Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
Over the next few days, Michel had the chance to get to know Eve’s family, and it was a hell of an experience.
Since the moment that Michel left his future father-in-law’s study, he had not been permitted to see Eve.
Not during the day, during dinner, or at night.
He didn’t know if her father commanded as such or if she was still enraged about how the marriage arrangements were handled.
Michel didn’t get to ask. Instead, he met what seemed like hundreds of aunts and uncles, cousins, nieces, and nephews, all who gave him suspicious glares behind warm smiles and warned him to treat their Eve well or the ancestors would haunt his days and nights.
And then there were her brothers.
Dzhambul, Esen, Tarkhan, Chuluun, Batuhan, and Yul, each terrifying testaments to the strength needed to thrive in this land.
To be fair, his first interaction with them had been when he was almost beheaded at their father’s feet.
Now that they weren’t trying to rip off his arms and beat him to death with his own bones, as Eve had once told him they would, Michel could see how much they cared for their sister.
Not allowed to sleep in the palace, Michel stayed in the yurt of Yul, the only one still not married.
Yul spoke to him and tolerated him more than the others, though still not that much.
With the brothers, he had learned to make yogurt, harvest barley, and shear the goats.
He had sparred with them, learning new techniques.
He listened to their deep, textured singing.
He learned to weave the cashmere threads.
And the cashmere. He felt so stupid dragging Eve around looking for someone who had a few hanks to trade when her family had thousands of spools just sitting around in their storehouses.
Ridiculous. He must have looked like such a fool to her.
But she saved his ass, in the end. He would return to France like a hero.
On the second night of his stay, Michel sat at the fire pit with the brothers and their families.
The oldest brother, Dzhambul, the one who had drawn his sword to kill Michel when he re-entered the palace, came to sit near Michel.
Seventeen years older than Eve, he already had the presence of a strong, weathered man.
He would one day lead the horde himself, a successor to a powerful man, just like Michel.
The familial yurts spread out in the camp while the family clustered around the central fire pit.
The sun sat just above the edges of the mountains, but the perpetual gray mix of wispy clouds and smoke from the chimneys obscured it.
Off to the side, Chuluun and Esen sparred.
A scattering of children ran through the area, playing and stopping only when a mother grabbed them to clean their faces, or an uncle picked them up to throw them playfully out of their way.
Movement and laughter, shouts and swords came from every angle.
Michel sat, enjoying the warmth and ease of the family.
Ironic, he thought, that these men were ready to kill him just the day before, and now he sat at their table, among them.
He’d been ignorant of so many things, but what a gift to be able to experience the depth of her culture from this vantage point.
After a moment, Dzhambul spoke. Up until then, each brother had come to him and given him the same look. Angry acceptance. Tentative family. Dzhambul was the last to address him.
Dzhambul did not look at Michel directly while he spoke. “You fought bravely.” Then he gave just a hint of a grin, under his thick, dark beard. “We were all surprised.”
Michel gave a laugh at that. “I know I didn’t look like much when I came in,” he agreed. “I’d been hiding in alleyways, stealing food, trying to figure out how to get to your father.”
“Yes,” said Dzhambul. “You looked like you had already died three times when you entered the hall.” He nodded his head as he poured tobacco into his pipe.
“I mean, we were surprised you fought well because you are French. The French, westerners in general…” He glanced at Michel. “It is not always the strong who lead.”
“We have had many fine leaders throughout history,” Michel said. He didn’t want to start a debate while he was still ingratiating himself, but he felt compelled to defend his country.
Dzhambul held his hand out to continue. “A khan may have many sons. In some tribes, from many wives. It is not the first son that inherits the title, like it is in your home. Borjigin, my father, was the youngest. But he was the fiercest. It is why he is the Khan now.” He shifted, pressing the tobacco down.
“The one who will make the best leader is chosen.”
“I see what you are saying.” In fact, it made a lot of things about Eve and their early interactions much clearer.
“You have brothers?” Dzhambul asked.
“Yes,” Michel replied. “Two.”
“Are you the one who should lead?”
Michel stretched his legs in front of him. “They are both good men. They could do it. Neither of them would want the responsibility, though.” Michel continued. “I am the right one.”
“That is why we were surprised.” He gave a grunt of approval. “Eve deserves the best.”
Michel folded his arms, glad he seemed to have passed that test. “Do you think Eve will adjust to being away from her family? I can see how close you all are.”
“Eve will flourish in any land.” Dzhambul took a deep inhale on his pipe. “If you want to know if she will be happy, I cannot say.”
Michel nodded, wishing for a better answer.
“For that,” Dzhambul continued, “you will need to speak with Grandmother.” He stood up. “Let’s go.”
Moments later, they were walking the halls of the palace.
