Jaran

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Yeliana was younger than Tess expected; she looked about fourteen, with her heart-shaped face and solemn eyes.

"Mother Avdotya sent me," she explained, surveying Tess from the doorway. ' 'I will escort you first to bathe and then to our midday meal." Solemnity vanished for a moment and she grinned. "You slept very late. Once I was allowed to sleep so late, when I was quite ill."

Tess rubbed her eyes and glanced out the window, and rubbed her eyes again.

"And you may borrow a decent shift, if you wish," Yeliana added, seeing that Tess had slept in her clothes, "if you would like to wash your clothing as well."

"I would, thank you."

To Tess's delight, the bath consisted of a heated, circulating pool. Yeliana agreed that it was miraculous and informed Tess that Mother Avdotya thought hot springs whose source they had yet to find must lie under the palace. If Tess took a little too much time, seduced by this luxury, the girl did not complain. She even helped her wash her clothes and spread them out to dry. A white shift was produced, belted, and proclaimed decorous. Tess left her hair hanging loose to dry.

Yeliana led her to the eating hall, a wood-paneled room flooded with sunlight through four huge windows in one wall and furnished with long tables and benches. The priests had clustered at one end of the room, and they shifted as she entered, moving to sit. Amid all the white, she saw a brilliant spot of red. He sat between two men, head bowed.

As Yeliana guided Tess forward, Ilya glanced up toward them. His entire being froze.

Abruptly, he pushed himself up. The two priests on either side were on their feet, a hand on each of his shoulders, before he was halfway standing. He looked once to each side and sank back onto the bench. He did not look up again. The two men sat.

From another room, three men brought in platters of food. Tess ate earnestly, truly hungry, but she could not help but glance at Ilya at intervals. Like her, he had bathed; he had trimmed his hair and his beard, had probably washed at least his shirt, early enough so that it had had time to dry. He attended to his food with an assiduousness helped by the disapproval with which everyone treated him. It was a silent meal. When all had finished, three women took the dishes away. Everyone else stood.

"Mother Avdotya has asked that you stay here," Yeliana explained, "so that you do not unwittingly disturb any of us at our duties. The rest of your party will surely arrive soon."

Tess watched the priests leave. The hall was empty except for herself and Bakhtiian. He was gazing down at the table, one finger tracing patterns on the grain. Tess walked across the room to stare out one of the windows at the garden. But he followed her, stopping a few paces behind her.

"Tess." His voice was quiet, unsure.

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Tess, if I had known, if I had even suspected the risk to you, I would never-"

"Battles are not won by men who refuse to take risks."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I'd rather not turn around to answer that question if you're wearing your saber."

"You needn't address me in that tone, Tess. I'm perfectly aware that my actions yesterday were ill-advised."

"Ill-advised! They weren't advised by anyone but yourself. You could have gotten me killed!" She turned to see his expression but the light falling on his face only brought out that blend of radiance and severity that made him so striking.

"Gods," breathed Ilya, as if he could not help himself. "White suits you."

Warmth spread up her cheeks. "This almost gives me sympathy for Vera Veselov. Is this how men of the jaran revenge themselves on women who don't want them? Forcing them to marry them? My God, I think it is. I know it is." He went pale with anger but that only made her reckless. "What is it you really want, Ilya? Me, or Jeds?"

"How dare you. Whatever you may think of me, I have honor."

"Do you mean that it would be wrong to deceive me into marrying you to gain what I possess but not wrong to deceive me in order to-to what? To humiliate me by forcing me to become your wife?"

"To humiliate you?"

"I suppose you thought I'd be flattered."

He looked as if she had just slapped him. "Yes," he said hoarsely, "and why shouldn't I have thought that? How many women do you suppose wish they were standing where you are now?"

"If so many women want you, then why didn't you pick one of them?"

"Because I wanted you. "

Tess went white. Said so baldly, the words terrified her. "It's all war to you, isn't it? You only wanted me because you thought I was something you couldn't have."

Silence fell between them. "I have heard enough," he said in a low, unsteady voice.

"You're afraid to hear any more." She walked past him to the far corner, her head held high, knowing that she could have said nothing that would have hurt him more. Where had she gained such knowledge of him? A single drop of damp slid from one eye down along her nose to dissolve on her lips. She sat down on a bench and stared into the corner, determined to wait in stony and forbidding silence.

A moment later she heard voices. The door opened and a rush of feet and conversation entered.

"Well," said Kirill's voice above the rest. "It's certainly cold in here."

Tess brushed at her face with the back of one hand, stood and turned. Before anything, she noticed the distance between them-Bakhtiian still by the window, she in the corner farthest from him. No words could have spoken so clearly.

"Tess, what you are wearing?" Yuri asked, walking across the hall to her. Mikhal and Kirill followed him, leaving their four companions-the youngest of the jahar riders-by the door. The rest of the jahar was evidently elsewhere. "You haven't given yourself into the service of the gods, have you?"

Her cheeks felt hot. "No, I haven't. One of the priestesses lent this to me while my clothes dry." She kept her gaze fastened on Yuri, afraid to look at the others, at Bakhtiian, especially afraid to look at Kirill. "They have hot springs here."

