had no part in this terrible offense against protocol. The Yaochalii himself, may his name endure forever, granted a dispensation from the rite of extinction to Keinaba, if we were able to find a new lord.'
' 'Knowing full well no lord or duke would wish to take on the allegiance and obligation of a house so dishonored,' said Charles.
Echido bowed his head in the deeply subservient fashion of the ke, the most menial of all Chapalii classes, who were not even granted the dignity of given or family names.
'Your command of Anglais is not just remarkable, Hon Echido,' Charles continued. 'It is astonishing. What offense did the princely house commit?'
Echido's skin lightened perceptibly to a pale violet. 'I do not know. But always, the yaotai, the princes, struggle for the yaochalii's favor.'
'And only one prince may become emperor.''
'There are protocols to be observed. So there have been for time uncounted, for years beyond years. To stray from the path of right conduct is to dishonor oneself and one's family.''
'Tell me, Hon Echido, are you certain that the Tai-endi Terese boarded the Oshaki?'
'Quite certain, Tai-en.' Echido's skin paled to white. His hands shifted, and he regarded Soerensen evenly.
'Why did you not debark from the Oshaki when she reached Odys?''
'I was not allowed to, Tai-en, and when I protested, I was reminded of the disgrace of my family and our lords.'
'Yet you disembarked at Hydri and made your way back to Earth.'
Echido arranged his hands in a way Charles had not seen before. If only Suzanne, or Tess, were here to interpret. 'Tai-en, you are the only lord with whom we of Keinaba have any hope of maintaining our house. If we must lose our name and become as the ke, then that is only just. But I told my elders that I would approach the daiga, the human Tai, and so determined, I have now done so. We await your judgment, Tai-en.'
'The dispensation from the emperor?'
'I have a copy, Tai-en. The original rests in his hand, may it hold firm and bring peace to our lands.'
Charles rose. Hon Echido rose like an echo. His skin was pale white, balanced with equal parts of hope and fear.
'Hon Echido.' Charles put his hands together carefully into that arrangement known as Imperial Choice. Then he waited a moment while the scent of roses hung in the air and a bird called piercingly in the silence. 'I take you in.'
Echido flushed red first, shading away into the orange of peace. 'Tai Charles.' He bowed to the precise degree indicating the fullness of his loyalty. 'I am yours.'
'Deliver the dispensation to me tomorrow at the zenith. You may go, Hon Echido.'
Still orange, Echido bowed again and retreated, his stewards flanking him three steps behind. Charles watched them go and then retraced his path. He found Jamsetji kneeling in the dirt, thinning irises.
'What do you think?' Charles asked.
'Cursed trouble, I think. But by damn, Charles, they're sharp, that merchant house. I think they'll be worth the trouble.'
'I hope so. And what is the protocol involved in taking over a merchant house from a dishonored duke?'
'Wasn't done, I'd have thought.'
'I'd have thought, too. This is the kind of thing we must learn.'
'Good thing your sister speaks the language so well.'
'A good thing, indeed. We learn as we go.'
'Damned chameleons,' said Jamsetji, without much heat.
'Dinner tonight, then? Good.' Charles nodded at him and strolled away, taking his time, out through the greenhouse and into the palace, coming at last to his office. He sat down at his desk and considered the mud flats. Then he called up the models by the technician Karima and stared at them, at the lines tracing flight paths and potential landing sites, all in the northern mass of the continent on which Jeds lay far, far to the south and west. He smoothed a hand over the callpad on his desk.
'I want a message, scrambled, to Jeds. To Marco Burckhardt from Charles Soerensen. Marco, I have no further message from Suzanne. It is time to take action on Rhui. Take the emergency kit and the model of landing sites provided by Karima. Sail north. End of message.'***
Tess woke from a deep, soundless sleep into total darkness, her first impulse to snuggle back against the cushion of warmth behind her. Then she remembered where she was, and she became aware all at once of several things: his deep, steady breathing and the warmth of his breath on her neck; an arm flung around her, casual as a lover's embrace; the smell of sweat and horse and lingering blood. She felt unnaturally hot, except for the chill lingering in her toes. Cloth tickled her face. She searched upward with her hand, gently, not wanting to wake him, and found that they were completely covered, toe to head. The horses shifted without nervousness to one side. She heard the hush of rain and the low whine of the wind. She shifted slightly. His arm tightened around her as he sighed in his sleep. His face moved against her hair. She was far more comfortable than she wanted to be, far more comfortable. She fell asleep.
She woke briefly when he left her, woke enough to struggle to her feet and cross to the corral, to check the horses, to relieve herself. The gouge on Myshla's leg was swollen, huge. What if they had to kill her? Terrified, Tess collapsed back onto the couch, exhausted, cold and hot by turns, and slept. When she woke again at Ilya's return he had barely gotten settled before she sat up.
'Can't we get rid of these blankets?' The cold air caressed her cheeks. She pushed the blankets away and got to her knees.
He gripped her arm and stopped her from rising. 'You've got a fever. Here, drink.'
Her mouth was dry, her lips, her hands. The light hurt her eyes and made her temples ache. She drank eagerly, until he took the waterskin from her.
'Lie down.'
'I'm hot. Why do I need blankets?'
'To burn your fever away.'
'Who needs a fire?' she muttered, but she lay down and he tucked the blankets in around them. 'Just stick my arm in kindling and it'll ignite. I hope I'm not being incoherent. How is your knee?'
'Rest is the best cure. I slept all night.'
'Don't you usually?'
'Not often,' he replied cryptically. He crossed his arms tight against his chest, an inoffensive barrier between them.
'I feel terrible. Tell me a story.'
He laughed softly. 'To make you fall asleep?'
'Yes. Rest is the best cure. I heard that once from a very warm man-I mean a very wise man.'
One of his hands moved, bunching into a fist. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Tess giggled. 'Freudian slip,' she said in Anglais.
' 'What does that mean?''
'Can't explain. It's a medical term. What about Vlatagrebi?' A throb began between her eyes.
'Well,' said Bakhtiian briskly. 'If only Josef was here, but I'll do my best.'
Partway through the story she fell asleep. She woke again, hot and aching. Pain lanced her eyes. Her pulse pounded incessantly through her ears. He gave her more water. She went back to sleep.
To wake again. And again. She was damp with sweat. She tossed fitfully, aching and miserable. He told her more of the story, or perhaps it was a different story, she could not be sure. The fire burned, as fitful as she was.
Day came, and with it light. Night followed. Finally the fever broke. She dozed calmly, waking at last when Bakhtiian moved.
'What happened?' She sat up. The unaccustomed light made her blink. She felt light-headed and tired but somehow cleansed. Then, seeing him standing, holding on to his walking stick, she rubbed her eyes. 'What are you doing? Your knee.'
'Is better. Possibly. I'm going outside.'
