Zaya and Norjin were summoned to Sarnai’s tent, but it was not Sarnai who awaited them. Her adjutant stood there instead. Norjin had known him since their days in Karakorum, and even then he had been aware that the man did not think well of him. The look he received now—cold, unwavering—made it clear that the judgment had not softened with time.
“There is something I must say first,” the adjutant began, addressing Norjin directly.
“Were you not married to our General?”
Zaya turned instinctively toward Norjin. His expression revealed nothing.
“Do you question your superior’s private affairs as a matter of course here?” Norjin replied. “Is that why we were summoned?”
He made as if to turn away, but the adjutant spoke before he could take a step.
“Having a family is no wrongdoing. But you betrayed her.”
"Nonsense. I was the one she left,” Norjin said.
The word struck Zaya harder than she expected. This was the first she had heard of Norjin’s past. From the exchange, the relationship sounded finished, and yet what she had seen between Norjin and Sarnai made that difficult to believe.
"This is the second time our General has lost her composure to the detriment of her duties.
On both occasions, it was because of you."
Norjin’s mouth tightened.
"I have served her since her father’s command. I have known her since she was a child. She is a commander worthy of admiration.
But when you appear, the outcome is never favorable."
The adjutant fixed Norjin with a hard stare.
"I ask that you not involve yourself with her any further."
“Do not say that to me alone,” Norjin answered. There was little strength behind it.
Zaya had never heard him sound that way before.
“This discussion is over,” the adjutant said.
They stepped out of the tent.
“Well then,” Zaya said lightly, though her eyes did not smile.
“Quite the ladies’ man. Two women at once?”
“Leave it. It’s over.”
"Hmph. Over or not, it’s none of my business.”
She swung up onto her horse and rode off toward her own tent.
Norjin mounted as well and followed.
Before dawn, the road was still hard with frost, and the sled moved quietly over it. By Alexei’s reckoning, Torzhok should have come into view before noon. The rounded domes of its cathedrals should have risen white against the sky.
The sky began to pale.
Nothing rose.
Alexei felt his pulse quicken.
A Tatar sentry eventually brought them to a halt. While they waited for the interpreter to appear, the sled was pulled up along the riverbank and the horses were unhitched.
The man who approached, accompanied by an interpreter in priestly robes he had seen before, was the same envoy who had come to Novgorod. His well-formed features were impossible to forget.
Alexei thrust the cloth-wrapped bundle toward him. The man opened the cloth, then the wooden box within, and drew out a rolled parchment. He cut the seal. The parchment loosened in his hands and unfurled partway under its own weight. Multiple seals marked the sheepskin.
He passed the parchment to the interpreter at his side.
Men and horses stood motionless, white breath rising into the frozen air. Norjin gave no sign of hospitality.
“Read it.”
Stefan began, line by line.
“In the name of Almighty God…”
Norjin’s expression did not change as he kept his gaze on the envoy.
“…therefore, thirty red fox pelts, thirty squirrel furs…”
Stefan continued, his gaze drifting briefly from the parchment to Norjin.
There was no warmth in Norjin’s face—only the stillness of the dead.
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“…Tatar merchants or their agents shall be permitted to reside for three months… regarding this matter, we remain prepared for further careful deliberation and, while awaiting your reply, intend to dispatch another envoy at the appropriate time. By the will of God. Written in Novgorod. The Novgorod Council.”
Stefan finished.
Norjin did not speak.
The envoy did not speak.
The silence pressed hard enough to make a man want to stamp his feet.
At last, Norjin said,
“So this is the price Novgorod sets upon itself?”
Heat rose to Alexei’s face as the translation reached him.
For a moment, the words struck.
But he had not survived in Novgorod by surrendering to emotion.
He calculated.
Should he bow his head and plead that this was all Novgorod could afford?
Or deny the insult, defend their pride, and accept whatever harsher terms might follow?
Alexei cleared his throat.
“The value of Novgorod, in our estimation, is what we deem worthy to offer before our God.”