"Hot springs!" Mikhal stepped up beside Yuri, and by doing so the two men-her brother and her brother-in-law-made almost a barrier between her and Kirill. "Are all of us welcome to use them?"

Kirill chuckled and merely spoke to her over their shoulders. "My heart, whatever did he do?"

"How long ago did you get here?" asked Yuri suddenly.

"Yesterday."

"You can't have, Tess. You can't possibly have ridden fast enough to swing all the way around west and not even Ilya would be mad enough to risk that impossible trail at night, down the west slope.''

"The west slope? But we came-" She stopped dead. What an idiot she was. There must be another path, the usual path, that led down into the valley.

A swift, almost imperceptible glance passed between Yuri and Mikhal. "The Avenue," muttered Mikhal.

"When did you get here?" asked Kirill, his face pale.

Tess sat down on the bench.

Kirill pushed past Yuri and Mikhal and rested his hands on the table, staring at her. "It's true, isn't it? You came at sunset."

"Kirill," said Yuri in an undertone. By the door, Konstans and Petre and Mitenka and Nikita whispered together, watching them. Mikhal had turned to stare at Bakhtiian. Ilya seemed frozen by the window, his back to them all. "Kirill," Yuri repeated. "Don't make a fool of yourself."

"Did you come willingly?" Kirill asked in an undertone. He did not move. "Ought I to wish you happy?"

Tess stood up. "You have no right, Kirill, to play out whatever old grudge you have against Bakhtiian over me. You have no right to question me in that tone. I thought you were different from him. " As she spoke, she saw-felt-Ilya move, like a shadow along the wall, noiseless as he limped toward the door. The young men moved aside uneasily to let him pass. "No, I didn't go willingly. No, you ought not to wish me happy. But it was done. There, does that satisfy you?"

Kirill went red and then white again and pulled back from the table. "Forgive me. I never meant-" He faltered.

"I know," she said, softening. "You should have heard what I said."

He grinned. "By the gods, I wish I had. I haven't seen Ilya look that chastened since that day seven years ago when his aunt-"

"Kirill!" said Yuri.

"Well, never mind." His face changed expression suddenly. "But that means he's your husband."

"Yes. We had just finished discussing that interesting fact when you came in." But she saw by his face that he was connecting "husband" with "sunset" and leading them together to "night" and drawing a conclusion which he did not like at all. "Yes," she added, feeling a certain malicious satisfaction in allowing herself to pass on this one piece of information, "he spent all night kneeling outside by the great doors. Or so I was told."

Kirill smiled, but it was the ghost of his usual smile, more show than feeling. "I hope his knee hurts like fire today," he said with vindictiveness that was unusual for him.

"Come on, Kirill," said Mikhal abruptly. "Let's go see about those hot springs." He grabbed Kirill by the arm and dragged him away to the others and herded them all out.

Leaving her and Yuri. "Well?" Yuri asked.

"Well, what? Thank God I'm going back to Jeds."

"It really is true?"

"Yes. You warned me, Yuri, and I didn't listen. I never thought that he would go this far. I didn't even know until it was too late."

"He didn't tell you, did he? Gods!" He laughed. "Oh, I beg your pardon, Tess, but how like him to never give up that kind of advantage. Of course he wouldn't have told you, not until he was sure of his victory.''

"An appropriate choice of words. He didn't tell me at all. Mother Avdotya told me about the Law of the Avenue, and what it means. I could have been killed!"

"Killed!" He hugged her. "What do you mean?"

She explained.

He pushed back to look at her. "Gods, you must be angry."

"Do you know, that's the funny thing. He really was sorry for that. It must have reminded him of his family. The one thing he thinks he did wrong is the one thing I can forgive him for. I can't believe I really would have died, or that they would have let me die. I don't know. Maybe we're all blind that way about our own deaths."

"Then you're not too angry with him? You are his wife now, after all."

Tess smiled sweetly. "I'm not angry with him, Yurinya. I'd happily kill him. But it wouldn't do any good, would it? He'd just come back to plague me in his next life. No, I'm furious. I just wish I had a better vocabulary because I can't think of any words bad enough in any of the languages I know that would truly express what I would like to call him."

Yuri whistled. "You are mad, aren't you? Khaja mud snuffler?"

"No, that's not comprehensive enough. There might be a few phrases in Chapalii-oh, God, the Chapalii. Where are they?"

"Being shown to their rooms. Why do you ask? They went all sorts of colors in the face, you know, when we came out of the trees and saw the shrine for the first time."

"I'll bet they did. Damn. Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Then go find out where their rooms are."

"Tess." He hesitated. "My duty to Ilya…"

"No, you're right. I can't ask that of you. I'll have to do this myself."

"Tess…"

"Yuri, I'm sorry. I have a duty to my brother that must now supersede my duty to your aunt, for gifting me into your tribe. Can you understand that?"

He sighed and looked unhappy, but he nodded. "I understand."

"Go enjoy the hot springs. I'll be all right here."

He grimaced, kissed her on the cheek, and left.

She paced over to the window and stared out onto the bare lines of the garden. One bush trembled in the chill air with a few last leaves and four white flowers.

