Sorghaghtani stared down at Saran further, then at Batu, and then at neither of them. She stood. She spoke once toward the three younger daughters and the word leave was all they needed, and they scampered back through the inner partition in the order they had entered.

Saran hadn’t moved.

Sorghaghtani paused at the partition’s felt and looked back at the oldest daughter with eyes that had learned, through years of managing situations she had not anticipated, to keep most of what she thought off her face. She had not entirely managed it tonight.

"She’ll say whatever she wants to say," Sorghaghtani told Batu. "Don’t bother about it after."

Then she was through and the partition closed a second time.

The ger calmed around the two of them. The lamp was steady. The cups sat on the table. Saran had stayed where she was when the others left, making no point even though the room was emptier, and no reason to pick up a cup from the table.

She spoke before Batu had had the chance to.

"I’ll be straightforward. It saves both of us time."

Her voice was direct without being rude, the way a person’s voice was when they had given up moderating it for other people’s comfort. "I’m not looking for a marriage to play the pretty vase. I know my duties as a wife and will do them properly, but besides that, I want more."

"What do you want, then." Batu said.

She stared at him. He had said it too quickly and she was checking whether the speed of it was real.

"Before that," she said. "What do you want a wife for? And please, no talk about love."

"Preferably, an ally. If that is not possible, someone that won’t be a burden."

Saran hesitated, if only for a second. She had come prepared for the formal version and had prepared herself against it, and what arrived was something she hadn’t prepared for. She didn’t rush to respond.

"In practice, what an ally means," she said.

"Someone who can hold a khanate together while I’m in the field. Which will be most of the time."

"How much authority would that be?"

"Whoever much the khanate and the situation requires."

She moved then, came to the table’s opposite side and stood across from him, placing herself closer to the exchange without sitting. "My mother has been running the Toluid appanage alone for three years," she said. "The tribute records, the administrative appointments, the seasonal supply allocations, the correspondence with every tributary household." Her eyes stayed on him. "Is that the kind of work you’re describing."

"Within reason, yes."

"So, if there is an important decision to make and you are on campaign-"

"If there’s time for a rider, send one. If there isn’t, make the call."

She let that sit. It was an answer she had apparently not heard before and she was checking it against something.

"I’ve been told I’m difficult," she said. "That I’ve got too many thoughts, ask too many questions, don’t stay in my place."

"I know."

"That doesn’t concern you."

"As long as you have the right thoughts, and is asking the right questions, no," Batu said. "A khanate needs to be ruled. I can do it, but not while on campaign. What I need from a partner is not a pretty vase, but a woman with ambition that can assist me in my goals."

Her eyes stayed on him for a few seconds. If before, she was simply lashing back to prevent a marriage, now there was genuine interest on her gaze.

"When I’m managing your khanate’s accounts and a decision needs making," she said, "I want to be asked about it. I want my answer to be know."

"Then give your answer early."

"And if I reach a different conclusion than you would have."

"Say it. I’ll hear it. I may still do it my way."

"That’s fine," she said. "I only want you to consider it."

The lamp kept its glow in the warm air. Outside the ger’s felt wall the camp’s evening sounds ran on, the low ambient noise of tens of thousands of people on the same ground preparing for the late hours. The two of them stood on either side of the table and neither said anything for a moment that went over long enough to carry its own kind of meaning.

Saran had not looked away. She was still considering, checking it against the conversation, and the conversation had not yet given her a reason to stop.

Batu turned toward the partition. "Sorghaghtani."

She came through quickly enough that she had been near it. She watched both of them in the first second, the lamp, the table, the space between them, the atmosphere the exchange had left in the room. Her attention moved to Batu.

"I want Saran," he said.

Sorghaghtani was quiet for a moment.

Saran didn’t say anything. She had already moved back from the table to a bearing that was simply her own, and she made no protest. The decision had arrived in exactly the form she had decided not to protest against.

Sorghaghtani’s gaze moved to her daughter, and what flashed in her eyes was unknown. A decision had been made that she did not expected, and now she had to adjust her plans for it. Then she looked at Batu.

"Fine," she said. "My condition is the same. The session outcome first, before anything is formalized. I’ll need time after the assembly is over to prepare the proper arrangements."

She looked at Saran once more, and this time what passed between them was the unspoken words between a mother and her daughter. "A week at minimum."

"Done," Batu said.

Sorghaghtani gave a single nod, one that accepted the situation even if she didn’t prepare exactly for it, "I’ll send word."

Batu moved toward the outer entrance. Suuqai was there when he came through into the northern camp’s night air, the late summer dark full now, the stars carrying all their brightness overhead.

They didn’t take the path back toward the main camp.

Forty paces deeper into the Toluid camp’s northern section, a larger ger sat with its lamp burning steadily inside, the light visible at the base of the felt panels in a thin line. It was ger for a working meeting, set apart from the sleeping quarters, positioned where arrivals and departures could happen without being observed from the camp’s main approach.

Batu walked toward it.