by Kate Elliott
“Is that so?”
She flushed and, instead of looking at him, read the letter. Your dear old Uncle Marco, indeed. He had been at Charles’s court in Jeds frequently when she was there as a child but he was not precisely the sort of man who enjoys children. Dr. Hierakis and Suzanne Elia Arevalo had spent more time with her than he ever had. Marco explored, and he had come from Earth to explore Rhui in the oldest way known, on foot, by horse, by sea, for Charles but mostly, she suspected, for the adventure. Make of that what you will. She read back through the letter.
“He sent something for me.”
Ilya hesitated, then slipped a dagger from his belt and handed it to her. Tess held it in her palm. Such a tiny thing to be so important.
“Well,” she said finally, for something to say. “Thank you.”
“I told him I would kill him if I ever found out that he hadn’t delivered either message or relic.”
“Ilya!” She wanted to laugh but he looked so grim that she smoothed the letter out instead. “I feel sure it will get there. And the khepellis?”
“I hope you will forgive me, Tess, but I lied to Lord Ishii. I told him—” His voice shook, “—that you were dead.” He stopped. “Tess,” he whispered. “I didn’t even know, all that time, if when I came back, you would still be alive.” The agony in his expression disturbed her so much that she found refuge in staring off toward the camp. Though a number of young men still worked on the practice field, in the camp itself some event had occurred to excite the interest of the tribe. Children ran, screaming and leaping, and adults walked quickly away from the periphery of the camp toward the hidden center.
“Niko took good care of me,” she said in a voice not her own. “And anyway, Bakhtiian, as I recall, I promised you that I would live.”
“Yes,” he said in a steadier voice, “you did. Can you forgive me the lie?”
Startled, she looked up at him. “Of course, I forgive you. You probably saved my life.” She faltered.
“You will never grant me anything simply because I am your husband, will you? Nothing, except when you were so ill that it was easier to agree than to argue. Nothing of your own will. Well, you told me yourself you did not want me. I ought to have listened.”
“Ilya…” Once, before everything had been shattered by Yuri’s death, she would have yelled back at him. Now she simply felt faint. “I have to sit down,” she said apologetically.
“Tess! Gods, you’re pale.” He closed the gap between them and picked her up in his arms. “I’ll take you back to my aunt’s tent.”
“I can walk.”
“You will not walk, my wife. You’re exhausted and as pale as the winter grass. I think I may be allowed to carry you so far.”
It was no use fighting, so she simply lay against him, cradling her head on his shoulder and shutting her eyes. She could not bear to see what kind of stares were surely being directed their way. She heard Niko.
“Ilya! What is wrong?”
“She is exhausted. You’ve been working her too hard. Is this how you take care of her?”
“She was fine until you came back,” said Niko crossly. “But I was coming to get you in any case. You are wanted at your aunt’s tent.”
Tess kept her eyes clenched shut. He walked with her easily, as if the burden was gratifying to him. She heard a few whispers, a few broken comments, but nothing she could not ignore. For a little stretch, there was silence, as if no one was about. But when he halted, she felt a roiled hush surrounding them, as of many people whose attention was split among several momentous occurrences.
“Nephew.” This in Irena Orzhekov’s ringing tones. “I hope you will come forward and explain this immodest display. This woman may be your cousin but she is also unmarried.”
“Unmarried! She is my wife.”
The silence rang more loudly than shouts would have. Tess opened her eyes. Most of the members of the tribes of Orzhekov and Veselov had gathered here before the awning of Mother Orzhekov’s tent. Beneath the awning, the two etsanas faced each other, seated respectably on pillows. Blood still wet Arina’s cheek, seeping from the cut scored from her cheekbone diagonally down to the line of her jaw. Kirill stood behind her, looking pale but determined. His mother knelt in front of the two women, and whatever discussion Ilya’s precipitous entrance had interrupted clearly involved her.
“Your wife?” demanded Mother Orzhekov. “I see no mark, Nephew.”
Every gaze was fixed on them. Behind Irena Orzhekov sat her three daughters. Sonia stared transfixed, hands on her cheeks, lips parted, fighting back a grin. Behind Arina Veselov, behind Kirill, sat Vera, and behind her, Yeliana. Vera’s face was white, her mouth a thin line.
