by Kate Elliott
“When a girl is married—”
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“You see,” said Katerina triumphantly. “Your ways are not so different from ours. How could they be? Even if Aunt Tess says they are.”
Katerina’s pacing made Jaelle dizzy. “An unmarried girl who took a lover would be disgraced,” Jaelle said. “She would never find a husband. Her own people would cast her out on the street for bringing shame to her family.”
Katerina stopped pacing. Her expression altered. It took Jaelle a moment to recognize the emotion: Pity. “Is that what happened to you?”
Jaelle laughed harshly. “I beg your pardon, my lady, for speaking so freely, but I think your ways must be very different from ours. I never had any hope of being married. I was a slave, first in my master’s house and then for a time in the mines. I was whipped often enough for trying to run away. It was only by the grace of Our Lady the Pilgrim that I chanced to grow into a face pretty enough to attract the attention of an old merchant. I traveled north with him, and he taught me Taor and a few other languages, including Yos, which is the language spoken in all the princedoms in this region. He treated me decently and fed me well. When he died after an illness, I took some of his coin, only as much as I needed, and after that I was free to sell myself along the caravan routes. But free. It was a better life than the one I had before. May She be praised for Her mercy, for it was by Her will that I escaped the other life.”
“That is terrible,” said Katerina.
Jaelle did not know what to reply. Katerina’s sympathy troubled her. Below, she heard someone arrive, and she went to the door and opened it. Prince Janos came up the steps, carrying two books.
Katerina sprang up at once, her face alight—for the books, Jaelle thought, not for the man, but Janos watched her with greedy eyes and stood over her, one hand resting possessively on the back of the chair in which she sat down to examine these treasures.
“This is a copy of The Recitation,” Katerina said, opening its pages with reverence, drawing a hand down the parchment as if to caress it.
His fingers twitched on the back of the chair, but he did not touch her. “Princess Rusudani gave me this copy for you. She has asked if she may visit you, to discuss the word of God.”
“Of course. I would welcome her visits.” But Katerina said it absently, turning to the other volume. “What is this?” She read aloud, sounding out the script. “The Description of Travels in the Lands of the Yossian Peoples?”
“You can read.”
She looked up over her shoulder at him. “Why should I lie about such a thing as that?”
He smiled down at her. “My mother spent some years in retirement, before I came of age and she came here to act as chatelaine of the lands I inherited from her. She translated this work.”
“Your mother did that? Then she must truly be an educated woman, my lord.”
He smiled further and ran a hand down one of her braids, twining it into his fingers. Her face stilled. She took hold of his wrist, pulled his hand away, and stood up, moving away from him. Janos looked startled.
A guard clattered up the stairs. “Lady Jadranka begs leave to address you, my lord,” he said.
Janos hesitated, then made polite good-byes to Katerina and took himself off. The guard loitered for a moment, eyeing Jaelle, and he patted the small purse looped to his belt meaningfully and winked at her, then hurried after the prince.
“Now I understand why my cousin Nadine dislikes khaja men,” said Katerina explosively. But she went back to the table and sat down in front of the books. “Will you teach me the language they speak here, Jaelle?”
“Of course, my la—Of course.”
“I could teach you how to read.”
“What use would it be for me to know how to read?” Jaelle blurted out, then thought better of it, seeing Katerina’s disappointed expression. Certainly the poor girl just wanted something to do to pass the time. “Of course.”
But even with this, and the books, to occupy them, there was still too much time to fill.
The next morning, Prince Janos came again, but this time he brought an unexpected visitor and an escort of four guards.
Katerina leaped to her feet, but said nothing, nor did she rush forward to greet the visitor. It was Bakhtiian. Jaelle thought he looked somewhat neater than he had at their other meeting, as if he had taken some pains to repair his clothing and at least wash his face and hands.
At once, he and Katerina began to speak to each other in khush.
Prince Janos casually slapped Bakhtiian with the back of a hand. “While I am here, you will speak in Taor.”
