Jaran

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

He did not let go of her until they were inside the room that the priests had given him to sleep in. She was panting, dizzy from the pace he had set, the sudden halts, the fear of every blind corner. Her wrist ached where he held her. When he released her, she staggered backward. The bed frame caught her knees and she half-fell to the hard mattress. All of her breath sighed out of her. She sank back against the wall and rested her face in her open hands. Light flickered. She lifted her head. He set a candle on the little table midway along the wall.

His stare was so hard that she looked down. "What, did he try to kill you?" he said finally, as if he had thought of doing it once or twice. 'If you will be caught spying, then you must expect to suffer the consequences."

She stared stupidly at him. Half a meter to the right and the shot would have burned through her.

"I could not sleep," said Ilya at last. "I saw you meet the pilgrim called Garii and go with him. He took you into the white room, but when I looked inside, you had vanished. Then Ishii came and went inside, yet the room remained empty-to my sight, at least. And you came out, running as if demons were after you. There is blood on your hand, by the way. Where did you go?"

There was blood on her hand. She wiped her face frantically but only the barest smear came off. There was not much, after all: a pale stripe across her knuckles and a few drops darkening her sleeve.

"You have done violence in the shrine," he said.

Her head snapped up. "No! He tried to kill me. It was self-defense, damn you. I didn't kill him. God, he killed Garii. He would have killed me!"

"Where did all this take place?"

"There's a secret room, a secret door. Don't you have anything I can clean this off with? It stings."

He took a step toward her. She jerked up, but he was only turning to open the door. He went out. She was suddenly seized by a paralyzing terror: what if he had gone to find Ishii? Or Mother Avdotya? A hand rattled at the door-but it was Ilya. He tossed her a damp cloth and resumed his stance against the door, regarding her with his unrelenting gaze. She scrubbed at her hand and her cheek and then sat, staring at the rag until finally she dropped it on the floor next to his bed.

"You have no farther to retreat," said Bakhtiian, "and I want an explanation." The candlelight threw his shadow high up on the wall, arching over onto the ceiling, so that it seemed to lower down on her like the approach of a storm. "You had better be honest with me, because I am-completely-out of patience with you."

"I can't tell you."

"You can't tell me! The penalty for violence-"

"You aren't listening to me!" She pushed up to her feet. "He tried to-" Inside her shirt, the cylinder slipped down. She grabbed at her side.

"Tess!" he cried, starting forward. "He hurt you-"

"No." She stepped back, half up onto the bed.

Ilya stopped short. "Let me see."

"No."

He walked forward. She backed up along the bed, standing on the mattress, until he had cornered her.

His shadow seemed to take up an entire wall. Under her hand, through her shirt, the cylinder felt hard and cold. He looked at her hand, cupped at her waist. Slowly he placed one foot up on the bed and, with a slight grimace, pushed up with the other, so that he, too, was standing on the bed. He placed a hand on either side of her, trapping her.

"What do you have?"

The implacability of his voice terrified her. "I can't show you."

"You will."

Finally, she lowered her head in acquiescence. He stepped down. Too quickly, this time; he winced and with a marked limp moved back to the middle of the room.

"Oh, God," she said under her breath. This was it. All her efforts for nothing: now he would know, and she could not begin to imagine what the knowledge would do to him.

She turned into the corner and retrieved the cylinder. With it in her hand, she stepped down from the bed and handed it to him.

He took it to the candle. "I see no writing. Is this some holy relic?"

She felt impelled to smile, thinking of what Ishii had said about archaeology. "Yes, the relic of a prince who is long since dead."

He turned it in the light as if its black sheen fascinated him. "Whom ought this to belong to?"

"That depends on which one of us you talk to. Myself or Ishii."

"Why do you want it?"

"My brother wants it. It represents-I can't explain in a few words. Power and knowledge."

"Why should your brother have it? It is the pilgrims, after all, who have come on this journey for holy purposes."

"For their purposes."

"Which are?"

"Bad ones."

"While your brother's are good? That is very easy, my wife, but rarely true." She winced at his cutting tone. "Well?"

"How long do you want the explanation to be?" She rubbed at her eyes with her palms, then lowered them, taking in resolve with a deep breath. "Ilya. The khepellis will use that relic to enslave my people. Already they control most of the trade that enriches Jeds. And many other cities. But if my brother gets that relic, then he can work to free all those the khepelli have subjugated. Not just for his own sake. You have to believe me. He isn't-his work is for other people not for himself.''

