'Yuri,' said Bakhtiian.
'I think that was a warning,' said Tess to Yuri.
'Excuse me,' said Bakhtiian curtly, and left them.
Yuri took Tess's elbow and guided her past couples forming for the next dance, past the ring of watchers, some of whom congratulated her in low voices, to the shadowy edge of the firelight. His lips were pressed together into a thin line, and his shoulders trembled with suppressed laughter. Behind them, the lutes began a slow melody, accompanied by the shuffle and drag of feet.
'No one… no one ever says things like that to Bakhtiian.'
'Why not? It was a warning. I remember when he told you to go look after the horses. I'd never seen anything so rude.'
'Oh, Tess. The look-on his face when you said it.' He bit at his hand to stop himself from giggling.
'I didn't see it.'
'Oh, oh.' Tears sparkled on his cheeks. He was still laughing, one hand pressed to his abdomen. 'Oh, Tess, make me stop laughing. My stomach hurts.'
Tess began to wipe at her eyes, recalled the kohl, and stopped. 'Listen, Yuri. I need your advice. About Vladimir.'
Yuri stopped laughing.
'I've done something wrong, haven't I?' she whispered. From the fire came a swell of laughter.
'No.' He reached for her. She avoided his hand. 'Vladimir's behavior-as if anyone could blame you-'
'Oh, Lord.' She broke past him and ran away, skirting the clusters of tents, until she found her own, pitched in solitary splendor at the very edge of camp. She flung herself down, crawled inside, and covered her face with her hands.
Once again, she had made a fool of herself with a man. She never knew what to do. She always did it wrong. She snuffled into her palms but could not force tears. Voices, angry voices, interrupted her, and she froze, scarcely breathing.
'By the gods,' said Bakhtiian. He sounded furious beyond measure. 'If I ever see such an exhibition as that again, Vladimir, then you will leave my jahar. Perhaps Elena Sobelov might keep you as her lover, a kinless man without even a dyan to call loyalty to, but her brothers will kill you if you ever try to mark her.''
'I didn't do anything wrong.' Vladimir's voice was sullen.
Tess squirmed forward and peered out the front flap of her tent. She could see neither of them.
'Not even Kirill would flaunt himself like that in front of a woman. Not even Kirill, by the gods, would put himself forward so, without any shame at all, and as a guest in this tribe. I expect my riders to behave as men, not as khaja savages.'
Out a little farther, and she could see them, standing by the glow of the fire around which Bakhtiian and Niko had spoken with men from this tribe the night before. Bakhtiian stood stiff and straight, anger in every line of his body. Before him, bowed down by his bitterly harsh words, Vladimir stood hunched, cowed. Tess felt sorry for him suddenly, the recipient of Bakhtiian's ill humor.
'She's just a khaja bitch,' said Vladimir petulantly. 'She doesn't matter.''
Bakhtiian slapped him. Vladimir gasped. Tess flinched.
'Never speak of women that way.'' Bakhtiian's voice was low but his words burned with intensity. 'Have you no shame? To throw yourself at her, there at the dance? What do you think Sakhalin must think of me, of our jahar? That we are so immodest that we make advances to women?'
A muffled noise had started that Tess could not immediately identify. The shadowy figure that was Vladimir lifted a hand to his face. He was crying.
'None of the women, none of them… came up to me…'He faltered. 'She is khaja. I thought it wouldn't matter.'
'Oh, gods, Vladi,' said Bakhtiian awkwardly, his voice softening. 'Go to bed.'
Vladimir turned and fled into the safe arms of the night. Bakhtiian sighed ostentatiously and kicked at the fire, scattering its coals. The last flames highlighted his fine-boned face.
'Ah, Bakhtiian.' The woman's voice was low and pleasant. She strode into the fire's glow with confidence. 'I was looking for you, Ilyakoria.'
He glanced up at her and looked down again. 'Na-dezhda. We have had so little time to talk since I arrived.'
'To talk?' She turned to rest a hand on his sleeve. She was older, a handsome woman dressed in long skirts and belled trousers washed gray by the night. 'Talk is not precisely what I had in mind.'
He shifted so that his arm brushed hers, but still he did not look at her. 'You flatter me.' She laughed, low and throaty, and lifted a hand to touch his face.
His diffidence astonished Tess and she felt suddenly like a voyeur, spying on a scene not meant for her eyes and ears. She shimmied backward into the tent, covered her ears with her hands, and curled up in her blankets. Eventually, she even went to sleep.
Light shimmered through the crystal panes that roofed and walled the Tai-en's reception hall. Rainbows painted the air in delicate patterns, shifting as the sun peaked and began its slow fall toward evening.
Marco sat on a living bench, grown from polished ralewood, growing still, shaded by vines. He watched as Charles Soerensen moved through the crowd. Worked the crowd, really; Marco had always liked that use of the word. Each new cluster of Chapalii bowed to the same precise degree at Charles's presence. The humans shook his hand, except for the Ophiuchi-Sei, who met him with a palm set against his palm, their traditional greeting. A handful of individuals from alien species under Chapalii rule also graced the reception, but Charles was always armed with interpreters of some kind, and he had the innate ability to never insult anyone unknowingly. Marco studied the crowd, measuring its tone, measuring individuals and family affiliations among the mass of Chapalii honored enough to receive this invitation, enjoying the consternation in the Chapalii ranks at the carousing of a score of human miners in from the edge of the system on holiday, marveling for the hundredth time over how the Chapalii architect responsible for this chamber had managed to coordinate the intricate pattern of the mosaic floor with the shifting rainbows decorating the loft of air above.
At the far end of the hall, under the twin barrel vaults that led out into the stone garden, Suzanne appeared.
Marco did not jump to his feet. He never did anything hastily or blindly, except for that one time in the frozen wastelands far to the south of Jeds, when he had run for his life with a spear through his shoulder, an arrow through his neck, and his dead guide left behind in a spreading pool of blood.
Suzanne did not move from the entrance. She merely stood to one side, shadowed by a pillar, and waited. After a few minutes, Marco rose and strolled aimlessly through the crowd, making his spiral way toward Charles. When he at last touched the sleeve of Charles's shirt, he noted that Suzanne had vanished from the hall. Charles shook the hand of a ship's master, exchanged a few easy words with her mate, and followed Marco out through the narrow side corridor that led to the efficiency and thence through a nondescript door to a hall that circled back and led out onto a secluded corner of the stone garden.
Suzanne waited there, standing under the shade of a granite arch cut into a lacework of stone above. A Chapalii waited with her. Seeing Charles, he bowed to the precise degree.
'Charles,' said Suzanne, 'this is Hon Echido Keinaba. He has come to Odys on behalf of his family to negotiate shipping and mineral rights. I hope you will be able to find time to discuss this matter in detail with him tomorrow.' Then she repeated her speech in halting formal Chapalii, for Keinaba.
Charles nodded.
Keinaba bowed, his skin flushed red with satisfaction.
'Tai Charles,' he said, speaking slowly, more as if he were choosing his words carefully than making sure the duke could understand him, ' 'I am overwhelmed by your generosity to me and to Keinaba in this matter. I was most gratified to meet and converse with your esteemed heir the Tai-endi Terese on the shuttle from Earth up to the Oshaki, and I can only hope that her influence has helped bring your favor onto our family.' He bowed again, hands in that arrangement known as Merchant's Bounty.
Charles did not move or show any emotion on his face. He simply nodded again.
'Perhaps, Hon Echido,' said Suzanne, 'you would like to see the reception hall.'
'It is my fervent desire,' replied Echido. He bowed again and retreated.