“Let me down,” Tess whispered fiercely.
“Ah, so you have come back to me,” he murmured. “You were acting far too meek.” He lowered her gently and set her on her feet beside him but he did not relinquish his grip around her waist. It would be undignified to struggle in so public a place and with such an audience. Doubtless he counted on it.
“Niko,” he said, “I thought my aunt had been told.”
“Bakhtiian, it was not my right to tell.”
Ilya glanced at Tess. “With your permission?” he asked, but he did not let go of her. She nodded mutely. “Mother Orzhekov,” he said formally. “Terese Soerensen and I rode down the Avenue of the shrine of Morava at sunset. The ceremony was completed. The bond has been sealed. So she is indeed my wife. And I,” he added, with a sardonic edge to his voice, “am her husband.”
Silence could not contain their audience’s astonishment. Exclamations, comments, every kind of noise broke out, and hushed to stillness when Irena Orzhekov rose. Arina sat with complete composure. Kirill, behind her, now looked strangely serene. Sonia had clapped her hands together, delighted. Vera—Vera was gone.
“I will have quiet,” said Mother Orzhekov. “I think this assembly has ended. If you agree, Mother Veselov. And you, Elders?” More nods from various aged faces.
She had to say no more. The crowd dispersed quickly and with a great deal of noise.
“Come here, Ilyakoria,” said Irena when only the etsanas and their families and five Elders from each tribe remained. She sounded displeased. He looked not the least bit cowed. “You will sit beside me until our business is finished here. Tess, sit with Sonia.”
Sonia said nothing when Tess sat down next to her but squeezed her hand.
“Now, Olya Zvertkov, is it truly your wish to bind yourself over into the Veselov tribe?”
These negotiations went on for some time. The two etsanas haggled over tents and pots and how many of which flock ought to go to which tribe in recompense for the loss of Kirill’s mother or the gain of Kirill himself. Tess rubbed her eyes and lay her head on Sonia’s comforting shoulder, and Sonia put her arm around Tess to hold her steady.
At last they agreed, and Arina rose. Bakhtiian rose as well. “I have not yet released Kirill from my jahar,” he said. “And while I claim the right to perform that release in private, I ask that he remain behind now.”
The two women nodded, and Arina took her family and her Elders and left. Bakhtiian gave his aunt a curt nod and then walked away to where his tent was pitched some distance behind hers.
“Tess!” whispered Sonia. “Why didn’t you tell me! Did Yuri know?”
“Yes.”
“Well, the gods’ blessing on that. It would have made him happy.”
“Everything made Yuri happy,” said Tess bitterly, and then she stopped, seeing what Bakhtiian had brought them from his tent. Two blankets, folded neatly, and on top of them, two red shirts, folded with equal neatness. A scrap of sleeve showed on one, a line of Yuri’s distinctive embroidery.
“I bring these to you, his sisters.” Ilya knelt before his cousins and held out his hands. Kira, the eldest, took them from him with reverence, but instead of turning to Stassia first, she turned to Tess.
“Which will you have, my sister?” she a
sked.
Tess started to cry silently. She took the topmost shirt gently from the pile and held it hard against her face. The silk was cool and soft. Sonia took the other shirt and cradled it against her chest. She, too, was weeping. Kira and Stassia each took a blanket.
“Because my kinsman Yurinya has neither brother nor father living, I return his saber to you, my aunt.” He offered it to her.
Tears ran down Irena’s face, but her expression remained composed. “You are his nearest male relation. It is yours, now, Ilyakoria.”
He shut his eyes for an instant. “Thank you,” he murmured, and he simply held it a moment before he remembered where he was. Then he turned to Kirill.
“Perhaps, Zvertkov, you will tell Yuri’s sisters, and Mikhal’s wife, how they died.”
Kirill was very pale but his voice was steady, and the account he gave covered Yuri and Mikhal with so much glory that Tess could hardly believe it was true though she knew it was: that Mikhal had ridden back into the fight instead of riding for help, as he might well have done with no shame—as Petya had; that Yurinya had saved Tess’s life. The children had crept up to listen, and Katerina and Ivan clutched their mother, faces solemn. Stassia held little Kolia.