Her gaze on him worked like a fire. He took a step toward her, away from the table. Framed by light and shadow, he seemed to Tess a man in some half-remembered legend, a force in and of himself, caught between the new world and the old. "How could you read the inscription on the arch?"

"I have learned-" She broke off.

"You have learned the tongue the khepelli speak. You said it was their writing. Last night, after-" He jerked his gaze away from her suddenly, staring down at the lines of wax that laced a tangled pattern around the base of the candle.

"Last night," he began again, "I went to the sacred fountain to-to reflect. But two of the pilgrims were in the room. They did not see me, but I saw them drink from the basin. Deeply. It did not harm them, Tess. They aren't like us. I have always known that-only a blind man would not see it-but this… The water did not poison them. They aren't-" He hesitated, as if once said, the words would alter his world forever.

Which they would. She could not look at him, stared instead at the candle burning down. Soon its flame would fail, having consumed everything that it could feed on. They aren't from this planet.

"They aren't human," he said. "There are old stories about the ancient ones who lived here long ago, who were driven away by war or drought or sickness, or by us-those who are women and men, jaran and khaja both-never to be seen again. I think those stories are true. I think they fled away across the seas and founded a kingdom in lands far from here. And now they've come back to find what they left behind. Am I right? Did their ancestors build this place?"

In the silence she heard the clack of twigs as the wind stirred in the garden outside. "Yes."

"And as they traded and grew strong, your brother must have sent you to watch them."

"Not precisely, but…" She trailed off, shaking her head.

"And you followed them here, to discover-you didn't know either, did you? That they had once lived and ruled here."

"No," she said, a hoarse whisper. "No. We did not know.''

"They believe they have some right to this land?"

"I don't know." But the opening leapt full into her mind. "But if my brother gets this relic, then he will ensure that they never exploit these lands. Jaran lands. They will be forced into treaties. They will trade, or at least their trade will be circumscribed, that is-"

"You are either lying to me," he said, "or else you haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about. What will your brother do with this relic? How can his having it help him in his good purposes?"

"I don't know how he will use it, not to tell you details. Except that it will help him disrupt their trade. Help him keep them from ever claiming these lands, if that is their intent. Because it is proof entire that they did indeed once reside here."

He lifted the cylinder, extending his arm so that the black shape marked the distance between them. As it did. How could she not have seen it before? He was bound by his world, bound still to Newton's universe, which, like the idea of the Chapalii being not human, was wildly revolutionary to him. Farther than that-farther than that did not even exist for him. To him, Rhui was the universe.

"If I agree to help you," he said, "what guarantee do you offer me that your actions, and mine in aiding you, will not harm my people? Will not prevent them from fulfilling their destiny?"

She crossed to him, halting a bare arm's length away from him. He was not so much taller than she as she had at times thought. "Ilya," she began, and she faltered. Meeting his gaze, she knew without a doubt that if she kissed him now, used passion, used her love for him as her guarantee, he would help her. But it would be no better than a weapon used to get what she wanted. As he had used her ignorance to make her his wife.

"Ilya. We have clasped friends, and I have given my honor into your hands. That is my guarantee. And by the honor you gave into mine, my right to ask your aid and protection."

The room was still, like the hush before dawn, only two motionless figures in the fading glow of the candle.

"Damn you." He jerked his gaze away from her, staring into the shadowed corner. ' 'By my honor,'' he murmured, as if to the gods themselves. As if he wished with all his heart that she had used any other argument but that.

She simply breathed, watching him, and the wind sighed and called outside. She could not read the expression on his face.

"Then you will help me?" she asked at last in a low voice.

He met her gaze. "I will not let them kill you," he said with such simplicity that she knew that it was true. "I will get you to the coast and safe on a ship for Jeds. Will you let me keep this until then?" He turned the cylinder so that it winked in the candlelight. "Only to keep it safe. By your honor and mine."

"Yes. By that guarantee, I trust you."

"By my honor," he said, so quietly that she scarcely heard it, "but not as my wife." The he shook his head, as if he had not meant to say it, or her to hear it. "You look exhausted. I think it would be best if you didn't go back to your room tonight." He hesitated, then gestured to his bed. "No one will remark on your sleeping in the same room as your husband."

She flushed, and her gaze strayed to the bed. She saw how neatly he had folded his blankets at the foot, how carefully he had hung his saddlebags over the endpost. Only a scrap of material sticking out from the opening suggested untidiness: a shirtsleeve, with a needle pierced through it, as if he had been interrupted in the middle of embroidery.

She simply nodded, afraid to venture words.

