by Kate Elliott
“How many days has it been?” Tess asked Niko one fine winter afternoon, with the sun shining high in the sky. It was chilly but not cold.
“Forty-one days. Tess, it is time you let him go—”
A shout came from the direction of the camp. He paused and stared back, and she paused as well. Kirill was walking after them.
He was flushed as he came up to them, and he kept his gaze fixedly on Niko. “Sibirin, there is news. Let me walk with Tess.” Something communicated but not spoken passed between the two men.
“With Tess’s permission,” said Niko.
“Given,” said Tess. Niko inclined his head and walked back to camp.
“What news, Kirill?” she asked, suddenly shy. Oh, God. Her heart raced. What if Ilya was back?
“Will you walk with me, Tess?” he asked. He rested his left hand on her elbow, as familiar with her now as he had always been before. She walked with him until they got as far as the river, and no one could see them.
“Do you want to sit down?” His color was high. He did not look at her.
“No, I’m fine.” She followed him along the river. Water flowed and eddied along the bank.
“Tess. Tess. I can’t say this.”
“Kirill, I have always trusted you.”
He sighed and stopped dead in his tracks to look directly at her. “I have to marry again, Tess. My mother has no daughters and no nieces to take care of her when she’s old. And I only had one child.”
“You have a child, Kirill?” She was astonished.
“Yes.” He began walking again in silence, as if the subject was too painful to speak of. She waited him out, and at last he spoke again. “Little Jaroslav. His mother’s kin took him, of course. I want children, Tess. Arina Veselov wants me.” He stopped and turned to her. “I would be an etsana’s husband. I can’t fight anymore. What else am I to do?”
“Of course you must.” Somehow she kept her voice steady. “I think you will be happy with her, Kirill. I like her very much.”
“Yes, she has a good heart. But she is not you, Tess. Oh, gods, forgive me. I have no right to say that.”
“Kirill, she will treat you better than I ever could.” Then, because it was better than crying, she reached out and embraced him, burying her face in his hair.
He held her for a long moment with his one good arm. She felt his right arm, immobile in its sling, pressing against her chest like an inert object. The river ran heedlessly on behind them.
“Will you care, then,” he asked softly, “if I love her?”
“Yes, I’ll care. Kirill, I want you to love her. I want you to be happy.”
He pushed her back. When he grinned, he looked almost like his old self again. “I daresay, my heart, that we will have a quieter life than you and Ilya.”
She flushed. “What was your news, Kirill?”
“Didn’t I tell you?” he asked innocently, and then he kissed her chastely on the cheek and turned to lead her back to camp. “No, it isn’t what you think. Our tribe has come, Tess.”
“Our tribe?”
“Yes.”
It took her a long moment before his words developed meaning. Our tribe.
“Sonia!” she shrieked, and clapped her hands over her mouth.
“Don’t run. Niko will have my other arm if I let you hurt yourself.”
She halted abruptly. “I can’t go back. How can I face her?”
“Because of Yuri and Mikhal? Tess, she will need another sister very badly now. And anyway, it was a scout brought the news. They won’t be here until tomorrow. Come, Tess. You have more courage than this.”
She was terrified suddenly at having to face Sonia after so long. And worse, at having to face Ilya. Forty-one days. Soon enough he would return. All too soon. What could she possibly say to him? He would take every advantage of her; he could not help it. She recalled very clearly now how he had gotten her to acknowledge their marriage: “I promise you, my husband.” But with Yuri’s death, she felt drained of all the life and all the energy that had ever allowed her to face Bakhtiian on equal terms. Soon enough, going on like this, there would be nothing left of her but ashes.
“I have to go back to Charles,” she whispered.
“What?” Kirill asked.
“Nothing.” But she mentally kept up the litany as they walked back to camp, cycling round and round: I have to go back to Jeds. I have to go back to Charles. And at each pause, she could hear Yuri’s voice: “Why does everything have to be so final, Tess?” Because things are final, Yuri, she said to him. Because people die and I don’t want to go through this again. She clutched Kirill’s arm more tightly, and he glanced at her, but mercifully he said nothing. She wiped away tears with the back of her hand. Because I’m afraid.
“Gods, Kirill, I can’t go back there crying.”
“Why not? You’re a woman. And you lost your brother. Why shouldn’t you cry? It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
She smiled through her tears. “My sweet Kirill,” she said, and then they came to camp and she relinquished her grip on him. Arina Veselov came to greet them, looking sober but not unhappy, and led Tess back to her tent, repeating the news Kirill had told her. Kirill followed them, but he walked next to Arina now not next to Tess.
The evening dragged on. That night she could not sleep. Morning came too soon, and then, dragging on toward midday, lasted far, far too long.
“Look!” said Yeliana, standing up. “Look there. Wagons.”
Tess scrambled to her feet. She could not help it, she ran—as well as she could run—out to the edge of camp and into the grass as the wagons and riders and the bleating flocks crested the rise and trundled down toward them in a cacophonous, chaotic mass. She halted, searching, staring, until—
“Sonia!” Oh, God, she looked the same; pale, maybe; and then they embraced. Tess burst into tears. Sonia burst into tears. They both cried, hanging on each other. Finally, as wagons lurched past them and children squealed with excitement and a horse brushed by so close its tail flicked Sonia’s tunic, they separated.
