The Novels of the Jaran (288 page)

The man bowed, gave his name and title, and looked, not surprisingly, a trifle nervous. “I had arrived at White Tower on other business,” he said, recovering his smooth manners, “and volunteered to act as go-between. Prince Janos wishes to know why you have invaded his lands and surrounded his castle.”

Tess scowled. “You may take this message back to Prince Janos. If he surrenders himself into my custody, I will spare the town and the castle and everyone who has taken refuge within the walls.”

“Your highness—”

“I am not negotiating. Take that message back to him. I want a reply at dawn tomorrow.” She gestured to one of the guards to escort him away. Given no choice, he went.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Gennady Berezin crouched down beside her. “You did not ask about hostages.”

“Had I asked about them, Prince Janos would know that I knew that he had that power over me. Now he must play that piece himself, in an attempt to counter my first attack.”

“If he does not agree to surrender himself? In his position, I would not.”

“I know nothing of Prince Janos, whether he is shrewd or foolish. I can only try to force his hand, make him show his full strength early rather than late.”

The soldier waved toward the castle. “His position is strong. I am sure we outnumber him, but he is protected by a ditch, a moat, and stone walls.”

“Perhaps by more than that. Princess Rusudani is the granddaughter of King Barsauma of Mircassia. A Mircassian envoy comes forward as a representative of Prince Janos. That suggests to me that Janos knows what he possesses, if indeed he possesses the princess. But where else would she have gone? She surely was captured at Urosh Monastery. And if he has jaran hostages as well—”

But there, having said it, she had to stop. Hope pierced her as painfully as any spear might; she felt it physically, she could not speak. She had not spoken Ilya’s name in days, as if by speaking it she might somehow release it from the earth and lose him, lose any hope of him.

“We will wait,” she said at last. “Prince Janos knows why we want him.”

After delivering his message, the Mircassian envoy retreated to the hearth, warming his hands at the great fire as if within its halo of light and heat he might find safety. Except there was no safety to be had within White Tower. Vasha sat in a chair, idly fingering the game pieces, and watched Janos pace the length of the solar and back again. Katya had fought, of course—Vasha was sure of that—but Janos must have overpowered her. And then—but beyond that Vasha could not go. Just could not. Janos looked preoccupied, grim, but not remotely like a man so monstrous that he would force a woman.

“Where is my wife?” Janos said suddenly. A servant scurried out. Sometime later Princess Rusudani swept in, attended by her women, by two guards, and by Bakhtiian. She looked cool and elegant except for two spots of color burning in her cheeks. Ilya held a copy of
The Recitation
in one hand and he stared fixedly at it, seeming not to see the room or Vasha.

“You will attend me,” Janos said to her as she entered. She sat down in her chair and began to embroider, the other women arranging themselves around her. They were unnaturally quiet, as if fear kept them from speaking, and finally Rusudani nodded toward Ilya and he opened
The Recitation
and began to read aloud from it in a low voice.

Janos sat down opposite Vasha and set the pieces up for a game. “The Prince of Jeds refuses to negotiate,” Janos said.

Ilya’s voice faltered. Rusudani signed to him to set down the book, and she began to embroider again, head bowed over the fabric.

“The jaran will not negotiate, my lord,” said Vasha.

“What would they do if I surrendered?”

“They will kill you.” As Vasha said it, he looked up and saw Rusudani’s gaze fixed on them. She glanced away at once, toward Ilya, who stared blindly at the open pages of the book. He was not reading but listening. “But they would also spare the town and all inside.”

“Would you surrender yourself under such circumstances?”

“Do you intend to?”

“No. I simply wondered.” He beckoned to the Mircassian envoy, and the man crossed the room to stand beside him. “At dawn you will go to the Prince of Jeds and inform her, graciously, that I hold Prince Vasil’ii and Princess Katherine, and that I am willing to enter into negotiations in return for her consideration of an alliance with Mircassia.”

To Vasha’s surprise, Rusudani stood up. “I am the heir to Mircassia,” she said clearly. “Do you intend to negotiate without consulting me?”

Janos rose at once and went over to her. He took her hand and led her to the table. “You have been ten years in the convent, my lady. You have no experience in this. Lord Belos, bring Princess Rusudani some wine.”