“I cannot pray in Taor,” retorted Bakhtiian, steadying himself from the blow, or perhaps for a new one. He did not flinch from the prince’s stare.
“Then you will pray silently, or not return here.”
“Do as he says,” said Katerina suddenly, and Janos’s gaze fastened on her. That gaze betrayed something to Jaelle, who had learned over the years to measure men’s desire carefully, in order to protect herself. Perhaps Janos feared the two jaran would communicate information to each other that might be dangerous, but that was not the real reason he laid down such prohibitions. He was jealous. He wanted no attention paid to her that he could not share in, no attention, at least, paid to her by another man. Jaelle shivered, abruptly afraid for Katerina.
“You have seen my cousin Vassily Kireyevsky and prayed with him as is fitting?” Katerina asked.
“I have.”
“You have not been treated ill, I trust, priest of my people.”
To this he did not reply, but his eyes flashed. “Prince Vassily asks after you,” he said instead.
“Tell my cousin that although I am confined here against my will, otherwise these khaja treat me with the honor that befits a woman.”
“I will do so.”
Their gazes met. Janos watched this communication avidly.
Katerina broke off the look first and glanced toward the prince. “We will pray now.”
She knelt. Never, in her time among the jaran, had Jaelle seen one of them kneel formally for prayer, but now both Katerina and Bakhtiian did so, side by side, hands resting on their thighs, and stared into the distance, into the stone which imprisoned them. Janos was patient. He waited them out. After a while they rose, and Janos signaled to the guards to take Bakhtiian away.
“I thank you,” said Katerina to Janos when Bakhtiian was gone. “How is my cousin, Vassily Kireyevsky?”
“Well enough.” He circled in closer to her, placing a hand on the table next to where hers rested. She looked at him deliberately and drew hers away. “You need not fear for him, Lady Katherine. I have a special interest in treating him courteously. We play dars, castles, and he is teaching me khot.”
“I can play castles.”
Janos chuckled. “Truly you are a woman of unusual parts. It is not a woman’s game.”
“What a stupid thing to say! Of course it’s a woman’s game, and a man’s game. It’s just a game.”
“Do you ever think that it might be unwise to insult me?” Janos asked quietly.
“Do you ever think it might be unwise to imprison me? My mother and grandmother will not take kindly to this.”
“You are only a woman, Lady Katherine. However much it may grieve them, what can they do?” With that, looking irritated, he left.
“You must not anger him,” said Jaelle.
“I must not anger him! Perhaps he should act like a proper man and not anger me. His immodesty is disgraceful!”
“My lady, I don’t think—”
“These khaja are all barbarians!”
“He could have you killed! Don’t you understand! You belong to him now!”
“I belong to the Orzhekov tribe, not to a man!”
Jaelle threw up her hands. “You aren’t with the jaran now. Listen to me, Lady Katherine. You are his concubine now. You must make him wish to t
reat you well.”
“What is a concubine?”
The depth of her ignorance astonished Jaelle. At times, it was possible to think of her like any other woman; many of the women on the caravan routes spoke Taor with accents, so that was nothing new. But now she reminded herself that Princess Katerina was truly a foreigner. “A woman who is kept by a man as a mistress, as a… wife, without marrying her.”
“How is that different from being a whore?”
“A whore is paid for her service.”
Katerina winced. “Well, he may think whatever he wishes of me. I am not taking him to my bed.”
“That may be, my lady, but he intends to take you into his.”
“Ha! Let him try. Barbarians!”
Jaelle opened her mouth to reply and thought better of it. She sighed and turned aside instead. “I will go down to the well to fetch water, Lady Katherine.”
A whole day passed with no visitors. The next morning proved busy, however. Princess Rusudani arrived with a train of elegant serving women, and Katerina listened politely while Rusudani read from The Recitation and one of the commentaries.