Footsteps sounded behind her, a heavier, measured "Tess."

She turned. "Niko. You're not coming to plague me, too are you?"

He chuckled and sat down on the table nearest her, letting one leg dangle. Dust rimmed his boot top, pale against the black cloth of his trousers. "I'll be discreet. Now, Tess, since Ilyakoria is not inclined at present to be very talkative, I apply to you for the truth of a rumor that has spread through the entire jahar."

"It's true."

"You rode down the Avenue together, at sunset?" She nodded. "And you went unwillingly?"

"Not unwillingly precisely. I went in complete ignorance." Niko's eyes widened. "Surely that doesn't surprise you, Niko? Bakhtiian never gives up that sort of advantage."

"I'm not sure I like your sarcasm. I may deplore the method, but you know very well that women have no choice in marriage."

"You know very well that I am not a jaran woman, and that I am in any case leaving for Jeds when we get to the coast."

"But you will still be married to him."

"Yes, by the Law of the Avenue, by the law of the jaran, I will still be married to him. When I am in Jeds, I will still be married to him-by the law of the jaran. But I am not married to him by the laws of my land."

"What about the laws of the heart?"

She spun away from him and walked right up to one of the great windows, putting her palm on the glass-no, it couldn't be glass because it leaked no cold through it from outside-and stared at the white sheen of clouds above. "Hearts can be betrayed. I admit this much, that wherever I go, I will always be bound to him in some way." She turned back. "But I will not submit to treachery."

Niko considered her in silence. "Ah," he said. "I think I need to have a talk with Ilyakoria. If you will excuse me?"

He left. Only the muted tapping of her foot on the floor disturbed the quiet in the hall. She felt, suddenly, as if her ears had been stuffed with cotton. The door opened and Yeliana appeared.

"Here you are," she said brightly. "Just as you ought.

Yurinya Orzhekov spoke with Mother Avdotya and said you might like to be shown round the shrine. She is about to lead the pilgrims round. It was their first wish, even before being shown their rooms." She giggled, very like a girl and not a sober young priestess. "I suppose I've grown rather used to it, having never seen anywhere else. Would you like to come?"

Tess blinked and collected herself. "Why, yes," she said, trying to imitate Yeliana's careless tone. "I would. You were born here?"

"Yes. I don't know who my parents are though. They always say I am the child of the gods, and all of them raised me."

"Are many children born and raised here?"

"A few." She shrugged. "Women and men, after all, will have children.''

"Do all of them stay to become priests?"

She smiled a rather secretive, knowing smile. "Where else have they to go? Being orphans. Not all of them, but most do. Here is Mother Avdotya, and the pilgrims."

Tess suddenly realized the advantage in appearing in robes while the Chapalii, even Ishii, still wore tunics and trousers. Stewards wore clothing suitable for work. Lords wore robes, for wealth and governing and leisure. She inclined her head to Ishii, and to Garii and Rakii second. Then, feeling generous, she acknowledged the stewards. Robed, she was confirmed in rank. Ishii bowed; the others bowed. Mother Avdotya watched without comment or expression, and then requested that they follow her.

The priestess led them at a leisurely pace. The palace was huge and bewildering, so that Tess soon lost a sense of where she was and concentrated on details: A panel, her height but tens of meters long, made of a substance as pale as ivory, hollowed and carved into a filigree of plant and animal shapes. A vast hall housing a floor mosaic that spread out in blazing colors from her feet in the unmistakable pattern of a star chart. The huge, empty cavern of the dome, its walls edged by pillars as thin and smooth as her waist but colored a translucent pink that caught and scattered the light in fragmented patterns across the marble floor. Their height was lost in shadow, dispersed into the overlap of the dark stone that circled the last broad ring of the dome before it sloped inward, a spray of colored crystal radiating in to the cool clear lens of the center.

Ishii deferred to the priestess with unnerving respect, made only the most polite of comments, and revealed nothing. The others followed him. Garii did not even look at Tess, not once. It grew dark at last, and Mother Avdotya led them back to the eating hall.

Torches flickered along the walls, throwing shadows everywhere. Candles stood at intervals on the tables, illuminating the close wood grain and the nearby faces. The hall seemed very full, with the priests and the jahar and now the Chapalii, though half the tables were empty. Yuri waved at her. She walked over to sit with him and Mikhal, but as they moved to make room for her, Kirill suddenly appeared and squeezed in between her and Yuri.

"Kirill," said Yuri.

Kirill grinned, unrepentant. He looked a little flushed, but he was obviously determined to be charming and inoffensive. It was a cheerful meal. The food seemed lavish: two meats, one salty, one spiced, dark, soft slices of bread, two vegetables, all washed down with a watery ale. The priests were animated. The Chapalii sat at another table, but there would be days here in which to spy on them. Right now, she just wanted to enjoy herself. Over the empty platters and bowls Mother Avdotya called for songs, and Tess forgot herself so much as to sing a very improper tune that Yuri had taught her. No one was sure which was funnier: Tess singing the song, or Yuri trying to slide under the table because everyone knew he had taught such a thing to a woman.

