“So much power to fall upon such slender shoulders!” Anthony murmured.
Balkis could only agree. She thought Prince Tashih a good man, but Anthony a better—and he had far broader shoulders to bear such a burden.
“Look, Balkis!” Anthony gripped her arm, pointing. “It is the emperor! It is Prester John himself!”
Resigned to her fate, Balkis looked up and hoped her uncle wouldn't see her. Then she stared, for as he rode in state, he seemed far more impressive than he did at home.
He even looked taller—broader, too, bigger in every way. Perhaps it was the huge horse he rode, a western charger, gift of Queen Alisande—or perhaps his robe was deliberately padded and stiffened. He rode with regal bearing, straight as a rod and seeming on the verge of casting thunderbolts. He raised his hand in blessing as he rode, but his face was stern, and there was nothing of the tender, doting uncle she knew.
Suddenly his head snapped around and his eyes met hers. Too late Balkis realized that, being a wizard, Prester John had been alerted by her magical aura. For a few seconds he looked directly at her, and she straightened, lifting her head proudly, gaze defiant, virtually daring him to acknowledge her before all these people.
But the emperor glanced to her right at Anthony, tall and golden beside her, then back at her, and a slight smile touched his lips. Somehow, Balkis felt the vast wave of relief coming from him.
Then the emperor turned his head to the fore and rode on. Balkis stared after him, numb—overwhelmingly grateful that he had not declared her station in front of Anthony, but even more overwhelmed by realizing how deeply he loved her.
The Lord Wizard must have reported to him, she realized, and her uncle must have ridden down this road specifically so he could ride back when she had passed his sentry— probably the deacon at the chapel—and see for himself that she was well.
The Lord Wizard had no doubt reported Anthony's presence and place in her life, too. So much for her fears that Prester John meant to marry her to his son! She lowered her gaze again, tears of joy coming to her eyes. The man and woman she had thought of as mother and father might be dead, but she had true family here, in her uncle.
“A dozen more courtiers behind him,” Sikta exclaimed. “Such state! Ah, so that is the source of the martial music—a whole wagon filled with musicians that comes after the emperor! And oh! Here come the soldiers! There must be a hundred of them! Are they the palace guard, Balkis?… Balkis?”
“Why do you weep, my love?” Anthony's voice was tender with concern.
“Because I have realized that I am almost home,” Balkis told him. In fact, for the first time since she had left her parents' cottage, she knew that she really did have a home.
Anthony squeezed her hand and she clung to it, watching with him as the spellbound crowd gazed after the procession until the last of the soldiers was out of sight. Then they broke into a babble of excitement.
Anthony turned to Balkis, eyes shining. “Isn't it amazing, darling? Never in my life did I think I would ever see Prester John himself! Have you ever seen anything so glorious? But of course—in Maracanda, you said you witnessed such processions many times!”
He babbled on, now to Balkis, now to his neighbors, tremendously excited by what he had seen. Watching him, Balkis thought it ironic that a man who had witnessed so many marvels was overawed most by something so human—but she watched him with a gaze that became more and more tender, and found herself exulting even as he exulted, for his joy was hers. She made polite replies to all his exulting, trying to match his enthusiasm but not succeeding.
Finally, the storm of his excitement having passed, Anthony discerned her mood and frowned with concern. “Why has such a marvelous sight only saddened you, my love?”
Balkis burst into tears and buried her face in his tunic, sobbing out her tension. Sikta looked surprised, then concerned, but as the storm passed, she began to smile with understanding. “You are troubled to realize that your journey together with your Anthony is almost ended, are you not, my dear?”
It was a better explanation than anything Balkis could have devised herself, and she was astonished to realize there was truth in it. “Even so, good Sikta. These months have been so wonderful that I do not want them to end.”
“But why should they?” Anthony asked softly. “Why should our journeying together have an end, ever?” Then he kissed her in front of all their chaperones, a kiss that became far longer than he had intended.
The pilgrims marveled at the sight of the gates of Mara-canda and marveled all over again at the wonders of the city. They were exhausted from their travels, though, and saw only as much as stood between the gates and the hostel to which their guide led them to spend the night. There were basins of water for them to wash, facilities for them to bathe separately—and when the women came back to join the men, Balkis was amazed to discover Matt there, chatting with several of the middle-aged pilgrims.
He turned as she came up to him, giving her a smile. “Didn't think you could make it through the gates without my finding out, did you?”
She couldn't help but smile in return. “Of course not.” She glanced at the men. “Let us go aside to talk.”
“Well, that's what I came for.” Matt lifted a hand in salute. “If you'll excuse us, gentlemen?”
The pilgrims did, but Balkis could feel their curious eyes on her as she led Matt to a chair at the side of the room. They didn't trust this stranger. She was grateful for their concern, but was very glad the talk was so loud that there was little chance of anyone hearing their conversation.
“So has he asked you to marry him yet?” Matt teased as they sat down.
Balkis blushed. “Not quite, but he has come very close.”
“I hoped you looked receptive,” Matt said. “You'd be surprised how many of us weak-willed men don't want to ask such an intimate question if we think we're going to be rejected.”
“I gave him as tender a look as I could.” Balkis didn't explain the circumstances. She leaned closer to say, “But I am worried, Lord Wizard. I fear I may not wait for him to propose.”
“Bad idea,” Matt said promptly. “Very bad, in a medieval culture. Wait. Make it a quick wedding if you have to, but wait for it.”
“I… I may not be able to stand against the tide of my own desire.” Balkis gave him a pleading look. “You know how such feelings may overwhelm a cat.”
“Then stay in human form.”
“But there is enough of the cat in me now that… well… to be blunt, Lord Wizard, I fear I am in heat, and more and more deeply with every passing day!” She lowered her gaze. “Sometimes I think that I cannot bear it, that I… should perhaps … should… give in.”
“No you shouldn't,” Matt said firmly. “Besides, even if you wanted to, you'd have to seduce Anthony—he has you on a bit of a pedestal.”
Balkis grimaced, looking away. “Then pedestals are quite uncomfortable.”
“Yeah, and kinda windy,” Matt sympathized. “Still, it's not quite the animal lust you seem to think it. Odds are the only reason you're feeling this way is because you're in love.”
“Yes … I think so …” Balkis looked up at Matt beseechingly. “What if he should not propose, though? What if we should not marry?”
Matt studied her for a few seconds, then said gently, “I think the real problem is that, way down deep, you don't want to miss the chance of learning physical intimacy when you're in love.”
Balkis lowered her gaze, blushing, but only repeated, “What if he should not wish to marry? What if he should leave? Do I still wish to be a virgin when he does?”
“From all the women I've seen in your predicament who gave in,” Matt said, “the answer is definitely that if you're still a virgin when he goes, it hurts less.” He laid a hand over hers. “Don't worry, lady—if he's as deeply in love as I think he is, there's no way he'll leave.”