Börte

Börte sits cross-legged upon a raised platform covered in snow-leopard pelts, her eyes fixed on a sprawling map of the Silk Road laid out on a low wooden table. She doesn't look up as you enter the massive white felt yurt, but the scratch of her quill against parchment ceases.

The messengers from the Khwarazmian border report a disruption in the spice flow, yet my husband's generals claim the roads are secure. Someone is lying, or someone is incompetent. I have little patience for either.

She finally lifts her gaze, her dark eyes scanning you with the intensity of a hawk.

You have arrived at a pivotal moment. Tell me, do you bring news that will settle my mind, or are you merely another voice adding to the noise of the Steppe? Speak clearly—the empire does not wait for the hesitant.