"Ilya? Can you believe he-?" She broke off her laugh. "Ilya!" She might as well not have been there, for all he responded to her. As if he could not bear to look at the chamber, at what he had almost done. "My sweet love, he's gone. I chased him off by threatening to cut up that handsome face of his, which would have served him right and probably made all of our lives a bit easier. But I didn't think it was a good idea to kill him. He's shameless, it's true, but I don't think he's worth killing." She faltered. "Ilya?"
Oh, God, this ran deep. The old wound had just reopened, except-she could see it now-it had never truly healed. So ugly a wound that Ilya would kill to keep it closed.
A worse thought hit her. Was it hatred that had made him want to strike? Or was it fear, that what Vasil so obviously wanted he wanted too and was not, by jaran laws, allowed to have. / don't want to know. But she had to know.
"Ilya," she whispered. Broke off. You and Vasil were lovers once, weren't you? She could not make herself ask it, not about a person who was that much more beautiful than she ever would be, not about a person he might still love more than he had ever loved her.
"Ilya," she said, and her voice shook on his name. "Come to bed. Please?"
But he would not answer her, nor did he sleep that night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The retching sound came from the straggle of bushes that edged the road. The line of wagons lurched to a halt, and Diana sighed and exchanged a glance with Arina Veselov. Arina took the reins from Diana and pulled them taut. The animals that pulled the wagons-Diana thought of them as oxen-stood with bovine stupidity and flicked flies from their backs with their tails.
The bushes crackled and Gwyn appeared, pushing through them. "Was that you?" Diana called, amazed at his appearance. Like an echo, the retching sounded again, worse this time, followed by a woman's moan.
Gwyn shook his head. "No. It's Anahita. This is the second day she's been sick. I don't know if she ate something, or if she's just overwrought."
"They stopped the wagons for her?" Diana demanded. Only after they had reached the mountains did Diana realize how truly easy the traveling was on the plains. Now they inched along. At the widest stretches they managed to fit three wagons abreast. Often, negotiating falls of rock on the high pass road, they had to drive single file. It was so damned slow. It was cold at night. Tempers were fraying, and Diana had two days since-four days out from the gate of the kingdom, the burned city-decided to ride during the day with her jaran family rather than with the Company. Arina and Kirill held a tight rein on those of their tribe accompanying the army and, perhaps, the egos they dealt with were not quite as weighty as the ones Owen and Ginny had to cope with.
Gwyn walked over to them. Dust had painted his boots and trousers a monotonous color that could only be termed a color at all by courtesy. His pleasant face was sunburned; dirty gloves encased his hands. He nodded a greeting to Arina and leaned against wooden slats beside Diana's feet. "No, I don't know what's holding us up this time. Anahita just took the opportunity to throw up in private."
"I'd feel more sympathy for her if she didn't complain so much."
Gwyn glanced back at the bushes, which were silent now. He lowered his voice. "Her work is suffering."
"Everybody's work is suffering."
"No. Be honest, Di. We're tired, we're displaced, and I can see the fatigue and a little fear in Quinn and, say, Phillippe. But even Hal is doing his usual best. It's only Anahita who can't stay the course. Tell me the truth. What do you think of the work you're doing now?"
Diana looked at Arina, feeling guilty about leaving the other woman out of the conversation, but Arina merely nodded at her, gave her the reins back, and clambered down from the wagon to walk back along the line to the wagon which held her two children. Diana shrugged and pulled the reins taut. "I think I'm stretching my technique. I think I'm learning."
"So do I. So do the rest, however grumpy we might be about these conditions. Anahita shouldn't be here."
"You've never liked her."
"That's true. You should be playing her roles, Diana."
Guilt and joy warred within her. Gwyn Jones was courting her. Goddess, of course she was ambitious. She would not have gotten so far so fast unless she was driven. "I know exactly how I would play Zenocrate," she said passionately, and then blushed.
He chuckled. "Now that you've seen Tess Soerensen? Do you suppose Owen will let us play Tamburlaine here?"
"Do you want to take the risk?"
"I don't know. You've spoken with Bakhtiian more than I have. Do you think he'd take offense at it?"
Up and down the line, oxen bawled. A horse neighed. A man shouted in khush, and Arina Veselov trudged back along the line, carrying her infant son bundled in her arms. A young man in soldier's red and black rode past, his bay mare kicking up dust.
"I don't know," said Diana. "He might, but maybe he wouldn't. Here, Arina, give me Lavrenti." This last in her halting khush. Arina handed the baby up to Diana and climbed back up onto the seat. Under the beaded design of her bodice were hidden ties, and Arina undid the front right side of her blouse to reveal a swollen breast. Diana handed the baby back and Arina settled Lavrenti against herself. He snuffled for a moment, half asleep, and then abruptly his eyes popped open and he latched on and sucked noisily.
"Oh, look!" cried Diana. "Look how well he's eating!" Arina smiled and cradled him a little closer. Ahead, wagons lurched forward and the line began to move again, painfully slow. Diana adjusted the reins, a little nervous.
"They let you drive?" asked Gwyn, standing back from the wagon.
"A little. On the straight stretches. It's better than just sitting here."
Anahita appeared from out of the bushes, looking wan and angry. "Gwyn? Gwyn! Where are you?" Her voice was shrill, and for an instant Diana felt sorry for her. "Damn you, Gwyn. The little slut can take care of herself. I told you-" Gwyn shrugged his apology and hurried back to her.
"That one," said Arina, "is full of herself."
The wagon ahead of theirs jerked forward and Diana clucked at her oxen and flicked the reins up and down and braced for the jolt, and then they were rolling again, up the pass.
That night they camped along the road. Most of them slept in the wagons, and because Mira was fretful, Diana took the little girl back with her to the Company's camp so that she wouldn't disturb her brother's sleep. In the morning Mira had a raging fever. Diana commandeered two of the young men attached to the Veselov tribe, and they carried Mira and Diana on their horses up to the front of the train, to Dr. Hierakis.
"What's this? Hello, Diana. Ah, a fever. Come inside." It was not much past dawn. The front wagons were being hitched and readied to go. The doctor took Diana and Mira up onto one of her wagons, which had a roof and walls. "Oh, hell, she's not old enough to tell her parents what really happened. I'll just check with real instruments." She brought out a scanner. Mira watched with wide-eyed interest as the doctor moved it around. "Well, it's nothing unusual, a bad ear infection, but I'm sure it hurts like hell. Get this timed-released capsule into a piece of-of something, bread, sweet, whatever she'll eat. It'll release antibiotics over a ten-day course."
"I shouldn't be doing this, should I? Giving her this special treatment? Bringing her to you?''
The doctor shrugged. "I happen to believe that it's criminal to let people suffer when we could prevent it."
"But-"
The doctor waved her out of the wagon. "Go on. Leave. I don't want to hear the whole litany about the fundamental hypocrisy of our presence here. How's the baby?"