as if he took the splintered shards,

turned them on Xau.

“If not your own life,

surely your kingdom is worth more—”

Xau jolted as if he’d been struck.

“If it comes to that—

if there is no other way

to safeguard Meqing,

no other way to defeat the beast,

we will sacrifice hostages.”

They sat, silent,

beneath the awning,

the day bright around them.

BREATH

In the desert darkness,

King Xau lay propped up

on a saddlebag,

his orders given,

Subetei’s scouts ridden out

in search of the beast’s lair.

Hillier here, sand swept

over limestone and sandstone.

No pain, except when his leg

reminded him he was lame,

but a breathlessness

that kept him from sleep.

He stared up at the patterned stars;

listened to the splashing

of the tiny waterfall

that fed the oasis,

the small sounds of the horses.

Xau tried to get his breath,

thought about the day ahead—

whether the scouts would find the beast—

whether he would be able to ride—

though the others would kill the beast

without him if necessary—

if they could—

if—

Enough—

nothing more he could do

until the scouts returned—

Xau shifted, looked at the moon,

three days past full,

thought back to the night

that Micha had foaled,

the moonlit pasture,

the wind-stirred leaves.

This year’s foals would be

two months, maybe three months old,

still a little ungainly.

When he got home (if he got home),

he’d take his children

to inspect the foals with him,

spend a whole day over it.

Xau shifted again

to check on his guards,

Shuen standing watch,

the rest curled in their blankets.

Li, captain of his guards,

sat up beside him,

either woken by Xau’s restlessness

or not asleep in the first place.

Li touched Xau’s forehead,

offered him water.

Xau made the hand sign for all-well,

watched Li go over to Shuen,

watched him return

and sit down cross-legged at his side.

Easier to breathe with Li there,

a weight shared.

After a time

Xau said the words

that they both understood,

that he did not need to say aloud,

said them anyhow, his voice a breath,

“Li. Always there when I need you.

Thank you.”

“Nowhere I would rather be.”

Grief then,

thinking of Li,

Li the one he worried most about,

more even than his children,

their lives ahead of them, full of incident,

Li who might only look backward.

To the east the stars withdrew,

paleness spreading in the sky.

A little lizard,

no longer than Xau’s thumb,

darted onto a rock near Xau’s feet,

bobbed its head,

puffed its throat out hugely.

Over and over,

claiming its territory

or perhaps showing off for some female.

Together Xau and Li

watched the little lizard.

COMFORT

Neither King Xau’s guards

nor the horse warriors

could calm the small boy

when he woke in tears.

The boy’s thin body shook

with the force of his crying.

He clutched his blanket,

cowered when they approached.

Xau got to his feet carefully,