He picked up the candle. Darkness moved around him as he carried it to the door.

"But you must sleep-" she protested, seeing that he meant to leave.

"Someone must guard you."

"Ilya…" She was not sure what she wanted to say to him. She was not sure what she wanted at all, except that, right now, she wanted him.

He blew out the candle abruptly, flooding her in darkness. The door opened and closed, and then the snick of the latch sounded as it fell into place outside.

She lay down on the bed and pulled the blankets up over her. The cloth felt coarse against her skin, scented of grass and the summer earth. He had lain under these blankets. She wrapped a corner of one under her, so that her cheek lay against it, and with that comfort, she slept.

Storm clouds raced in over the mud flats of Odys Massif. Charles Soerensen stood in the wind and the hard slap of rain, out on his balcony. Beyond, at the far towers of Odys Port, a ship had landed. Suzanne was on that ship, back from Paladia Major without Tess, without any indication that Tess had been on the Oshaki after it had left the Delta Pavonis system.

But Suzanne had not come back alone.

Charles turned and walked back inside. Jamsetji sat at Charles's desk, manipulating graphs in the air above the flat screen. On the flat surface, the net burrowers dredged deep into the datanet, seeking any scrap of information on Chapalii protocol in the matter of transfers of fealty. Almost every tunnel led back, like a blind maze, to the hand of the Yaochalii, the emperor. By the emperor's hand, thus will it be granted.

Jamsetji glanced up at Charles and shook his head but otherwise did not stir. A chime shattered their silence. The transparent wall sealed down across the balcony behind Charles. Jamsetji rose and moved aside so Charles could sit down at his desk.

A seam in the tiled wall peeled open, and Suzanne walked in, followed by four Chapalii. One was Hon Echido, flushed blue with distress. Two were also of the merchant class, by their robes, but they wore the wrist and neck torque of the Office of Protocol. And the fourth Chapalii-

Charles almost stood up. As quickly, he decided against it. "Tai-en," he said, and inclined his head the merest degree, acknowledging an equal.

"Tai Charles," said the duke. He was tall, awkwardly thin, and his skin was dead white.

Suzanne bowed to the precise degree. "Tai Charles," she said in Anglais, "this is the Tai-en Naroshi Toraokii. He has come from Chapal with these officers from Protocol to arraign this fugitive member of the family Keinaba, whose name has been stained with dishonor and so must vanish from the sight of the emperor."

Charles rose because he judged that it was now polite to do so, and answer enough to Suzanne's words.

The Tai-en Naroshi examined the chamber, the tiled wall, the sweep of balcony, the sheen of the desktop, and, briefly, the still, silent figure of Jamsetji, waiting quietly at Charles's right. Then he inclined his head toward Charles as to an equal, and spoke.

When he was finished, Suzanne translated. "The Tai-en states that if his honored peer desires a translation circuit to be installed, he can arrange for such, allowing the females of his house to return to their scholarly studies without having to waste their talents and valuable time translating mere words."

"My honored peer is generous. I will consider his offer with great pleasure."

Suzanne's mouth quirked up, not into a smile, not quite, and she repeated his words to Naroshi. What he thought of them it was impossible to tell. Colors tinted the skin of the two Protocol officers. Echido was still flushed blue. Naroshi remained as pale as ice. He spoke again.

"The Tai-en states that he wishes to relieve his honored peer of the burden of the presence of this ke, this low one." Suzanne glanced at Echido. The merchant clutched his hands together, saying nothing with them at all. "The rite of extinction has been completed for all of the possessions of the princely house that no longer exists, except for Keinaba. The emperor is restless that this matter remains unresolved. Thus, peace cannot be achieved until this ke is returned and his name obliterated with his family's."

"It is indeed benevolent of my honored peer to consider taking this burden from me." Charles waited while Suzanne translated, and then he looked directly at the two Protocol Officers. "Did Keinaba take part in the offense that has tainted all who owed allegiance to that princely house?"

Naroshi blinked, but that was his only reaction.

Both officers bowed. One spoke at length, and Suzanne translated, but in Ophiuchi-Sei-ah-nai. "Charles, he basically says that whatever breach of protocol, whatever conspiracy, the prince and dukes and lords were involved in went no lower than that. But, of course, the merchants and all of their stewards and artisans are dishonored by the association. Everything, all their wealth, all their holdings, will revert to the emperor to be dispensed back by him to whatever princes he favors right now."

"I did a wee bit of checking," said Jamsetji in a low voice, in the same language. "It cleared with what we thought. Given the information we have and our ability to calculate their markers of wealth, that princely house and holdings was the richest, or among the richest, in the empire."