While three priests cleared the dishes, Niko called for tales. First the men told witty and amusing tales, but it was as Josef was telling the old story of Mother Sun's daughter come to earth that Tess noticed the old priestess rise and limp out of the room. She returned as Josef finished, carrying a painted beaker. The priests fell silent, and silence spread out from them until no one was speaking.

The dull light gave the woman the appearance of a shade, tenuous and insubstantial, but her voice was firm. "This is a rare wine, brought out only on such special occasions as this. But do not drink of it unless your heart is undisturbed, lest the disturbance therein take hold of your senses for the night."

Only the slip of shifting boots and a single, smothered cough sounded. Mother Avdotya went first to the Chapalii; in the half light, Tess could not make out the colors on their faces. Ishii accepted, and thus so did the others. She moved to the next table, offering to each person in turn. Many of the priests drank; some refused.

When she halted beside Yuri, he lifted his cup. The liquid fell in a clear stream from the beaker, sounding in the cup like the suggestion of a waterfall heard from a great distance. Now she stood between Tess and Kirill, leaning forward. Tess saw that the patterns on the vase were a story told in pictures: a woman leading a pale horse and a man with wings and black hands crouched on a rock before her. She leaned farther forward to see the next panel, saw, instead, Kirill's eyes as he, too, looked around the container, but at her. The candlelight made the blue in his eyes look like the depths of some incandescent flame.

"Oh, no, Mother," he said in a tone only loud enough for the three of them. "My heart is very disturbed tonight."

Tess laughed, a sound that echoed across the stillness. She clapped one hand over her mouth and quickly looked away from his grin, only to find her gaze catch on Ilya. His face seemed pale and disapproving. She coughed and choked back her laughter.

"And you, Terese Soerensen?" asked the priestess.

Tess simply laid her hand over her cup, not trusting her voice, and her other hand over her eyes, not trusting herself to look at Kirill or Yuri. Trust Kirill to make her laugh when everyone else was being so serious. The priestess went on to Mikhal. By the time Tess felt it safe to look up, the old woman had gone on to the next table. Kirill and Yuri looked as innocent as babes. Yuri sipped thoughtfully at his wine.

Vladimir was offered the drink, but he glanced at Ilya and refused. Niko smiled and accepted. Bakhtiian. He set his lips together, managing to look stubborn and defiant and failing to look composed, and asked for the wine, his gaze fixed on the flame of the nearest candle. Without comment, the priestess poured and went on.

When she had finished, people began to talk again. There was a wave of laughter around Tess's table and everyone demanded to know what Kirill had said. Tess refused to tell them. Another round of songs followed, and then everyone settled in to talk.

The Chapalii left first, all together, and with them a handful of priests. Tess only noticed it as movement at the edge of her vision; she was listening to the conversation.

"Mikhal," Kirill was saying, "you know very well that strength can't always assure a swift victory."

"Why is that, Kirill?"

Across from her, Niko slipped into the seat Konstans had vacated. The conversation expanded easily to include him. When two others left and Josef and Tasha joined them, there was scarcely a pause. She could have sat here forever, the candles half gone, wax trailing down their sides, spilling over their holders to lie across the tabletop like pale roots exposed in rich soil. The golden pool of light echoed dimly in the torches racked up behind them on the walls. Kirill's leg warmed hers. Gods, how easy it was to be with these people. She trusted them, and they had given her their trust in return, one simple exchange which was all the currency they knew. She followed this path down into their souls-not far, perhaps, for she had not known them that long-but far enough to see that the composition of the path was one suited to her feet. And if the tongues of the men who had drunk of the wine seemed a little better oiled, it did not matter, because nothing they said shattered the spell that lay over this late conversation.

At the other end of the table, more men stood and left, to be replaced a moment later with two more. It was Ilya, Vladimir with him. Could he never leave her alone to enjoy herself? She realized that if she skipped over his face when her gaze shifted that way, she could ignore him reasonably well.

"Yes," Tasha was saying, "but if visions are gifted us by the gods, then we must judge them as omens."

"But what if visions are only waking dreams? Or trances?" asked Kirill. "What about that old woman in Arkhanov's tribe who used to fall on the ground and speak nonsense? And then she would remember nothing of it when she woke." He grinned. "They said. I was too scared to stay and watch."

"Kirill," said Niko, "you are arguing for no reason but to argue."

"Someone has to."

"Well, then, explain to me why old Aunt Lubkhov did these things."

"Only the gods can explain that, Niko," Kirill objected, and then he laughed. "Which gives the point to Tasha, of course."

Tess thought the poor woman probably had some kind of epilepsy. Two younger men got up and left. Vladimir, who had fallen asleep once already, gave it up and went away.

"Ow!" said Yuri, starting. "Niko! Oh, what a twinge in my back. I think I'll go to bed. Are you coming, Kirill?" He stood up.

"I'm not tired," said Kirill.

Mikhal stood as well. "Good. Didn't you wager me, Kirill, that the very first night we got here you would find the marble pool that Josef claims is hidden in these woods?''