Norjin’s expression did not shift.
“In the eyes of God, men are no more than dust. And yet you speak of what is ‘worthy.’ Your God must be remarkably indulgent.”
He paused only a breath.
“But if not to God—then to our Empire, which is no god—may we understand that you deemed this worthy for us?”
Alexei faltered.
To have mistaken this man for a barbarian would be a costly error.
“We seek to negotiate—”
Norjin cut him off.
“First, we shall put your oath of submission to our Empire into writing. This is insufficient.”
He flicked the sheaf of parchment Stefan had handed him.
“The terms of tribute come after.”
“Wait. That is not what we meant. This is—well—first, as a gift, so that we might continue as good neighbors. For you—”
“It seems you did not fully understand what I conveyed before.”
There was the faintest curve at the back of Norjin’s eyes.
“Novgorod has only one choice. Submission to our Empire—or not.”
A beat.
“That is all I require.”
Alexei bit the inside of his left cheek.
Sweat gathered beneath his arms despite the cold.
When he remained silent, Norjin prompted him.
“You said you would convene a council. What was its decision?”
Alexei clenched his jaw.
They had debated the terms of negotiation at length, yet never once had they addressed the prior question—whether Novgorod would submit to the Mongols at all.
As this man had implied, to bargain over terms was already to concede submission.
“Wait. Come once more to Novgorod. Let us speak there—”
Norjin cut him off.
With a slight motion of his hand, he gestured toward the blackened remains of Torzhok.
“If I may offer a word of friendly advice,” he said evenly,
“the next time we visit, you would do well to be prepared for this.”
There was nothing more to be gained.
Alexei stepped back, almost unsteady.
He mounted at once and turned his horse toward the road to Novgorod.
Returning from the parley with the Novgorod envoy, Norjin found Sarnai’s horse before Zaya’s tent. An unwelcome foreboding stirred in him. He dismounted reluctantly. His attendant stepped forward to take the reins and, with a small gesture, indicated Zaya’s tent. Norjin forced himself to steady his mood and made his way toward Zaya’s tent.
“You’re back,” Sarnai said with easy cheer. “What did Novgorod say?”
“Nothing. They came to see the truth for themselves.”
“I was just speaking with Zaya,” Sarnai began.
“There is someone of rank among the Torzhok prisoners. We may be able to extract a ransom from Novgorod.”
A faint weariness crossed Norjin’s face.
“I think I see where this is going. And who is expected to conduct the negotiation.”
Sarnai gave a quiet laugh and glanced at Zaya.
“We were just saying how quick on the uptake you are.”
“Do not expect too much,” Norjin said dryly.
“In that case,” Sarnai said, her smile lingering just a little too long, “I would like you to take about eight of the Torzhok prisoners.”
“This unit is under Zaya’s command. If she agrees, so do I.”
“Thank you. I’ll have them sent over, then. I’m counting on you.”
With that, Sarnai turned and left the tent without another word.
Norjin did not want to see it, but he saw it. She was forcing herself.
Norjin understood now. The adjutant had meant to deliver Sarnai’s orders yesterday. But anger had taken precedence.
So she had come herself.
“It was meant to be the adjutant who told us yesterday, wasn’t it,” Zaya said, almost to herself.
Norjin looked at her.
From time to time, she gave voice to the very thoughts he had kept to himself.
Zaya quite deliberately avoided looking at him. She would not meet his eyes, yet she did not step away.
Norjin had a sense of what it meant. He recognized that mood.
“Zaya?”
She drew a steady breath and turned.
“It’s fine. I know my role. I’ll do what needs to be done.”
He read the color in her eyes.
Without warning, he caught her lightly by the chin. Something in him loosened.
“Jealous?” A flicker of quiet satisfaction warmed his voice.
“Don’t be absurd.”
“Am I wrong?”
“You’re a fool.”
“A great fool.”
She kept her face turned away as she spoke, and he found it unexpectedly endearing.