Michel had not been back inside since he’d left Borjigin’s chambers.
He watched for Eve but also watched for her father, fearful of angering the man.
Michel scurried behind Dzhambul like a mouse trying to escape the dinner table with a hunk of cheese.
Dzhambul led him through the high stone hallways to a room Michel immediately recognized as a library.
Dark wood bookshelves ran floor to ceiling, stopping only for a large window that overlooked the countryside.
At the other end was a large fireplace. The fire flickered softly as the sunset cast its last light in through the window.
There, reading by the window, was Eve’s Grandmother.
Dzhambul led him in and approached the woman. “Grandmother,” he said. “I have someone here to see you.”
She turned, and at first glance, Michel was transported home to his country.
Other than the Mongolian deel that she wore and the bright colors braided into her hair, she would have fit in perfectly with any royal court from Chevalerie to Paris.
She had high cheeks and a long nose, with completely white hair.
Michel saw Eve’s resemblance immediately in the woman’s stature, her posture, and her features.
“Well, well, a Frenchman,” she said in their native language. “It has been many years since I laid eyes on someone from my home.” She moved to stand as she set her book on the table before her. Descartes, Michel noticed.
“No, please.” Michel reached forward to take her hand. He kissed her hand and bowed his head to her.
She laughed, enjoying his display. “Please, child,” she tittered. “Sit.” She situated herself as Michel took the seat across from her. “I was wondering if Borjigin would ever let me meet you.”
Dzhambul spoke in hesitant French. “I will leave you two to your conversation. My mouth is not for this language.”
The woman reached up to squeeze Dzhambul’s arm, from elbow to hand, in a gesture of affection. Then she turned her attention to Michel.
“I’m very happy to meet you,” Michel said. “Eve has told me many things about the influence of her grandmother.”
“I have had my influence on this great family as it has on me.” She smiled warmly at Michel. “I take it you have questions for me?” She raised her brow. “Speak.”
It was an interesting sensation for Michel. At once, he saw in this woman Eve, Eve’s father, the brothers, but also Michel’s own heritage. “I would love to ask you many things,” he said. “First, I must ask if you believe Eve will be able to settle so far from her home.”
“Have you asked Eve this question?”
Michel gave her a sheepish grin. “I am not allowed to speak with her at the moment.”
“Ah, my Borjigin.” She laughed. “He’s such a grumpy old fart.”
Michel enjoyed this woman’s humor very much.
The elderly lady leaned back and closed her eyes.
She smiled. “When I was a young woman, close to Eve’s age, I, too, met a man from very far away.
We had a connection that made our differences unimportant.
I left everything to be his wife.” She opened her eyes and looked at Michel.
“I was more settled here than I ever was in France.”
“I am glad for you,” Michel said. He hesitated. He had more to ask.
“Tell me, Michel, what do you wish to say?”
He looked down. Then out the window. “I just hope that I have not forced any decisions on her by our circumstances.”
The lady smiled. “I will tell you a secret,” she said, leaning in with a note of mischief in her eyes, just as Michel had seen Eve do many times. “My first son. Borjigin’s eldest brother. He was conceived months before we were married.”
Michel cocked his head at this news.
“My husband, Naranbataar, was virtuous in many ways, but there was no waiting for wedding vows once we found each other.” She chuckled.
Michel dropped his head in a laugh.
“When we arrived here at the Issyk Kul,” she continued, “we said we were already married in France. Shortly after, we had a marriage ceremony here. Everyone thought it was just a ceremony, but it was our one true wedding. I was several months with child by then.” She put her hand on his, weaving her knuckles into his.
“Michel, it happens. It wouldn’t have changed anything between my husband and me.
It wouldn’t have changed my desire to be his bride.
That connection was there regardless of when the first child came to be.
” She looked at him solemnly. “Don’t tell Borjigin this secret, though. He is too old-fashioned.”
Michel smiled. “You have my word.”
“You must know Eve well enough to know she wouldn’t let circumstance dictate her life.” The lady clicked her tongue. “She is too busy commanding everyone and everything around her.” She chuckled again.
“Yes,” he said with amusement, a deep sense of relief at hearing her opinion. “That is true.”
“You just need a chance to speak with her again. She will set your mind at ease.”
He nodded.
“I am happy, Grandson,” she continued. “After nearly seventy years, there will be a piece of me returning to my homeland.” She squeezed Michel’s hands. “You just promise to bring my great-grandson back here for a visit.”
“I promise,” Michel agreed. He shifted before continuing, “I just can’t promise the baby will be a boy.”
“I had five sons. Eve was the first girl after six brothers. There are only a few princesses scattered throughout her cousins, and not one is a first child.” She laughed. “You may be breaking some traditions, Michel, but not all of them.”