"Not least because of Keinaba," replied Charles, also in Ophiuchi-Sei. "Yet I have a dispensation from the emperor's hand. Yes, I see. I wonder if this is a coincidence or a test?" But his eyes had lit already. It had been too long since he had faced a real challenge.

In Anglais, he said, "Tell my honored peer that I have taken in the loyalty of Keinaba." Suzanne translated.

The Protocol officers flushed a sickly hue of violet. Echido paled, and his hands rewove themselves into Merchant's Bounty.

Not a flicker of color tainted Naroshi's skin. His chin tilted the slightest degree before he spoke.

"The Tai-en states that he cannot act on this matter, merely do as his duty instructs: that is, return the merchant in question to the emperor. If his honored peer wishes to accompany him so as to bring this matter forward to the emperor's discretion, he would be pleased to offer him passage on his ship back to Chapal."

"My honored peer is munificent. I accept and will be pleased to accompany him to Chapal."

Naroshi inclined his head. He was gratified at the Tai-en's acceptance. His skin stayed white. They exchanged a few more compliments, a few last pleasantries, and then Naroshi took his leave. The Protocol officers begged leave to follow him, and Echido bowed as servant to master, to Charles, and accepted their escort. His skin was paler than theirs, as if he felt secure that he and his family would be spared. It was still not as dead pale as the duke's had been. They left the room to silence.

"Goddess in Heaven and Earth," swore Suzanne. "What the hell did you do that for?"

"I think the time is right," said Charles softly. "I think it is something I had better do. It gives us a foothold in the cliff, rather than that bare toe's width of ledge we're clinging to now. What do you make of Naroshi? Have I made an enemy or an ally in that one? My God, he had exceptional facial control. Jamsetji, dig up everything you can about the Toraokii dukedom." Charles moved to one side so that Jamsetji could sit down at his desk.

"But, Charles." Suzanne marched over to the desk and set her palms down on it, leaning on them, glaring up into his face. "What about Tess?"

"Suzanne, what can I do? If she's on Rhui, Marco can find her."

"What if she's in danger? If she's injured? Captured? Being held prisoner? What if she's dead?"

"Must I remind you that in bitter political terms Tess is expendable? Chapalii law allows for me to adopt an heir, who will then be as legal as an heir of my blood. It's been suggested by the emperor himself, in order that I might have a proper male heir."

"We're not talking political terms, Charles. We're talking about your sister."

"Suzanne, you may take it for granted that I love my sister." He kept his voice as even as a Chapalii voice, revealing nothing. "You may be sure that if she comes to harm through Chapalii machinations, those responsible will suffer for it. If I have the power to act against them. But I can do nothing for her here. We must grasp the opportunity that presents itself. Keinaba is rich. Through their shipping we will have ties and access to every port and every planet and every system, and, by God, every back door that merchants squeeze through, in imperial space. We can't afford to lose that chance."

Suzanne pushed herself up and spun away to walk out onto the balcony. The transparent wall peeled away to allow her access, and shut behind her, to protect the office from the beating rain and the skirling wind. The tide was out. The tules lay flat against the muddy shallows, pressed down by the gale. Clouds roiled above, dark and turbulent.

Charles watched her for a moment, and one moment only, and then he turned and walked to the side room to pack what few things he needed for the journey. The seal stood open between the office and the little chamber.

"Richard and Tomaszio can arrange whatever formal items I'll need," said Charles over his shoulder. "And a message to Cara, in Jeds, to let her know what's happened. She can forward anything to Marco. He'll have to act on his own for now.''

Jamsetji snorted. "Always does, that one," he said to the air. "Rich and Tomas will go with you, as always. Who else?"

"Suzanne, of course. I need her. That's all. If this falls out as I hope, we'll have a whole Chapalii merchant house at our disposal. My God, think of it, Jamsetji. Think what we can do with that." He went in to the efficiency, and the wall sealed shut behind him.

Jamsetji grinned at the first trickle of information scrolling up on the desk. "Maybe the long haul ain't going to be so damned long."

Suzanne came in from the balcony, soaked and still angry. "Sweet Goddess, what a storm." She glared at Jam-setji. "What are you smiling about? What if Tess is down on Rhui in the middle of a storm like that?''

"You worry too much, young woman. And the truth is," he dropped his voice to a whisper, ' 'you don't trust her any better than her own brother does. Not really. Not to take care of herself. But I'm betting she can."