Her presence affected Vasha so strongly that he had to bow his head. From under his lashes he watched her drink, the curve of her lips on the rim of the glass, the slight movement of her throat. She was so close to him that he could easily have touched her, as Janos touched her, keeping one hand firmly on her as if to mark that she belonged to him. For even more than the hostages, Rusudani was the prize that could save Janos’s life.

When she had finished drinking, she spoke, slowly enough that Vasha understood the gist of her words. “My lord husband, I would send the priest to the jaran as surety for your good faith. Give him to them to show that you mean to keep to any treaty you might agree to. Perhaps they will forgive you for…” She broke off, found her voice again. “For the other. For what transpired at the monastery.”

“No,” said Janos flatly. “I would be a fool to give up even one. Lord Belos, see that the jaran priest and the others, the soldiers, are put in the dungeon. We may have a use for them later.”

Color rose in Rusudani’s cheeks. “They are my prisoners, not yours, to dispose of.”

“Is it not said in
The Recitation
that a woman ought to be subject to the greater wisdom of a man?”

“Prince Vasil’ii, I appeal to you. Is such a thing said of women among the jaran?”

Her plea startled Vasha, and he stood as well, aware of how near she was. He did not look at her but at the pieces lined neatly up on the gameboard. “No, Princess Rusudani. A woman is subject to no man’s authority, except—” He faltered, remembering his conversations with Janos. Remembering Katerina.

“Except her husband?” Janos asked softly.

“Except, at times, that of her husband,” Vasha murmured.

Rusudani’s hand moved into his field of vision and retreated, and he felt her shift, her movement like a wave against him.

“Lord Belos,” said Janos, “see to your duty.”

The steward bowed and left.

“All that you have,” said Rusudani softly, “came to you through women. I trust you remember that.”

“What I have, I intend to hold on to.”

Vasha lifted his eyes and met Janos’s gaze squarely. He had the sudden, appalling thought that Janos meant, not his mother’s lands, not his wife’s inheritance, but Katerina. Could it be that Janos
loved
Katerina? But how could a man both love and rape a woman? It was impossible. He must be either lover or rapist; he could not be both together.

Vasha risked a glance at Rusudani, so close to him now that if he leaned forward he could kiss her on the mouth, but she was not looking at her husband. She looked beyond him, at Lord Belos, who brought forward three guards to escort Bakhtiian away. Ilya merely rose and, book still clutched in his right hand, went with them, taut as any caged beast. Lord Belos followed him out.

“I will send for my mother to sit here with you,” said Janos. “While we wait.”

“No need,” replied Rusudani. “I will retire to my chamber.”

Janos watched her go. Vasha did not dare to. Finally, when the ladies had all left the solar, Janos sat down again, facing Vasha across the table. He looked restless but determined. “Shall we play?”

That night a footstep sounded in the stairwell, and a scratch came at the door. Jaelle swiftly slid out of Katerina’s embrace and got up, pulling a cloak around her. A moment later the door opened. Princess Rusudani slipped inside, holding a small lantern, and held two fingers up to her lips. Lowering them, she untied a small pouch from her gown and held it out toward Jaelle.

“Do not ask questions,” she said in a low voice, glancing toward Katerina, who still slept, worn to exhaustion by her endless pacing on the day just passed. “In the morning you will go down to the gates and tell the guard who wears a blue ribbon tied at his belt that you have my leave to go down to the market. You will find the herbwoman and from her you will get a drink, herbs, whatever she might have, that will cause men to sleep, enough for at least twenty men. There is more than enough coin. Get other herbs as well, the love potion if you can, or else that which whores take so that they will not conceive.”

Jaelle glanced up at her, surprised that a convent-raised woman would know of such things, but Rusudani was in the grip of a passion and seemed oblivious to her.

“Tomorrow evening, after supper, I will come here with my attendants to visit Princess Katherine and to read from
The Recitation.
You will give me the herbs then. I will find some way to distract the others so that you may give them to me without them noticing.”

“How did you get past the guards tonight, my lady?”

