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J ai’s head throbbed with every jarring bounce as the khiro’s massive hooves pounded the ground beneath them. The rough sack over his head chafed against his skin, but the discomfort barely registered; he was too preoccupied with clinging to the rhino’s coarse fur, desperate not to fall upon the rushing green long grass below.

He could sense Winter beside him, straining against the same ropes that trussed her to the lurching beast’s side. Jai comforted his dragon with a thought, but it did little to quell her terror. It didn’t help that she could sense the same in him.

The khiro’s pace began to slow, the great muscles beneath him shuddering as the thunder of hooves slowed to silence. The creature’s breath was heavy, punctuating the quiet that had settled.

Then the air around Jai and Winter grew tense, as if filled by some signal with the yammering of men, Steppespeak so heavily accented even Jai’s childish understanding could not discern a single word.

Rough hands grabbed Jai, pulling him down from the khiro’s back. He stumbled, disorientated, as he was dragged across the ground, the sighing of the breeze suddenly muffled as his feet found flat ground. The sack was yanked from his head, and a sudden rush of light and air left him gasping. Blinking against the glare of a fire, Jai struggled to bring the tent’s interior into focus, even as he was shoved to his knees.

The tent was made of animal furs, and lashed bamboo, large as a three-horse stable. The smell of smoke and leather hung in the air, mingling with a faint scent of herbs. At the centre of the space, a firepit smouldered, casting shadows that danced upon the tent walls.

As his eyes adjusted, a woman stooped into a crouch at his front, hawkish eyes boring into Jai’s. She was a Steppewoman, and undoubtedly one of status. The finely braided plaits in her hair, adorned with bones, teeth and precious stones, spoke of her standing among her people, if what little Jai had glimpsed before his blindfolding held true. Even without the symbols, the woman’s posture exuded a confidence that came from leadership, her gaze sharp and calculating.

Summoning his courage, Jai opened his mouth to speak, but a swift slap to his cheek silenced him. The Steppewoman tugged Jai’s head down, examining his scalp, appraising him like a piece of livestock. Jai’s head reeled from the blow, but he held the woman’s gaze, refusing to let fear rule him.

She grinned at Jai’s defiance, then squinted as if spotting something, clucking her tongue as if in disapproval, checking Jai’s fingernails and tugging Jai’s lips apart to view his teeth, even sniffing a lock of his hair as if trying to glean some hidden information. The indignity of it all burned in Jai’s chest, but he knew better than to resist, not wanting to be slapped again. Instead, he reached inward, drawing on the bond he shared with Winter, finding comfort in their connection.

The woman sat back, sighing and clapping her hands. She bit her lip, looking pityingly at Jai, as if on the verge of speaking. Then she shook her head, turning and striding out of the tent’s curtained entrance.

Jai took a breath. Then another, and another, attempting to quell the hammering of his heart. He knew not where he was. Nor even who had taken him. But he was alive... and far from Magnus and his ilk, if the journey’s bruising of his ribs was anything to go by.

Yet he had no way of knowing if Erica and the Huddites had been so lucky.

By all accounts, he had succeeded in his mission. These were his people, after all. But not his people. Not the Kidara.

For as Jai examined his surroundings, he knew this was no great tribe of the steppe. In his childhood, Balbir had spoken of their tribe and the world they had left behind. He knew, in his childhood pride, that the picture he had built in his head was far grander than it likely was. But these dirt floors and ragged pelts were not the rich tapestries, rugs, and embroidered cushions Balbir had once described.

He sniffed, his stomach groaning at the smell of cooking nearby. Jai could hear the stirring of pots, laughter of women and children. He had been taken into the heart of their camp. No... their village. One that moved with their herds, as all Steppefolk did.

A wheezing from the corner spun Jai’s head, such that he almost fell, turning with his bound feet. In the corner, an old man stared at him with beetle eyes, trembling beneath a hairy khiro pelt. Beside him, an old woman spooned a thin milk into his mouth, using a wooden spoon and a burnt clay bowl.

This was a small tribe, and a poor one at that. And they were keeping him alive for a reason.

