Tess realized to her horror that he was about to start weeping from sheer, hopeless grief. "Grandmother Night is laughing at me. Gods, how bitter her bargains are. She means to take everything from me that I love except what I was willing to give to her in the first place."
"Ilya," Tess began, horrified that she had forced him to this. She started up to her feet.
"He's drunk," said Vasil, stopping her with his words. She sank back down. "He never goes on like this unless he's drunk."
"And he'd know," said Ilya in a hostile voice. "You'd know, wouldn't you, Vasil? You've seen me drunk often enough."
"I've never seen you drunk," said Tess. "Never." Except once, when Dr. Hierakis had gotten him drunk-but she'd seen him more under the influence of anesthesia than alcohol.
Ilya took one step and then another, and Tess could not tell whether the steps were unsteady because he was indeed drunk or simply because he was exhausted. He fumbled with the lantern, hoisting it up to tie it to the thong dangling from the pole above. Vasil rose at once, to stand next to him, close to him, and took the lantern from his hands and deftly hung it up. Then he turned and caught Ilya's face between his hands, and kissed him on the lips. For an instant, an hour, no more than two seconds, they kissed. Then Ilya twisted away from Vasil and stumbled over his own feet and collapsed beside Tess on the pillows.
A strange mood enveloped Tess, that outside this ring of light cast by the lantern nothing else existed.
"You are drunk," she said finally, smelling the distinctive aroma of fermented milk on him.
Vasil towered above them. "Rough work, that battle?"
"Miserable," said Ilya. He stared at his hands, whether because of what they had done at the battle or because he did not want to look at her and Vasil, Tess could not tell. "Five women were killed."
"Women!" Vasil exclaimed.
"We had to bring in the archers. It would have been slaughter otherwise."
"Did my dear sister fight, then? She's been mad for it, ever since that skirmish."
Ilya laughed harshly. "Gods, she'll make a commander yet. She's a terror on the field."
"I'm not surprised."
"A better fighter than you."
"She's a damned sight more vicious than I am. As you know."
Ilya looked up at him. Was there the briefest softening of his expression? Tess could not be sure. "Vasil, you know damn well you can't be found here."
Vasil crouched, so they were all on a level. "Why not? You were gone, Tess was here. Why shouldn't I have come in?"
Ilya rounded on Tess. "Did you invite him? Did you? I'm not sharing you with him!"
"Ilya, why did you get drunk?" she asked, stupidly stuck on this one point.
He jerked his head away from her and stared at the far wall.
"Because he's mad at you," said Vasil. "And anyway, isn't an ugly battle excuse enough to get drunk?"
"Aren't all battles ugly?" Tess demanded.
"There were children in that citadel," said Ilya under his breath. "Children. They slaughtered them, rather than let them fall into our hands. Gods. There was a baby, a tiny baby. And a pregnant woman." He covered his face with his hands. He shuddered.
"Oh, Ilya." Tess embraced him. The blanket fell down from her as she pressed against him. Almost as quickly, Vasil moved and crouched down on his other side, running a hand up Ilya's arm, up his shoulder and neck, up to the luxuriant mass of his dark hair.
"No," said Ilya. But he did not move away.
"You do love him," said Tess, amazed by this revelation. Amazed that, faced with the truth, it no longer frightened her.
"You don't understand," Ilya said into his hands. "I love you, Tess."
"I know you love me," Tess said. And he trusted her. He trusted her to see this. She felt such a rush of confidence and joy that he must have felt it as well, because he sighed audibly and turned his face into her hair.
So close, across Ilya's body, Vasil smiled at her, and she was struck by a second revelation-that she desired him in part because Ilya desired him. "You see," Vasil said to her, "how much you and I are alike. I love him. You love him."
"And he is gods-touched by a vision in his heart. This is all very well, Vasil, but the bitter truth is that no matter how he feels, he already chose his vision over you."
"But I'm a respectable married man, now," said Vasil. "So is he. There's no reason we can't live in the same camp. Not any more."
"Stop discussing me as if I'm not here," said Ilya into Tess's hair. "Given the choice, you must know that I'd choose Tess over you without hesitation."
"Did I ask you to make a choice?" asked Vasil.
Ilya went quite still.
"What are you suggesting, Vasil?" Tess asked, astonished and appalled and abruptly intrigued.
Vasil leaned close across Ilya and kissed her. It was a lingering kiss, and his hand slid caressingly up her bare back-except it wasn't Vasil's hand, there, on her back. It was Ilya's.
"Do you want me to leave?" Vasil murmured.
"No," said Tess, surprising herself, because it was the truth. Ilya said nothing. Neither did he move away from them. They took his silence for assent.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The monitor implanted in David's ear buzzed, stirring him out of his drowsy lassitude. The candle had burned out, leaving the little room in darkness. Even the high window, paned with a transparent substance stronger than glass, let through only the light of stars, not enough to illuminate anything more than dark shapes against darker background. The dark of the moon.
"Oh, hell, I've got to go," he said, sitting up.
Nadine yawned and pulled her legs up so that he could scoot past her. "Umm," she said, and fell silent, undisturbed by his nocturnal comings and goings. She ought to be used to them by now, he thought, glancing back at her as he struggled to get his clothes on. He swore as he got his trousers tangled up. He shook them free and tried again.
"David." He felt more than saw that she raised herself on an elbow to peer at him. "You aren't married. Do people think you ought to be?"
"No. I don't think it's any of their business, anyway. Do people think you ought to be married?"
"Of course." Her tone was caustic. "I even have a suitor, who would mark me in a moment if he didn't know that I'd cut him to ribbons if he tried."
"You don't like him?"
She shrugged. "I like Feodor well enough. He's a pleasant lover. But he doesn't care about Jeds or anything I learned there. He doesn't care about maps. He doesn't wonder about anything, he just rides in his uncle's jahar and acquits himself well in battle, and is a good son to his mother and a good brother to his two sisters. He doesn't have any imagination, David!"
"And you have enough for two people. A trait I'm rather fond of." She smiled at him, and David grinned back. It was one of her great charms: he was fond of her, and she of him, and yet there was no possessiveness in their relationship. They shared what they shared while they shared it. Beyond that, they had their own lives. "But if you don't want him, then what is there for people to complain of in your behavior?"
Her voice darkened to match the room. "Because women aren't supposed to have any choice in marriage. Because every woman ought to be married, so that she can have children."
"Do you want children?" He gave up trying to get his trousers on standing up because he couldn't manage to keep his balance. He sat down and slid them on one leg at a time.
"No. I want to ride."
"With the army?"
"I like the army. I'm a good commander, too. I'd rather explore, though, like Marco."