“Wave farewell to her,” Marianna said in a low voice.
“The devil I will.”
“She has a great fondness for you. She will be hurt if you’re cold to her.”
He shot her a look. “And what about your hurt?”
“I don’t need you to fight my battles.” Then she demanded, “Wave farewell to her.”
“Obstinate woman.” The faintest smile curved his lips. He lifted his hand in Dorothy’s general direction and then snapped the reins to put the horses in motion.
As the two wagons rolled out of the gates of Cambaron, Marianna glanced over her shoulder at the castle. Lord, how frightened she had been the first time she had caught sight of those four towers. Three years of her life had been spent within those stone walls. It was strange to think that she would never see them again. No matter what the outcome of this journey, she and Alex would not return to Cambaron. She felt an instant of poignant regret and then firmly dismissed it. Cambaron had never really been her home, and she must remember what Grandmama had always told her.
“What are you thinking?”
She looked around to see Jordan observing her.
She was not about to tell him she never intended to return to the castle. Yet Jordan was a part of Cambaron, and she had a sudden desire to share this leavetaking with him. She said haltingly, “Grandmama often had to travel from place to place in order to do her work, and at first she was very unhappy. She would just start to love a place and feel comfortable, and she would have to give it up and leave again. Then she suddenly realized that she wasn’t really giving up anything, because with every window, every panel she had created, she had left a part of herself behind. She said ‘Leave your mark, Marianna, and no one can ever take anything away from you.’ ”
“She sounds like a very wise woman.”
“Very wise.”
She again looked back over her shoulder at the castle that had sheltered six hundred years of power and privilege. Generations of nobility had come and gone; even royalty had cast their tall shadows in those halls. Yet she would defy any of them to claim they had brought more to this place than she had.
She whispered, “By God, I’ve left my mark on you, Cambaron.”
CHAPTER 12
Smell it, Marianna.” Gregor lifted his head and sniffed enthusiastically. “There are no scents on earth like the ones here in Kazan.”
Marianna obligingly sniffed, but she could tell little difference from the scents here and those at Domajo and Southwick. “Very nice.”
“You needn’t be polite. We all know Gregor suffers from an incurable malady,” Jordan said as he joined them at the rail of the ship. “He believes that even the air in Kazan is sweeter, the horses bigger and faster, and the people stronger and more intelligent.”
“I believe it because it is true,” Gregor protested. “You will see, Marianna.” He took her arm and pulled her toward the gangplank. “Come, Jordan, why are you tarrying?”
“The horses have to be saddled and unloaded.” He followed them down the gangplank. “The palace is over four miles from the dock. It would be pleasant to have some form of transportation, don’t you think? Even though Cambaron horses are only adequate compared to Kazan’s vastly superior horseflesh.”
“Palace?” Marianna asked.
“If we’re to receive help, we must petition the ravin,” Jordan explained. Then, as he saw her worried frown, he added, “It’s only a formality. Kazan has no desire to let Nebrov keep a weapon that could be aimed at them.”
“This has gone on too long,” Marianna said. “We don’t need another delay.” The journey from England had seemed to last an eternity, stretching her nerves to their limits. The idea of having to linger in a foreign palace was unbearable.
“There’s a possibility that there may also be some information waiting for us,” Jordan said. “Janus is watching Nebrov, and he has orders to send identical messages to the ravin at the same time he sent them to me.”
“There they are.” Gregor strode toward the horses being led down the gangplank. He soothingly stroked the nose of his big stallion. “Here we are on hard, firm ground again,” he crooned. “You will be much happier now.” He swung onto the saddle. “Come, let us go.” He didn’t wait for them but spurred ahead down the cobblestone street.
Marianna shook her head in wonderment. She had never seen Gregor so full of joy. His scarred face had been luminous. “He’s so happy.”
“He’s home,” Jordan said simply.
“He must care a great deal for you to stay in England.”
He lifted her onto her saddle. “I know that fills you with amazement, but, yes, he does care about me.” He swung onto his horse and nudged him forward. “And, of course, there is always the matter of duty. Gregor always does his duty.”
In spite of the mocking words she became aware of an odd tension suddenly charging him. It dawned on her that he could be mitigating the difficulty of getting the ravin’s help. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong. Everything is perfect. Ask Gregor.”
“You don’t like Kazan?” Her forehead knitted in perplexity. “But isn’t protecting Kazan the reason you’re determined to get the Jedalar?”
“I never said I didn’t like Kazan. It’s far more home to me than Cambaron.”
The words were restrained, almost noncommittal, but there was something beneath them, something in his expression. Then she realized what it was. Why, he truly loved this country. In spite of his mocking words regarding Gregor’s passion for his homeland, his feeling was just as deep. But, being Jordan, he would not lift his mask to reveal it. “It’s not at all like Cambaron.”
Nothing could be less like that rocklike bastion of power than this city. Exotic onion-shaped towers and tall, graceful needle-thin spires abounded here. Instead of the sod or stone houses she was accustomed to seeing in the English countryside, the principal building material here appeared to be wood. Nearly all the houses and shops were flat-roofed and similar in design, but each had its own stamp of individuality, such as a lacy carving on a window box or colorful tiles on a doorstep. As they picked their way through the marketplace, she noticed each booth or stand had its own copper or porcelain samovar over a small fire.
She pointed at a tall flumelike structure at one side of the market where crowds of people had gathered. “What is that?”
“An ice slide. Every town and village in Kazan has at least one.”
She watched a little boy careen madly down the ice-coated funnel and land in a thick bank of snow. He picked himself up, whooping joyously as he ran around to get in line at the ladder again.
“Alex will love it.” she said eagerly, without thinking. “Can we-”
But Alex was not here. Alex might never-
“Yes, he will,” Jordan said firmly. “We’ll probably never get him off it.”
Hope. She must not despair; they still had hope and determination. Looking away from the children on the slide, she quickly changed the subject. “Gregor says the reason you hate Napoleon is because you love Kazan. Is that true?”
“Gregor has a habit of simplifying things.”
“Is it true?”
He shrugged. “I suppose it’s true.”
“Why? It’s not your country.”
“Because I wasn’t born here? Cambaron was given to me. I chose Kazan.”
“It’s so… different.”