"Can take care of herself, or find someone to take care of her? Well, I cursed well hope you're right." Suzanne cast one last, reproachful glance toward Charles, who emerged from the efficiency with his hands full of bottles and bits. "I'll go get ready," she said sourly, and stalked away to the far wall. The tiling peeled open to let her through.***

A soft knock on the door woke Tess. She started up. Sun shone in through the window and she knew it was late, midmorning, perhaps. She grabbed for her saber as the door opened, but it was only Vladimir.

"Good morning," she said, suddenly embarrassed to be found sleeping in Ilya's bed.

He did not look at her. "Here's some food and water." He set a tray down on the table and retreated to the door.

"Thank you." His sullen expression did not alter. "Vladimir, where is Bakhtiian?"

His gaze roamed the chamber, coming to rest finally on Ilya's saddlebags, slung casually over the endpost. "He'll be back. I'll wait outside until you're ready to go wash." He left.

She straightened her clothing and put on her boots and then ate and drank a little, and went to the door. It opened before she reached it, and Vladimir gestured her outside.

She hesitated. "But-"

"It's safe. Mother Avdotya has taken the khepellis to the sacred pool, with ten of the jahar for escort. Come on." He sounded peevish as he said it.

Probably, Tess thought, as she followed him to the chamber with the hot springs, he wished that Ishii had managed to kill her. It was impossible to truly enjoy the luxury of the hot springs but equally impossible not to linger a little too long. Vladimir finally tapped impatiently on the door, and she dried off hurriedly and dressed.

Back in the room, Vladimir paused by the door. "Are you really going back to Jheds?" he asked.

"Yes."

He looked so comically relieved that she chuckled. "You may laugh," he said with unexpected fury. "You have family. You have a place given to you. Ilya is all I have. Do you think a girl like Elena wants an orphan for a husband?"

"I'm an orphan, too, Vladimir. My parents died over twelve years ago. But it's true, I do have a brother."

"Oh, the one in Jheds. What do I care about Jheds? I have been riding with the tribe for two years now. I'm still nothing but an orphan to them. Ilya's pet. But you-you were there ten days, and Mother Orzhekov gifted you her own daughter's tent.''

Voices sounded from the hall. Vladimir had been red; now he turned white. The door opened, and Bakhtiian appeared.

"Leave us," he said. Vladimir stared straight into Tess's eyes, his mouth a bitter line. "Vladi," said Ilya.

The young man glanced at Ilya and stalked out of the room, shoulders taut. Ilya raised his eyebrows, shrugged, and walked over to the table to sit on its edge. One booted leg dangled elegantly.

Then his reinforcements arrived. The usual ones, of course: Josef promptly sat down on the floor, Niko sat beside Tess on the bed, and Tasha shut the door behind him and stood blocking it. Tess blushed.

"Well," said Ilya, and she realized that he was a little embarrassed by this situation as well.

Niko rescued them. "One of the khepelli is indeed missing. We can find no trace of him."

"The one missing," said Ilya, taking charge again, "is the one you met last night. The same one you met with in the garden yesterday.''

"Ishii killed him." Tess felt the force of all their gazes on her.

"For betraying his own kind?"

"Yes. No. Yes, for breaking his loyalty to Ishii, but really, he killed him for then betraying me in turn. It was Garii who alerted Ishii that we had gone-" She shrugged.

"To this secret room which I could not find, even last night when I returned there. I see. This gives me rather more respect for Lord Ishii. One betrayal might betoken a real change of heart, but two-" All four men shook their heads. "Mother Avdotya also noticed the missing pilgrim but she will not pursue those who are not bound by the laws of the jaran. There, it seems, the matter ends."

"But what about Tess?" asked Niko. "If Ishii would murder one of his own men, then I must believe that she is truly in danger as well."

"Oh, I don't doubt it." Ilya's tone was slightly mocking. "I think we will have to seek Veselov's aid."

"Veselov!" This from Tasha.

"To separate Soerensen from the pilgrims means we must split the jahar. Obviously, with khaja lands to ride through, and Dmitri Mikhailov still somewhere behind us, that would be idiotic. I propose we leave Tess and a few of the riders here at the shrine, where it is safe, and with the rest ride to Veselov's tribe and ask Veselov to send a portion of his jahar to escort her to the coast. We will ride ahead with the khepellis, see them to their ship, collect our horses, and wait for the others there."

"What if the khepelli decide to kill all of you?" Tess asked.

"Is this relic, and your death, so valuable to them?"

"It might be."

