reviewing reports.

“So,” said Xau, sighing,

pushing the reports away,

“what did you think

of Enlai’s latest?”

“I liked it very much.”

Dao hesitated, continued,

“Even though I’m not,

not dauntless like he said.”

“No?” said Xau. “You stood with us

in the flood’s fury in Ritany.

You walked the streets of Ningxi

when the demon threatened.”

And Xau stood, bowed to Dao,

as deeply as though to a king.

TOMB SWEEPING DAY

Rain spatters on chopsticks,

a barley grass dumpling,

a bowl of tea,

a bamboo dragonfly.

Grief will not help her.

The king cannot set it down

beside their children’s gifts.

ARROW

Late April,

hills overrun

with flowering azaleas—

pink, white, red, magenta—

the air bright with their scent,

King Xau’s mood dark

as December.

He galloped

past his guards.

Li, his captain, shouted,

but Xau kept riding. He would spend this day,

this one day as far away as possible

from the relentless matchmakers

and their wares:

flirts, flatterers, coquettes,

twelve-year-old girls with painted faces.

An onslaught of replacement wives

who couldn’t replace

Shazia.

Air bright

with the fragrance of flowers,

his horse crested a hill, and there, below him,

galloping on a gray horse, an archer:

black hair beaded, braided,

riding away from Xau,

bow in hand.

Xau halted

as the rider arced round,

black braids swinging as she—

demonstrably, conspicuously female,

full breasts rounding her chest guard—

loosed an arrow. A hawk fell.

Dead.

One arrow, double duty.

Xau as stricken as the hawk.

NOTHING

It was nothing to Hana

when the man rode over,

less than nothing that

four hired guards followed.

(The horse lords didn’t bribe

their oathsworn to protect them.)

The man sat his horse well,

Hana did notice that,

as she noticed him eyeing

her face, her chest,

her bare legs against

her mare’s gray flanks.

Gerel, Hana’s mare, edged closer,

nickered as if she knew the man.

He gave his name, King Xau,

which complicated matters.

Her brothers would disown her

if she displeased Xau.

(The horse lords honored Xau

beyond reason, beyond endurance.)

Thinking to get rid of him

Hana said she was hunting—

extracting the dead hawk

from her pouch as proof—

but he asked to come too

and she perforce agreed.

Trapped, nettled, she asked him,

“Will your guards come to assist you?”

He laughed, a clear, bright sound,

free of the rancor Hana harbored.

“Yes. They can retrieve our body

once you fell us with your scorn.”

“I do not scorn you.”

Lightly, easily, she lied,

but the words shifted

as she looked at him:

thin, beardless, plainly dressed.

No gold armbands, no jewels.

Not his fault that men had

inflated his deeds to legends.

Xau ordered his guards

to keep at a distance,

and then they rode

across the rolling hills.

His company was nothing to Hana;

she preferred to hunt alone.

They passed two deer, a rabbit,

pheasants, an antlered stag.

She saw Xau spot the stag,

but he didn’t reach for his bow.