They laid Ursula's body, shrouded in a simple linen winding-cloth and topped by her beloved helmet and her torn, bloodied surcoat, on the pyre at the feet of the man she had followed here. It was fitting that Ursula be burned. She had died in battle, fighting for the jaran. As for the other corpse-well, Sonia hoped the gods would forgive them for the impiety.
He had, at least, been a soldier, and he had died fighting for his people-khaja though they might be; that ought to satisfy the gods. She only hoped his spirit would not take offense at the substitution. She had made sure that the necklace of gold beads he wore had been left with him, so that he might go to the heavens with something familiar and not just the shroud of the Prince of Jeds.
One of the actors sang a haunting song in farewell. David ben Unbutu spoke a long prayer. Most of them wept, even though Sonia did not think they had loved Ursula overmuch. More than anything, she thought they were simply shocked that Ursula had died. As if they thought that Ursula couldn't die, that none of them could die. Sonia made a sign against Grandmother Night, for even contemplating such a blasphemous thought. Certainly they did not weep for the prince. All of them knew, as she knew, as Hya knew, that Charles Soerensen had not died but simply given up Jeds in order to return to his mother's homeland of Erthe.
Dry-eyed, Tess put the torch to the wood, and it caught. Farther off, ambassadors attended, and etsanas and dyans, out of respect for the dead prince, and behind them, farther still, a knot of soldiers, riders and a few Farisa auxiliaries, who attended out of respect for the woman who had led them. Karkand smoldered behind them and, in some places, still burned.
Flames leapt up the pyre and engulfed the two bodies. The scent of ulyan permeated the air. Tess moved back to stand beside Ilya, and Sonia went over to her and put an arm around her, supporting her. Tess still suffered from exhaustion; she had not yet gotten over her ride of two days past.
'Poor Ursula,' said Tess to the air. 'I hope it was quick.'
They stood there for a while longer. The fire fanned heat over them in waves, and at last the smoke drove them back.
'We'll go home,' said Sonia.
'Yes,' said Tess. Together, they walked a few paces. First Sonia halted, then Tess. Beyond, others moved away as well, seeing that the formal ceremony was over. The actors walked off en masse. The golden-haired Singer wept copiously, and three of the others surrounded her as guards might, fending off the world. Ambassadors trailed away. David and the remaining members of Soerensen's party circled the pyre a final time and left without looking back.
'Are you coming?' asked Sonia, since Ilya had not moved.
'No,' he said, watching the flames. 'Not yet.'
And it was true, Sonia reflected, that for Ilya this was a farewell to Charles Soerensen. He could hardly expect to see him again. Certainly Tess did not expect her brother to ever return, and even with the Jedan fleet, Sonia doubted that Ilya would ever have the opportunity or the means to sail across the vast oceans to a land as distant as Erthe.
'Given more time,' said Tess softly, 'I think they would have become friends. At least, they understood each other.'
'Understanding,' said Sonia, 'is truly one of the most precious gifts. You look tired, Tess.'
'I am.'
'Well, then, leave him here to do what he must.'
'It reminds me,' said Tess, and her voice cracked just a little, 'of the baby.'
'If the gods are merciful,' said Sonia, 'then they will grant you many children.'
'Are the gods merciful?' Tess asked, an odd note in her voice.
'The gods are just,' said Sonia, 'and their justice is sometimes harsh, but it is their mercy which sustains us.'
Ilya still had not moved. The pyre seemed to fascinate him, or else it merely gave a focus for his thoughts- whatever they might be. Sonia drew Tess forward, and they left him there alone to say farewell.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Bakhtiian held court in the ashes of Karkand,
'An impressive show,' said Laissa, drawing aside the curtain of her litter. She gazed out on the desolation that had once been the royal city of the kingdom of Habakar and at the white tent staked out and surrounded by carpets and, beyond the carpets, a flat stretch of ground that had once been a marketplace. Bakhtiian and his wife-now the Prince of Jeds-sat under the awning, elevated on a dais. One by one, they called embassies before them. One by one, embassies knelt at the base of the dais and gave gifts and were sent away with scrolls bound with gold braid, signed by the hand of Bakhtiian himself.
Six days after the final assault, the city lay stark and ruined under a clear sky. Karkand had seemed huge before, but burned and razed its endless fields of ash and shattered masonry and blackened walls and broken towers just seemed to stretch on and on and on. Yesterday it had rained, and the drizzle had chased the last pall of smoke from the air. It still smelled of smoke and ash and burnt things, here in the city, but a chilly dampness overlaid it. The cold season was sweeping down on Habakar.
'Why impressive?' asked Jiroannes, turning away from this depressing scene to look at his wife. Beneath her sheer veil she looked impossibly serene.
'Every ambassador who comes before Bakhtiian today will see this, and know that he and his people must fear Bakhtiian's wrath. You would do well, Jiroannes, to consider wisely when it comes time to accept whatever treaty Bakhtiian offers to your Great King.'
'Your King as well, now that you are my wife,' he snapped.
'I may place my allegiance where I please,' she said, untroubled by his outburst, 'since that is the right of every man or woman born into the House of the Lion and the Moon, the most noble of all royal lines of Habakar. Mother Sakhalin came to me last night and said that she and Bakhtiian had come to an agreement, that they would ask me and my cousin, who is father to the child Melatina-the girl who is to marry Prince Mitya-to act as regents in Habakar in concert with two jaran Elders until the young prince and his bride come of age.'
Jiroannes had a sudden sinking feeling that there was a great deal going on in the camp that he was not privy to. He had not seen Mitya for days and days, not since before Laissa had poisoned Samae. Did Bakhtiian truly think so little of the Great King of Vidiya that he would snub the King's ambassador like this, and take this Habakar princess into his confidence and his trust? Did Bakhtiian's intelligence net spread so wide that he knew that in truth the Great King did little more than hunt and luxuriate in the women's quarters, overseeing not his lands and his army but the innumerable petty quarrels that erupted every day in the kennels and the harem? The Great King did not want to go to war. Indeed, Jiroannes doubted he was capable of leading an army, or even of presiding over one. His mother had poisoned or strangled all of his half brothers and male cousins, to leave him free of that sort of intrigue, but the Queen Mother was dead now, and upon her death he had banished all of the ministers she had so carefully chosen for him and installed his cronies, each and every one of them young princes and noblemen of similar dissipated habits to his own. His one living sibling, Her Highness the Princess Eriania, he indulged shamelessly, going so far as to let her ride out to the hunt with him and his entourage, and everyone knew she kept her own harem in imitation of the men, but for all that, she was more of a man than he was. Which man did Jiroannes respect more, Bakhtiian or the Great King? It was no contest.
'Thought becomes you,' said Laissa.
He hated her at that moment, for her mocking superiority and her patronizing way of talking to him.
'Jiroannes,' she said on a sigh, 'you are scarcely more than a boy. It's no wonder the young prince likes you. Don't bridle up at me like that. You're intelligent. Certainly you're ambitious, or you would never have thought to marry me. Surely you and I can work together, rather than at odds, despite all the years there are between us and the difference in our stations. I must have a husband. Clearly, you need an older head than your own to guide your actions until you've grown a few years wiser than you are now.'
'How dare you address me in this impertinent fashion!' he demanded, and faltered, seeing that his anger did not frighten her anymore. She was secure. Oh, she might have to endure his attentions in the bed, but that lasted