He smiled. "That is why you will write a letter to your brother that explains-briefly-the situation. As soon as it is done, Josef will ride ahead. With three horses, he will make good time."

"Won't that be dangerous?"

Josef grinned. "I've done rasher things in my youth. I speak the khaja tongues well enough to get by. And I think I am a good judge of men's hearts."

"I suppose that is why you joined up with Bakhtiian?"

All four men laughed.

"Did Yuri tell you that he is the only man in my jahar not born or married into our tribe?" Ilya asked. "Well, I cannot answer to that accusation." He tilted his head to one side, smiling, a surprisingly youthful, sweet expression. It made her so uncomfortable that she stood up and gazed out the window. He coughed. The other men shifted. "In any case," he said finally, "if we're all killed, at least your brother will know of it.''

Through the window she saw part of the garden, thick lines of bushes, a white statue half-hidden behind a tree. It was quiet. From somewhere in the distance she heard the sound of singing.

"Who will stay?" asked Niko.

"Yuri and Mikhal," said Ilya immediately. "Two more, I think. Konstans, perhaps."

"Kirill," said Josef. "That is my recommendation."

There was a silence. Tess could not bring herself to turn around.

"Mine, too," said Tasha. "You must leave someone who can take command of whichever part of Veselov's jahar will be sent."

"Then you, Tadheus," said Ilya stiffly.

"Ilya," said Niko, "you must eventually give Kirill the responsibility he deserves."

A longer silence. Outside, a man's voice shouted, a cheerful yell, followed by women's laughter.

"Very well. Kirill, Konstans, Yuri, and Mikhal."

"I'll go prepare, then," said Josef. Tasha made some similar excuse, and Niko left after them.

She turned. Ilya still sat on the table. He was looking at his hands. He glanced up at her.

"You'll need paper." He crossed the room to rummage in his saddlebags, lifting out a tube of soft cloth and the leather-bound Newton.

"Ilya-" she began, but he took them back to the table and set them down. Unwrapping the cloth, he revealed a quill and a tightly sealed pot of ink. Then he slipped his knife out of its sheath and turned the Newton open to the flyleaf. She could not bear to watch. In a moment, he said, "Would you like me to wait outside?"

"No." She came over to the table. He retreated to the bed with the precious book and sat cradling it in his hands while she bent down to compose the letter.

Charles. I am stranded on Rhui but am currently safe. The Chapalii have sent a clandestine expedition to Rhui which I stumbled across and followed: the Tai-en Mushai-yes, that one-once possessed this planet, and he left a palace and computer banks which contain all the information he gathered which led to the downfall of the First Empire. It really happened! I now possess in storage the contents of his files. I am traveling for Jeds now, but the Chapalii are still a threat to me. If something should happen to me, if you should receive this letter and I do not arrive in Jeds from the north by ship within a month or at most two, then look for the people called the jaran, who live on the northern plains, and specifically for a man named Ilyakoria Bakhtiian. They have sheltered me. Here she hesitated, and then simply signed her name.

She stood, blew on the fine, marbled paper now covered with her scrawl, and offered it to him. He took it.

"I will keep the relic until we meet at the coast." He gathered up his quill and ink, packed everything neatly away into his saddlebags, and swung the packs onto the table. He did not look at her. She did not look at him.

"What will you tell the pilgrims?" she asked finally. "Won't they be suspicious? I don't want you to lose your horses."

"I'll tell them-" He paused. An odd note to his voice made her look up at him. Seeing her gaze, he smiled sardonically. "I'll tell them that you married me and are now my wife and so will be staying here."

"Don't tell them that!" He blinked away from her vehemence, his expression shuttered. "I didn't mean…" How could she explain that the Chapalii would take such an explanation very seriously indeed, and that it would cause enormous, negative repercussions for Charles. "I just meant because marriage is not a light thing for the khepellis, that-"

"Do you think it is a light thing for jaran?" he demanded. "Don't insult me above everything else."

"I only meant that my marriage, because of who I am, would be taken very seriously…" She broke off.

“And I am of so little importance to the Prince and these khepellis that my marriage is of no account at all? Except, of course, that I married you. "

Which was true, of course. She flushed. "Damn it, Ilya. I never said that.''

He smiled slightly. "Very well, then I will tell Lord Ishii that I don't trust you, that you have broken the laws of our tribe, and I have left you behind under guard until I can get them safely onto ship and return to deal with you later." He said it with great satisfaction.

"Very well," she echoed, and then, because there was nothing more to say, said nothing. Neither did he speak.

