He’s here. Cups clank in a jubilant toast over the table as Karma tells of how he was ambushed, and how Jié fought at his side. The matron pushes full plates around and we listen, and all the while Karma’s hand holds on to mine.
“They claimed I was a Mongol deserter,” he says, and his teeth tear a strip of meat from the bone. “Trying to escape the service to the Khan.” The fat drips down his chin, but he doesn’t bother to wipe it, and I don’t want to let go of his hand.
“It was Tuya that told them that story—I heard them mention her name.” He gulps down what’s left in his cup.
Tuya. My mouth goes dry. Betrayal. The void inside of me screams.
Lanying swipes the jug. “I told you so.” Her eyes meet mine in a stark stare over the table.
“Makes no sense to me.” I shake my head at her