“And were they burned,” asked Irena when he had finished, “and released from the burdens of the earth, as was their right?”
Niko and Kirill both looked at Ilya. Tess hid her face in her hands.
“They were given,” said Ilya with no expression in his voice, “what they most wished. Now, Aunt, if you will excuse me, I will ask Sibirin and Zvertkov to accompany me while I return what is theirs to Fedya’s and Mikhal’s families.”
Irena inclined her head. “You are excused, Nephew. And Ilya.” She paused. Tess looked up. “To marry cousins is dangerous. To marry them in the sight of the gods—well, we shall see. Certainly you have never lacked arrogance. But you have ridden a long way to return here, and with this I can sympathize. For this night, Nephew, my tent is yours.” She rose and shook out her skirts, and then turned to address her family. “Come, children. You must take your blankets to your mothers’ tents tonight.”
Ilya simply stared at his aunt for a moment, as if this gesture bewildered him. But then, then he turned his head smoothly to give Tess so piercing a look that she felt as if they were already alone and she stripped utterly naked, far past such unimportant layers as clothing and skin, down, down to where the wind sweeps fire across the earth itself.
Then he turned and strode away, Niko and Kirill at his heels.
Chapter Twenty-eight
“If one does not hope one will not find the unhoped for, since there is no trail leading to it, and no path.”
—HERACLEITUS OF EPHESUS
DUSK, STARS, EVENING.
Tess let Sonia help her dress in all the beautiful women’s clothing gifted her by Nadezhda Martov, bracelets, the beaded headpiece. She felt empty, burned away until she was hollow.
“You’re being very quiet,” said Sonia. “I’ll leave the lantern, and you can sit here on these pillows. Tess, it isn’t as if you haven’t lain with him before—” Abruptly, she sat down beside Tess and took her cold hands in her own. “You haven’t?”
Tess could only shake her head numbly.
“But you rode down the Avenue together.”
Tess found a whisper. “I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t know!” Sonia was speechless for a moment. “I can only suppose that he didn’t have the nerve to try to mark you, knowing you could use your saber, so he—Gods!” Tess glanced at her. The lantern light cast edges on the soft planes of Sonia’s face. “Well, Tess, I’m sorry, but you’re his wife now, and I can’t interfere.” She kissed her on the cheek and stood up, abandoning Tess in the middle of the silken mass of Irena Orzhekov’s finest pillows. “But listen to me.” Her voice was quiet but vehement. “Perhaps we do not know one another so well, you and I, but I can see into your heart, my sister, and I know you are strong enough for what has been given you.”
“For Ilya?”
“Ilya is not the sum of your life, Tess. You forget that I have been to Jeds. I have seen the prince on progress through the city. I know there is more to you than these plains, and yet, there is Ilya as well. And you are the only woman—the only woman? no, the only person, truly—who has the courage to stand up to him on every ground. If there is no one to hold him in check, then what is to happen to him and to us?”
Tess stared down at her hands. “You’re asking too much of me,” she murmured, but when she looked up, Sonia had gone. Every doubt she had ever carried flooded back in on her. All the burdens of being Charles’s heir, the cold weight of duty, and now this. Lord, to add this on top of it all.
She heard from outside the sound, but not the words, of a brief conversation: a woman’s voice, a man’s. Then the rustle of the tent flap and his movement through the outer chamber. He pushed aside the curtains that separated the outer chamber from the inner one and halted, poised there.
“Gods,” he said, staring at her, “you are beautiful, my wife.”
She said nothing, but her gaze followed him as he let the curtains slip down behind him and crossed to her. He knelt in front of her.
“I brought this for you.” He unclasped the black necklace and with the greatest tenderness clasped it around her throat. He let his hands settle on either side of the curve of her neck, warm hands, though she felt the slight tremble in them against her skin. He gazed at her as if the answer to every question he had ever asked rested in her face.
He was so close but she could move neither toward him nor away from him, caught in this eddy.
