She lowered her arm and stared at the canvas above her, recalling Ilya in all his moods and depressing herself further. Then, so soon it startled her, Niko threw the tent flap unceremoniously back. She had to cover her eyes with her hands until they could adjust to the unaccustomed light.
'Now. You are coming out. Here, Tasha, help me, please.'
They pulled her out on the blanket and bundled her onto one of the light wagons that the women used to transport their tents. It hurt, but not as much as the sight of Petya, with his damned beautiful face, without the slightest visible scar from the battle. And he was riding Yuri's Khani. Tess was filled with such a vicious, burning wish that Petya could have died instead of Yuri that she was horrified at the depth of her own hatred.
'Tess, I'm so glad you're alive.' Tess glanced up to see that Arina Veselov was driving the wagon. Arina looked at Tess's expression, and looked away again, questioningly to Niko. Tasha and Vladimir were taking down her tent. No one spoke. When they finished and brought the tent and gear to put in beside her, she pulled the blanket up over her face and ignored them.
For three days, she ignored them. After the first day, only Niko and Arina spoke to her, both unfailingly kind. Tess grew sick of their kindness. She could not look at Petya without feeling that same sickening jealousy, that hatred, so she did not look at any of them. The jolting of the wagon hurt, every bump, every jar, but not enough, not enough to make up for everyone who had died.
When they rode into Veselov's camp, she hid herself, buried herself in blankets, and wished with all her strength that they would leave her alone. The wagon halted. Their voices spoke together, low, conspiring. She could hear in the distance the noises of the camp, and could gauge fairly enough that they had stopped some ways away. Thank God.
Then: 'Ah, here you are,' said Niko with relief. 'I can do nothing with her. She has given up, I think. She blames herself for what happened.'
Weight rocked the wagon. A moment later, a strong hand yanked the blanket away from her face. She shut her eyes.
'Tess, look at me.'
Because his voice surprised her, she opened her eyes. 'Kirill.'
'Well?' he asked. He bore a pink scar on his forehead and past his ear, down to his jaw. His right arm and shoulder were swathed in a sling.
'Go away,' Tess said, acutely embarrassed by his presence, staring at her with such knowing eyes.
He lifted his left hand, and the figures behind him moved away. 'So, my heart, is this how you repay Yuri's sacrifice?'
She flushed, trapped here under his gaze because she could not move. 'How dare you scold me!'
'How dare I? How dare you pretend you're the only one who loved Yuri? Who cared for Mikhal? Don't you think Petya hates himself, wondering why his best friend is dead and he's still alive? Don't you think the rest of us would give our own lives to bring them back? But we can't because we're alive and they're dead. Nothing will bring them back, Tess, and you might as well be dead, too, if all you care for is your own grief.''
She stared at him. She felt stripped of words.
'Tomorrow Niko says he'll let you sit up,' he added, softer now. 'By the gods, Tess, if you aren't walking by the time Bakhtiian gets back, you aren't the one who'll get the worst edge of Ilya's tongue. So think of the rest of us, if you please.'
Then he walked away. Limped away. He favored one side, and his right arm and shoulder were stiff and lifeless. Arina Veselov met him twenty paces out, and he allowed her, small as she was, to support him with an arm at his elbow.
Tess began to cry, but silently. When Niko came up, she simply reached for his hand and held it tightly, while Tasha and Vladimir put up her tent, and Niko and Tasha carried her over to it.
'Might I lie outside for just a little bit?' she asked.
'Yes, child. Set her down here, Tasha.'
It was afternoon. Beyond, she saw the tents of Veselov's camp. Women talked, but quietly, and children played, more quietly still. She saw a few riders, but not many, and most of them she did not recognize.
'Where is Petya?' she asked.
'Here. Petya!'
A moment later, Petya arrived, looking pale. He wore three necklaces, one of them the amber one she had given him.
'Petya,' she said. 'I'm sorry.'
He ducked his head, paling even more. 'Tess,' he said, and then he turned away abruptly and she realized that he was crying. He strode away quickly, out into the grass.
'Inside now,' said Niko. 'Rain is coming on.' They hauled her in, and Tasha retreated. 'Well, child, have you decided to live?'
'I thought I made a promise. Oh, Niko, I remember the last thing he said to me. He said, 'Don't cry. Live.' Oh, Niko.' The wind rustled the tent flap. A light spatter of rain fell. 'Will it always be this painful?'
'Not always, child, but we will sit with you, those of us whom you care to see, as often as you wish, if that will comfort you.'
'Please.' She brought his hand to rest on her cheek. Presently, she fell asleep.
Sometimes, Marco Burckhardt reflected, your luck was out, and sometimes it was in. Sometimes things seemed too damned easy, given all the trouble and worry that had come before.
He sat in the cleanest inn in Abala Port, a filthy port town well up the inland sea, about thirty days' sailing north of Jeds. The winds had been good. His luck was in.
A Chapalii dressed in native-looking clothing, tattooed on his left jaw with the mark of the steward class, was haggling with the innkeeper. Just ten paces from Marco. Just as, right on the edge of town in an old barracks and corral, three more Chapalii stewards watched over a veritable fleet of the most beautiful Kuhaylan Arabians Marco had seen in a good long time. Right there, at the second of Karima's modeled landing points, he had-what was the old phrase-struck gold.
He had sent one scrambled analog burst back to Jeds to inform Dr. Hierakis of the situation. More than that, not knowing what kind of communications equipment the Chapalii had hidden in their gear, he dared not attempt.
A bearded man dressed in a silkily smooth scarlet shirt tucked into black trousers came down the stairs and paused, staying back in the shadows, watching the Chapalii. The steward counted out eleven copper coins and received in his turn five loaves of bread and a slab of cheese. With this bounty, he left. The man came in to the room and, with a nod toward the innkeeper, strolled over to Marco's table.
Marco eyed him with interest. This was the other foreigner in town, a man who had, so the innkeeper informed him, ridden in from the northeast some days before Marco's arrival.
'May I sit down?' asked the man in passable Taor.
Marco gestured. The man sat. He carried himself easily, confidently, yet warily, and he wore a saber at his belt.
'My name is Josef Raevsky. You are from Jeds, I think. I have been watching you these past few days.'
'Yes, you have.' Marco smiled. 'And I you. You're also a foreigner in these parts.'
'But you are from Jeds. A merchant, perhaps?'
'I have made no secret of who I am.''
'No,' said Raevsky. 'You are Marko Burkhhart, an emissary from the Prince of Jeds. Seeking new trade. So you say. And you are interested in the khepelli and their horses. You are waiting to see what becomes of them.'
The way he said the word alerted Marco instantly. Here, the townsfolk called them chepalis. This was their name in a different tongue; this was a man who was interested in them as well. Of course, Marco had heard gossip: even in a port town, to have three entirely different foreign visitors-the Chapalii counting as a group of one-at one time was a marvel and much discussed at the inns and around the harbor. An emissary from the Prince of Jeds; strange-looking foreigners from over the seas with their cargo of fine horses; and this man, who was, said the old innkeep, a man from that people called the zherawn, savages from out in the wilderness.
'Say, lad,' called the innkeeper, interrupting them. Over the last five days he had decided that he liked Marco, foreigner though he was. The quality of Marco's gold and Marco's gossip had won him over. 'I laid that money you said down on them spices, and sure enough, when the Queen Aireon sailed in this morning, that was the first cargo
