When they broke out of the woods for the last time, they reined in their horses at the base of a long, broad avenue that led in a direct line to the palace. The great building rose suddenly near. The setting sun streamed light across the pale stone surface of the avenue. It sank toward the low hills directly between the two high towers. Tess stared.
'There are few things in this land as beautiful as the shrine of Morava at sunset,' said Ilya.
His voice startled her, and she looked at him. But he was gazing at her, not at the shrine, an odd, incandescent light in his eyes. He was complimenting her not the palace, but in that awkward, restrained, ponderous way that the very shyest or most conservative jaran men used when dealing with women. Rather than answer or acknowledge his gaze, she urged Myshla forward onto the avenue. He followed her.
Hooves rang muffled on the seamless white stone. Statues bounded the avenue, alien things, twisting, chaotic, but enticing to the eye nevertheless. Stone unlike any stone she knew: black as the void, some of them; others speckled like granite, encased in a glasslike shell; most were translucent. Their angles caught the sun, splintering delicate patterns of light out across the avenue.
An arch of tangled vines spanned the avenue, trailing striated leaves halfway down to the ground. She put up her hand to push through. Breaking past, she saw that the pavement of the avenue was now broken by chevrons chiseled into the stone.
' 'Like the very gods in my sight is he who sits where he can look in your eyes,' ' said Ilya, ' 'who listens close to you, to hear the soft voice, its sweetness murmur in love and laughter, all for him.' ' Her cheeks burned with heat. His recitation did not falter. ' 'But it breaks my spirit; underneath my breast all the heart is shaken. Let me only glance where you are, the voice dies, I can say nothing.' '
How could she help it? She turned her head to look at him. Only he was staring ahead at the bright disk of the sun, at the gleaming stone of the palace, so drawn in to himself that she could read nothing from his expression, nothing from his voice, except the evidence of his words.
' 'But my lips are stricken to silence, underneath my skin the tenuous flame suffuses; nothing shows in front of my eyes, my ears are muted in thunder. And the sweat breaks running upon me, fever shakes my body, paler I turn than grass.' ' Here he faltered. Kriye paced on, eerily placid on the muffling stone. Still Ilya did not look at her but his face bore the perplexity of a man struck by revelation. ' 'I can feel that I have been changed, I feel that-' ' He broke off and dropped his gaze to stare at his hands.
They passed under a second arch, a broad curve of translucent blue stone carved with intricately figured animals. Here the chevrons melded with circles no larger than the circumference of Myshla's hooves.
'Can you sing?' he asked in a muted voice, as if the request might somehow break the spell with which the air of this valley had gripped them, a place untouched by time, weighted with the silence of eternity.
All she could think of was 'Greensleeves.' Afraid not to, she sang it, but she refused to look at him as she did so, all that long, slow ride until finally a third arch bridged the avenue, shimmering and silver-toned. She faltered and broke off the song. As soon as they passed under the silver arch, the palace looming huge and intricate before them, Ilya began to sing.
Her breath caught in her throat. How could he have known? When could he have learned it? He sang the song Fedya had made for her, about the dyan and the daughter of the sun. With whatever uncanny genius Fedya had possessed, he had made that song for Ilya to sing to her, never for any other purpose. How could it be otherwise? Not wanting to look at him, she had to look at him.
He was completely involved in the song, his expression totally unguarded in a way Tess had never seen before, all the veils that concealed his soul blown up as if a wind had caught them, revealing his true face for an illicit moment: his beautiful eyes, scarred by sorrow, the strong, stubborn line of his mouth and chin, above everything the intensity of the passion that drove him, pervading his entire being.
/ love him.
His eyes met hers. The song broke off mid-line as he stared, as they stared, and then, with an effort recalling himself, he haltingly picked up the thread of the song once more.
This was the pyre of immolation. She knew it now for what it was, consuming her. If she had ever thought she was lost before, well then, better she had stayed that way.
He finished the song and reined Kriye in. She halted Myshla beside him, aware of an arch like ruby vaulting the avenue before them. The last rays of the sun illuminated his face.
Words rose unbidden, a scrap of a line from an ancient saga. She opened her mouth, had to touch her tongue to her lips to remind herself how to speak. Even so, her voice came out soft and a little hoarse from emotion. ' 'They say that your eyes contain fire, that your face fills with light.' '
Expression flooded his face. She had seen that look before, after battle.
'Now,' he said triumphantly, 'now you are mine.'
'Advance, travelers. I await you.' Tess stared at Ilya, frozen in shock, but already that betraying expression had vanished and he wrenched his attention away from her and stared past the ruby arch, up the height of the stairs to the landing and the great doors beyond.
Following his gaze, she got an impression of a solitary figure ridiculously small, robed in white, before her glance caught on the last four signs carved into the stone archway. She felt as though she could not breathe. Right to 'left she traced the carvings, and they read:
To the Sun's Child do all who enter here give Obeisance, for these are His halls.
The Sun's Child she knew to be the Emperor because this writing was Chapalii. These gardens, these woods, these statues, this avenue, this palace-it was impossible.
It was true.
'Ilya, we can't bring them here.'
He still gazed upward. 'Bring whom here?' he asked, intent on the figure above.
'The khepelli. Ilya! The writing, do you know what it says?'
That got his attention. His gaze leapt to her. 'No one knows what it says.'
'I can read it. I know.'
He stared at her, so devoid of expression that she thought for a moment that he was confused.
Above, the figure spoke again, not impatient but firm, an old woman's strong voice. 'Advance, travelers. I await you.'
'We must finish the ceremony.' He started Kriye forward under the arch. But his gaze searched the carvings for the instant he could see them, and when he dismounted and began to lead Kriye up the stairs, he said in an undertone, 'What do they say?'
She had fallen behind, but she had no trouble catching up because Ilya was limping badly. Black pillars rose on either side of them, like spears upraised to contain those who thought to stray from right conduct. The sun slid beneath the high dome. Shadows bathed their path.
' 'To the Sun's Child do all who enter here give Obeisance,' ' she translated, ' 'for these are His halls.''
'But the Sun's Child is a girl,' he objected.
'According to the jaran.'
'According to whom was it a boy?' She looked away from him. 'What does this have to do with the khepelli?'
They came to the top of the stairs and halted. An old woman waited there. She held a clay bowl in her hands. Its interior gave off light by some agent Tess could not detect, illuminating the woman's lined face but shadowing her eyes.
'I am the guardian of the shrine.' She examined each of them in turn. 'You have ridden together at sunset up the sacred avenue.' The quiet resonance of her voice made it seem almost threatening. 'Do you know the penalty for sacrilege?'
'I know it,' said Ilya.
Tess shut her eyes briefly. Opening them, she saw that the priestess's gaze was directed at her. 'Ah, I know it,' she answered hastily, sure some ritual was going on here that she did not understand.
'Do you know the Laws of the Avenue?' she asked Ilya.
'I know them.'
'She is not your kin.'
'No.'
She inclined her head and looked at Tess. 'Do you know the Laws of the Avenue?''