"So I did," said Kirill in a odd tone. He stood up and glanced down at Tess. "Sleep well, my heart," he said, mockingly. He smiled sweetly at her, taking the sting from the words, and walked away with Yuri and Mikhal.

Tess realized that there were only five of them left: herself, Niko, Josef, Tadheus, and-Ilya was watching her. She felt faint. Somehow he had moved next to Niko. He was very near.

"Perhaps I'll go-" she began, and then Josef slid in next to her, Tasha on her other side.

"You know," said Josef, "it was when I was stalking that great hunting cat in the forests south of here that I fell in with those khaja traders who taught me some of their tongue, the one called Taor. Even within the jaran the tribes speak khush each a little different from the others. But this Taor, whatever their accent might be, I never heard a word then or since from traders on the west or the east coast, no matter how far south or north I might roam, that was not exactly the same as that word in another place."

Tess felt obliged to explain the difference between a native language with dialects and a lingua franca. The talk drifted to weather, no desultory chatter but a complex examination of the year's weather and how it boded for the winter. In a peculiar way it became philosophical. Tess felt utterly out of her depth and she shifted on the bench, waiting for the right moment to excuse herself.

"Ah, well." Niko stood. "I'm off to bed."

Tasha rose as well. "Good night." They left together.

"Ilya says you can read the writing in this shrine," Josef said.

"A little. I really-"

"Oh, I'm well aware that you're modest about your accomplishments. I don't think I've met anyone who can speak as many languages as you can, and khush so well, after so short a time with us. My grandfather used to say-" Josef was at his most compelling when he was telling tales. This one wound on until Niko and Tasha were safely gone. Then Josef yawned abruptly and with no warning whatsoever excused himself and deserted her.

His footsteps faded away, leaving her with a few guttering candles and Bakhtiian. It took no great intelligence to see that she had been set up. The torches had gone out. The candlelight cast his shadow on the wall behind him like a huge, black, jagged tapestry. His shirt gleamed a dull red. The pallid light made his face look as gaunt as a starving man's. He stared at her with unnaturally bright eyes. Speech failed her. She stood up.

"It's so late," she said stupidly. "I guess I'll go."

Of course he came after her. She accidentally took the wrong corridor, one that led along the gardens, but she did not have the courage to turn back. Afraid to run, afraid to turn back-what damned use was she?

She stopped and turned to face him.

But when he caught up with her, he took her by the arm and stared, simply stared, at her. The moon lit them. She was trembling.

"Let go of me."

"Tess." He put his other hand on her other arm.

"Are you drunk?" she said, breathing hard. She strained away from him.

"Drunk?" His voice was low, intense. "I only now see things clearly.'' His pull was like the drag of the tide; she could not help but be drawn in.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She tried to twist her arms out of his grasp, but his hands were too strong.

"You rode down the Avenue with me," he whispered, his face lit by the moon and the wine. "You are my wife."

"You led me into it." He slipped his arms behind her back, enclosing her. The heat of his hands seared through the cloth into her flesh. His lips were parted, so that the line of his mouth seemed soft and yielding. "I didn't know." Her voice came out hoarse. "You know I didn't know. You knew then. You trapped me."

"Trapped you?" His voice was like the touch of soft fur. He held her so close that she could feel the beat of his heart. "Do I fill you with such aversion?"

He did not let her answer but kissed her. Such compulsion as this was impossible to resist. The world could have gone ablaze at that moment and she would never have noticed. All she felt was him. There was no cruelty in Ilya Bakhtiian-if she had not known that before, she knew it now when it could not possibly be disguised. But there was passion. Gods, yes, enough of that.

They were forced eventually to pause to catch their breath. Reason flooded back. She pushed away from him. His eyes opened, and his grip tightened.

"No," she said. "Let me go."

"No."

"Let me go, Ilya."

"I will not." They had reached an equilibrium of opposing forces, she retreating, he restraining. He let go of one wrist and with his free hand traced the hard ridge of her spine, all the way to her neck. He drew his hand over the swell of her shoulder and down, fingers a caress on her skin, around her collarbone to the hollow of her throat, and leaned forward to kiss her there, lightly. She couldn't control her breathing. She shut her eyes.

"Bakhtiian. I will not submit to treachery. Now let me go." She felt his breath brush her neck but she held herself rigid; clenched all her muscles like a fist. If she gave in now, she would never respect herself.

He drew away. Slowly, reluctantly, he relinquished his grip on her.

She spun away from him and ran. When she reached the little room the priests had given her, she flung herself on the bed and wept. Her throat still tingled where he had kissed her. Finally she fell into an uneasy sleep filled with vivid dreams in which Ilya Bakhtiian played all too large a part.

In the morning, as she walked down the hall before breakfast, he came out from a side hall. They both stopped.

"Forgive me." He looked pale and tired and subdued.

"It was no better than treachery, and I was wrong to force myself on you in that fashion when you were ignorant of the consequences. I cannot withdraw myself as your husband, not now, but I will no longer trouble you."

He bowed, as courtiers bowed in Jeds to the Prince, and limped away, leaving her to stare after him. She walked on in a daze to the eating hall. Yuri waved at her from his seat beside Mikhal. Kirill was sitting across from them, looking pale himself. She hesitated and then sat down beside Kirill and surveyed Yuri and Mikhal wearily.

