"Oh, Ilya." She embraced him suddenly. He was tense, stiff, but his anger could not sustain itself when she showed the least sign of her love for him. She felt him relax against her, and he sighed into her hair.
"Damn you," he muttered.
"Come with me."
"Where?" He drew his head back and frowned at her, suspicious.
She chuckled. "No, not to Jeds. To see my brother, now."
"Why?"
"To tell him the truth. That I don't intend to leave the jaran. Not now, at any rate. Not this year."
He was still frowning. "When, then?"
"When you die, damn you. Now stop bothering me and come with me."
He laughed, surprised, and hugged her tightly. "We have an old tale," he whispered into her ear, "about a woman who poisoned her husband because she wanted to marry another man."
Tess smiled and pressed into him, returning the embrace. "If you can find me another man to marry, then I'll consider it." She broke free of his grasp and pushed him away. "Now, you'll come with me, and you'll stay quiet while I talk with Charles."
"Yes, my wife," he said meekly, and he walked with her across camp to Soerensen's encampment. At the gap, they passed about fifty paces away from the little tent that sat on the grass between both camps. Bakhtiian fought down a smile and he stopped Tess with a hand on her shoulder, and bent and kissed her. The night shielded them. "After," he murmured, releasing her.
"Don't distract me. You don't know how hard it is for me to do this."
Under the awning of Charles's tent, Marco Burckhardt sat with a thin tablet on his lap. Charles sat next to him, staring at something on his hand. Two lanterns lit the two men, one to either side of them, and from the slightly askew flap of Dr. Hierakis's tent, a steady glow could be seen coming from the interior. Then both men looked up, saw Tess, saw Bakhtiian, and Marco collected something from Charles's hand and took it and the slate back into the tent before Tess and Ilya reached the awning.
Charles stood up. Cara emerged from her tent, glanced at the converging lines, and walked over to stand next to Charles. Marco reappeared from the tent.
"They're hiding something from me," Bakhtiian muttered, and he glanced at Tess to see what her reaction was. Tess flushed, but he could not see the color of her skin in the darkness, so she was safe.
"How long will the carousing go on?" Cara asked with a smile as she motioned them to come in under the awning.
Bakhtiian acknowledged her first, with a nod, and then Charles, and last Marco. "As long as they wish. The army rides south tomorrow. They'll earn this celebration tonight."
"The poor child won't have much of a honeymoon, then," said Cara. "But I saw that she was safely put to bed a little earlier. Where are you going, Marco?"
"Out to carouse," he said curtly. He excused himself and left.
They watched him go. Charles's expression was unreadable. Cara shook her head. Bakhtiian arched his brows, looking puzzled. "He doesn't seem like the kind of man Sonia would take to her bed." He glanced at Charles, as if to gain corroboration from the other man, and Tess was struck by how clearly he treated Charles as an equal. There were many men, men of the jaran in particular, whom he treated with respect, but there was no question of where the ultimate authority lay. No question but here: Ilya did not defer to Charles-he did to women, of course; that was so deeply engrained in him that Tess doubted he would ever lose the habit-but neither did he attempt in the slightest to command him.
"Sonia likes a challenge," said Tess.
"Is that where he's been at night?" Charles asked. "I had wondered."
"And you didn't ask?" Tess spoke the words and an instant later realized how sarcastic they sounded. "I have to talk to you," she said quickly, to cover her embarrassment and to get it over with. This was something best done quickly, before she lost her nerve. Somehow, seeing Anatoly and Diana escorted off into the night to their tent had made her determined to talk to Charles now, however much she wanted to put it off.
"Please sit," said Charles. Cara and Tess sat down next to each other, in chairs. Ilya hesitated. "I have pillows," said Charles suddenly, "and something I brought for you from Jeds." He vanished into the tent, emerging with two large pillows and a velvet bag. He tossed the pillows onto the ground so that the two men could sit side by side and on the same level.
Ilya's lips twitched, and then he smiled. "Well done," he said, and sat down. Charles sat down beside him, opened the velvet bag, and drew out two objects: a book and a clock.
He gave Ilya the clock first. It had a simple design, a white unnumbered face framed with mahogany; a spring door in the back opened to reveal the mechanical workings.
"This is different," Ilya said, "than the clocks I saw in Jeds."
"The lines and hands mark out the hours of the day."
"Like a khaja wall marks out land," said Ilya, glancing up at Tess. Then, turning back to Charles, "Its simplicity lends it beauty.''
Charles offered him the book and, of course, he took it. Ilya never could resist a book. He ran his hands along the leather binding in a way that was almost amorous, and then turned it to the title page and then to the text. He gave a short bark of laughter. " 'Being convinced that the human intellect makes its own difficulties-' " He closed the book and handed it up to Tess. "True enough words," he said to Charles.
"The New Organon. Francis Bacon," read Tess. "Charles!" Both men looked up at her expectantly. She stroked one arm of her chair, tracing the patterns in its carved wood with her fingers. "Charles," she said again, and lapsed into silence. A book and a clock-the one by a philosopher who had helped develop the scientific method, the other, well, Ilya himself had compared a device that measures time in artificial increments to the walls that interrupt the natural flow of the land. These were the worst weapons Charles could have brought; and he knew it, and she knew it.
Cara rescued them from the uncomfortable silence. The doctor leaned down to rummage in a cloth bag crumpled at the base of her chair and drew out a mass of yarn, and began to knit.
Ilya's face lit with interest. "That is like weaving. May I ask what it is you're doing?"
"It's called knitting. The women of your people don't knit? Who did the marvelous embroidery on your shirt?"
He tilted his head to one side, looking pleased and a little shy. "I did."
"You did?" Cara laughed. "Well. That ought to teach me not to make unwarranted assumptions. What were you going to say, Tess? Would you like something to drink? Some Scotch, perhaps?"
"I don't think so-"
"Certainly." Ilya cut across her refusal. "We would be honored." He shot her an admonishing glance. Sharing food and drink was one of the two fundamental courtesies that bound the jaran tribes together.
"Perhaps you'd like to come with me," said Cara, to Ilya.
"No. I want Ilya to stay here." His presence was both the spur and the anchor, forcing her to go forward, keeping her stable. She clutched the book in both hands. "And you, too, Cara. It's no long speech. It's very little, really, it's very simple. I'm not going back."
Charles rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. "You're not going back where?"
"To Jeds, with you, when you go back. When you leave." She burned with heat. She knew it, could feel the flush on her face, could feel her pulse pounding. "It's only fair to tell you, so you don't keep thinking… that maybe I will. That I'm going back. I know that's what you came for. But I can't go. Not now."
"Why is that?" Charles's voice was cool, neutral.
Ilya sat straight, his chin lifted in triumph, and he looked at Tess, not at his rival, as if, having won, he could now dismiss him.