“I am lost,” she whispered.
His eyes narrowed and his lips, slightly parted, closed tightly. “You are afraid of me.” He took his hands from her. “You were never afraid of me before,” he said accusingly.
She wrenched her gaze away from him. “I don’t know what I am.”
She felt him stand, and looked up to see him walk to the curtain. “You are my wife. You are also, I believe, heir to the Prince. And Sonia’s sister, and a daughter to Irena Orzhekov. But mostly you are Tess.” He looked furiously angry and yet at the same time terribly upset. “And if Tess ever decides she wants me, I will be waiting for her.”
He jerked the curtain aside and left. Tess sank back into the pillows. She felt so utterly relieved that she could almost laugh at herself. She stared at the shadows dappling the soft ceiling of the tent. Footsteps stirred, and the curtain slipped aside.
“Tess?”
“Oh, hello, Sonia,” said Tess in a voice that sounded almost normal.
“Tess. I—” She hesitated. “Do you—Perhaps—That is, I saw Ilya—But perhaps you’d rather I left you—I don’t know—”
“I’m hungry,” said Tess, sitting up.
“Well,” said Sonia briskly, “you hardly ate a bite at supper so that doesn’t surprise me.”
“You aren’t mad at me?”
“What occurs between you and Ilya is not any of my business, Tess.”
Tess stood. “You and Yuri have been matchmaking since the day I got to your tribe. Admit it.”
“No, in fact, it was several days before the thought occurred to me. It was at the dance, when you told him you were riding with them. And forced him to accept it and take you along.”
“What’s wrong with me?” Tess asked, remembering how brash she had been.
“You were almost killed, and you still haven’t regained your strength. And you saw your brother killed. I grieve as much as you do but I didn’t see him die. I can still imagine that he is simply out riding and will come back tomorrow. I don’t envy you that knowledge or that memory.”
“But, Sonia, I want that knowledge and that memory. For you, they rode out one day and never came back. I couldn’t stand to live that way.”
Sonia took her gently by the arm. “Perhaps that is why you still practice saber. Come, Tess. There’s still meat, I think, or if yo
u wish, a celebration at the Veselov camp. Arina has gone into seclusion for the next nine days but we women can visit her. I’m sure she would like to see you.”
“Yes,” said Tess, taking great comfort in the thought of the company of women, “I’d like that.”
Sonia surveyed her critically. “And I want you to know how very much I hate you for being able to wear that particular shade of green. That is Nadezhda Martov’s dye, is it not? Yes, we had some of her cloth once but it simply made me look ill, and it did nothing for Stassi or Kira or Anna either, so we had to trade it off. It made us sick to give it up. But it looks stunning on you.” Tess blushed, remembering Ilya’s voice as he called her “beautiful.”
“Well? Are we going? Or are you going to stand there and gloat over your good looks all night?” Tess laughed and followed her out.
It was easy enough, in the morning, to go back to her old habits: in the mornings she would practice saber and fighting, and in the afternoons she would work and gossip with the women. Now that Bakhtiian’s jahar had returned, she had plenty of company on the practice field, and their acceptance of her presence there did not go unnoticed by the others: especially the respect with which such noted riders as Josef and Tasha treated her. Bakhtiian, who observed and even participated out on the field at intervals, ignored her as he might ignore any other young rider whose presence was beneath his notice. If he did address her, it was always and only as “Cousin.” He spent a great deal of time with his new horses, or speaking with the men who had come to join him, or taking reports from the scouts and parties of riders sent out to search for Mikhailov. Kirill continued to be a patient, fair, and shrewd teacher, and he carried himself with a new self-assurance to which even the older men deferred at the appropriate times. But Tess kept in general to the company of the orphans, feeling rather more comfortable with them, half in and half out of the tribes, than with anyone else.
With the women she felt entirely at home. Mother Orzhekov said nothing about her marriage. If anyone noticed that she slept in her tent and Ilya in his, no one mentioned it to her. At meals, Ilya was unfailingly polite to her. If she caught him staring at her now and again—well, then, could she blame him? If she caught herself staring at him—well, God knew how handsome he was.