"I thank you for your support last night."

"But Tess-" Yuri began.

"Spare me, please. Did Niko kick you or something?" Yuri flushed. "Well, it didn't work." She did not look at Kirill, but she felt him shift beside her. "I slept alone. Gods, I'm not even hungry. Excuse me." She rose.

"Do you want company?" asked Kirill in a low voice.

Mikhal began to object, but Yuri silenced him with a hand on his sleeve.

"If I wanted anyone's company, it would be yours, Kirill, but no, I-" She hesitated, seeing the Chapalii rise en masse and politely thank Mother Avdotya and then file out the door. She ought to go with them but she was not entirely sure it would be safe to go alone. She glanced at Kirill. His color was a little high but he looked composed and remarkably calm. Could she ask him to escort her? Would it be asking him to betray his loyalty to Bakhtiian? What if Cha Ishii took a jaran presence to mean that Bakhtiian was supporting her and not him and reneged on the payment for this journey? Whatever love existed between her and Kirill, his place in Bakhtiian's jahar was of far more value to him than her convenience.

"If you're going to spy on the khepellis," Kirill said suddenly, "then one of the jahar ought to go with you to make sure you don't do anything foolish enough to antagonize them. We can't afford to lose those horses, after all."

"I'll go," said Yuri. "No, I think you're right, Kirill, but I think Ilya would elect to send someone other than you."

"Bakhtiian knows the worth of my loyalty to him."

"I'm leaving," said Tess, and did so. Kirill caught up with her outside. "How was that settled?" she asked.

"I reminded Yuri that I am his senior and twice the scout he is as well."

"That was low of you."

"But true nevertheless. Tess, if you want to follow the pilgrims, they went that way not this way."

"Oh." She laughed. "Very lowering to think that Yuri is twice the scout I am. Yes, there they are. Cha Ishii."

Cha Ishii stopped, but he made a fleeting sign with his hand and the others went on while he waited. They vanished around a corner, leaving Tess to face him alone. Kirill stood silently at her back.

"Lady Terese." He bowed. She glanced at his belt and saw that he was not wearing his knife.

Dumb, my girl, that is what we play now. "The shrine is indeed beautiful, Cha Ishii," she continued in court Chapalii, "but I do not understand why you came so far under such brutal conditions merely to survey such an alien place." Humans had necessarily to learn to speak the language of their emperor but few had occasion or opportunity to master the complex symbology that made up the written tongue and governed the decorative arts. Few understood how interrelated they were. Perhaps he would actually believe she did not recognize this place as Chapalii.

Pink spread up his cheeks. "You could not be expected to, Lady Terese, though you had already discerned that we were not priests." He placed his hands in that arrangement known as Lord's Supplication. "If I may be allowed to acquaint you with our work?" She nodded, and he turned and conducted her into the most opulent sections of the palace. Kirill trailed three steps behind them. Ishii ignored him as thoroughly as he would ignore one of his own stewards. "We are, in fact, archaeologists." Color shifted in subtle patterns on his face.

"Indeed! Archaeologists. Why masquerade as priests, then?"

He clasped his hands behind his back. "In the Earth form I believe this word translates as 'the study of antiquity,' and it therefore demands some perspective of time and culture which these people cannot possess, being of a more primitive stamp. To their understanding, a religious expedition is comprehensible and not so far removed that our activities in systematic measurement cannot be construed as a form of worship."

"I understand your concern, but surely, Cha Ishii, you might have applied to the duke for permission to conduct your study." She smiled, enjoying this fencing, and glanced back at Kirill. He returned her gaze blandly since he could not understand a word they were saying.

"This did precipitate embarrassment, Lady Terese. It was deemed necessary to continue our investigations in secret because we feared that your brother would forbid the expedition."

"Was there such a pressing need to continue it?"

He directed her along a whitewashed hallway and thence into a magnificent salon decorated with a tile pattern on floor and ceiling and walls that, seeming to repeat, never quite repeated itself. ' 'We have been investigating the relics of this particular civilization for many years now.''

"On this planet?"

"No, indeed, Lady Terese. This is a star-faring civilization which predates our current Empire. We were greatly surprised to find traces of it here."

I'll just bet you were, she thought. This confession rang truer than anything he had ever told her before. They must have been dismayed to find relics of Chapalii provenance here on the planet of the human duke who, of all their enemies, would surely use any information he acquired against them. "I am intrigued. Perhaps you can enlighten me further."

Whether he believed that she had been misled by these confidences or whether he tacitly agreed to continue their little fencing match she could not be sure. Perhaps he hoped for the best. In any case, he began a vague discourse on the supposed attributes and history of this civilization, all of which sounded plausible, none of which sounded too betrayingly Chapalii. But it was when they were standing under the dome, staring upward, that Ishii said unexpectedly:

"You were right to wonder why I would conduct an expedition that my rank and birth ought to render repulsive to me. If my father's father had not precipitously died, leaving his affairs in the hands of his wife for one year before his heir could return to take things into order- There were grave losses. Our family was inevitably and immediately cast down from the status we had so long held. What could we expect, having left to us only five estates and two merchant fleets? And I, younger son of the youngest son-" Was there a trace of wry humor in his words? She could not tell. "-was chosen to accept this task. Much will be restored to us, Lady Terese. You see that I could not refuse my duty."

