Diana did not need to speak. She lifted a hand imperiously, as the Daughter of the Sun would do, should Vasil ever have the misfortune to meet her. The dyan who had fallen in love with the Sun's daughter had died an untimely death, of course; it was always dangerous to attract the attention of the gods. And yet, although the Daughter of the Sun beckoned him, she was also Diana. She was both. By such skill, by her ability to be both herself and the Sun's daughter, did she show her mastery of her art.
Vasil clambered up on to the platform and approached her, eyes lowered. Three paces from her he stopped. He gave her a glance sidelong, knowing he appeared to advantage with his eyes cast down, and then bent his head slightly, just slightly enough to show that he knew the respect due to a woman but without demeaning himself in any way, knowing his own power. They watched him, the actors and Zerentous, and whatever jaran audience lingered beyond. He enjoyed that they watched him.
'There,' said Zerentous from the ground. 'Did you get that, Gwyn? That's what you're missing. It's the modesty without losing the strength. Thank you, Veselov.' Dismissed, Vasil retreated back down off the platform. 'So, is it because she's a goddess that you approach her so humbly, or because she's a foreign woman?'
'She's a woman,' replied Vasil, puzzled by the question. 'Whether she's the Sun's daughter or a mortal woman makes no difference.'
'Ah.' Zerentous nodded, but the reaction mystified Vasil. 'Run it again.'
As Vasil watched, the actors sang again-no, they didn't actually sing, they played their parts. They acted. This time, Gwyn Jones imitated Vasil's own language of the body, his gestures, his stance, his lowered eyes, so expertly that Vasil was amazed.
'Better,' said Zerentous. 'But now make it your own, Gwyn.'
They went on. After a bit, even standing so close, Vasil realized that they had forgotten him. Perhaps Zerentous was more like an etsana, truly, since an etsana often only noticed those of her people whom she had a special use for or those who shirked their duties. A dyan must know where each of his men rode, and where and how strongly they wielded their weapons that day. They called Zerentous a khaja word; director, that was it. Beyond, at the fringe of the Company camp, Ilyana appeared. She hopped impatiently, balancing first on one foot, then on the other, and when she saw that she had her father's attention, she beckoned to him. A summons.
He sighed and retreated. To one side of the platform, the tall woman paused and acknowledged his leaving with a nod of her head. Her notice heartened him. They had felt his presence. That was something.
'What is it, Yana?' He bent to kiss her.
'Mother Veselov wants to see you. Mama sent me to fetch you.' She tilted her head back and examined him with that clear-eyed sight that characterized her. Vasil suspected that she knew very well the kind of man he was, but that she loved him anyway. 'They're not pleased with you,' she added by way of warning him.
'Oh?' That would have to be mended. It wouldn't take much time. He took her hand in his and they set off together, back toward the Veselov camp.
Yana shrugged. 'You spend too much time here.'
'Do you think so?'
She had a bright face, unscarred by sulkiness. Like her mother, she had learned to accept what life brought her; unlike her mother, she never seemed resigned to her fate, and she did not let the jars and jolting of life bother her. Where her little brother Valentin saw only the clouds, she saw the sun waiting to break through. Everyone liked her; she was, as she ought to be, a charming, brilliant child. 'Well, it isn't so much what I think that matters, Papa, it's what Mother Veselov thinks.'
'But / care what you think, little one.'
They walked ten steps in silence. 'Is it true that, a long time ago, that you and Bakhtiian-?' She faltered and gave him a sidewise glance, gauging his reaction.
Anger blazed up. How dare anyone disturb her with such rumors? But he did not let his anger show. 'Who has said this?'
She shrugged again. 'Sometimes I hear things. Once, someone teased Valentin with it, and Valentin just got angry and cried, so I had to protect him.'
'What did you do?'
'I told him-the boy, not Valentin-that his mother was as ugly as an old cow, mat his father was as stupid as a khaja soldier, and then I gave him a bloody lip.'
Amused, Vasil allowed himself a brief smile. 'Well, I suppose that served the purpose, but really, Yana, outright insult is never as effective as more subtle methods. Who was the boy?'
She rolled her eyes. 'I'm not going to tell you that! I can take care of myself. I always have, you know.'
The words stung him. 'Of course you can take care of yourself, but I'm here now, little one.'
'Yes. But you might leave again.'
He flinched. It hurt, the matter-of-fact way she spoke. He stopped her. 'I won't leave you or your mother or Valentin. Ever again. I promise.' He gripped her by the shoulders to make sure she understood. He could not bear for her not to believe in him. She had to.
For an instant he thought she looked skeptical, but it wasn't so. Like her mother, she must love him more than anyone else. She smiled her loyal little smile and stretched up to kiss him. 'Yes, Father,' she said.
At Arina's tent, he had to wait outside for a time, cooling his heels, before Arina's young sister admitted him. Karolla sat beside Anna, as she had for ten days now; Karolla had practically lived in Arina's great tent ever since Anna had been carried back to camp on a litter, after being wounded in that skirmish. These days she paid more attention to Anna than she did to her own husband, and every now and then, when he thought about it, he resented it.
Vasil knelt beside the etsana. Anna gestured with her right hand. Ilyana and Karolla left the tent, leaving Vasil alone with his cousin. She was as pale as the moon and scarcely more substantial than the high clouds that streak the sky on a summer's day. But he recognized the set of her mouth and settled down for a good scolding.
'Vasil, I am minded as etsana of this tribe to ask the Elders to reconsider your election as dyan. I have never heard any complaint about your actions as dyan, but in truth, these days, Anton is dyan in everything but name, and I refuse to allow you to continue to hold the honor if you don't also accept the responsibility.'
He bowed his head. Gods, how he hated these discussions.
'Have you nothing to say?'
He stared at his hands, which lay clasped on his thighs. Then he wondered if, by turning his right hand palm up, underneath the shield of his left hand, the arrangement might express a different emotion. Except the fingers of his right hand stuck out then, from under the left. Perhaps if he curled the right hand into a fist, hidden under the looser curl of his left hand-
'You seem distracted, Vasil.' Though soft, her voice was sharp.
'I beg your pardon.' He lifted his gaze. She lay propped on pillows with her braided hair snaking down along the curve of her tunic almost to her waist. His dear cousin. She had always supported him. He was glad she had not died.
'I'll permit you a few days to consider,' Anna added. 'Come speak to me once you've made up your mind.'
This was the time to insinuate himself into her good graces again; he knew it with every fiber of his being. But he wanted to go back and watch the acting. He nodded, allowed himself to be dismissed, and left the tent.
Karolla waited for him outside. 'Well?' she demanded. Then she took hold of his arm and led him aside. 'Vasil!
You've been infected by some madness. She's going to make Anton dyan again.'
'What of it? I never wanted to be dyan.'
'You did once. When you came back to the army.'
'Oh, that-' He broke off. When he came back to the army, he had been sure that Hya would give in to him eventually, just as he always had before.
'Oh, that!' echoed Karolla scathingly. 'She'll install her own brother as dyan instead of you. That's how far you've fallen. What will you do then? Become a common rider again?'
'A common rider? I think not.'
'If not ride, then what? Why should Anna keep you in camp if you do nothing? Where will you go? Where will we go? You have no place here, Vasil, if you're not dyan. Or perhaps she'll take pity on you and allow you to ride in
