The horses squealed,

high-pitched, ear-piercing—

The king screamed—

Li stood. Held the girl—

Li forsworn, his oath broken—

His king unshielded,

snared in the beast’s trap—

The king’s screams stopped.

The girl sagged in Li’s arms.

Freed. The king sank to his knees,

shivering, vomiting.

The girl said something. In Sumbrese?

Her face naked as her body,

flashing from fear to fragile hope

as she looked at the king.

Li pulled off his desert robes,

offered them to the girl,

crouched down beside Leong

who was examining the king.

“Xau,” said Leong. “Stop. Now.

Your pulses are weak, uneven.”

The king touched Leong’s hand, said,

“We accept the risk. We must try.”

The little boy dropped his dagger,

walked forward. “Such fun.

If you’ve finished retching,

let’s play again.”

The boy so short

Li knelt to hold him.

Xau knelt opposite Li,

laid his hand on the boy—

The boy jolted—

The horses squealed

as if they were dying—

The king screamed—

Then the boy trembled

like a scared puppy, freed.

The king doubled over,

gasping, pale, vomiting bile.

The boy started crying

and Xau’s guard Shuen,

who had a son about that age,

lifted him in his arms.

A second girl came over.

“Had enough? We can end this game

if you order your men

to stay away from my lair.”

“No.”

“Then play again.”

Longer. Worse. The king collapsed

when he finally freed the girl,

lay gasping for breath, ashen,

Leong trying to help him.

Li heard the beast’s laughter,

looked round to see the last girl

plunge the dagger in her own belly.

“Three out of four. Well played.”

She began dying noisily, messily.

Xau looked away, looked at Li.

“Li.” Xau fought to speak.

“Help her. Please.”

Li went to her, kissed her forehead,

drew his sword across her throat.

Returned to Xau. Bent down.

Tried to find words. None came.

Emptiness vast as the desert.

The king’s eyes on his.

SHARDS

Bright even beneath the awning

stretched overhead.

Li, captain of King Xau’s guards,

picked up a loose handful of sand,

warm, let it run through his fingers.

He sat beside his king,

the other guards at a distance

so Li could say what he must.

“Xau—” said Li, and stopped.

Weighed what he had done,

and what he had not done.

The girl he had killed.

The king he’d failed to protect.

King Xau waited, pale, patient,

propped up against a saddlebag,

breath labored.

“Xau—it’s likely we will face

more hostage situations,

now that the beast knows

they are effective against you.”

Xau said nothing, looked east

to where the children sat,

being fed by Shuen and Leong.

“Next time,” said Li,

“you cannot cooperate.

Doing so yields control

to the beast, and endangers you.”

“They would have died.

All four of them.”

Li nodded.

“You are the king.

Your life is worth more.

That is the way of things.”

“No,” said Xau flatly,

only that one word. Final.

As if something broke inside Li then,