He smiled. Diana realized abruptly that Owen had rehearsed this all along and simply not told her, or possibly anyone else, about it. He lifted a hand and Joseph appeared, bearing gifts in his hands: foodstuffs, clothing, carved chess set. Diana felt cold and hot all at once, and because she did not know where else to look, she looked at Anatoly. His gaze, on her, was intense, and she clung to it as to a lifeline.
'More strange than true,' " Owen began, and in his pleasant baritone, he reeled off the entire speech.
Tess's lips quirked up as he finished. "How am I supposed to translate that?" she asked. "In whatever way it is most appropriate." Tess spoke at length, her phrases cadenced as Sakhalin's had been, a ritual that was generations old. Gifts were brought forward and exchanged. Tess beckoned Diana forward, and then Anatoly, and then she retired. Anatoly put out his hands. Diana took them, clutched at them. They were warm and strong. Elizaveta Sakhalin and Owen came forward and bound the silk scarf around their clasped hands. More words were spoken. Then, sparking, a huge fire burst into flame out on the flat of ground beyond. Two drums beat out a rapid rhythm, and pipes came in with a melody. Under the concealing silk, Anatoly twined his fingers in with hers and stroked her palms with his thumbs. The caress lit fires all along her, and she swayed toward him, wanting nothing more at that moment than to be alone with him.
"Anatoly," said his grandmother, scolding. He stopped what he was doing, but his entire face lit with a smile, a smile that was meant for Diana only, intimate, exultant. Daring much, Diana tilted her head up and kissed him, briefly, on the lips. He whispered words into her ear, another caress, and then pushed back and unwound the scarf from around their hands and tied it around her waist like a belt. Then he turned and left her, walked over to his family and a moment later Sonia Orzhekov had taken him out to dance. Diana gaped after them.
"Diana." Appearing abruptly beside her, Bakhtiian bowed. His presence was as powerful as the fire's. "It is traditional for a new bride to dance on her wedding night. I hope you will excuse my immodesty in asking you to dance."
"Of course," she said, wondering what on earth he meant. But it quickly became apparent to her that she was not meant to spend any time with Anatoly at all, during this celebration. She caught glimpses of him, dancing with other women, speaking with men out on the fringes of the celebration, glancing her way, once, his gaze catching on her, his smile, and then he was drawn away by someone else.
The actors emerged, pale without their makeup, to congratulate her. She danced. She felt confused and disoriented, but she went from one instant to the next and tried not to think beyond that.
"Well," said Anahita, coming up beside her much later. "I see that Marco Burckhardt isn't at the celebration. I haven't seen him all day. What do you think of that?"
"I think you're just jealous he was never interested in you," Diana snapped.
"Bravo," said Gwyn softly behind her as Anahita flounced away. "Congratulations, Diana."
"Thank you. Owen made a spectacle out of it, didn't he?"
"Owen can't help himself. But I assure you that it was impressive."
"Did he have it rehearsed all along? How did he know to bring presents? Where did he get them? Why didn't he tell me?"
Gwyn chuckled. "I think you were part of the experiment. As for the rest, Owen always does his research.
You ought to know that, Diana. If you hadn't provided this wonderful opportunity for him, he'd have had to invent it. Ah, here comes your husband. I'll leave you now." He kissed her on the cheek and retreated.
Anatoly strode toward her, looking purposeful. His grandmother and several members of his family walked at his heels. A moment later Owen and Ginny arrived, together with Yomi and Joseph.
Yomi hugged Diana. "I hope you're ready," Yomi murmured. "We've come to escort you to your tent."
All at once Diana could not move. In a few minutes, she would be alone with a man she barely knew, with a man she could scarcely even communicate with. She stood rooted to the ground. The others moved away, but she could not lift her feet, could not follow them. She had made a terrible, stupid mistake. She knew that now, knew it bitterly, and hated herself for knowing it.
Anatoly turned back. His eyes narrowed as he examined her. He put out his hand, offering it to her. Diana took in a big breath and laid her hand in his.
They walked through camp. No one spoke. The silence weighed on her, counterpointed by the music and singing coming from the celebration behind, which still played on. So she spoke:
"You that choose not by the view Chance as fair and choose as true! Since this fortune falls to you, Be content and seek no new. If you be well pleas'd with this And hold your fortune for your bliss, Turn you where your lady is And claim her with a loving kiss."
Anatoly smiled and squeezed her hand. Joseph grinned. They left the jaran camp behind and came to her tent, set out in the middle, isolated, lonely. There Owen and Ginny kissed her, Yomi and Joseph hugged her, and they left. Anatoly's family left, leaving with them two sets of saddlebags, a rolled up blanket, a leather flask and two cups. Diana stood alone with her new husband in a gloom lit only by the single lantern set on the ground beside them. He did not move, but only watched her.
She hesitated, and then bent to pick up the lantern and pushed the entrance flap aside, and ducked into the tent. A moment later, he followed her in, carrying his worldly goods in his arms. He knelt and set them carefully in one corner, then rose.
She just stood there, the lantern heavy in her hand. His pale hair seemed lighter by contrast with the shadows in the tent. His lips moved, forming soundless words. Gently, he took the lantern from her and hung it from a loop on the center pole.
"Anatoly." She dug for words, khush words, to speak to him, but they had all evaporated.
"Diana-" He said a whole sentence, but it was meaningless to her, nothing but sounds strung together.
They stood a moment in awkward silence. He lifted one hand to trace the scar on her cheek. His fingers slid to trace her lips, and she kissed them, and his other hand sought her hips, to draw her closer to him, and she slid one arm around his back and caught her other hand in his hair…
Then, as quickly as that, she discovered that in fact they did speak the same language.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
At the edge of the firelit glow cast by the roaring bonfire, Ilya Bakhtiian halted beside his wife where she stood in the gloom. Tess glanced up at him, then back out at the camp.
"They left, then?" asked Bakhtiian.
"Who, Anatoly and Diana? Yes." She turned to face him, watching him as he watched her, measuring. Her lips quirked up. "No stranger than you and I."
"Perhaps. But I doubt it. She will leave him." Once, he would have hesitated to touch her in public, since it was unseemly. Now he lifted his hands without the least self-consciousness to cup her face and stare at her, searching. "I love you," he said, and that was all, although it was a question.
"What would you do if I left?"
His lips drew out, tightening, and his face went taut. He dropped his hands from her face and grasped her hands instead. "You will not. I forbid it."
"You can't forbid it."
"No." The admission was shattering, wrung from him. "I cannot. But if I could, I would."
"The ambassador from Vidiya has a slave. A woman."
Now she had gone too far. "How dare you compare me to that pompous, overdressed boy?" he demanded. "How dare you even suggest that I have made such a thing of you?''
"To make you think, damn you."
"Then go. You are free to choose." He was so angry that he was shaking. "We ride south tomorrow. I can leave a jahar to take you to the coast with your brother, if that is what you wish. What I wish, you know well enough."