They stood a body's length apart, the table between them. She dropped her gaze to stare at the tiny striations in the floorboards, flowing dark into light, some blending one into the next, some utterly separate. They stood in this manner for so long that she began to wish that he would do anything, anything but stand there silently and look at her.

At last he swung his saddlebags up onto his shoulders and moved to the door. She looked up. He paused with his hand on the latch. "Fare well, my wife," he said softly.

"Fare well," she murmured. Then he was gone. As if she had been pulled along behind, she went to the door and laid her head against the wood. What would she say to him when they met again at the coast? Twenty-five days seemed like an eternity.

From outside came the noise of horses, that familiar ring and call of leaving that she had grown so accustomed to, had even come to love. Leaving, traveling, arriving; always moving and yet, because your life and family journeyed with you, always staying in the same place. She hurried to the window and stood up on the bed to look out just in time to see riders, too far away to make out as individuals, mass and start forward away along a path that soon took them into the woods and out of her sight. But she stood still, long after sight and sound of them had faded, and stared out onto the cool of midday and the quiet oasis of the park.

A scratch at the door. She jumped down from the bed, but it was only Yuri.

"Tess." He hugged her. Pulling back, he examined her face. "Well," he said, "it's no use staying shut up in here. It's a beautiful day outside. Come on. Have you seen the sacred pool yet?"

She had not. So they rode there, the four riders, herself, and Yeliana, and had a little picnic. The sacred pool was really nothing more than a circular marble pool surrounded by pillars, sited in a lovely meadow. A few late-blooming bushes added romance to the setting. The men flirted charmingly with Yeliana, who was delighted to have so many good-looking young riders to practice on.

"There's only Andrey, who is young," she whispered to Tess, "and I've never liked him. He came here five years past to become a priest, but I think it was just because he's so ugly and sour-faced that none of the women wanted him. All the others are as old as the hills. I was sorry when Vladi left." Then she smiled at something Konstans said and asked him about his wife and baby.

Tess stood and walked over to the edge of the pool, where Kirill stood alone, watching the water ripple in the sunlight. "You're very quiet today."

"Did you ask Bakhtiian to leave me in charge?" he asked.

"No. Josef and Tasha and Niko did."

His face lit. "Did they? By the gods." His posture shifted, and he looked very pleased with the world. He grinned. "Meet me here tonight, my heart, and I will show you how this pool has captured the moon."

"Kirill." She faltered, and set her lips for courage, and looked at him.

"You love him," he said.

"Yes."

"So much."

"Yes."

His expression was hard to read, compounded half of resignation and half of-something else. "But Tess, you won't even lie with him. Isn't that cruel?"

"For me or for him?"

"For him, of course. What you do to yourself is your own business, although I must say-"

"I don't believe that you would scold me for that."

"I don't hate Ilya, Tess, or wish him ill. I never have, even if I might envy him now for winning your love."

"But I love you, too, Kirill."

"Yes. You gifted me with your love, but you gifted him with your heart.''

"Kirill."

"Oh, Tess. Don't cry, my heart. It doesn't matter. It was a fair race. I don't begrudge him winning it, and I don't blame you for choosing him."

"I'm not choosing him. I'm going back to Jeds. And would you stop being so damned noble?"

He laughed shakily. "All right," he said violently. "The truth is, I'd like to murder him. Slowly. Strangle him, maybe, or better yet-no, that's an ill-bred thing to say in front of a woman."

She smiled and wiped a tear from her cheek. "That's better."

"I accept what I must, Tess. What other choice do I have?" He frowned and then left her to walk back to the others.

She remained by the pond. After a while Yuri came to join her. "What were you and Kirill talking about?"

She shrugged.

"You don't want to go back to Jeds, do you?"

"What other choice do I have?" she asked.

"Well, / think-"

"Yuri, do you want to get thrown in the pond?"

"Certainly I do. What do you think?" He grinned. "I want to go back to the shrine. It's getting dark, and I'm hungry. Are you coming?"

"Bakhtiian never accepts his circumstances," she said in a low voice. "He changes them."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing, Yuri. I'm coming."

The weather remained fair for the next six days. They achieved a kind of equilibrium: in the mornings, Kirill insisted on a grueling practice session with saber, with the permission of Mother Avdotya, of course, and many of the male priests and even Yeliana came to watch. In the afternoons, some combination, always Tess and Yuri, often Kirill, and sometimes Mikhal and Konstans, would go riding in the great park that surrounded the shrine. Every night, Tess and Yeliana took a torch and a few candles and sneaked down to the hot springs to luxuriate there for a lazy, glorious hour.