"Indeed, I see," replied Tess, quite shocked. They went on as if he had said nothing.

Coming out into a little courtyard of slender pillars engulfed in green vines, she saw a lone Chapalii disappear into the garden. Ishii was looking at the palace, examining some design on the wall, and had not seen him.

"I will walk alone now," said Tess, dismissing him. She waited for him to retreat inside. "Which way did he go, Kirill?" she asked in khush as soon as Ishii was gone.

"What, the other one? This way."

He led her into the garden. It was a clear day for autumn. A breeze cooled her cheeks, stirring the ends of her braided hair. He stopped on the edge of a grassy sward and gestured to a little fountain burbling merrily on the other side, up against a fringe of trees. Hon Garii stood there alone, one hand in the water.

"Stay here," said Tess in an undertone. She marched across the grass.

Garii turned. He flushed pink and bowed deeply. "Lady Terese."

"Hon Garii. We have created certain obligations between us. Is this not true?"

"You honor me with your acknowledgment, Lady Terese. I alone rashly instigated these obligations. That you have chosen to indulge me in this matter reflects only credit to you."

"Yet your family is pledged to Ishii's house."

"This is true. And to pledge myself to you, Lady Terese, must seem to a Tai-endi like yourself the grossest and most repugnant of behaviors. But I have observed and studied, and I have reflected on this man, Bakhtiian, and seen that by his own efforts he creates opportunity for himself. I am clever. I am industrious. Yet my emperor decrees that I must toil in the same position as my father's father's father, and suffer the consequences of an act committed by an ancestor I could not even know. Does this seem fair to you?"

"No, truly it does not. But Hon Garii, to work for me is to work for my brother, the duke. You must know what this means."

He bowed again. "I am yours, Lady Terese. Command me as you wish."

This was it, then. She took in a deep breath. "I must see the maintenance rooms. I must know the truth of this palace, why it is here, and why Cha Ishii was ordered to investigate. Will you meet me tonight in the eating hall after the rest are asleep?''

His skin remained white, colorless. So easily did he betray his emperor. "As you command, Lady Terese."

She nodded. "Then return to your duties now, and say nothing of this to anyone." He bowed and walked past her back to the shrine. She let out a long sigh and tested the water in the fountain with her finger. It stung. She wiped her finger on her sleeve and turned, hearing Kirill behind her.

"What an unmelodious language they speak," he said, looking after Garii's retreat. He hesitated and considered the grass, a peculiar expression on his face. "Tess, what does it mean that your brother is this prince in Jheds?''

Coming from Kirill, it seemed a puzzling question. "It means that he rules a great city and a great deal of farm and pasture and woodland lying all around it and supervises a port with many ships and rich trading from lands close by and lands far away across the seas."

"When you go back to Jheds, what will you do? If you are his heir, then-then you would become like an etsana, wouldn't you? You would have your own tent, and eventually children. You would need a husband, or a man to act as your husband-" He pulled his hand through his red-gold hair. "Tess, no one ever said-Bakhtiian can never go back there. He has given himself to this work now. Whatever he wants from you, he can't go with you." He looked at her finally, hope sparking in his eyes. "But-" He broke off, took in a deep breath, and went on. "But I could."

Foliage covered the verdant height of the surrounding hills, wreathed here and there with a curl of cloud, like some half-forgotten thought. An insect chirruped and fell silent. "Oh, Kirill," she said, and stopped.

He smiled a little wryly. "I know very well, my heart, that your brother probably already has some alliance arranged."

"No," she said in an undertone. "He doesn't. I won't lie to make that my excuse. I can't take you with me."

You can you can you can. Her thoughts raced wildly. His leaving would not alter anything; his knowing the truth about where she really came from would never matter. But what would life be like for him? She would be his only anchor in the bewildering confusion of space, of Earth, of the Empire. He would be utterly dependent on her. The kind of love they had was not strong enough to weather that sort of relationship, was not meant to. One or the other of them would soon fall out of love; one or the other would grow to resent their circumstances. And once he had left, Kirill could never return. She could not tear him apart from every seam that bound him to the fabric of life. Kirill loved her sincerely, she believed that, but she also believed that Kirill loved and had loved and would love other women as well. That was the real difference between Kirill and Ilya: Kirill was far more resilient.

"Gods, Kirill," she said, moved by his asking, by his offering. "Believe me, if I could, I would take you."

He hung his head, and she grimaced and went to hug him. He allowed this freedom, he put his arms around her, but after a moment he disengaged himself gently. "I believe you. Tess, I will always respect you most of all for your honesty." He kissed her chastely on the cheek, hesitated, and then walked away.

There was a stone bench beside the fountain. Tess sat on it and leaned her head back, letting the weak heat of the sun beat on her face.

