some would say eight,

but I would not beat the prince

even if he were fourteen.”

That moment,

the moment Xau knew

he had found someone

who would look after his children,

who would care about them,

who would stand up for them

no matter how powerful the forces

arrayed against her—

that moment almost undid him.

“That’s good, very good.”

He worked to steady his voice.

“Ignore what we said earlier.

We do not wish you

to ever hurt our children.”

But not that moment that undid him,

nor at breakfast, two days later,

when Chye climbed onto his lap

and asked if Mama was still dead;

nor the letter from Shazia’s mother

(King Vihaz’s senior wife)

thanking Xau for sending her

a painting of her daughter.

Instead a stupid thing,

his own fault,

opening a bottle of the perfume

Shazia used to use:

that scent,

as if she were right behind him;

how he couldn’t stop himself

from looking round—

AMBER

Xau held Micha to a trot

though she had caught his mood

and wanted to gallop over the grasslands.

Keng, his oldest son, followed close,

all eagerness and pride at accompanying him.

Behind Keng, six of their guards.

Autumn and all well in the kingdom,

the harvest gathered,

the land at peace;

five months, two weeks, one day

since Shazia died—

Half a life,

Shazia had said when they met,

that she didn’t want half a life,

a safe life.

So he had swept her along with him,

a son, a daughter, a son, a daughter,

and then the stillborn child

she died birthing,

so that she had half a life after all—

Xau bid Micha gallop.

Wind, air, grass, the smell of leather.

For a moment, a drawn breath,

he was nearly happy.

He slowed Micha to a walk,

led her to a stream,

dismounted, watered her.

His son, joining him,

chattered about the ride.

Xau showed him a frog

half-submerged in the mud,

watched Keng try to catch it.

Xau walked upstream,

away from Keng and the horses,

four of his guards following

at a distance.

Movement.

Under a bush,

across the stream,

a gray shape, big. Wolf.

The wolf looked at him,

amber eyes steady,

and waded into the stream

straight for Xau.

In the wolf’s eyes: recognition.

Xau let his hand

drop from his sword.

He knew, knew beyond doubt,

that the wolf would not harm him.

He made the arm signal

to his guards to stay back,

saw Atun ready his bow,

watching him,

watching the wolf.

Xau crouched down,

and the wolf came, dripping wet,

to the reach of his hand.

She sniffed him,

licked the inside of his wrists

as Shazia used to do,

and lay down beside him.

Xau’s heart pounded,

those amber eyes fixed on him.

He caught his breath,

said goodbye to Shazia,

his words barely louder

than the small noise of the water.

When he was done

the wolf stood up, shook herself,

before crossing the stream