The Novels of the Jaran (64 page)

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 was 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.”

“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 asked.

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.