heard in my voice what he needed to hear. We had one night to act on our love, before I had to return home to the court.
I remembered his kiss, the passion of his embrace in Tibet. On this night, even the maid in my chamber would be away, celebrating with her family. No