The two elders ignored him, as if the sight of a battered, bleeding captive was nothing new to them. But then, he supposed it would not be, if Balbir’s tales were to be believed. No people warred more than the Steppefolk. Nor did any take more captives. Half the fettered in the Phoenix Empire were made up of the defeated captives of the steppe.

Footsteps approached, and Jai was swift to cast down his gaze, returning to the position he had once been in. If escape was an option... he would do well to appear compliant.

A diminutive man stumbled into the tent, shoved by a hand unseen. Then another entered, shouting in jest over his shoulder. It was a Steppeman this time, though he shared the woman’s features. Those same hawkish eyes, compounded by a hooked nose that could only be familial.

A brother of the Steppewoman perhaps, or a cousin. Certainly he seemed of similar standing based on his fine furs and adornments, though there was a cruelty in the man’s smile as he turned his eyes upon Jai, one that had not existed in the woman’s gaze.

He clapped a hand upon the smaller man’s shoulder, forcing him to kneel in front of Jai. He was trembling, and flinched as his superior stabbed a finger at Jai.

‘I am Feng,’ the man muttered, his gaze fixed firmly upon the ground. ‘They say you speak High Imperial. Is it true?’

Jai said nothing, if only in shock at the fluency of the man’s speech. The other bristled at Jai’s silence.

‘Speak, lest Zayn angers,’ Feng hissed.

‘I do,’ Jai blurted.

Zayn clapped Feng’s back in a sudden movement, laughing in delight. Then, as suddenly as he had laughed, his face turned into a scowl, and he gripped the back of Feng’s neck.

Zayn spoke, spitting his words in guttural bursts. His eyes never left Jai’s face.

Feng translated, his querulous voice a poor imitation of the venom in Zayn’s own.

‘Where did you steal this from, half... breed?’

Zayn tugged something silver from the furs that adorned him, letting it fall into the dirt. Jai’s breastplate. Even as Jai’s gaze turned to it, Zayn seized Jai’s face in a vice-like grip, lifting it back up at him.

‘Speak, worm.’

Jai curled a lip, then spat off to the side, though in truth his mouth was so dry it was little more than a gesture. The man grinned... then slapped Jai so hard his head spun.

It was the blow of a soulbound, and a powerful one at that. Dizzied, Jai’s vision swam, even as a curved blade flicked in front of his eyes, Zayn dangling it like a toy over a cooing babe.

‘You’re not listening,’ Feng translated, as Zayn snarled out the words. ‘It seems you’ve no need for your ears.’

Jai groaned and felt the cool of the blade against his cheek, slipping down towards the side of his head.

A shadow darkened the tent entrance, and a voice rang out. Muttering as if disappointed, Zayn lifted the knife, before striding out of the tent. Outside, voices were raised, followed by the slap of blows.

Only when there was a curse, and a final, hard thud, did the tent entrance darken once more. The first woman entered, blood staining her lips and teeth as she offered Jai a smile.

Feng translated, as the woman spoke:

‘I am Sindri, khan of the Valor tribe, and I apologise for the behaviour of my brother, Zayn. He can be... impulsive.’

Sindri’s tone, even in the harsh speech of Steppespeak, was almost gentle, a stark contrast to the violence that had just unfolded. ‘How came you to our lands?’

Jai hesitated, weighing his options. He decided to speak the truth – up to a point.

‘My mother was not of the steppe, and my father was Rohan, khan of the Kidara. I was raised as a hostage in the imperial court. My two older brothers were framed for treason and executed at the hands of Emperor Titus, but I escaped. I have travelled across the empire in search of my tribe.’

Sindri listened intently, her expression thoughtful.

‘I know little of the... politicking of the larger tribes,’ she said after a moment, Feng stammering as he searched for the correct words. ‘But we well know this Rohan of whom you speak.’

Sindri drew a blade from a sheath at her side, and Jai flinched back. She raised her free palm in peace, and cut Jai’s bonds with two deft slashes of the dagger. She straightened, half-turning to the tent’s exit.

She spoke, and Jai listened intently to Feng’s words.

‘You are free to walk among us, but your beast will remain captive until I decide what to do with you. But know this, so-called Jai of the Kidara:

‘Try anything, and it will be more than an ear you’ll lose.’