Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [94]
Tears gathered in her eyes, began to slip down her cheeks. Her voice never faltered, her breath never sobbed. Nergüi sat across from her, weeping softly. She knew this story, too, Archimedes realized. Perhaps all of the Horde knew it.
“Warriors in full, they fought, but Barsu Bolod fell. Lady Khojen, the mirror of his mother’s soul, threw herself upon him and took a blade meant for his heart, but it could not save them. Impaled together, they breathed their last, and the heirs of Ögedei raised their knives to desecrate the bodies. But the caracal, who knew by the scent of blood that her mistress had fallen, would not let them touch the once-happy couple. With teeth and claws, it defended them. When friends of the wise queen came to the house, they found the caracal had slain all that attacked her beloved son and his fierce wife. When Manduhai the Wise heard this, she knew the animal would always be friend to the Khan and to the empire, and ordered her magicians to create a woman who would never falter in her guard, a woman of teeth and claws, a woman as beautiful as a flower and as strong as steel, with the loyal heart of the caracal. And so it was done—and the gan tsetseg have served the true house of royal blood from that day.”
Silence fell. The fire crackled. Yasmeen stared into it, pupils dilated, cheeks wet. After what seemed an endless time, Nergüi gave a snore. Terbish lay with his back to them—sleeping or quiet.
Yasmeen looked to him and said softly in French, “Except for me. I don’t serve anyone but myself.”
“And Lady Lynx was more accurate than Zenobia knew.”
Smiling, she lay down beside him. “Yes.”
He thought of the rumors that the Horde bred animals with people. He’d never believed it, discarding the talk as the vicious sort that people spoke of their enemies. But there was some truth in it, bits and pieces. Not that women had lain with apes, but they had been mixed, in some way. “Is it through the nanoagents?”
“Yes. The inventors at the stable combined the essence of the caracal with that of our mothers. I don’t know how. And I don’t know who she is,” Yasmeen added. “The mothers are chosen through the crèches, and we never see them.”
“And when the gan tsetseg have children? Are they still like you?”
“I don’t know. I never will have my own—after Bart stabbed me, it was too much for my nanoagents to heal, though they worked so hard they began killing me with the fever. Eben also tried to repair my womb in surgery, but . . . he could not, though he fixed what he could. I would kill Bart again, just for that loss. And the others cannot—they are metal all below. But there must be some in the houses that can’t be altered now that the Khan’s stable is gone, and they will bear children. Perhaps then we will see.”
All metal below. “Can the others . . . ?”
She grinned. “Your brain works exactly as every other man’s. Of course they can.”
“But they don’t have to serve that way, too?”
“No. If she’s treated like a whore, she can crush them. Quite literally, in every way.” She turned her head, looked into the fire again. “Doesn’t it bother you to know?”
“What?”
To his surprise, she flicked her ear. But they were not even so very different: the same shell as any person’s, though slightly tapered at the tip and topped by that short tuft.
“No.” He reached out to trace the curved edge, and she drew away, smiling.
“Not here, Mr. Fox.”
“Why?” He knew she loved it when he stroked her—and he had scratched a cat’s ears before, had seen the reaction. He lowered his voice. “Are they sensitive? If I stroke them, will you embarrass yourself in front of our hosts?