The fifth night, Yeliana said out of the dark waters: "I will go with you."

"Go with me? Where?" asked Tess.

"Go with you when you leave here."

"But I can't take you to Jeds."

"Oh, I don't want to go across the seas. But you rode with the men. Why shouldn't I? I always envied Vladi that he left here. I never went because there was no place for me to go. I have no tent, no mother or aunt to gift me one. It is easier for a man. If he distinguishes himself in battle, then a woman might not set her brothers on him if he marked her. And there, he has a place in a tribe. But if I could learn to fight-"

"But, Yeliana-"

"You did it. Are you saying other women cannot?"

"No, but-"

"I hate it here," she said without heat, simply as a fact. "I'm young enough. I can learn."

"Well," said Tess slowly, "you can go where Vladimir went-to Bakhalo's jahar-ledest. If he'll take you. I have an old saber I can give you. It isn't a very good one, but-"

"A saber!" Yeliana's excitement manifested itself in muffled splashing at her end of the baths. "My own saber!"

What have I started? Tess thought, and sighed.

The next morning, Yeliana appeared again at practice and Tess politely asked Kirill to show the girl the most basic strokes. Kirill raised his eyebrows, but he complied.

"Do you know what I think?" said Yuri at midday, when they sat resting under a tree. "I think she must be Vladi's sister by the same parents."

"Why? They don't look so much alike."

"No, but for the color of their hair and eyes. And she's rather tall for a girl. But did you see her with those cuts? Oh, she's very rough, and very new, but there's a certain grace, a certain touch for the blade…I'll never have it, no matter how many years I practice."

"You're not the hardest worker at saber, Yuri."

"That's true, but even if I were-it's not in me."

"No." She smiled and settled her arm around his shoulders. "You have other gifts."

"Yes, and whenever women say that, it's never a compliment."

Movement erupted at the distant doors that led into the shrine. A moment later, Mikhal came running up to them.

"Riders, coming in," he said, and ran off again.

Tess and Yuri scrambled to their feet and followed him.

"Look!" cried Yuri. "It's Petya!"

It was a small group-only eight young riders-but merry as they greeted the four men from Bakhtiian's jahar. But Tess hung back. She could only watch, and after a few moments, even that was too much. She fled into the park and walked, just walked, out into the woods.

Midday slid into afternoon. Finally, she knew she had come far enough-except that nowhere would be far enough-and she turned back. The first shadings of dusk were beginning to color the park when she heard a horse blowing off to her right. She ran over and found herself looking out over the secluded meadow that sheltered the sacred pond. A man, leading two horses, stood by the pool, staring down into the water.

"Kirill."

He spun. "Don't ever go off like that! Anything could have happened to you! Damn it, what were you thinking? Yuri was half crazy, wondering where you had gone."

"But I… I…" To her horror, she began to cry, and she collapsed onto her knees on the soft cushion of grass.

"Tess!" A moment later he enclosed her in his arms and held her to him. "What is it, my heart?"

"I don't want to go," she whispered into his shoulder. Tears stained his shirt.

"Then don't go."

"I have to."

"Why?"

The question struck her to silence. She rested against him, comforted and warm. He shifted on the grass and she looked up at him, so near. He sighed, a long exhalation of breath, and pulled her gently down to lie with him on the grass.

"It's cold," she murmured.

"I brought blankets."

"If Yuri is worried-"

"He knows where we are." He kissed away her tears, one by one.

"But, Kirill, did Veselov only send eight riders?"

"Here." He helped her up. "Your tent is over here. It will be warmer inside. Yes, for now. Petya says that Mikhailov's jahar came up a few days after we left, and Sergei Veselov sent out the main force of his jahar to stay between Mikhailov and the Veselov tribe. But they swung north, so it's no danger to us. But still, there were only a few riders left in camp when Ilya rode in. We'll ride to meet the tribe and then Veselov will lend us more men once Mikhailov has swung clear."

She crawled into her tent and found it rich with blankets. She laughed and nuzzled into them, then sobered. "But why should Mikhailov swing clear? What if he follows Ilya?"

Kirill shrugged. "Bakhtiian can solve his own problems. Do you want me to go?"

He sat so close to her that she could feel his breath on her cheek. Before she could answer, he embraced her suddenly and fervently. "Don't ask me to go, Tess," he said in a fierce whisper.

Tomorrow she would ask Yuri if it was really possible to love two men at the same time yet in such different ways. Tonight she simply pulled Kirill tight against her, not letting him go, because she knew that this was his way of saying farewell.