Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [79]
Yasmeen hadn’t known that. She’d been taught that Argon Khan had been as wise as Munduhai Khatun, as generous as Toqta Khan. To learn differently didn’t surprise her, however—every Khan was powerful enough to write his own history.
But it also meant there was only one way that Hassan had heard differently. “Temür Agha told you this?”
“Yes. Perhaps it is true; perhaps it is not. Perhaps it is only what he was told by others in the rebellion. But it is important to know that there was also another rebellion, though the roots of that go deeper, and was one that challenged the seat of the Great Khan.”
Yasmeen knew of this one—the heirs of Ögedei, the youngest son of Genghis Khan, could not have been more reviled in the histories. When the great general Batu, son of Genghis Khan’s eldest son, had been named his grandfather’s successor, Ögedei’s supporters had called Batu’s legitimacy into question, reminding all that Genghis Khan’s wife had been raped in captivity before the birth of Batu’s father. Though Batu had crushed the opposition, he allowed his uncle Ögedei to live, sending him to secure the peninsula ruled by the Goryeo emperors.
Ögedei’s descendants did not forget the question of legitimacy, however—and the blame for many assassinations within the royal line were laid at their feet. Yasmeen didn’t know if that were true, or if Ögedei’s heirs were simply a convenient scapegoat.
“Twenty-five years ago,” Hassan said, “Kuyuk the Pretender began amassing an army in the White Mountains east of the Black Sea, claiming to be Ögedei’s heir. The Horde’s generals searched for him, but even though a generation had passed since the great plague, they had too few soldiers to be thorough, and for a decade Kuyuk remained well hidden—then the Great Khan sent Temür to flush him out. Kuyuk ran northwest, around the sea, then southeast.”
“On a route to Constantinople,” Yasmeen murmured.
“Even Temür doesn’t know whether that was the Pretender’s intention, or if it simply lay in his path as he returned east. His army must have been exhausted by the flight, low on supplies and starving—perhaps he only attacked the city to replenish his provisions. But Kuyuk claimed that he would prove to Xanadu his royal blood, a direct line from Genghis Khan, by sacking a city in the same way. Temür was not far behind him.”
The man paused, sipped his tea. Though he gave little indication of it, Yasmeen sensed that his thoughts were troubled, his emotions suppressed.
“Temür had long been embroiled in another battle, though it was one that took more care and diplomacy—to convince the Great Khan to strike down the towers in the occupied territories. But the territories are lucrative, so the Khan would not. Temür requested the governorship of the northern African territories, but the Khan wanted to keep him close. But the Pretender’s sacking of Constantinople posed a real threat to him—not that he feared Kuyuk would march on Xanadu, but that the people’s confidence in him would be further damaged, and support for the rebellion— the true rebellion—would grow. So the Khan made the promise that if Temür stopped the Pretender, he would have Morocco.”
“But he didn’t just stop Kuyuk,” Yasmeen said. “Temür obliterated him, along with the city. There were still citizens there—citizens of the empire.”
“Yes,” Hassan said. Though he said it unflinchingly, a deep weariness seemed to settle over him. “He wanted to make certain that the Khan feared him enough never to go back on his promise. Then he sent Nasrin to destroy the Khan’s stable.”
“What?” Still trying to take in the implications of Temür’s actions, trying to decide the sort of man they made, the shock of that statement sent her reeling. “Did she succeed?”
Hassan nodded. “Almost completely.”
“The stable?” Archimedes leaned forward, frowning. “For his ponies? I haven’t heard this.