“How did you know?” Tess asked.
“Niko rode out to us last night.” Sonia had changed not at all. Her voice, her face, everything—like Yuri in so many ways, and yet utterly and only like herself. Except for the new lines of grief etched under her blue eyes. “He told Mama about—” she faltered—“about Yuri, and Mikhal, and Fedya.”
Fedya. Fedya had died so long ago that to Tess it seemed almost a distant memory. Gods, would Yuri fade like that?
“Tess, what’s wrong? You’ve gotten so thin and so pale. Niko says you almost died. Well, we’ll take you to our tent and Mama will fatten you up.”
And so, when the Orzhekov tribe set up its camp alongside the Veselov camp, Tess was taken politely but firmly back into Mother Orzhekov’s domain. Her tent was set up next to Sonia’s. Sonia’s children—the baby, Kolia, grown quite tall, and walking—made free with her space and her blankets and her gear, and she ate every night under the awning of Mother Orzhekov’s great tent, and took her daily walks to the training ground with Sonia.
“Why does that awful woman come here every day?” Sonia asked three days after their arrival. “Poor Petya. She can’t love him.”
“Oh, look, here she comes.” They giggled a little and then controlled themselves.
“I do not think the khaja will be able to resist this army,” said Vera, settling herself gracefully beside them. Her gaze took in the field but did not seem to dwell for longer than an instant on her own husband where he stood to one side with Konstans and a few other young men, watching Kirill talk with an old man.
“That is Kerchaniia Bakhalo, isn’t it?” Tess asked.
“Yes,” said Vera. “He arrived yesterday, and I’m sure he has sixty young men with him. I hear ten of them are orphans, and one is not only said to have killed his entire tribe with a plague but stolen a horse from the Mirsky tribe as well.”
Sonia laughed. “What, and n
one of the Mirskys caught him and killed him for it? And they always bragging about what fine riders they are? He must be very terrible or else very clever. Which of them is he?”
“How am I to know?” Vera asked. “He is only an orphan, after all. I suppose if any riders from the Mirsky tribe come here, then they’ll kill him.” Her gaze drifted out to Bakhalo and Kirill, who were consulting with Tasha and two elderly men no longer dressed in the red and black of jahar riders. “Poor Arina.” Vera smiled sweetly. “I think she thought Kirill Zvertkov would mark her but now I don’t think he will. What do you think, Tess?”
Tess shrugged. “Oh, I suppose he is waiting for his mother to get to know her first.”
“I thought he had other interests.” Then, evidently tired of this game, Vera rose and excused herself.
“Does Kirill have other interests?” asked Sonia. “Tess, don’t look away from me. You’re blushing. We haven’t talked much about your journey, you know. Only about Yuri and Mikhal—” A pause here, and she went on. “—and Fedya, and I am very glad you and Fedya—but, Tess, I know very well there are things you aren’t telling me.”
She could not talk about Ilya to Sonia. Not now, not when the only way she had to cope with her fear of his return was to not think of him as hard as she could. But her feelings for Kirill were true enough and still raw enough that they could serve as a smoke screen.
“Tess, I will make no secret now that I had hoped, when you left us, that you and Ilya—well, never mind that. What is it you want to tell me?”
“Kirill and I were lovers. But I can’t—I can’t marry him, and Arina Veselov has made it known that she wants him as her husband. I like Arina Veselov—”
“But you loved Kirill. Ah, well, he is charming in his own way. I’ve always preferred quieter men. If it is true that he can never use that arm again, then he’s done very well to become an etsana’s husband. But if he loves you, Tess, then what is to stop him marking you?”
“He won’t mark me. No, we’ve resolved this between us, Sonia. He’ll mark Arina. He’s waiting—I don’t know. I don’t understand, sometimes, how Arina can like me.”
“Do you think she ought to hate you for loving Kirill and for Kirill’s loving you? Why should she? He’ll make her a good husband. And he’ll have other lovers. Now Vera, Vera doesn’t like you one bit, my sister, and that makes me think—” She halted. On the field, Kirill had turned, and he looked up at them and lifted his good hand to wave.
“Do you think I could?” asked Tess suddenly.
“What, marry him? But women have no choice in marriage, Tess, don’t you know that?”
Tess flushed. “Practice saber a little. I’m much better, really.”
“Dressed in those clothes?”
“I’ll ask him.” Tess rose. Sonia chuckled and walked down with her. Kirill came to meet them, followed by Kerchaniia Bakhalo.
“Why shouldn’t I fight?” Tess asked. “I’ve already learned a great deal.”
“You’ve learned a little, Tess,” said Kirill mildly, though he grinned at Bakhalo. “But you’ve been very well taught. Why not? That is, Sonia, if you think Mother Orzhekov will approve.”
“No,” said Tess. “This is my choice. I’m going to fight. And I promise to stop when I get too tired.”
“I’ll walk you back to your tent,” said Sonia.
As they left, Tess turned to her. “You aren’t going to try to talk me out of this, are you?”