Later, Lady Jadranka came upstairs with servants carrying a loom, which was assembled while Katerina watched raptly. As soon as they had left, Katerina began to prepare the loom, singing happily to herself. Into this gentle domesticity, in the late afternoon, Prince Janos arrived with a servant behind him carrying a finely carved wooden box with enameled hinges.
Katerina chose to ignore him, so he watched her for a long while.
“I suppose,” he said at last, “that now that you have your weaving, you won’t wish to play castles.”
Katerina halted at once and came over to the table, where the servant had set down the box. Without asking for permission, she opened it and examined the pieces, laying them out in proper order on the white and red squares inlaid into the board. “Which side do you prefer?” she asked, sitting down in one of the chairs.
He smiled. “The choice is yours, Lady Katherine.”
She let him move first. The servant set out cups and wine, and Janos drank heavily, Katerina sparingly. She played with great concentration. He looked up too frequently, watched her too much. Indeed, Jaelle thought it amazing, the speed with which Katerina won the game.
“Where did you learn to play?” Janos asked, leaning back in his chair. Under the table, his boots crept up against Katerina’s legs, and she shifted her legs away.
“From my Aunt Tess, although she isn’t really that good. I played certain travelers, scholars, merchants, whomever I could find who came to Sarai, and others, out with the army.”
“You traveled with the army?”
She lifted her gaze and smiled, not kindly, right at him. “I fought in Yaroslav Sakhalin’s army for two years, my lord. I have killed many khaja men, those who thought they could win against the power of the jaran armies. They could not.”
He laughed, not quite believing her. “Surely a princess of your line would be married by now.”
“I have been spared that, at least.”
He leaned toward her over the table, his fingers reaching for her sleeve, which she swept out of his grasp. “Is it true that you rode with the army?”
“Of course! Most young women serve for two or three years as archers. After that, most of them go back to the tribes to marry.”
He stood up so abruptly that his wine cup tipped over, but he had drained it dry and nothing spilled out. For the first time he looked agitated. He paced to one of the window loops and stopped with his back to her. “So you could have shot me, there in the church of Urosh Monastery?”
“I could have. Princess Rusudani stayed my hand. That is the only reason you aren’t dead now.”
He turned back. Jaelle could no longer read the expression on his face, but it disturbed her. He walked out of the room without saying anything more.
Katerina stared after him for a time. Then she bit her lip and began to rearrange the pieces, back to their starting points. “Do you want to learn to play, Jaelle?”
“You should let him win, Lady Katherine.”
Katerina folded her hands thoughtfully on the table, gazing first at the board and then up at Jaelle. “I don’t think he’s the sort of man who wants to be let win.” A small smile turned up her mouth. “We will see if he can manage to win by his own efforts.”
“You are playing a dangerous game.”
Katerina shrugged. “What else is there to do?” She toyed with the pieces, moving them against an invisible opponent. “On campaign we used to find khaja men for me to play, and others for an audience. They always wagered against me, because I was a woman. Mariya and I won a lot of coin that way, and some chickens, and trinkets, and even a slave once, a little girl whom we gave over into Mother Sakhalin’s care. So don’t think I don’t know how to play.”
“That isn’t the game Prince Janos is playing! He means to make you his mistress.”
“I’m not a fool. I can see that he desires me. But his mother has granted me sanctuary, so there is nothing he can do except try to win me in his crude way. Khaja men have no subtlety. Now can we talk of something else besides Prince Janos?”
Jaelle bowed her head obediently, but she was afraid now, more than ever, for herself and for Katerina.
Because of the prince’s unexpectedly late visit, Jaelle went late to the well. It was already dark. Two of the guards at the door propositioned her. As she waited at the well, she considered what they had suggested. Wouldn’t it be wise to store up some coin, a few useful items, against adversity? But there were few places where she could find privacy for that sort of thing. As she walked back past the great hall, a man called to her in a whisper from a shadowed corner of the outside wall.
“Jaelle!”
