“All of us,” she asserted, still matching stares at her father. She could tell by his expression that he would concede without further argument. “My parents, my brothers, the whole damn family.”
Her father sat back down in his chair and folded his arms.
“And Father,” she said. “Prepare to bring the cashmere with us.”
“The cashmere?” he repeated.
“Yes,” she said, “All of it. Empty every storehouse and set the craftsmen to make more. I want every bolt, every string, every fiber coming with us.”
“Where is this coming from?” he asked. He indicated toward Michel. “We spoke nothing of cashmere.”
“Because he needs to bring home more than beads and barley from Timicin. Or my new family, my new people, will be persecuted.” She stuck a finger toward Michel, who jumped when she did.
“I would have to discuss this with the il-khans.” Her father hesitated.
Eve stomped out of the room and then returned with the orange-bound book in her hand. She tossed it onto her father’s desk. “In there, you will find every agreeable merchant between here and the Mediterranean. Every transaction that can justify this level of trade. You have all you need to convince anyone that this will be a prosperous market for both the horde and my new home.”
“We aren’t prepared to initiate this level of trade…” he trailed off.
“Figure it out, Father, like you have just figured out the rest of my life.” Then she turned back to Michel. “I hope your little kingdom can handle our army,” she yelled as she slammed out of the room.
As she left, she had caught the look of shock on Michel’s face. But it wasn’t until she got down the hall that she heard the booming laughter of her father.
Later that night, there came a knock on her door. She knew that knock. It was the knock of a man who knew that her pride had been bruised and that she had been taking too much from this life. A knock she had heard many times growing up—whenever she was criticized for being too bold, knowing too much, or for being too demanding. The knock of her father.
She had been sitting in her chair by the window, staring out across the land that she had grown up in. She rose and called for him to enter.
“Eve.” He approached her with a heavy grumbling sigh. “You are wearing on my patience.”
“What Father? Have I offended you by taking an active role in my life?” She said the bold words, but her countenance could not back them up. She collapsed once more in the chair. Despite everything, she felt defeated.
“Did I not concede to everything you asked for?” he asked, voice terse.
“Yes,” she said. She dropped her head into her hands. “Thank you.” The words muffled in her hands.
Borjigin chuckled and sat beside her. “What troubles you, my Enebish?”
“Father, I am so sorry to put you through this. This pregnancy. I am terribly ashamed.”
“Ahh, yes.” He put his feet up on the table and leaned back. “That is not ideal.” He paused. “I certainly didn’t expect your marriage to come about like this. But I suppose…” He sighed. “There are worse things.”
She looked up at him, surprised he was not more upset.
“Do you know what Michel and I talked about today?” he asked.
“You talked affiliations. Alliances. How to navigate the marriage politically with the other tribes?—”
“Yes, of course. I am not in a position to take a betrothal for you lightly. Our family has always had an obligation to the horde. You know that.” He nodded. “But that wasn’t what Michel and I spent our time on.”
She looked at him.
“I needed to know what happened to you and how everything transpired. You gave me very little information. I needed to know how you suffered. You are my daughter. I failed to protect you.” He sat up straight, placing his feet on the ground once more. “You have always had a problem telling the whole story.”
“I was just trying to protect everyone,” she said, a humbled softness to her voice.
“Yes, my flower, but if you don’t allow anyone to see the full picture, you are not protecting anyone. Including yourself.”
She looked down. “I am beginning to realize that.”
