"Perhaps Ilya knows why."
"Perhaps he does. Do you truly want to ask him?"
No. But there was wanting, and there was necessity. ' 'I have to ask him. How long after their deaths was Vasil banished?''
"Vasil? A few months, not more than that. It was all a great scandal. Roskhel hated Vasil. He thought it was an offense against the gods that a man would love another man so openly."
"What do you think?"
Sonia shrugged, evading the question. "Vasil was always charming to us. He wanted us to like him, and we did. I never saw the harm in him riding with Ilya's jahar."
"Were they lying together, too? After Ilya came back from Jeds?"
Sonia flushed. "I don't know. I–Ilya slept with many women. Everyone knew that."
"But you think they were."
Sonia stared away from Tess, at their tents, at the ring of guards out beyond, at the tents beyond them, the Orzhekov camp. Wind trembled through the camp, agitating awnings and pots. People were already packing, readying to leave the next morning. "Everyone thought they were," said Sonia in a low voice. "That's why he was forced to banish Vasil. Otherwise no one would have followed him.''
"Hmm," said Tess. The puzzle did not yet make a coherent picture.
Sonia stared at her. "Don't you care?" she demanded.
"Don't I care about what?"
"That he and Vasil might have-!"
"Of course I care! But what can I do about it?"
"Gods, Tess. I'm so sorry."
"Sorry for what? That you think Ilya still loves him?"
"That he loved a man at all-" Just saying it made Sonia flinch.
"What do I care whether it's a man or a woman? I can never be beautiful, not in that way. I haven't known Ilya since he was a boy, I didn't ride in his jahar for three years side by side with him while he united the jaran. I never believed in him when no one else did, because I didn't know him then. How can I compete with that? Or with the memory of that?"
There was a long silence. "Sometimes," said Sonia softly, "I forget you aren't jaran. I loved a man once, but he left to join the arenabekh. He loved men more than women. I could never forgive him for that. And why should I?" she continued, bitter now. "He turned his back on his own tribe, and he turned his back on the children he might have had. Such men are better off dead."
"I don't agree-" began Tess, and then stopped. In jaran society, where there was no place for them, perhaps they were better off leaving, for the arenabekh, for death, for somewhere else. Was that why Ilya had gone to Jeds, at sixteen? Cara had told her yesterday evening what Vasil had confessed to her. If Ilya had thought there was no place for someone like him with the jaran, because he loved another male, then he might have been willing to risk such a dangerous journey, knowing he might never return.
"Sonia," said Tess finally, "you must remember one thing. When Ilya left your tribe to go to Jeds, he left everyone behind. Everyone. Nothing, and no one, has ever been as important to him as the vision that drives him. Not even Vasil. Even if Ilya did still want him, he can't go back to him now."
"You're forgiving," murmured Sonia.
"What is there to forgive? I know Ilya loves me. Hell." She gave a wry, unsteady laugh. "He married me twice. But I don't think Vasil has changed. Ilya must face him, or he'll never heal."
Sonia jerked her head up and glared at Tess. "Don't let Vasil get too close to him! That would be idiotic."
Tess laughed. "I'm not afraid of Vasil." But it was a lie. She was afraid of Vasil. And she could not help it, but she was beginning to wonder what it would be like to lie with him.
"You should be," said Sonia, and for a wild instant Tess could not tell if Sonia was saying that Tess should be afraid, or should be wondering.
Ilya slept all afternoon. That evening he insisted on taking reports out under the awning. After the stifling heat of the daytime, the cool evening air proved refreshing. Tess watched him eat and drink-not enough, but more than he had managed before-and she sat beside him as scouts and riders came forward and spoke with him. Josef sat on his other side, listening, remembering everything with that astonishing memory he possessed. Now and again Ilya asked him for a piece of information or to clarify something someone had said. Tess could see how weak Ilya was: normally he would never have needed to ask; he had a formidable memory himself. Now it was all he could do to sit there and receive visitors.
And it was just as well he did, she soon realized, even as their reports droned past her and she forgot every word they said. Ilya wanted the reports so that he could feel that he was in control of his army again. But his army also needed to see him. It was no wonder the army was laying waste to Habakar lands. They thought Habakar priests had killed him. Now, these men could see he was alive, and they would pass that message down the lines. Their faces reflected their joy and their relief. Because Ilya lay on pillows, they knelt, each one, to speak with him, so as not to tower over him, but as the night wore on, Tess felt that they were kneeling to Ilya out of duty and love and fealty. And though he was exhausted, their presence and their devotion gave him strength.
It grew late.
"Ilya," she said, when a scout made his farewells and walked away into the darkness, "you should go to bed. You must rest.''
Ilya shut his eyes. "Yes," he said.
Josef nodded and rose, and little Ivan leapt up to escort Josef back to his tent. Cara had gone to her own tent. They sat alone under the awning.
"I traveled a long journey," he said in a low voice. "I saw my own spirit. It is a thing of bright colors and twisting lines. It is brilliant, Tess, like fire. The gods touched it and made it burn, and I saw that they have given their favor to my dreams."
"Of course they have, my love." She covered his hands with her own and just held them, strangely moved by his recital.
His voice slipped so low that she had to bend to hear him. "How much more will She demand that I pay her?"
"Who?"
A guard hailed them. A moment later, a small party was escorted out of the gloom. "Ilya." The guard was Vladimir. "He insisted, but if you want me to send them away…"
Vasil stood before them with his family in tow. Karolla looked nervous. Ilyana looked curious. Valentin trailed behind, clutching his mother's tunic, his pretty mouth turned down in a sullen frown.
In the stillness, Tess heard singing coming from the farthest reaches of the camp, a cheerful noise.
"No," said Ilya softly. His gaze locked on Vasil. "Let them stay."
Tess rose swiftly and beckoned to Karolla and the children to come closer. "Have you met Karolla? This is Karolla Arkhanov. This is her daughter Ilyana." An awkward silence, while the man and his namesake regarded each other doubtfully. "And this is Valentin." Valentin peered out at Bakhtiian and then, after a moment, came out from behind his mother and sat down on a pillow. Tess offered him a sweet cake. He accepted gravely.
Vasil sat down. No one spoke.
Tess offered cakes to Karolla and Ilyana, and then to Vasil, and under the cover of this nicety they all passed a few more minutes.
"You must miss Arina," said Tess, to say something.
"Yes," said Karolla.
The conversation lapsed again. Tess passed around the cakes a second time.
"You're Dmitri Mikhailov's daughter," said Ilya suddenly.
"Yes."
Sitting next to each other, Karolla and Vasil were a study in contrasts: her soft, plain face next to his beauty; her resigned expression next to his bright one.
Ilya turned his gaze back to Vasil. Tess could not read his expression, except to see that he was very tired. "I banished you," he said quietly.