She knew that voice. She glanced around. Shadows had thrown the whole inner ward into gloom, and there were only a few people around. Lights bloomed in half of the great towers. The cold air chilled her hands where she gripped the metal handles of the buckets. Water sloshed out, dripping on her boots, as she hurried into the shadows.
“Stefan!” Warmth swept her, she was so happy to see him. She set down the buckets.
A moment later, he embraced her, surprising her with the strength of his greeting. He kissed her, swiftly, and she pressed against him for the comfort of it. He broke away, whispering apologies.
“Ah, gods, I beg your pardon, Jaelle. Please forgive me. I’ve been thinking of you constantly. Are you…well? Unharmed?”
“I am fed enough and left alone. But what of you, Stefan? Where are you? What has been done with you and the others? Princess Katherine—Katerina—speaks every day of wanting news of you, but she is allowed none, only assurance that Prince Vasil’ii is well.”
“Didn’t she see Ilya once?”
“Yes, but they could not speak together. Prince Janos remained with them the entire time.” He had taken two steps away from her. She closed the gap and set a hand on his arm, then laid her head against his chest. He stole an arm around her back and breathed into her hair. Unlike most men, his grasp was gentle. But she could feel in the way his body moved against her that he desired her body.
He whispered her name again and kissed her hair, wrenched himself away. “It’s no use. There isn’t time for this. Who knows when we’ll be able to meet this way again? Vasha is being held in the tower. There. It’s called the King’s Tower, and in the room beneath, his many soldiers are quartered. I sleep with him there. Ilya and Vladimir and Nikita and Mikhail are chained up at night down below, although sometimes Ilya is allowed to sleep in the solar, the room below Princess Rusudani’s chamber. That one, there, the tallest tower. Prince Janos has his own rooms, but I think he only uses those for speaking with his steward and others who come in about their business. Ilya says that every night Janos goes up to Rusudani’s chamber. Vladimir and Nikita serve the princess as well, carrying water and firewood, other chores. They are almost always with Ilya. Mikhail serve
s Vasha, as do I. Now tell all this to Katya, so she can be prepared.”
“Prepared for what?”
He lowered his voice even more, and she leaned closer to hear him. He smelled faintly sweet, especially against the dour odor of the stables. Jaran camps never smelled as rank as this castle. “For anything that might happen.”
“What of the other man? The other soldier?”
Stefan shook his head curtly. “Stanislav Vershinin, you mean. We lost him on the road. He couldn’t walk to keep up, so some of the guards sold him to a farmer for three chickens and some grain for their horses. But he’ll have an easier time escaping from there than we will from here.”
“If he lived.”
“He favored the leg more than it hurt him. He knew the risk he was taking. Someone had to try to escape to get the word back to the army.”
Voices sounded from the great hall. A lantern swayed to a slow pace as two guards came along the inner ward.
“Jaelle.” Her name was like a sigh of hope on Stefan’s voice. “If we escape, will you come with us?” He kissed her again. Then, the confession torn from him by the night air and the chance meeting, he said, “I love you.”
“Who’s there?” someone called.
“Where is that slave?”
He broke away, sidled farther into the shadow, and disappeared from her view. In a daze, she hoisted up the buckets and set off for the Widow’s Tower. Two guards hastened up.
“What happened to you?” they demanded.
“I lost my way.”
They escorted her back, and she lugged the buckets up the stairway, not noticing their weight. Setting them down inside the room, she just stood there.
“What’s wrong?” Katerina asked, coming over to her. She took one of Jaelle’s hands in her own, chafing it. “You’ve gone all pale.”
“I saw Stefan.”
“Stefan! How is he?” Light flared in Katerina, like hope leaping across a chasm to find a new home. “What did he have to tell you?”
Disjointedly, Jaelle relayed his news.
Katerina clapped her hands together. “You must try to meet him again. I’ll send you to the well tomorrow night at this time. Surely he’ll come again then, hoping to meet you.”