a moment, head cocked to one side. 'Send them in,' he said in a clear, cool voice.
Vasil knew an instant of such utter despair that he thought his legs would give out beneath him. Only his grip on the chair held him upright. It could be anyone, coming in to speak to Bakhtiian. Had Vasil been just another visitor-a dyan, a rider, any man from the tribes- Ilya would feel no embarrassment in being found with him in the privacy of his wife's tent. Another man might sit in conversation with Bakhtiian to all hours of the night, without it being the least bit improper. And if Ilya was now as willing to be found here alone with Vasil as he would be if his companion was Yaroslav Sakhalin or
Kirill Zvertkov or Niko Sibirin or Anton Veselov-gods, what if it was true? What if Ilya no longer loved him?
The entrance flap swept aside and two figures came in.
'Dina!' Ilya started forward, amazed, and embraced his niece. 'Have you just ridden in? Where is the prince?'
'About two days behind us, with the pack train. I rode ahead. Uncle.' She hesitated. She broke away from him and turned to look directly at Vasil. Her eyebrows lifted.
Under her scathing, skeptical gaze, Vasil flushed.
'Who is this?' demanded Bakhtiian.
'I see I've come at just the right time. Where is Tess?'
'Sleeping. Come here. What's your name?'
Out from behind Nadine emerged a boy. He looked to be a few years older than Ilyana. With his black hair and dark eyes and narrow chin, he bore a striking resemblance to Nadine Orzhekov. Except that Nadine was not old enough to have a child that age. And her mother and younger brother had both been killed the same year Ilya had exiled Vasil.
'Vasha, this is Bakhtiian. Pay your respects.'
The boy's chin trembled, but he drew himself up bravely enough. 'I'm Vassily Kireyevsky. My mother was Inessa Kireyevsky.'
'Inessa Kireyevsky! Gods.' For a moment, Ilya simply stared at the boy.
As well he might. It was hardly an auspicious introduction. Vasil remembered Inessa as a nasty, selfish little beast who had foolishly believed she could make Ilya love her more than he loved Vasil. For an instant, Ilya's gaze met Vasil's. Oh, yes, they both recalled those days well enough.
Ilya turned a piercing gaze on his niece. 'Perhaps you can explain, Dina. Why are you traveling with Inessa Kireyevsky's son?'
'His mother is dead. Mother Kireyevsky gave the boy into my hands, and I promised-I promised to bring him to you, and to see that he was safe.'
'Why?'
Vasil watched the boy, who watched Bakhtiian. More than watched. The boy stared greedily at Ilya from under lowered lashes, just as a man weak with thirst stares at a cup of water being borne up to him.
Nadine smiled, looking wickedly pleased with herself. She reminded Vasil much more of her grandmother than of her mother, her mother Nataliia had taken after Petre Sokolov, who was a mild-tempered, even-going man, rather than Alyona Orzhekov. Vasil had never liked Ilya's mother, and he didn't much like the look in Nadine's eyes now.
'They didn't want him. His mother never married.'
'But how could she have a child, then?' asked Vasil, surprised. A moment later, he felt the movement behind him.
'Isn't Inessa Kireyevsky the one you lay with out on the grass, under the stars?'
Without turning, Ilya replied. 'You've a good memory, my wife.'
'For some things.' Tess came forward. Her calves and feet were bare, but a silken robe of gold covered the rest of her. The fine sheen of the fabric caught the light, shimmering as she moved forward through the chamber. With her unbound brown hair falling over her shoulders and the high curve of her belly under the glistening silk, she looked doubly exotic and nothing at all like a jaran woman.
'You're the khaja princess,' said the boy abruptly, jerking his gaze from Bakhtiian to her.
'Yes. What's your name again? Vasha?'
'Vassily Kireyevsky.'
'Well met, Nadine.' Nadine hurried forward, and the two women kissed.
'You look as big as a tent,' said Nadine.
'Thank you. You look sly. If Inessa Kireyevsky never married, then whose child is he? How old are you, Vasha?'
'I was born in the Year of the Hawk.'
'And you've no father? Did your mother never marry?'
He hung his head in shame. 'My mother never married. That's why my cousins wished to be rid of me.'
No wonder, reflected Vasil, a little disgusted. What place was there in a tribe for a child who had no father? The boy watched Ilya from under lowered eyelids, gauging his reaction.
'Inessa never married?' asked Ilya. 'I find that hard to believe.'
'Evidently it's true,' said Nadine. She laid a hand on the boy's shoulder, a surprisingly protective gesture. 'They didn't want him, Ilya, and they treated him poorly enough. I thought he'd be better off here. Especially since Inessa Kireyevsky claimed up until the day she died that you were the boy's father.'
'How can I be his father? I never married her.'
'Oh, my God,' said Tess, sounding astonished and yet also enlightened. 'Vasha, come here.' Like a child used to obeying, the boy slid out from under Nadine's hand and walked over to Tess. Tess examined him in silence. And it was silent, ail of a sudden. Not one of them spoke. They scarcely seemed to breathe. After a bit, she tilted his chin back with one finger and frowned down at his slender face. 'It could be. There's a strong enough resemblance, once you look for it.'
'But, Tess-'
'Don't be stupid, Ilya. How many times must I tell you? If you lie with a woman, there's a chance you'll get her pregnant whether you're her husband or not.' She lifted her hand to touch the boy's dark hair. 'Vasha, do you know why your mother never married?'
He looked back over his shoulder, at Ilya. 'Because she thought that Bakhtiian was coming back to marry her. But he never did. And she never wanted anyone else.' Then he flushed, as if he expected a scolding for his presumption. Ilya wore no expression at all. Nadine smirked.
Tess sighed. 'Well, it's possible. I'm beginning to think it's true. And anyway, I've been waiting for this.'
'Waiting for this?' demanded Nadine. 'What do you mean?'
'Surely this was inevitable?' Tess regarded the others, puzzled. 'You don't think so?' Her hand traced a path down the boy's neck and came to rest on his shoulder. He seemed to melt into the shelter she offered him.
Vasil struggled to make sense of what Tess had said.
Certainly, a man might get his lover pregnant-it was possible, but it went against every custom of the jaran to consider that man the child's father; a woman's husband was the father of her children. So it was; so had it always been; so had the gods decreed at the beginning of the world.
Ilya made a sudden, choked noise in his throat. 'Gods, I didn't think she meant it when she told me she was pregnant. What woman would want to get pregnant without a husband?'
'A woman who wanted you very badly. Is it just a coincidence that he's named Vassily?'
Ilya flushed. The dim light covered the stain to his skin, but his body, the sudden stiffness in his shoulders, the way his right hand curled around the edge of the table and then let go, transmitted the emotion in the gesture. 'I thought she was joking,' he said roughly. 'How was I to know she meant it?'
Vasil let go of the chair, only to find that his hands ached, he had gripped it so hard for so long. 'Do you mean to say that you told her to name the child after me?' he asked in a hoarse voice.
The boy flashed an astonished glance toward Vasil and then sidled farther into the shelter of Tess's arm.
'Be that as it may,' said Tess, 'I think you did the right thing, Dina. Vasha. Is that what you wish? To be our son?'
The boy gaped at her. Vasil scarcely knew what to think.