Rusudani’s gaze did not leave Katerina, and Jaelle grew even more nervous. “Does she love him?” Rusudani asked suddenly, ignoring Jaelle’s question. “Does Princess Katherine love my husband? I am not blind. I know he has taken her as his concubine. He is not an ill-favored man, and he can be gracious, when he chooses to be.”

Only the banked coals, a dull, somber red, and the flickering candle flame gave light to the room. Rusudani’s face glowed, shadowed and illuminated together by the flame from her lantern. The rest of the room was dim, unreal. Jaelle did not know what to say. In any case, Rusudani needed no reply, no acknowledgment. She went on.

“I hold no grudge against her. Like me, she was taken by force. I would only regret it if what I must do now will cause her pain.” She turned, and her eyes were lost in shadow. “Take the pouch. Do as I say. We will meet again tomorrow night.”

Then she was gone, closing and barring the door behind her, like a dream. So long did Jaelle stand there in the darkness, wondering if it had been a dream or a true visitation, that finally Katerina stirred from the bed, murmuring, and Jaelle jerked guiltily and went back to curl under the warmth of the covers. Reflexively, not truly awake, Katerina pressed against her and draped an arm over her, taking comfort in Jaelle’s presence, as she always did now.

Did Katerina love Janos?

Jaelle felt Katerina’s breath against her neck. No, she did not love him. Jaelle knew that to be true. In some odd way he interested Katerina, appalled her, fascinated her; in a very obvious way he had earned her enmity. Katerina sighed and murmured words, formless in sleep but pure in tone. A lover’s words. And there the words lay, once spoken, tangible things marking the quiet night chamber just as torches lit the parapets of the besieged city, so that the army outside would know that the forces inside were alert to the threat:
She loves me.

Love is dangerous. Jaelle had only to reach out and touch the little pouch of coin that lay in the folds of the cloak. Whatever scheme Rusudani had concocted, it did not grow out of any love for her husband. But Jaelle knew that in the morning, she would go down to the castle gates and beg leave of the guardsman with the blue ribbon tied to his belt to go beyond, into the marketplace. Not for Rusudani. Once she would have said it was only for herself, to find the least opportunity to improve her lot, to put coin away for unlucky days, to give favors to others so that they might owe her one. Now, she supposed she did it as much for Katerina and Stefan, in the hope that somehow, however unlikely it might seem, what Rusudani planned might help them. But by seeking to help them, she made herself vulnerable. And that frightened her.

At dawn, the Mircassian envoy again approached the tent of the Prince of Jeds.

“Where is Prince Janos?” Tess asked without preamble. She was exhausted. She had hardly slept. Early on she had dreamed that Ilya had come back to her, as if from the dead, and after that she had been afraid to go to sleep again.

“Your highness.” The envoy was sharp enough. Neither did he waste time in pleasantries. “Prince Janos offers you an alliance with Mircassia.”

“How can he do so? Does he have King Barsauma’s ear?”

“He has the king’s heir. I can vouch for this, your highness. I was sent by King Barsauma to secure Princess Rusudani, to bring her back to Mircassia and invest her as the heir.”

Caught despite herself, Tess indulged her curiosity, even though she knew that the least sign of interest weakened her position. “There is another heir, a young man, Barsauma’s nephew.”

“He has fled to Filis with his mother, your highness, now that he has been repudiated by the king. Prince Janos has married Princess Rusudani. He can offer you an alliance with Mircassia.”

“Surely Princess Rusudani could offer this herself.
She
is the heir.”

“She is only a woman—” Flushing, the envoy broke off.

Tess smiled. “I understand the situation well enough, Lord Envoy. Tell me, since it seems obvious to me that Rusudani’s consort will be the king in her stead, do you think Prince Janos will meet with King Barsauma’s approval? It hardly serves me to make an alliance with a man who cannot fulfill its terms. You may tell me the truth, Lord Envoy. I grant you immunity, now, and whatever may happen next.”

Startled, he glanced away from her, at the camp, at the jaran soldiers, a grim-looking lot, and at the castle, which gleamed white in the morning sun, proud but not impregnable. “He is not the prince King Barsauma would have chosen, your highness, but he is well enough. The king will not be disappointed.”

And so, Tess thought, the jaran could have an alliance with Mircassia and be spared fighting that powerful kingdom at all. It was a shrewd offer. It was tempting.