“No, ought I to? Tess, however much you are jaran, you aren’t jaran and you never will be. Why shouldn’t you fight if you wish to? But I’d better tell Mama now because I’m sure malicious tongues will see the news gets to her in other ways.”
So every morning Tess wore her jahar clothes and her saber and went to the practice field. She had to rest frequently, but other than that, Kirill and Bakhalo made no concessions to her at all. Bakhalo was a dry old stick of a man who was unfailingly unkind to all his students, though scrupulously fair, and Kirill possessed the unlikely ability to treat her with the same cheerful ruthlessness as he did the others: they had been lovers, they had loved, but here on the field he could separate those feelings from his teaching even while Tess struggled to separate them from her learning.
As they paused one day, she to rest, he to survey two of Bakhalo’s students fencing, she stood beside him casually and watched as well.
“He’s very good,” she said of one of the fencers. “He’s one of the orphans.”
“He’s better than Vladimir,” said Kirill. “But I won’t put them together yet because while this fellow won’t take it personally, Vladi will. You get along very well with all these orphans. Or have you taken them under your wing?”
“Kirill, I haven’t any wings.”
“Tess, you are Bakhtiian’s wife. That gives you rather more—very well, I won’t say anything further.”
“The truth is, that except for Konstans and you and Tadheus, when he comes by, the ones who are orphans are the only ones who don’t treat me strangely. The others aren’t sure what to make of me, a woman wearing jahar clothes.”
“Fairly earned.”
“You know that, and those in Bakhtiian’s jahar know it, but the rest don’t. Aleksi there, and the other orphans, don’t care because they’re set apart, too.”
“Well, it’s true most of them treat you stiffly, but for all that, you’re doing well. But you mustn’t push yourself.”
“Kirill, I want to tell you how much I respect that you’ve been able to teach me—that—” She hesitated. “Everything there’s been between us—”
“There is between us,” he said quietly.
“There is between us, and you never favor me or bully me.”
“Bully you?” He laughed. “My heart, if ever Ilya tries to teach you fighting, he will bully you for fear he’d otherwise favor you.”
“Ilya,” said Tess, “will never teach me saber.”
“What’s going on over there? Boys, stop a moment.” Kirill turned. “By the gods, how did he manage to ride in here with no more disturbance than that?”
Tess turned.
He stared straight at her. Of course. If there was anyone else on the practice field—and there were a good eighty or so young men out there—they might have been invisible for all he knew. From this distance, she could not tell if he was angry or amused. From this distance, she would know him anywhere. He walked out onto the field toward her, and instantly she saw one change: he was no longer limping. It lent a certain implacable purpose to his stride that had been lacking those weeks when he was injured. Niko walked beside him, and Josef and Tasha, and Anton and Sergei Veselov. But in a moment, Niko veered off to greet Bakhalo, towing Sergei Veselov in his wake, and then Kirill started forward, deserting her, to fall in with Josef and Tasha and Anton Veselov.
Ilya halted in front of her. If I faint, Tess thought, then I don’t have to say anything. God, he was beautiful. The midday sun shone strong on his face. His black hair curled slightly at the ends but she could tell from its wave and thickness that he had just cut it, and his beard was neat and impeccably trimmed. He wore a second necklace around the curve of his throat, this one of finely polished black stones strung together. Tess glanced to either side. Most of the young men were staring at them. Bakhtiian broke his gaze from her and surveyed the field. Instantly, they retreated, and a moment later Bakhalo called for an assembly down at the other end of the field. Kirill had vanished.
“Walk with me,” ordered Ilya.
Yes, definitely, he was angry. “I beg your pardon?” she asked.
“Will you walk with me, I beg you,” he repeated in exactly the same tone of voice. She walked. As soon as they were out of earshot, he began. “Do you suppose I rode all that way only to return to find my wife wearing men’s clothes standing out in the middle of the practice field with every unmarried man in camp?”
“You gave me this shirt.”
He took ten steps before he answered. “It wa
s fairly earned.”
“And some of them are married.”
“Arina Veselov isn’t married.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“I beg your pardon, Tess. I had no right to say that.”
She stopped, emboldened by the softening of his voice. “When did you get here? Where is the jahar?”
“Josef and I, and Sergei and Anton, rode forward scout. The rest will be here late this afternoon.” His face lit suddenly. “And the horses! One hundred and twenty-four. Tess, they are beautiful.” His expression changed, watching her, and he lifted a hand to touch her cheek. She stopped breathing. Then he glanced back toward camp. They still stood in full view of the field and of a fair portion of the tents of Veselov’s camp. He dropped his hand as swiftly as if she had burned him.
Somewhere she found the ability to start breathing again, but her breaths came uneven and a little ragged.
“And the khepellis?” she asked, speaking quickly to cover her agitation. “Did they get on a ship? There was no problem? And the letter for my brother, and the relic?”
He began to walk again, but she did not move. He halted and came back to her. “Tess, do you want to stand here where everyone can see us?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. Here is the letter.”
She unrolled it. “But this is from Marco!”
“You know him?”
“Yes, he’s part of Charles’s—retinue. Ah, he travels a lot. He supervises trade agreements.”