And I used to think my life was complicated. Life as Charles's heir was beginning to seem like child's work now. She felt thoroughly exhausted and yet she had an uncanny feeling that she was waiting for someone else to accost her. Get it all over with in one long, miserable scene. King Lear must have felt like this, battered by one storm after the next. Then, because the comparison was so ludicrous, she chuckled.

Boots scuffed leaves. She looked around. "Hello, Vladimir. You startled me."

"You were here with one of the khepelli," he said accusingly. "Ilya has said all along you were a spy."

Tess examined Vladimir. His vanity was the vanity of the insecure. He had taken great pains with his appearance, had trimmed his hair, and shaved his face so no trace of beard or mustache showed. Jewelry weighed him down: rings, bracelets, necklaces-were all of them from lovers? He had a deft hand for embroidery but no taste at all, so that the design adorning his sleeves and collar was merely garish. The ornately-hilted saber that Ilya had gifted him, the legacy of the arenabekh, simply capped the whole absurd ensemble.

"So I am, Vladimir," she agreed amiably, "which is why I sent Kirill after him."

He blinked. "But-" He shrugged suddenly, a movement copied from Bakhtiian, and sat down carefully on the grass. "Why did you come here, then?"

"I'm traveling to Jeds. I thought you knew that."

"I know what you say. Josef told Niko that you can read the writing here. But no one can read that, not even Mother Avdotya."

"How do you know?"

"I was born here," he replied without visible emotion. "Or at least they say that I was."

"You must know Yeliana. You must have grown up with her."

"She was very young when I left." Behind him, through a ragged line of bushes, she saw the slender lines of a statue, something human, its features worn away so that there were only depressions for the eyes and a slight rise to mark the lips. "She is as much of a sister as I have ever had. But I did not want to become a priest."

"So what did you do?"

He shrugged again, that childlike copy of Bakhtiian. "I rode to join Kerchaniia Bakhalo's jahar-ledest. Ilya found me there." So, thought Tess, your life began when Ilya found you. "I'm very good with saber," he offered by way of explanation for this inexplicable action on the part of the great Bakhtiian. "And Ilya had lost his family."

Had lost a nephew, Tess reflected, who might well have been around Vladimir's age now. Perhaps this was one way of atoning.

"You knew about the shrine," said Vladimir abruptly. "You came here, planning all along to trick him down the Avenue.''

The accusation was so preposterous that Tess laughed. "You think I sailed across wide seas from a far distant land, risked my life, all for the express purpose of marrying Bakhtiian? Whom I had, incidentally, never heard of."

"Everyone has heard of him," said Vladimir stiffly.

"But Vladimir," she said, deciding that the only fair throw here would be one equally wild, "why should I want to marry Bakhtiian? I am a great heir in my own right, and anyway, everyone knows that Bakhtiian has never loved anyone since-"

"It's not true," he cried, jumping to his feet. "You'll never make me believe that of him." He stalked away.

Since she had been about to say, "since his family died," she wondered what Vladimir had thought she was about to say. By God, he was afraid that once Bakhtiian had a legitimate family, he, Vladi, would be cast off again. Poor child, to have to live so dependent on one person's whim.

A flight of birds caught her eye as they wheeled and dove about some far corner of the park. She heard their faint calls, laughable things, like the protests of the vacillating. A rustling sounded from a bush, and a small, rust-colored animal, long-eared and short-legged, nosed past a crinkled yellow leaf and scrambled out to the center of the sward, huffing like a minute locomotive. It froze. The tufts of hair in the inside of its ears were white, but its eyes were as black as the void.

She felt inexplicably cheered. However hard it had been-and still was-it had been right to tell Kirill that he could not come with her. It had been honest, and it had been true. She shifted on the bench. The little animal shrieked, a tiny hiccup, and it fled back into the bush, precipitating a flood of rustling around her and then silence. She smiled.

On Earth she had learned to walk without hearing, to look without seeing. She had surrounded herself with a wall. Here she listened: to the wind, to the horses, to the voices of the jaran as they spoke, wanting to be heard, to hear. On Earth she had taught herself to deal with people as if they weren't there; only to protect herself, of course. Yet how many times had she spoken to people, only to realize later that she had never once looked them in the eye? In this land, one saw, one looked, and the lowering of eyes was as eloquent as their meeting.

She ran one hand over the case that protected her mirror, over the enameled clasps. In this land, the austerity of the life demanded that every human exchange, however ambiguous, be thorough and complete. There was nothing to hide behind. In this land, a mother's first gift to her daughter was a mirror in which the daughter could see her own self. Of course, they didn't have showers. This was a considable drawback. Or any kind of decent information network. That she missed. She had borrowed Sister Casiara's gal tract from Niko, and read it through twice now, and second time it had bored her almost to tears. But there ere other things and other ways to learn. Tasha was the most accurate meteorologist she had ever come across. Josef could analyze his surroundings with a precision and an accuracy that would make a physical scientist blush with envy, and he could follow a cold trail with astonishing skill. Yuri understood more about the subtle shadings of the human than he probably knew he did. And if she had felt more pain here, then she had also felt more joy, more simple happiness. It was a trade worth making. Here, in the open lands, where the spirit wandered as freely as the wind, it was hard to be miserable.