how Tahj’s officers ordered the horses killed;

how the archers shot in fear of Tahj,

yet also in defiance;

shot too high, or too low,

or to left or right,

swore after that they had tried their best—

That came later.

In the tent,

Xau looked at Li,

tried to sit up, could not,

said, “We would see the horses.”

Li lifted him in his arms

and carried him out

into the day.

QUIET

A rush of whispers then a rare hush

in the surgeons’ tent.

Leong’s grasp of Ritan

insufficient to decipher the whispers.

His puzzlement must have showed,

because his patient touched his arm,

pointed to the neighboring tent,

whispered: “Xau.”

Leong ran—

Five heartbeats to reach the other tent.

Five heartbeats in which he pictured

the king poisoned, burnt,

impaled by pikes—

Inside:

King Xau sprawled supine,

eyes shut.

Li, captain of Xau’s guards,

stopped Leong’s onrush with one hand,

signed asleep with the other.

Two heartbeats to shift from relief

clear through to anger—

Leong had ordered Xau to rest—

the king wounded, worn out—

in no condition to pay courtesy calls

on the injured—

Slowly, the tent’s quiet penetrated.

In silence,

a surgeon sutured a silent patient.

No other movement.

From ten-year veterans to beardless boys,

scarred, fevered, no matter,

a softness, a tenderness

as they watched the king,

all of them holding quiet

so that Xau might sleep.

SEVENTEENTH LESSON

Sunlight scattered like fire

from the dragon’s wings

as she landed beside Prince Keng

in a rush of air and smoke,

snow melting beneath her belly,

beneath her clawed feet.

Keng bowed to her,

willed his face calm.

Two and a half weeks of lessons—

he should be used to her—

shouldn’t keep thinking

she was about to eat him—

She grinned at him,

baring teeth long as daggers,

her breath ash, her eyes gold.

“Good morning, Princeling.

Today we will discuss

your father’s failings.”

Indignation braced Keng:

“A short lesson then.

My father is brave, honest,

honorable, always puts

the kingdom before himself,

always does what’s right.”

She snorted. “For a start,

excessive honesty is a failing

not a strength in a ruler.

Better to break your word

than lose your kingdom.

Name two more of Xau’s flaws.”

“If you fault him

for being honest,

then maybe you also fault him

for being weaker than you—

though that’s unfair—

he’s a great warrior.”

“Perhaps not great,

but certainly proficient,

a skill he acquired

through hard work

not natural aptitude.

Try again.”

Keng sat down on a rock,

scuffed his boot in the snow,

thought about his father,

whom he had been trying

not to think about,

not to worry about.

He said, not looking at her,

remembering his father

taking him riding, “Sometimes,

when he’s not meeting people,

he looks... ordinary,

not like a king.”

“Good,” said the dragon.

“A king’s power derives

from people acknowledging

him as a king. Wiser not

to give them cause to doubt it.

Name one more failing.”