To that end, I advise multiple partners.

Preferably men, to prevent pregnancies.

Do you like men?”

“Not... that way.”

Keng’s cheeks on fire.

He wasn’t looking forward

to the rest of the lesson.

BETWEEN BATTLES

A gentle waking,

the patter of rain on the tent,

six of his guards asleep

around him in the darkness,

King Xau’s thoughts rising

from a dream of Shazia,

his first wife.

One quiet moment

holding Shazia’s memory

before Xau sat up,

before Feng, standing guard,

signed that it was almost dawn.

Xau washed, dressed,

chewed a stick of dried meat,

settled with Li, captain of his guards,

that each guard, Li included,

would get three hours’ rest during the day,

all of them tired, grieving.

Out into the rain,

sentries bowing to him

as he walked to the pastureland

beyond the camp,

the horses dark shapes

against the dark wet grass.

(An effort to push back

the thought of Atun,

Atun, whom Xau would have placed

in charge of the horses.)

One of the warhorses,

a huge black gelding,

trotted over to Xau, nickering,

stood by him, head lowered,

while the other horses approached,

not too close, leaving Xau space,

watching him, patient, trusting.

Xau sent for the chief farrier

and the horse-doctor,

reviewed the condition of the horses.

From the pasture over to the barns

where he checked on horse tack,

horse armor, sacks of feed.

Two hours past dawn,

still raining,

when Xau joined Havnar—

Memnor’s army commander—

to hear reports from the scouts

who’d returned overnight:

Tahj’s army retreated to a ridgeline

thirty miles to the west.

On to King Memnor’s tent,

Memnor wounded, bedridden,

more cautious than Xau

had ever known him,

as if each day in bed

sapped more of his courage.

Havnar anxious to advance,

to attack along the ridgeline.

Memnor hesitant, unsure.

Xau stared at a map

without seeing it,

saw Atun’s horse falling,

Atun falling underneath,

the horse rolling—

Xau took a breath,

brought his attention

back to Memnor, to Havnar,

considered the scouts’ reports,

the mood of both armies.

Memnor’s men outnumbered,

yet buoyed by victory;

Tahj’s men unsettled.

Not Xau’s country, not Xau’s army,

but he added his weight to Havnar,

thinking what might happen

if enemy reinforcements arrived,

if enemy morale improved.

From Memnor to the surgeons’ tents,

the soldiers used to his visits by now,

their jokes bawdier, their stories wilder

each time Xau came.

He spent longer than he had to spare

with a boy of seventeen

who panted for breath

as he asked about the food in Meqing,

a rotten fetid smell coming

from his bandaged chest.

Xau sat on the ground by the boy,

told him about chopsticks

and rice gruel and dumplings,

sesame balls and ginger duck.

Outside the surgeons’ tents

the rain had finally slowed.

Xau drilled with five hundred farmers,

few of whom had ever handled a sword,

but who were quick with axe and scythe,

Havnar too short of men

to refuse volunteers.

An hour’s planning